by Garon Whited
Yeah, it’s silly to say I’m not getting involved. Maybe it’s better to say I’m not interfering. Maybe I should say I’m not interfering any more?
We’ll see how long that lasts.
We have barracks for the workmen, at least. Diogenes’ prefab housing can be put together in a couple of hours and will last twenty years. Once the work crews are done, they’ll take the modular stuff down and store it in a real building. Then Mr. Gillespie can get to work on repairing what’s left of the lawn.
The modular building arrangements for the teachers and other school staff have also come together nicely. The grown-ups—aside from the house servants—are now relocated, leaving only the children to live in the manor house. We may move some of the older children, too, if they don’t have younger siblings who require supervision. Eventually, we’ll have a permanent structure of apartments.
Foundations are laid for all the other buildings, which pleases me. If they get those settled soon, I’ll make a trip to Karvalen and pick up some tunnel seeds from the mountain. It’s not like anyone is going to casually peek under the foundations to see if anyone meddled with them. I’m liking the idea of giving any inquisitive meddlers my best dumb look and pretending not to know anything about any tunnels. What am I, a mole? I don’t know nothin’ ’bout no tunnels. Go ask a fairy. For all I know, they live down there.
The flowerbeds in the driveway roundabout, around the fountain, have bloomed nicely, which is odd for October. I think. I’m a physics teacher, not a doctor of agricultre. Still, the layout of the flowers clearly states this place is faerie-friendly and asks for their goodwill. Maybe it’s for nothing, maybe not. All I know is there is a fairy living here and a bunch more sleeping somewhere. It pays to be cautious.
Trixie is happy to see me. She’s thanked me repeatedly for all the children I brought her. I keep telling her they’re only on loan, but either she doesn’t understand or she doesn’t care. Considering the length of her attention span, it may not matter.
Mrs. Gillespie is also glad I’m home. Graves met me at the door and reported a lack of serious problems. With the authority and financial backing I gave him, he fielded all of it. Mrs. Gillespie, on the other hand, saw to it I was fed and kissed my hand before bustling off.
“Graves?” I asked, rubbing my hand.
“Sir.”
“What was that for?”
“I couldn’t say, Sir.”
“Speculate.”
“It is possible it may relate to the employment of the Gillespie’s youngest grandson in the workforce, Sir.”
“Did we hire him?”
“I may have led them to believe you authorized his employment through the agency of Mister Hammond, Sir.”
“Did I?”
“Given the general tone of your previous instructions, it seemed the proper course, Sir.”
“I have no idea of the circumstances or your reasons, but I approve unreservedly. Well done.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Now, is there anything going on that I, personally, need to deal with?”
“I believe not, Sir.”
“Good. I’m going to go help Hammond.”
“As you say, Sir.”
Hammond didn’t have anything going wrong, so I didn’t need to fix anything. However, when your employer shows up and says he’d like to be another pair of hands helping out, it’s hard to turn him down.
Vampire hunters, conversations with angels, mysterious Moon-men, elves with gladiatorial cities—they could all go take a hike. I have Bronze back. I have Mary. I have a building full of children who are being fed, clothed, housed, and educated. I’m in a good mood and I want to do something with my hands.
So I did. Hammering nails, hauling dirt, mixing mortar—you name it. I’m not terrifically skilled at anything on a construction site, but I’m strong, it’s moderately cold, and I’m durable. With a couple of breaks for hydration and some hosing down—I do overheat easily—I managed to give a good account of myself.
It also gave me a pretty good idea what sort of power equipment would be most useful. I’m sneaky like that. After we all knocked off for the day and ate our supper, I retired to my wing of the manor, called Diogenes, and was assured the next load of supplies would have more tools.
No doubt the government would appropriate them for the war effort, but it would be a while before they noticed. We’d use them until they were taken away.
After a brief trip to Apocalyptica for a blood-bath—all that spell-work for energy-being containment worked up an appetite—I spent the night in my wing of the house. I also sorted some of my hardware. When I came through the shift-booth, I brought a box of doorknobs and some spring-loaded hinges. I should get around to installing them on the doors of my private wing if I want to be sure it stays private. I didn’t, though. I was distracted by Trixie. When she came in for the evening, I warned her about the new equipment.
“I stay away from the workmen,” she told me. “They have iron.”
“Ah. Well, they’ll have some larger iron and steel things, too. Be aware and be careful.”
“I always know where the iron is,” she assured me. “Can I have some more magic in the water, please?”
I raised the output on the electromagical transformer in her little pool and slowed the flow of the water. Water doesn’t hold much charge, but the new settings maximized it. Trixie lay in the water, gently kicking her feet and lazily waving her wings in a gentle rippling movement.
“Busy day?”
“Oh, yes! Some of the children don’t get to play with me because they have to do boring things. The youngest ones are the most fun!”
“Yes, that’s often the case,” I agreed.
“I get tired. The air outside doesn’t sparkle.”
“I see. I’m sorry about that.” Even as I said it, I wondered if I could fix it. I’ve done research into a firmament, Ascension Spheres, and converting science-y energies into magic-y energies. How hard would it be to build a low-grade power containment shield around the estate?
“It’s all right,” Trixie assured me. “I can rest here. Can you make the fountain water like this water?”
“I don’t see why not. I’ll look into it.”
“You’re the best dark thing I’ve ever known.”
“Met many?”
“Thousands. Maybe hundreds and hundreds!”
I gathered pixies weren’t known for their mathematical skills.
“I’m honored you think so. Let me see what I can do with the water.”
The fountain would be much easier than the estate. I knew I could install a magical transformer and containment matrix in the structure of the fountain. I already started work on a field projector, though. If I finished my prototype, could I target the fountain remotely?
Short answer: Yes.
Getting the bench model to work didn’t even take all night. Pleased with myself, I phoned in the plans, pictures, and specifications to Diogenes.
The bench model wasn’t a high-output device. Still, I was pretty sure I could put it close enough to the fountain to affect it significantly. I ought to be able to raise at least a low-grade containment matrix around the whole thing. I set it up and tried it. It took some work and a couple of calibration trials to get it aligned exactly. It required a precise knowledge of range and bearing to put it inside and around the fountain. There was some trial and error involved, but it finally enclosed the fountain exactly and started raising the magical field intensity inside it. Due to the range, it wouldn’t be as intense as one generated in the lab, but I’m okay with that. It’s still in the experimental phase.
We’ll see what Trixie thinks.
With that done, I started work on an artificial firmament generator. You never know when you’re going to need to repel the formless void. Well, I suspect I’ll need one to build a void-sailing ship to the Karvalen moon. But aside from then, you never know when you’ll need one.
Interesting t
hought. What are the geographical limits of Valan and his cronies? Or cosmological limits? Could the Firmament of Karvalen be a barrier to them, even as it’s a barrier to the formless void? I don’t think it is. The gods of Karvalen are quite similar and don’t seem to have any trouble with it. Then again, the energy-beings like Valan—
You know what? I’m going to just give up on the precise nomenclature of these things. In Karvalen, they’re gods. In an Earth-world, they’re angels. I know they’re energy-state beings of various sorts, but it’s easier to call them by familiar names. Gods and angels. There. When I use a word, it means just what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less. Impenetrability, that’s what I say.
As I was saying, energy-beings like Valan—yes, “angels”—may be different enough that they’re adversely affected by the Firmament of Karvalen. Come to that, the gods of Karvalen may be adversely affected. I’ve never observed them interacting with the Firmament. I only know they can affect things inside it. I don’t know if the Firmament gives them any trouble. Hmm.
I think it’s worth a little experimentation to find out if I can use an artificial firmament as angel-proofing.
The Manor, Friday, October 27th, 1939
I’m enjoying this whole down-to-earth labor thing. It’s surprising. I’ve spent too much time in the laboratory, or asking Diogenes to do things, or simply staying indoors so much. I forgot what it was like to get out and do things, to take an active interest in something and get my hands dirty.
Not in the bloody mess sense of dirty, but the calluses and sweat dirty.
I wouldn’t want to make a career of pushing a wheelbarrow or loading bricks or hauling timbers, but for a day or two of working with people to accomplish something, it’s a good feeling.
I’ve also discovered a benefit to some of my personal training. There’s an art to driving a nail. Most people tap it into place, then whack it a few times to drive it home. Not me, and not the real carpenters around here. We line it up, tap it once to seat it, then drive it in with a single blow. It’s a matter of focus, and I seem to have it. I even got an approving grunt and nod from one of the older gentlemen.
It's one of the nicest compliments I’ve gotten in a long time.
The truck arrived with supplies while I was helping with some timbers. After a little bit, Hammond came over to me, took my free hand, pumped it up and down, and was at a loss for words. He then hurried off, found his words, and used them to shout at people.
I traded looks with the guy cutting a notch in the timber. He shrugged and shook his head. I shrugged in return and we went back to work.
Later, I heard the rattle and bang of an engine starting up. Diogenes included, among other things, a portable diesel generator. It ran the circle saw, the table saw, several drills, a jig saw, a small cement mixer, and a number of other tools.
No wonder Hammond was happy. He didn’t ask for power equipment, mostly on the basis there was none to be had. He didn’t expect me to have some shipped in all the way “from America.” That’s also a nice feeling.
I helped set up a little island of power toolness around the generator. It made for a lot more running back and forth, but it was still faster than using a handsaw.
James and Jenny came up to me as I was stringing power cables.
“Master Kearne?”
“Yes, James?”
“Can I help with the horses?”
“Take it up with Blake. He’s the Headmaster.”
“But you’re the squire.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Squire of Applewood, that’s what they call you.”
“Do they? Interesting. But Blake is the one scheduling things. He does love his schedules.”
“You can tell him to let us help with the horses.”
“I could,” I admitted, “but I won’t. He’s doing his job. He’ll do it as he sees fit.”
“Please?” James insisted.
I ushered them aside and out of the way, sat down, and had them sit with me.
“All right, suppose you explain why I should.”
“Because we don’t get to help with the horses.”
“Why not?”
“He says Jenny is too small and I have studies.”
“Well, Jenny is rather small for it,” I agreed. “One misstep and she’ll have a flat spot where she used to have a foot. As for you, can you finish all your lessons and still have time to help?”
“I don’t need to learn all that,” he grumped. Jenny, meanwhile, moved over to me and used my lap as a recliner. I let her.
“I take it you don’t enjoy your lessons?”
“I’m having to learn Latin,” he complained. “I don’t need to know Latin!”
I spoke to him in ungrammatical Latin. His mouth fell open.
“You speak Latin?” he asked, amazed.
“I’m sure Blake wouldn’t think so. My Greek is better.”
“Greek?” he squeaked.
“It’s good to speak other languages.”
“What did you say?”
“I said, ‘You don’t need to know how to groom a horse, either’.”
James did not reply, unless a sullen expression counts.
“I’m sure you have several subjects of study,” I went on. “If Latin and the lack of time playing with the horses are your only complaints, you’re lucky. There’s nothing to be done about the Latin. Blake is a classics teacher. You’re not getting out of it. You’re going to have to pass Logic, as well, if you ever expect to graduate. On the other hand, there might be a way to see Lazy and Loafer anyway.”
“What is it?”
“Talk to Mr. Gillespie. He’s the one who takes care of them—well, it’s his job. I’d venture to guess he’s supervising the young ladies and gentlemen who are doing the work. Am I right?”
“Yeah. I guess so.”
“Talk to him about petting the horses in your free time. He’s a decent fellow. He might take you to them and introduce you. If you ask nicely, of course.”
“Will you tell him to?” James asked, hopefully.
“Nope. He’ll decide. The horses are his responsibility and he’ll make the decision. So ask nicely.”
“Oh, bother!” he exclaimed. “What is the point of you?”
“Now there’s an excellent question,” I admitted, “and it’s your assignment to answer it. Proceed immediately to Graves, the head butler. Explain to him this conversation and ask him what the point of me is. Once you have his answer, you will write a three-page report on the point of me and hand it in before sundown. If he doesn’t give you enough for three pages, go ask other people—Hammond, Blake, and Mrs. Gillespie spring to mind.” At James’ openmouthed stare, I added, “Go. Right now. The day won’t last forever. Move!”
James got up and trotted toward the house. Jenny turned on my lap.
“Can I ride a horse?”
“No, but I’ll let you ride my shoulders.”
“Yay!”
Jenny liked being over seven feet tall. She also liked holding on to my ears. This gave me something to worry about. I don’t like calling attention to my ears, since they’re slightly pointed. I’ll never be mistaken for either a Vulcan or an elf, but my ears are the reason I wear my hair moderately long. I quickly realized, however, that while Jenny was holding my ears, it was impossible to tell they were pointed. Whenever she let go, I shook my head a trifle, re-covering them.
After a while, she asked for a lollipop. I took her into the kitchen, ducking carefully through doorways. Mrs. Gillespie still had lollipops in the box I’d bought.
“Now, little miss, you’ve had yours for today,” she chided. “Don’t you go asking the Squire for more.”
“You ration her?” I asked.
“Aye, and she’s a fearsome one for a candy, so she is.”
“That’s fair.” I tilted my head back and Jenny leaned forward to look down. “She says you’ve had your candy for today.”
“But I w
ant a lollipop,” she insisted.
“How about a drive?” I countered. “I’ll take you out in the car.”
“Yay!”
I drove very carefully along the manor drive and let her stand up in the seat. She kept her nose pressed to the side window, watching everything whiz by at a breakneck thirty miles an hour.
Candy and cars. She’s going to be an interesting teenager.
Trixie eventually took over with Jenny. I checked with Graves, confirmed James had been truthful, and made sure we were clear on his assignment. Then I retired to my laboratory.
Yesterday, I ate with the workmen. I spent the day working with them, so it seemed fair. Today, Mrs. Gillespie wanted to know if I would attend dinner or take it in my chambers.
I’m still not all that social a creature. I had dinner in my private dining room. At least, it’s become my private dining room and parlor, in my private wing. It may not look it, but that’s what I use it for. It’s the only semi-public area in my wing.
There’s still a box of doorknobs and spring-loaded hinges waiting for installation.
I had an idea. If I lock the outermost door first, I’m sure Diogenes has a robot or two capable of carpentry work.
After dinner, I accepted James’ report and dismissed him. He seemed disappointed. I think he expected me to read it on the spot. A little discomfiture was appropriate, in my opinion. It’s rude to ask someone if there’s a point to their existence. I may not have one, true, but it’s still rude. Perhaps he would understand the lesson.
Once the sun went down, I locked up my wing, Diogenes sent through a pair of robots, and I kept an eye on everything while they briskly, efficiently, and quickly took down doors, replaced hinges and handles, and re-hung the doors.
These things could put human workmen out on the street in nothing flat. If I wasn’t worried about people panicking, I’d have a mob of these things descend on the place every night, assemble buildings, and vanish in the dawn like friendly electronic fairies.
The robots trundled back through the shift-booth and I went to my laboratory to make miniature firmaments.
I’ve sorted out most of the functions of a firmament. Patching Karvalen’s firmament wouldn’t be difficult. Even building a small one was relatively easy. Mine are based in magic, however. They draw on magical forces to achieve effects. The Firmament around Karvalen draws on the forces of the void, the primal chaos.