Taxes in the Factory were paid very rarely – each thirty years. But the price was high: living children, one per each district. Or several ones, in the case of the Axe clan.

The inhabitants of this mechanical dimension all looked like different weapons and tools known both on Earth and in the closest to the Factory Mushroom Kingdom. But even despite being mechanical and having oil instead of blood, they had their own souls, and knew what's a joy and what's a woe as well as people in another worlds did. And after King Smithy came to authority, the woe became even more familiar to them. At first, no one knew what he meant by refusing to accept coins as tax payment… but when they understood, it was too late.

Only the king decided which day the next tax day falls on. The closer it was the more sorrowful cries were heard around, because the royal guards took children away no matter how old they were. In fact, the younger they were the better it was for Smithy. He wanted his new soldiers to be brought up in his palace since the very beginning, forget all things they were taught before, and learn the one and only code to live by – "OBEY OR GET MELTED". And the Factory people had no choice. The ones who dared to question these cruel laws disappeared ages ago – someone remembered those rebels being taken behind the palace, where Smithy kept several huge furnaces.

"Toing – Toing – Toing – Toing– Toing…"

Yarid couldn't help laughing, watching his little son play with his bright orange fringe. Probably that is why these fringes (looking more like ponytails or big paintbrushes, to be precise) were mounted on almost every Yari Spear's head next to the blade: if the blade meant strength and in fact could serve for fighting and self-defense, the fringe meant softness. No Spear was ever ashamed of it: they were taught to treat both qualities with equal respect.

"Right! Right, catch it, sonny! Catch!"- Yarid jokingly shook his head from side to side, but the baby Spear boy finally managed to grab tightly onto his bangs. - "Haha, okay, okay, enough. You got me, Junior".

"Let go of dad". – This silvery voice belonged to Javelena, Yarid's wife. – "With a grip like this, we're never going to get to the Master Alebardo. And you don't want to miss your Vesting Day, do you?"

"I've almost forgot…" – Yarid nodded and chuckled in embarrassment. - "Right. Today's the day. Come on, Junior, let go of me already. We'll be back soon. Mom already told Aunt Spearanza to look after you."

It was good that Javelena, even after being married, didn't move too far from her sister. Spearanza lived in a house right across the street, and in fact was often a great help after Junior was fully built. Today the Spear couple simply couldn't go without her.

But Junior, even sitting now in her arms, still didn't want to let go of his father. He held onto an edge of Yarid's cloak (luckily, not that tightly) and looked like he was about to cry.

"It won't take long", promised Yarid. "Look."

He closed his eyes with a hand. The same did Junior, letting go of the cloak.

"That's it. We'll be back when you wake up and open your eyes".

Yarid gently stroked his son's tiny red bangs. Junior only sighed – hard to tell, sadly or with relief, - drifting off to sleep.

No one in the entire Factory could make such magic, everlasting cloaks and gloves for the Spears, and capes for the Halberds and Knife Imps, like the old Alebardo – the honorable master from the Halberd clan. He'd already seen many generations of Spears coming to order a pair of gloves and a cloak for their child from him. And for every family, it wasn't just a daily deed, but rather a ceremony. Because with the clothes, the little Spear was also given a name. One for ever.

All the way to him, Yarid and Javelena tried to create the most beautiful name for their son – no wonders why: they've been calling him simply "Junior" for ages. But even among the most beautiful names they remembered, none seemed to suit enough…

"If it isn't Yari Spears, the talk of the entire neighborhood! Congratulations", smiled Alebardo, as they showed up at his door. "Well? Already found a name worth your son?"

"Not yet, Master", replied Javelena. "Will you let us think till tomorrow?"

"Just choose wisely", agreed Alebardo. "Remind me… eeer…. what color is his fringe?.."

"Red".

"So I remembered right". The old Halberd browsed through the shelves, found the right basket and handed it to Javelena. "Here. Best of luck both to you and the little one".

"We're gonna need it, Master", nodded Yarid. "We better hurry back home before they start patrolling..."

"Be careful", whispered Alebardo. "I heard someone say some Pounders are in the Dagger Alley now. Don't take that shortcut. Take care…"

…It's simply amazing how lightly can step an almost full metal creature when needed.

Both Spears, Javelena and her husband, now seemed to glide down the deserted streets like two shadows, and were praying to the Foremother Anvil to help them avoid the Pounders. Who knows how would these royal guards punish them for being outside at patrol time.

"They're coming!.. They're coming!.. Hide everyone! Quick!.. They're here! They're here!.."

Yarid winced, hearing a sudden shriek, and saw a little straggler Knife Imp running right at them. Before the Spear could say something, the Imp quickly dived into the basement window of a nearby house and disappeared.

And a moment after that, four giant Hammers blocked the way, angrily staring at them. Unlikely their smaller relatives, these Hammers had arms – a sign everyone recognised Smithy's elite guards by.

"Don't move", Yarid whispered, covering Javelena. "Whatever they try, don't move."

"Outside – at patrol – time", slowly said the Pounder who stood closest to them – obviously, the guard leader. "Forty – silver – coins".

Not saying a word, Yarid untied the purse from his belt and threw it to the guard.

"From each one!" – added another Pounder, after the leader counted the coins.

"That's all we've got", answered Javelena. "Spare us…"

"Spare – you?"

For a second, something like sympathy – or so it seemed to the Spears? – sparked in the Pounder's eyes. But only for a second, because his gang burst into laugh, and he joined them.

"Spare – you?", repeated the guard. "You must be either downright stupid or just bold! No one remains unpunished, says the Lord Smithy's law! Wait… and what's this?.." – He grabbed the basket right from Javelena's hands.

"Please, don't!.."

"Double luck, guys!", exclaimed the guard leader, poking through the basket content. "Just like I thought. A glove… another glove… and a cloak… Ain't these things for their baby?"

"We haven't…" – started Javelena, but stumbled as she met the cold stare of the guard, "…haven't even got a name for him yet, sir… Spare at least him… if you can…"

"So be it!", barked the Pounder, then turned to his gang, whispering something to them. Several minutes later, he finally declared:

"…All right. In the name of the Lord Smithy, we give you time to name your brat. Till tomorrow!"

Both Spears caught their breath.

"Listen up now", continued the guard leader, grabbing Yarid by the neck. "Tomorrow's the tax day . You and your wife will bring him to Lord Smithy's palace. And don't even dare trying anything. We'll follow you all the way to your home. Be thankful to His Majesty that your offspring will stay alive and serve to him, you rusty scrap!"

With the last word, he smashed the Spear to the ground.

All four Pounders watched Javelena trying to help her husband to get up. All four bluntly stared at the dark stains on the collar of Yarid's cloak, as the oil dripped from his bushy moustache.

"Now move!", ordered the leader.

"Royal guards, yes?", Spearanza whispered in awe, as the Yari Spear couple returned home. She guessed what happened to them at the very moment she saw them from the window.

"We have time till tomorrow", finally said Yarid. "Till… tomorrow… they said."

The Pounder's heavy blow apparently broke something in his chest. He could barely talk, screeching and coughing with oil nearly all time – much less now though, thanks to Javelena's bandages and Spearanza's stashed bottle of coagulating potion. That was all they could do: with guards behind the door, it was no use to even try to find a medic. Yarid knew he probably won't last till the morning, but still tried to keep his old brave look.

"Come on… stop nagging me already!" – He waved a hand at both women and even tried to laugh, but instead, unleashed an awful screech. – "Where's Junior? Is he okay?"

"He was sleeping all day long after you left", smiled Spearanza.

"Bring him to me".

Junior woke up from his father's voice:

"See?.. I kept my promise. We're back…"

Still not opening his eyes, the little Spear hugged his father by the neck, but instead of the familiar metal, he felt the bandages. At first, Junior squeaked in fear, but calmed down as he looked up and saw the same kind amber eyes he got used to.

"How stupid I've been, sonny", whispered Yarid. "Hold me now, please. Hold and don't let go".

The more time passed, the weaker he felt. Now the wounded Spear regretted only about one thing: the name for Junior they still haven't found. Still… haven't found. They need more time. And it's hard, especially when only Junior himself, his arms that still hug Yarid's neck, are like a weak bridge holding him between here and nowhere…

The bridge… The bond. That's it. He'll pass Junior his own name – in a way his own far ancestors did. This way was almost forgotten in the Factory now. But this will be a bond even Smithy won't break.

He stretched out a hand and took Junior's blueprints from a nearby shelf.

"You've found it?", exclaimed Spearanza and Javelena at once.

Yarid nodded. He already had no strength to talk, but enough to write in the corner of the blueprints, where was an empty space for the child's name, the only word:

„Y A R I D O V I C H"

Along with several other parents from different ends of the Factory, Javelena was standing in the throne hall of Smithy's palace.

She still couldn't recover from what happened a few hours earlier, when the Pounders appeared again. Spearanza was ordered to return to her home and don't look back. Then two of the guards carried Yarid's body away; Javelena asked them at least to wrap him with the cloak, but remained unheard. She couldn't believe that what was a living amber-eyed Spear, her love and defender, just a while ago, now lifelessly hangs over the Pounder's shoulder.

Another two guards waited for her to get ready to go to the castle.

The little Yaridovich didn't cry all this time; he only blinked, embarrassed by what was going on, and not understanding a thing. He remembered father's eyes closing more and more, until they didn't open at all and two huge Hammers carried dad away. Now Yaridovich himself was carried by his mom somewhere, two more Pounders guarding them.

"And this is a destiny I wished you to have?", thought Javelena on the way to the castle. "Forgive me, Yari mine. Forgive…"

She kept repeating that to herself now, looking around the hall. The throne was empty; only Mad Gaphone, the royal herald, was present, and two Pounders stood near each of the prisoners.

A sudden loud child's cry broke Javelena's thoughts. She quickly glanced at Yaridovich, but he was quiet. Instead, it was a baby Bow sitting in his father's (or grandfather's? – it wasn't easy to tell) arms. Javelena stretched out a hand, wanting to stroke the little Bow's red hair and calm him down – only to be tugged back by a guard.

"HIIIIS – MAJESTYYYY – KIIIIING – SMIIIITHYYYY!"

All the Pounders winced at once, hearing Mad Gaphone's roar, and saluted to the mechanical King who entered the hall.

"My kind people!", started Smithy. The way he pronounced "kind" reminded something between a crow's caw and a bark. That alone always made people suspect something way more hideous was behind his elderly-looking, white-bearded face, but no one dared to even think of checking it.

"My kind people!..", repeated Smithy. "I, your leader, am thankful to all of you for your gifts. No threats will ever destroy our Factory with defenders like these. I promise to rise them the best way possible!"

The prisoners looked at him in disbelief. Thankful? Defenders? If by "defenders" he meant these giant Hammers that already had destroyed so many families and will destroy even more, he must be out of his mind…

"Come closer, kind woman". – Smithy nodded at Javelena. – "Don't be afraid."

The Spear widow indecisively stepped out of the crowd. She could feel the little Yaridovich starting to tremble under the heavy stare of the king's dark red eyes. The stare was so heavy that for a moment, without knowing, Javelena herself loosened her grip on the child. This was enough for Smithy to take the little Spear out of her arms and stand him by the throne.

Yaridovich, still trembling in fear, stepped towards his mother. Suddenly, he felt a heavy hand laid onto his head.

"No", said Smithy. "Once a royal soldier, always a royal soldier. No way back." – He looked at Javelena once again. – "See? That's the highest sign of grace a king can offer. Are you going to thank me?"

Only now Javelena finally understood what happened. Her Yaridovich was to remain here for the rest of his life – and, what's the worst of all, to grow into same monstrosity as the Pounders. Same destiny waited for the other children. And there was nothing she could do about it.

Nothing. But…

"Lord Smithy", she said. "I… I have a last wish."

The king raised an eyebrow in thought, then nodded. He knew some Yari Spears are able to kill for their children if needed, but this one didn't seem dangerous. If she didn't thrust at him after he took her son, she won't do it now either.

Javelena knelt to her son and closed her eyes with hands – just like her husband played with him before.

The little Yaridovich did the same.

"Whatever will happen after you open your eyes, don't be afraid, sonny", he heard. "One day you'll wake up. You will. And we'll return to you. Don't be afraid!.."

"What in the world is she mumbling about?..", whispered someone of the guards.

Javelena stood back up and looked straight into Smithy's eyes. Now the king himself winced under her stare – so sharp, sharper than any blade, it was.

"Yaridovich, son of Yarid", said the Spear widow, "may serve you. But he never will belong to you, Smithy".

"Wh… whaaaat?..", creaked the king, who didn't expect such nerve.

"You heard me. You don't know what you're up for, and never will".

"G…get her… out of my sight!.. Guards!.."

Gasping in anger, Lord Smithy gave a quick sign to the Pounders...

The little Spear boy still didn't open his eyes. He didn't see the other children being taken away and, one by one, joining him. Yaridovich couldn't, didn't want to believe he will see the bearded giant with copper fists again when he takes his hands off his face.

Smithy was kind enough to allow only one thing. His palace had thick walls, and the little prisoners couldn't hear what was going on outside. Neither the sound of the Pounders pounding. Nor the screams of their victim. Nor the roar of the furnace.