Henry Westcroft/A Year in Copper

The Anchor of Koperdam: Part I

In-universe date: Era Nova, July-August, Year 4

Real-world date: 2026-09-15
Author: Henry Westcroft

The quill feels heavier in my left hand than it used to. Not from tiredness, but from the polished brass housing, copper wires, and small clockwork joints now woven directly into my nervous system.

For nearly an entire year, the inkwell on this desk has sat dry. To the city council and the foremen down at the rail yards, my silence throughout Year 3 was assumed to be simple exhaustion from my work. They saw the mountain of warehouse blueprints and rail schedules and assumed their Chief Artificer was simply buried under the weight of running the Technate while Percival surveyed distant lands.

The reality was far more painful.

Much of last year was spent behind locked doors, going through a transformation and learning to use what it gave me. Following the sudden paralysis of my left arm, I sought out Electrus in his western tower to replace the dead limb. Learning to control my movements again, to draw precise blueprints and write to the public with copper fingers connected directly to my nerves, took months of hard work.

Yet when I finally stepped back out into the light of Clockhaven, I did not meet the horror or pity I had expected. Instead, I met something far more characteristic of Koperdam: absolute awe.

Workmen in the foundries stop to watch the steady clicking of my wrist gears as I inspect their work. Young artificers crowd around the drafting tables, examining the smooth copper joints and the soft hum of gears turning in my elbow.

Letters have already begun piling high on my desk from labourers and citizens asking if they, too, might trade fragile flesh for copper and steel. In a nation built on the constant pursuit of progress, my left arm has unknowingly become a symbol of our industrial future.

Still, as midnight strikes across Clockhaven, the public's fascination does not ease the quiet weight in this room.

I look across at Percival's desk, covered in loose maps and unread letters. Once again, he has departed without an itinerary, without a word of notice, leaving the entire Technate's government resting on my shoulders while he chases whatever distant land has caught his attention.

I do not begrudge him his freedom. His endless curiosity gave Koperdam its soul.

But while Percival charts the unknown, someone must stay behind to keep the city running.

Percival paints the dream of Koperdam on paper whilst I forge its reality.