“The Clockwork Heretic's Gambit”
The alchemist's fingers trembled as the orrery gears ground to a halt—wrong again. “Your calculations are off by 0.003 degrees, Brother Eliasz,” sneered the Archbishop's automaton, its voice like grinding cathedral pipes. Outside, the copper-plated spires of Neo-Lutetia hummed with forbidden electricity. I wiped quicksilver from my brow. “Bullshit. Your Ptolemaic models are obsolete.” The stained glass windows rattled as the celestial engines misfired. Somewhere below, the peasant riots began. The automaton's censer swung ominously. “Heresy has a price.” Damn right. I yanked the hidden lever. Let them choke on Kepler's truth for once.