Golden Void, page 9
part #3 of Black Blade Series
Another fleck of rain in my eye.
“C’mon, Tyson.” I call out to him, not knowing if he’ll respond or get angry with me for trying to tell him what to do, “we don’t want to be late.”
Kendrick’s standing by the trunk of a swollen oak tree, rattling branches and bloated knots weaving patterns in the wood. The tree, I mean, not her.
“You’re taking to this,” she says, low enough so that Tyson and Castor probably can’t hear from their side of the stable, “not sure if I should be impressed.”
“Trying not to think about things,” I tell her, squinting down the forest path, “I mean, we have to do this, right?”
“You don’t,” Kendrick says, fishing for something in her bag, “but you’re here anyway,” she shakes her head as she pulls a bottle clear and tips it into her open mouth.
“I…” she lowers her eyes from the bottle to me. “I came because I didn’t want you to get hurt. That’s all.”
She smiles, tilts her head, and the bottle goes back in the bag.
“Some people might call that brave,” Kendrick says, “I know better,” she points her head down the path as Tyson crushes the leaves behind me underfoot, “let’s go.”
“Talking shop?” Tysons asks, sword bouncing on his shoulder.
“Basically,” I tell him, as I follow the path between the trees, “look out for roots.”
“Do w-we know what route we’re taking?” Castor asks. My eyes are following Kendrick, trying my best to listen for his footsteps.
“Nope,” I tell him over my shoulder, “probably magic.”
Him asking that is fair, though. Maybe hanging out with Kendrick for so long I’m picking up the bad wizard habit of never explaining anything. “I’m not even sure where we’re going.”
“Oh, well that I can answer,” Castor says and his voice echoes against the squat, swaying trees, “the Quest’s alignment, while n-not unprecedented, is both sudden and exceedingly rare. It w-was quite a feat to divine, but…”
“Nerd alert!” Tyson shouts over him, his echo trampling the others. Ahead, the trees widen. Something tall and red looms above us in the clearing ahead. “Sick, what’s that?”
“Dunno,” I tell him, “probably how we get to wherever we’re going.”
“I can s-speculate on that,” Castor says to me as Tyson runs ahead, “my f-field, or close to it at least.”
“Oh, okay.” Most of my brain’s telling me there’s not much point in guessing when someone will probably brag to us about it anyway, but, yeah, looking at his wonky glasses and the sweat dripping down his brow, I kinda feel sorry for him, after all, I’ve been there. Feeling useful should raise his spirits. “Is it very complicated? You said you divined it, right, are you a fortune-teller?”
“Well…” Castor scoffs as he rubs his chin, “fortune-telling, as you call it, is reductive and simplistic, but as you’re something of an outsider,” he glances down at me, then ahead through the trees, “the theory that celestial bodies affect what happens on earth is one that dates back to antiquity. The reality, of course, is almost the opposite, and grand spiritual events on earth are reflected in the heavens. I once had astromancy explained to me as being something like a track, examining broken twigs and trampled leaves, or rather, their analog in the heavens, as a path to discover events on earth that, though grand, are hidden.”
“Oh, cool, so that’s what you do?” I ask him as we catch up with Tyson and Kendrick, craning my neck up at the web of light that shines down on us through the treetops. How long can I stave off his stutter?
“It’s really more of a hobby,” Castor says, patting some imaginary dirt off his jacket, “and many formulae I devised personally to cut away the weeds of pointless calculations and long nights in freezing observatories. No, my actual trade is spatial engineering, my family,” his nose wrinkles at the word, “we were once employed almost exclusively by the Reinhardt family.”
“Oh, so you’re a magic mason?” I ask him, “I thought that was, like, shooting tiles up onto roofs and stuff, I saw them do that, actually,” I tell him, “right before we got Excalibur. I saw them blast walls up out of nothing, fix holes in walls just by looking at them, stuff like that?”
“No, no,” says Castor as he shakes his head, “a different discipline, no less necessary, but less…refined. Not dissimilar from pyromancy in its own way, but much newer, more useful, too. Really a form of evocation, but the Guilds insist on making it a protected classification to make use of this and that loophole expediting many apprentices as quickly as they can, but as long as their monopolies are dependent on their ability to sell quickly erected real-estate, well…”
What started as a sigh transforms into a wheeze for breath.
I have to try not to laugh. Something tells me doesn’t get to talk to a lot of people.
The second of quiet gives me a chance to look up at the archway of red wood, nestling in the column of sunlight between the trees. Too bright to be natural, unless there are magic trees I don’t know about. Can’t rule it out.
I know I’ve seen one of these before, too. Something about the curve in the top log.
“So…do you know what this?” I ask Castor, watching Kendrick stalk up to the base one of the columns and sneer at it like she’s wondering if kicking it would break it and whether or not she wants to.
“W-well,” he glances over at Tyson, sitting on the carpet of leaves and looking at his watch, “I’m a conjurer. It's a staple of the Campbell family, as I said, I work with spaces, and as a mason, I’m often contracted to erect impossible spaces, Folded or otherwise, for others to build in. If I were to hazard an educated guess, I’d say this archway is some sort of…shortcut.”
“Oh, you’re one of those guys,” I snap my fingers as he arches his eyebrow, “it was the first really weird thing I saw when we got here, after the ghost,” I tell him, “first we were just hanging out on a London street, we just spent the night in this weird…I dunno, club, and then we just walk out, and it feels like going over a speed bump, and then bam! We’re just kinda somewhere else.”
“Oh, so you have experience.” Castor smiles, “of course, most urban areas are very heavily Folded, especially places like London that have been home to humans for millennia, I’ve heard that it’s only rival in labyrinthine warping and spatial contortion is Rome.”
“So you make those?” I ask him, scanning the forest floor for somewhere to sit while we wait.
“That’s how I’m trained,” Castor sighs, “but it’s been a long time since I’ve had a contract. There's very little market for an independent artisan like me in this economy. Guilds are expanding, individual collections are eroding, It’s…overwhelming, but I should be glad, without all that free time, I’d never have had the opportunity to discover what I needed to collaborate with Marion Reinhardt. If the family’s fortunes are restored, then perhaps there’s more work in my future.”
“Oh,” I’ve never been good at reacting to sad stories, not that his sounds super bad, just lame, “I just meant to ask, y’know, what powers do you have?”
“Oh!” Castor's lips turn up a little, “I see,” he straightens his tie, “conjuration’s not much of a deterrent in violent situations, I’m afraid, especially not at my level. But I think a demonstration should be simple enough.”
I Can’t help it, I take a step back as he raises his hand.
“Is it, like, dangerous?”
“No, no, far from it,” Castor’s hand runs along his green waistcoat, just about his great pocket, and then it just…goes in. “Conjuration, modern conjuration, is the art of empty spaces. See?”
He withdraws his hand, and now there’s a silver pocket watch in it.
“Woah!” My hand jumps up to point at him, “you’re magic!”
“Not especially,” he sighs, “but a conjuror’s apprenticeship begins by cultivating a Fold inside themselves called the Conjuror’s Chamber. You start out with something like an extra pocket, and as you advance, the space inside grows bigger and bigger, and we learn how to put more things inside, of course.”
“So you don’t need luggage,” I ask him, leaning in as he puts his watch back…wherever it came from, “or backpacks?”
“Correct,” he pats his chest, “if you have anything you’d rather not carry, I’m happy to carry it, things inside the Chamber have no weight and are perfectly preserved.”
“Like a fridge!” I shout at him, “so you could just buy a box of doughnuts and keep them fresh forever?”
“In theory,” he almost laughs, “it’s nice to meet someone who’s impressed.”
“Wait,” I look over at Kendrick, “is that how the bag works?” She looks over at me but doesn’t say anything.
“It’s not uncommon for objects to have Folds inside them,” Castor says, lowering his voice and looking away, “although I think she might object to an inspection.”
“Is everyone ready?” Kamala’s voice rings out across the clearing, Marion stalking along behind her, one hand on the headrest of her chair.
“More than,” Kendrick snarls with what sounds like more than annoyance as she gets to her feet, “let’s go.”
“So we got a plan?” Tyson rolls onto his back, then flips onto his feet. I always wanted to do that, maybe he’ll teach me. “Marching order? We just drop in, take out the bad guys?”
“We’re trying to stay under the radar, ken?” Kendrick asks, still scowling up at the arch, “the less fighting the better, then we can get all this crap over with.”
“Ah, come on,” Tyson pouts as Kamala approaches, a bundle of what looks like big fat knotted rope in her lap, “we’re not gonna bust some head? What kinda quest is that?”
“The Quest is illegal.” Marion says, hovering, “it’s rightly considered a pagan, dangerous pursuit. We will be opposed, the fewer opponents we face the better. I may tire of dispatching them if you insist on acting indiscreetly.”
“Oh,” Tyson nods, “cool. It’s all good, stealth, sneaking mission, got it.”
“Could you?” Kamala holds out the big rope, and Marion takes it in his hand, winding it through little loops that hang from the top, walking the length of the opening until the rope, and little tags that hang from it are dangling in the wind.
Sorta looks like he’s putting up Christmas lights, and now I have to hold back a laugh as I imagine Marion in a big festive sweater.
“How does this work?” Kendrick says as she leans her head in between the pillars.
“Just go,” Kamala shrugs, “keep walking, and if it works you’ll get where you need to be.”
“And if it doesn’t?” Kendrick asks, crossing her arms, probably more annoyed at the idea of walking all the way than whatever type of magic this is.
“There are many Folded paths across the country,” Marion says, pacing in a short circle, “but they’re watched, well-traveled or unsafe. Creating a new one is our only option.”
“A n-new one?” Castor asks, reaching up to touch the big rope. Looks important. “That could take m-months, years, even. Tyson doesn’t have that long, I d-doubt any one of us would have so long if we were to t-t-take up the q-quest after Tyson-“
“We’re not making a new one,” Kamala sighs, “don’t worry about that, Mr. Campbell, this,” she pats the red wood, “it’s a little different from Guild work, in fact, you might say it has a life of its own. All I’ve done is lift it from elsewhere and made sure it’s taken root in new soil, as long as the pathway continues in the right direction and emerges where it should, you’ll be Questing in no time.”
Castor glances back and forth like he’s thinking about arguing. This really doesn’t seem like what he had in mind, but I don’t think we have an option.
“I’m ready!” I shout out, just to break up the silence. “How does this work, is it like a stargate thing, we say some magic words and it like, explodes and then there’s a big portal and we jump in?”
“We walk,” Marion says, “nothing more.”
“If it’s all working right,” Kamala says, “and there’s no reason to think it won’t, you just keep going until you’re out of the trees, a few hours, at most, and don’t worry about getting lost, either, the spirits inside should keep the path nice and tidy,” she giggles a little bit, “should be interesting to see how well they do in this climate, not too different from what they’re used to, but anyway,” she sucks in a big lungful of air, “this is goodbye, last chance to check your equipment.”
Kendrick’s hands wander through her bag. Tyson cracks his neck, and Castor’s hand runs through the pockets of his jacket.
What do I need?
My hands find the rough shape in my big boy pants where the Spark is. I can feel the crunch of crumpled up paper, too.
I’d never try to take something precious like an old book with me, and I’d never rip out the pages, either, but I did have some spare parchment to make notes, even if they look dumb with a boring old biro on coffee-colored parchment.
“I’m good,” I tell them all. “Anyone else?”
The clearing’s quiet, just the leaves rustling and those far away birds.
“More walking,” Kendrick sighs, “the sooner we start, the sooner we’re done.”
“Good to go,” Tyson says.
“We’re decided,” Marion bows his head, breaking away from Kamala to the empty space under the arch. I think I saw his massive, hairy hand unfold from hers for a moment before it slipped back under his cloak.
“Marching order?” I ask, “like, should we-“
I stop talking as soon as Marion strides ahead. Kendrick follows, and Tyson heads after her.
Castor and I form the back of the line, and I look back over my shoulder at Kamala. Who knows how long she’ll be all alone. Maybe a few days? A week?
And what if we don’t come back?
The idea feels fake. I mean, we’ve got Marion and Kendrick. I don’t really know about Castor, but Tyson seems tough enough. There again, I don’t know what we’re up against.
Golden Mane
Agatha
Proper tidy. Finally.
Not the sort of way you’d feel about writing poetry or painting a landscape, is it?
I can’t help but fold my arms, looking down the hall.
Carpet clear, every table dusted, every mirror polished. Portraits are still out getting restored, and we’re getting new wallpaper next week.
You’d think with all this money Lord Marten’s supposed to be making on his new glamours they’d think to hire on a few more hands.
Not that I don’t enjoy the sense of moral superiority that comes from rendering the halls pristine single-handed. And if push came to shove, I’ve not the heart to ask mum or the other maids to un-retire, even if it was just for a day.
“Agatha!” Drucilla laughs down the hall, my eyes watching for any stray handprints she leaves on the wall, “There you are! Still working? It’s such a beautiful day.”
She brushes her uniform back and forth as if I’m an idiot for sticking to my job.
“She’s back, then?” It almost feels bad, not being able to force enthusiasm into my voice.
“Why do you say it like that?” Drucilla asks as we set off together, my eyes running across the carpet to make sure she hasn’t tracked in any filth, “as if you aren’t glad to see her?”
It’s a fair question. For a moment, I’m not sure I know. It’s nothing true, just a feeling.
I feel stupid, but it stays with me while Drucilla leads me into the drawing-room, greeting Hecuba, as she sets down a teacup.
“Oh, Agatha,” she smiles. No saucer. She’ll probably leave a ring on the table.
It actually has been some time since I’ve seen her. She’s cut her hair shorter, but it’s still long, curly and golden, and the dress she’s in is another reminder of how much time she spends at that posh school of hers, “come and sit down, I hope you’re not still working.”
“Just finished up,” I say, sitting down to take one of the biscuits she’s brought with her.
“So,” Drucilla starts, “what’s the year been like?”
“Oh, nothing exciting,” she flashes her practiced smile while I make sure to catch the crumbs from my biscuit, “missing you both a lot, of course,” she laughs, “and hardly any time for magic, either, it’s all been etiquette, posture this, smalltalk that. It’s all so I can get a good husband, or so father says.”
“If such a thing exists,” Drucilla quips, and both of them laugh together.
“As if he needs more money,” I grunt.
“Well, I have a responsibility to the family,” Hecuba says, “even if I’m dreading the actual courtship.”
“What do you need any of that for anyway?” Drucilla asks, “What good are clothes, makeup, and manners when you have magic?”
“The thought had occurred to me.” Hecuba sips her tea, the edges of a smile forming around the rim of the cup.
“That the sort of thing they teach at your fancy boarding school?” I ask her, savoring the last crumbs of the single biscuit I took.
Drucilla glances over at me, remembering I’m here just long enough to frown.
“What’s got your goat?” she asks, “you think Hecuba enjoys spending so much time away from home?”
She should know that today’s tidying was a two-person job. And I could remind her, but it’s better for her if she remembers of her own accord.
“Trust me, I know how you feel,” Hecuba says looking over her shoulder, through the double doors we closed behind us, “I have to make my report to father, and after that, I have assigned work to complete, things to study, I’m sure you know,” she sighs, “I might not even be able to stay for a week. My professors want me to make a social visit north before term starts again.”
“Less than a week?” Drucilla sounds appalled, slapping her hands into her lap.
I suppose I am too, but she should know better than to sound shocked.
“I know, it’s not fair,” she holds out her hands, “but I’ve been thinking of you, and to prove it, I made something for both of you.”
