Rathfield looked down. “What, boy?”
The child shook his head. “I don’t know, but it has to be bad. He said you should bring your guns.”
Chapter Twenty-two
10 May 1767
Prince Haven
Temperance Bay, Mystria
Prince Vlad’s wife found him on the dock down by the wurmrest. He smiled at the softness of her tread and turned slowly to watch her. “Good afternoon.”
“Good evening, you mean.” She returned his smile, then caressed his arm. “You’ve been here for hours. I thought you were going to train Mugwump more but…”
He glanced over at the wurmrest and noticed that the building’s shadow had almost reached him. Has it really been that long? “I was thinking.”
“Apparently.”
Vlad slipped an arm around her waist and pulled Gisella to him. “What we did this morning, and what I did after, it has me thinking so many things. I wanted to fly Mugwump, but then I got to thinking about a way I could direct his flight using what little I’ve learned. And that made me wonder so many other things.”
She smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. “Such as?”
“You brought up the idea that we need to assess how fast magick can travel. If the speed is immediate, this has incredible implications for the future of the world. Imagine that I have a partner in Rivertown, down in Fairlee, and he tells me that the cotton harvest has been fantastic. The abundance means cotton is priced very low. With this knowledge I can solicit sales and contracts here in Temperance Bay, locking in what is, in Temperance Bay, a below-market price, but still considerably above the price in Fairlee. I tell my man in Rivertown how much to buy and to ship. Those waiting for the same information to come by land or ship, or those just waiting on the shipments themselves, will be at a severe disadvantage.”
Gisella laughed. “You are far too kind in your example. Imagine a pirate learns what ship is sailing and what cargo it holds.”
“Well, yes, that, too, would be an example. I got to thinking of how I could work with a series of disks to transmit numbers which would be keyed to coded phrases—much the kind of book cipher I use now—so transmission would be quick. So if magick travels faster than a man on foot, or a ship at sea—and if it is not subject to weather delays it would not have to be that much faster—it is incredibly useful. And this got me thinking about whether or not there are ways to speed it or disrupt it.”
“Disrupt, how?”
He pointed toward the river. “Few people see the river for what it really is: a lot of energy. Could it be that the river itself has a presence not only in the natural world, but that it casts a shadow into the supernatural world? Might a message designed to flow along with the river travel faster than one going against it?”
Her brow wrinkled. “That is a good question.”
“And there is another. In Norisle, and even here, there are places that people believe are sacred sites. Men who have studied them claim they are linked by straight lines that intersect at precise angles. Could it be that magick sent along those lines will travel faster? If so, it could be that a trading post built on one of those intersections could be more valuable than one built at the convergence of several rivers? Economic information that allows a downriver merchant to get a good price on furs would be more valuable than the furs themselves.”
Gisella nodded and slipped from beneath his arm. “You avoid the obvious discussion. Is it to save me heartache?”
“The obvious, darling?”
She stared at him for a moment, then smiled. “From any other man, that would not have been an honest question. Husband, if magick can convey messages faster than a man can travel on foot, if it travels in a direct line, ignoring mountains and rivers, then it has most direct and terrible applications in war.”
Vlad shivered, then pulled one of the wooden disks from his pocket, tracing a thumbnail over the design burned into it. “As I visualized the code wheel, I had seen it built into a desk, where the operator would have room to write out incoming messages. I had done that, I think, to make it seem impractical in the field. And it might yet be. It could be that it would take someone well-versed in magick, someone who would be invaluable on the line, able to fire many shots before tiring, to run it. The demands, therefore, might make it completely impractical for any tactical consideration. But strategically you would be right. A field device would need be no larger than this disk.”
High above them a hawk glided lazily through the sky. “You avoid the other obvious implication, Vlad.”
“That the Church already has discovered what I know, and that they have put it in place?” He shook his head. “Circumstance argues against its deployment. As you have noted, it would confer an incredible advantage in war, so would have been used against the Tharyngians. There seems no evidence of its use in the last war, or by agents of the Crown in communicating with Launston. While we have to assume that the Church has figured out at least as much as I have, it would not seem that they have the personnel capable of using it, nor have made the decision to use it so far.”
“And if you are wrong?”
“There is the question, isn’t it?” He clasped his hands at the small of his back. “Every advancement can be seen as a boon or a curse. Steel, when used as a plowshare, makes it easier for a farmer to till more acreage and raise more food. That same steel, shaped into a sword, makes it easier for someone else to take that food away from him. Faster communications might have let us know of the damage done to settlements near the earthquake faster, so we could send relief. By the same token, faster communications will allow those who possess it to cheat those who don’t. It might even allow people in charge of armed forces to stifle the freedoms of others—perhaps just as easily as it would let news of their excesses spread far and wide.”
Vlad brought his hands forward and stared at them. “The Crown already controls the supply of firestones and brimstone in the colonies. It is not hard to imagine that both will become scarce if the Crown feels there is any real chance of insurrection. If the Control Acts are actually put into place, they could add a provision to heavily tax any use of a thaumagraph.”
“Thaumagraph?”
“From the Achean—it means miracle writing. I made it up to name my device.”
Gisella laughed gaily and closed to kiss him on the cheek. “You are the most amazing man, Vladimir. You shoulder grave weight, and yet address tiny details with whimsy and perfection.”
He laughed, embarrassed and proud at the same time. “Giving it a name makes it real—and yet we don’t even know if it will be practical. The experiment I did earlier proved I could make the thing work. In fact, I was thinking that I could rig us a series of disks, suspending them from strings, and attach bells to them that would ring with different notes. By touching disks, or even keys similar to those on a pianoforte, I could easily communicate a message to anyone who was not tone deaf.”
“As well as play music.”
“Yes, that, too, provided the magick was not exhausting.” Vlad sighed. “I was also thinking that a similar system could communicate simple commands to Mugwump in flight, obviating the need for reins and bridle. Of course, that assumes that the magick he’s using in flight will not interfere. Just so many things, Gisella.”
She took his hands in hers. “There are many things, yes, my love. You will attend to them, but first you shall come inside and join your family for supper. Your son had an exciting day. He caught a grasshopper. He wishes to show it to you.”
Vlad arched an eyebrow. “He let it loose in the house, didn’t he?”
“We believe so, yes.”
Vlad squeezed his wife’s hands. “Lead on, my darling, and thank you for saving me from myself.”
Prince Vlad forced himself to pay attention over dinner, and then participated in the great, though fruitless, grasshopper hunt. Catherine and Miranda had kept Gisella company while father and son searched the house high and low for
the grasshopper.
Richard had not yet grown out of that awkward phase where, from time to time, gravity got the best of him. The boy would bend over to peer under couches and hutches, rolling through somersaults. The results always seemed to surprise him but, being a happy child, they prompted giggles instead of tears.
Vlad, of course, had no real recollection of being that age though both his parents had told him he was precocious and always interested in the natural world. He supposed he’d gotten that interest from his mother, who had taken immediately to studying Mystrian flora. Some of his earliest memories were of accompanying her into the woods, looking for flowers and studying their life cycles. He couldn’t help but notice the fauna as well and, with her encouragement, took to studying the natural world with the same concentration his father devoted to Scriptures.
Gisella appeared in the parlor’s doorway. “It’s time you put your son to bed.”
Without giving it a second thought, Vlad scooped the boy into his arms, bid Catherine a good evening and carried Richard to his room. He let Madeline dress the boy for bed, but dismissed her and sat beside Richard’s bed.
The boy smiled at him. “We find it tomorrow, Daddy.”
Vlad nodded and brushed hair from the boy’s forehead. He found it curious that he never recalled his father showing him even the least little bit of physical affection. The man must have done, but all of Vlad’s memories were of his father being stiff and distant. His father existed in a different realm, a spiritual one, where he sought to distance himself from physical reality because those realities interfered with his ability to effectively worship God. Had the Good Book not called for men to be fruitful and multiply, Vlad doubted he would ever have been born.
He bent down and softly kissed his son’s forehead. “We will. I may even have a little cage in which we can make it a home.”
“No cage, Daddy.” Richard’s face scrunched down seriously. “He wants to be free.”
“Does he?”
“Yes.” The boy nodded solemnly. “He and Mugwump will be friends.”
“I think that is a splendid idea.” The Prince gave the boy’s hand a squeeze. “Now, you get to sleep. We have to hunt tomorrow.”
The boy smiled and closed his eyes, squirming to get comfortable.
Vlad pulled a light blanket over him and sat, watching, listening to the boy’s breathing become regular as the shadows deepened in his room. It occurred to him, as he sat there, that both of his parents had spent their lives working to define the world. His father did it through reading Scripture and philosophers and doing his best to make God’s message understandable to all. And his mother had done the same thing with plants, bringing together as much knowledge as she could about each, so people could employ them in ways that would make life better. Even he had done similar things with his missions to explore Mystria and the way he catalogued the creatures.
But that carefree phase of his life had begun to change. He couldn’t quite put a finger on when it had, though the battle at Anvil Lake was one likely candidate, and certainly Mugwump’s emerging from his chrysalis was another. With both events he had moved out of the traditional realm of things that were known, into a new arena. His magickal discoveries were pushing him yet further into territories either unexplored, or jealously guarded by a tiny group of people that virtually no one outside their number even guessed they existed.
Or were allowed to live with the knowledge.
Just for a moment he considered abandoning his studies. Yes, he’d always wonder what he could have learned, what he could have created, but he could console himself with the belief that all of his experimentation would come to naught. After all, magick might have a very short range. His greatest discovery might be to create a magickal pianoforte that was notable for the fact that it exhausted the musician playing it before a single song was complete. To give up on his Mystrian thaumaturgy now meant he might never open a carefully guarded, secret door that could not be closed again.
If he did open that door, his would be the responsibility for everything that came through it. And the forces that will be arrayed against me will be very powerful, indeed.
He looked at his son again. It had been noted that when the discovery of brimstone fostered a need for cursed individuals to wield magick in combat, that after a generation or so, royal families through Auropa manifested the ability to use magick. It had been speculated that perhaps noble families had always had that ability, but had kept it hidden. Vlad, as he looked at his son, wondered if there might be another explanation—that it had taken a long time for noble families to produce magick-users of significant strength. It could be that with each new generation, the children were getting stronger. And if that were true, then while Vlad’s magickal pianoforte might exhaust him, it might provide his son the ability to entertain others for an evening or more.
He harkened back to his wife’s earlier comments and smiled as she appeared in the doorway. He got up, pressing a finger to his lips, and slipped from the room. “I think he’ll be down for the night.”
“And so up very early.” She brushed a finger over his cheek. “And you’ll likely be the night in your laboratory.”
Vlad frowned. “I do recognize what you did in asking me to put Richard to bed. You wanted to remind me of my obligations to my family, and to remind me that I’m not my father. I cannot thank you enough. And, yes, I desperately want to be in my laboratory, working on the thaumagraph, but I won’t. Not tonight.”
“Vlad, this is very important work.”
“It is important, yes, but not nearly as important as you are.” He caught her hand in his and kissed her palm. “What happens here, in Mystria, in my laboratory, will shape the future for our children. It will shape it for all children. So, I ask you, my love, what think you of our trying for another child? Another child for whom and with whom, we can build that future?”
She reached up and drew his mouth down to hers. They kissed, his arms slipping around her, her body molding itself to his. Then she broke their embrace and took his hand, leading him deeper into their home, up to their bedroom, and into their future.
Chapter Twenty-three
10 May 1767
Happy Valley
Postsylvania, Mystria
They exited the workshop and ran toward the west end of the settlement, past the fortress. A small group of people had gathered there and two men were dragging a cart over. The Steward knelt beside what appeared to be a bundle of bloody rags. As Nathaniel drew close, people moved back, revealing a second body, an adult, laying beside the child next to Ezekiel Fire.
The Steward rubbed his hands together, then laid them on the child’s form. “Our Father, Almightly and Powerful in Heaven. As You look over us and guide us, please work through me to bring Your special blessing, a healing blessing, to this child, Becca Green. In Your wisdom You know she is an innocent. Thy will be done.”
Fire hunched forward, firmly pressing his hands to the child’s body. It looked, just for a moment, as if his hands glowed the color of blood. It didn’t appear to be a trick of the light, but Nathaniel had never seen anything like it before. Then the girl gasped and struggled, kicking out. Though she couldn’t have been any older than eight, and still appeared weak, one kick caught Fire in the ribs and knocked him down. He sagged as if he’d caught a rifle-butt to the head and lay very still on the ground.
And his hands had taken on the deep purple of bruising that came from powerful magick use.
One of the women gathered the girl into her arms and carried her to the cart. A couple others saw to the Steward. Nathaniel approached the other body and dropped to one knee beside it. Kamiskwa faced him on the other side, and Rathfield stood at the woman’s head, staring down with his hands crossed over his chest.
Nathaniel knew the body was that of a woman more by her clothes than anything else. Homespun and grey, similar to those worn by the women of Happy Valley, they’d been shredded. Brush and brambles had don
e their work on the skirts, but the bodice had been rent by something nastier. A trio of claws had opened the woman from shoulder blade to buttocks, right to left, and again on her right flank.
Nathaniel shook his head. “Cain’t say I find anything familiar about them claw marks.”
Rathfield pointed. “Surely she must have been attacked by a jeopard.”
Kamiskwa laid a hand on Nathaniel’s arm. “Colonel, a jeopard has four claws. They use them to hold prey, not to slash them open. Once the prey is down, then they bite, very specifically and very precisely. This woman, had a jeopard taken her down, never would have gotten up again.”
Nathaniel teased aside a bit of grey cloth. “And if you see here, she done used her underskirts to be binding up her wounds. I reckon she did the same for her child. Iffen jeopards was attacking her, they’da smelt her off miles. Wounds weren’t deep enough to kill her, but exhaustion of hauling her child here was. How far is Piety? What direction?”
The people of Happy Valley looked at each other, but said nothing.
Then Rufus Branch shouldered his way through the small crowd. It might have been a trick of the light, but he’d grayed at the temples and his usually florid face had taken on a hint of grey, especially under his eyes. He pointed toward the northwest “Three days off. This time of year reckon on the bright star in the Big Dipper’s handle.”
Nathaniel stood, running a hand over his jaw. “Three days tore up like that? She had a lot of sand, that woman.”
Rufus shook his head. “She had faith, Nathaniel. She believed in the Lord. She probably said a prayer with every step. That’s how she got here.”
Owen walked over to Nathaniel. “The little girl is terrified. It’s all a nightmare. She said demons attacked Piety. They came at night, blotting out the stars. They flew down and slaughtered everyone. Her mother forced her to run. She doesn’t think anyone else survived. Makepeace is going to talk with her, see if she remembers any details of the trip, but he doesn’t think backtracking them would be difficult.”