The standoff at the base of the palace was a picture of absurdity. Albert stood on the ledge like a stern schoolmaster, while below him, the masters of the North's industry bristled with wounded pride.
The ginger-bearded Dwarf turned a shade of crimson that nearly matched his hair. "Childish?!" he roared, shaking a calloused fist upward. "I've forged more steel than you've seen years, you overstuffed tin-can! I'm eighty-seven, and my grandmother has more manners than you!"
The Halfling beside him nodded vigorously, looking down at his hairy feet. "Quite right! It's a very dignified climb, this is! We've come leagues to see the 'Iron Miracle' and we get treated like we're playing truant from a village school!"
The situation was undeniably comical—a collection of the North's most stubborn adults clinging to a steaming ventilation pipe, arguing with a man who thought they were simply undersized humans.
The Gnome, however, wasn't listening to the argument. His long, pointed nose was inches away from one of the brass struts supporting the balcony. He squinted through thick, magnifying spectacles, his fingers tracing the perfect, uniform curve of the metal.
"Astounding..." the Gnome breathed, his voice high-pitched and trembling with excitement. "No hammer marks. No casting seams. Master... Metal-Man! This balcony! Is it cold-rolled or did you use a high-pressure hydraulic press? And the alloy! It's brass, but the weight-to-tensile ratio shouldn't support that steam-vent!"
Albert blinked behind his goggles. The "child" was speaking in the terminology of a master engineer. He looked down at the Gnome, his annoyance momentarily eclipsed by professional surprise.
"You're quite perceptive for a... small person," Albert remarked, his tone softening as he recognized the spark of genuine curiosity. "It is a reinforced brass-titanium composite, pressurized via a double-action steam hammer."
He paused, then realized the Gnome was reaching for a pressure valve that was currently venting excess heat.
"Good heavens, stop that!" Albert shouted, leaning over the rail. "Come down immediately! If you turn that Relief Valve, you'll be parboiled by the primary exhaust. There is a hydraulic lift at the eastern gate. Use it, and I might consider not reporting your parents for negligence."
The Dwarf looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel at the mention of "parents," but the Gnome was already scrambling down, his eyes fixed on the eastern gate like a man who had seen a Gnomish Invention from a dream.
The heavy iron gates of the Whitelight Palace hissed shut, sealing out the crisp air of the North. Albert led the way, his Metal Boots clanging rhythmically against the polished steel floor. Behind him, the three small figures marched with chests puffed out, their boots scuffing and thudding as they struggled to match his long, mechanical strides.
"I am telling you for the final time," the Dwarf growled, his face still a dangerous shade of crimson. "I have buried three human kings! I am a Master of the Anvil, not a runaway toddler!"
Albert didn't turn around. He was busy adjusting a series of glass valves on a wall-mounted manifold. "Yes, yes, a very vivid imagination. Hirsutism often correlates with high testosterone and aggressive storytelling in stunted growth cases. It's quite fascinating, really."
Outside, hidden in the silver-barked treeline, the Human blacksmith and the Elf scout had been holding back their laughter until their ribs ached. They watched the massive doors close, and as soon as the latch clicked, the silence of the forest was shattered. They collapsed against each other, laughing uncontrollably. The human pounded the earth with his fist, wheezing for air, while the elf doubled over, his long hair falling over his face as he let out a rare, loud howl of mirth. The image of the legendary, foul-mouthed Master of the Iron-Gully being lectured on "pituitary stunting" was more than their composure could handle.
Inside the lab, the mood was far more serious. Albert approached a massive, pulsing glass vat filled with a glowing, translucent amber liquid—the sap he had harvested from the silver-barked trees.
"Master Metal-Man!" the Gnome squeaked, his spectacles slipping down his nose. He wasn't looking at the Harpy anymore; he was staring at the pressure gauges. "This... this is the blood of the Elder Oaks? You've pressurized it? In a vacuum?!"
Albert stopped and looked down at the Gnome, his clinical detachment wavering for a fraction of a second. "It is a botanical extract. I am testing its volatile properties. The sap appears to possess a high caloric density."
He gestured to the center of the room, where a heavy iron crucible sat beneath a series of pneumatic pistons. "I am attempting a High-Pressure Distillation. If my calculations are correct, the silver-bark essence should react with heat to create a stabilized lubricant. If I am wrong... well, that is why the walls are reinforced."
Suddenly, a violent hiss erupted from the crucible. A plume of orange steam shot out of a relief valve, turning the air a sharp, acrid orange.
"Pressure spike!" Albert shouted, diving for a brass lever. "The sap is reacting to the copper lining—it's synthesizing into an acidic gas! The seal is failing!"
Albert reached for his Machined Gauntlet to force the lever, but it was stuck behind a cooling vent.
The Dwarf didn't hesitate. He grabbed a heavy iron wrench from a nearby bench—a tool far too large for a human child, but balanced perfectly for a Dwarven arm. "Out of the way, lanky! Your 'induction' is melting the lead seals! You need a cold-shotted bypass, or this whole wing is going to whistle like a teakettle!"
Albert watched in genuine shock as the "child" began barking orders at the Gnome. The two of them moved with the synchronized, professional grace of veteran engineers. The Dwarf hammered at a pressure plate while the Gnome adjusted the flow of cold water into the jacketed pipes.
Within seconds, the screaming hiss of the steam died down to a gentle purr. The orange cloud dissipated.
Albert stood frozen, looking down at the two small figures. They were covered in soot, breathing heavily, and looking at him with expressions of immense smugness.
"Now," the Dwarf said, wiping grease onto his beard. "Are we still 'unruly adolescents,' or are you going to admit that you've got no idea how to handle a real boiler?"