(part I of souffleur d’âmes)

“What new marvels have you come up with soulmaster?” Her Ladyship sounded genuinely interested as she walked past the somewhat smudged displays of the little store. Of course she already knew what each case contained, since she had started this weekly routine of passing by about a month ago. The small, somewhat hunch-backed, man nervously jumping on the spot at her side was nevertheless very pleased, she never failed to tell him her appreciation for his art. They had developped this ritual over the weeks and kept by it word for word each time, it was like a well oiled mechanism, it smoothed his apprehension.
     They called him “Le Souffleur d’âmes” in high society, French sobriquets were en vogue these days. The souffleur, or, as Her Ladyship called him, the soulmaster, had earned his name some time ago. He was a master mechanic, fond of precision and purity, not afraid of spending patience on a particular piece of work. His real talent however only showed when confronted to the tiny and even smaller things which he manipulated with a god-like grace. So naturally soon after his apprenticeship he got into the clockwork trade. And he began to reduce the clockworks, making them fit on the head of a pin; some began to say that he had promised his soul to the very devil in exchange for his skills.
     Luckily for the souffleur the time of burning magicians was past, even if it was only recent past, so he kept a low profile and diversified his trade to all sort of mechanisms; and he continued shrinking his works. He split and split and reduced, he scaled down and minimized, he went beyond the borders of imagination.
     Eventually the soulmaster found that he could manipulate thoughts, they were the tiniest thing he could find; and he could harness their power to his will. His first experiments were crude things, clocks that needed no winding up, powered by the very thoughts of their bearers and suchlike. He was not content, but his inventions had soon made him famous and sought after.
     That was when Her Ladyship started visiting him, it changed his whole life — at least looking back he thought it did. He had started getting more feverish in his research, he would want to have something new to show to her each time she visited. Le souffleur was falling hopelessly in love, and, quite unable to express his feelings, he tried to impress the duchess with his work.
     This day he showed her something new, a breakthrough in his experiments; not only did he use the power of thoughts, he had divised a clever snare to read them too. He opened the little music box, it played a gay tune spirited and uplifting; it played the tune he was humming in his mind.
     This was the work of art he was dreaming of, now he came nearer to what he ached to do.
     Her Ladyship was suitably impressed.