Spinspace: The Space of Spins (The Metaspace Chronicles Book 2)

by Matthew Kennedy

  The stars were still waiting. The old wizard sighed. We will go out there someday. Maybe I won't, but someday humans will go out there again.

  “So there you are.” Lester joined him at the edge of the roof. “Looking for the Tourists to return?”

  “Just looking. I was pondering a little matter of logistics earlier and decided to take a break. Seeing the stars helps put things in perspective for me.”

  “Oh. What little matter of logistics.?”

  “One of the items of the treaty we signed with Jeffrey concerned the disposition of his father's remains. We're supposed to return them...and I'm not sure how to do it.”

  “I see,” said Lester. “It will be quite a job hauling that sixty ton tank out of the ground.”

  Xander stroked his beard. “Oh, the tank is almost trivial, when you consider that it's frozen solid inside a 2,000 ton ice cube. I'll have to let the ice melt and swizzle all that water out of the pit before we can haul the bodies out of the tank.”

  “Or not.”

  “Eh? What's that? You have an idea?”

  Lester was staring down at the street. “I was thinking maybe a combination of a swizzle and an everflame could melt a tunnel down to the tank, sucking the water out as we go. We could do that if we don't think of anything better. But maybe it would be easier to leave the coldbox spell in place, at least for now, and come up with a way to lift the whole thing in one piece.”

  Xander just shook his head. “You're even crazier than I am. We don't have anything that can lift that much weight. You're talking over four million pounds. Can't be done.”

  “Well the good news is the bodies are in no rush, frozen solid like that. They'll keep. Maybe we can use pathspace to lift the ice cube out.”

  “That's even crazier. Even if we could weave a pattern that big and strong, you'd end up creating a tornado from the updraft that would tear the whole street apart.”

  Lester frowned. “Maybe. Let's take at least another day or two to think about it. “I'm sure we'll come up with something.”

  Chapter 29

  Kristana: separation of State and education

  “Being the boss anywhere is lonely. Being a female boss in a world of mostly men is especially so.”

  – Robert Frost

  When she was a little girl, she had seen a butterfly emerge from its chrysalis in the warmth of an early Summer day. It was a sight she would never forget, that first glimpse of metamorphosis triumphant. The slowly-crawling caterpillar, seemingly entombed forever, broke free of the shell its outer skin had become and, long minutes of drying later, sprang into the air as a beautiful creature of color that could fly.

  Every day, she went through her own transformation, encasing herself in a chrysalis of leather boots, sturdy leggings, leather belt, and her semi-ornate jacket with its embroideries of golden thread and, on the lapels of her collar, the still-gleaming stars of rank from her late husband, the General.

  All day long she worked in that encasement of formality, that armor of aloofness that reminded her that a leader has to be of the people, yet somewhat separate from them as well. When Robbie had departed from this world, leaving her with only the memories of his love and leadership, she had tried to accept and be worthy of the responsibility that fell on her shoulder with this jacket every day. It had not been an easy thing.

  At first, she had felt crushed by it. What was the point of going on, in a world without love? Was this to be her life now, this endless tedium of administering Rado, caretaker of Robbie's Dream – the eventual restoration of the Union? Was this the price to be paid for her marriage? It seemed too much to pay, an endless meal of roughage long after the sweetness of dessert had faded from her tongue.

  And then she had discovered to her surprise that the General had not been the only man who had loved her. Xander, the secretive court Wizard, had uncovered the depths of his feelings for her, the love he had felt would always be unknown. She could love and be loved by a man again. And soon after, her daughter Aria had come into the world, and Kristana learned the mingled joys and pains of motherhood.

  But every day she repeated her own personal metamorphoses. Every day she arose and armored herself in the uniform of state, showed her people that someone was there for them, that someone was in charge.

  And every night, when the day's business was finished at last, she retired to her chambers in the old 'scraper and emerged from her chrysalis to fly free. Off came the leather boots and socks that had imprisoned her tiny delicate feet. Off came the leggings and belt that protected and concealed her graceful legs. And off came the uniform jacket with its golden thread, the General's stars carefully removed and transferred to an identical jacket as the previous one was put aside for cleaning.

  This was the time, in the dimness of the evening, when the butterfly wings emerged: when her more feminine things were donned, in the privacy of her quarters. If she was lucky, it was also the time when her court Wizard came to her, to be only a man...only the man who loved her and gave her the strength to go on living through the long years.

  Brushing her hair in front of her mirror (a priceless relic found miraculously intact in the collapsed ruins of an ancient department store) she sighed, waiting and hoping for the coded knock that would signal the approach of her second love.

  When the sound of a knock came to her, however, it was not the pattern she was hoping for. Grimacing, she tied the sash of her bathrobe and padded across the thick carpet to see who it was. She suppressed a surge of irritation. I'll be damned if I'll armor up again this late.

  She peered though the tiny spy hole set in the door and saw that it was not as bad as she had thought. Not Xander...but not one of her military or civilian advisors either. She unlocked the door and drew it open. “What is it?”

  Aria stepped inside. “It's just me. Sorry, I guess you were expecting him, weren't you?”

  Kristana felt her face warming. “I hope someday you will know what it is like to be loved.”

  Aria grabbed a chair. “Actually, that's what I wanted to talk about.”

  “More second thoughts about your engagement?”

  “Not exactly.” Aria brushed a strand of hair that had fallen forward when she sat down back into place. “I mean, yes, sometimes I worry about that. But this is...” She fell silent.

  “Someone other than Jeffrey?”

  “Yes.” It took her a few moments to push through her awkwardness, and then the words came out in a rush. “Have you noticed how Lester looks at me recently?”

  “I've been noticing how a lot of men look at you, now that you've grown into a woman.”

  “You know what I mean!”

  “Perhaps I do. So?”

  “At first it bothered me, then I got used to it. But now that Xander's first student has arrived, he changed. Now he doesn't.”

  Aha. Predictable. “Let me see if I understand. Now that you're engaged to marry the new Honcho, you are upset because Lester is looking at Carolyn instead?”

  “Yes! I mean, no. She's distracting him too much. Don't tell me you haven't noticed what I'm talking about.”

  “Can't say that I have. Exactly what are you saying, dear? That the boy shouldn't be looking at any women? Or just at the one he knows he can't have? Don't scowl like that. You'll give yourself frown wrinkles.”

  “You make me sound like a bad person. I'm not.”

  “No,” said Kristana. “Just a jealous person. What do you expect me to do about it? Order him to ignore her?”

  “Or you could tell Xander to warn him. Even if you don't care about my feelings...surely you can see that when more students show up, they'll think he likes her too much to be impartial. It'll cause trouble.”

  Kristana exhaled. “Let's get two things perfectly clear. I am not going to interfere in the inner workings of Xander's school, and I am not going to tell people who they can like. It's not going to happen.”

  “But...”

  “But nothing. Our wizard has
waited a long time to get his school started. It looks like he finally has the apprentice he needs to help him, and more than that, our LeStar has the same right to happiness that you do.”

  “It's not the same! You know I only got engaged to Jeffrey to help stop the war. I hardly know him, let alone love him.” Aria grimaced. “And Lester hates that name.”

  “Whereas Lester and Carolyn grew up in the same village. I know.” She closed her eyes for moment. “Has it occurred to you that if Lester loved her he would have told her, years ago? He's not a child.”

  Her daughter glared at her. Her face said clearly that Kristana was being obtuse. “He's a man. Maybe as a boy he had some sort of crush on her. But things are different now. Xander is counting on him and she's just a distraction.”

  Kristana sighed. “If Lester is going to help with the School, and Carolyn is going to be one of the students, then it seems to me that it's his job to spend time with her, whether you like it or not. Maybe you should worry more about your own responsibilities and trust him to be able to handle his.”

  Aria leaped to her feet. “Why did I ever think you'd understand? You only care about what wizards want!” She stomped out of the room and slammed the door behind her.

  Kristana winced and stood as Xander appeared in a corner. “Isn't parenthood grand?” he said, and took her into his arms.

  Chapter 30

  Esteban: advena in terra aliena

  “...for he said, I have been a stranger in a strange land.”

  – Exodus 2:22

  He shifted his weight, uncomfortable in the secular clothes they had given him. Would he ever get used to them? He wished he could go north to Denver in his old clothes. But no. “You are not to arrive looking like a monk,” they had instructed him.

  So instead of his airy sandals his feet were entombed in leather boots, and his robes had been surrendered for badly-fitting trousers, a course shirt, and a leather jacket. Granted, the sandals would have been chilly in this wind...and even colder when he reached Rado. But the clothes felt wrong and made him want to scratch himself.

  He had never needed to learn how to ride a horse while working at the Reconditorium Prohibitum, but they had known that, so he had ridden a cart north out of Dallas, all the way to the border, where he was to catch the daily coach to Denver. If he was going incognito he could hardly have them pick him up at the monastery of St. Bruno. He understood the logic, sort of. But then why couldn't he just ride the cart all the way into Rado?

  He supposed it was less suspicious if he arrived with others. But the subterfuge bothered him. His work at the monastery had involved secrets, but not deception. Perhaps he could avoid volunteering information if they didn't ask the right questions.

  The sound of hoofbeats roused him out of his musings. He stood up next to the battered suitcase they had given him and, squinting, was able to see a yellowish shape following the horses toward him. He blew on his fingers to warm them and grasped the handle as the strange vehicle passed him and veered off the road to swing around in a 180-degree turn. The driver must have done this many times before, because when he completed this maneuver and halted the team they were scant yards from the watering trough in front of the local stop. It was a peculiar building, whose roof extended out over a sort of island in the front of it with the rusted man-sized hulks of machines.

  He had no idea what these metal derelicts were supposed to do. All of their faces bore numbers behind clear surfaces, through which he saw rows of numbers. $9,999.99 was what they said. Esteban knew the $ meant the number represented currency, so apparently these old machines were for sale. But no one had bought them.

  After the buss passed him and halted he lifted the case and trudged forward. Someone had decorated the back of it with disks of red glass, he saw, on both sides of a door in the back that seemed to have been welded shut by rust or paint. Above it he saw the words “SCHOOL BUS” between more circles of red glass.

  Well, that made sense if this vehicle went to the School in Denver. He was puzzled that it seemed very old, despite the fact that he had been told the School was new. And how did they know to send it all this way to pick him up? As he was reaching the front of the coach, the driver set the reins down and bawled out “Trinidad! Ten minutes to stretch yor legs before we head back north again.”

  Some people hopped out of the coach to follow the driver's recommendation. He waited until there seemed to be no more, then stepped up to the vehicle. “Do you go to Denver?”

  The man looked him over. “Where are you from? I've been making the Denver to Trinidad run forever.”

  “I've never been there,” Esteban confessed. “But I've heard it's the place to be.”

  “You got that right. Things are happening. Ten dollars to Denver. And no refunds if you get lost at a rest stop and we leave without ya.”

  Esteban winced. Ten dollars? The brothers back at St. Bruno's had only given him fifteen! Well, maybe he could live at the school, as he had at the Chapterhouse. And if he could get a letter back to Dallas the Church would probably send him more, since they were the ones who wanted him there. “All right.”

  He plunged a hand into his pocket and began counting out silver dollars. As he did so, he gradually realized that the conversation had stopped. He looked up into the driver's face and saw the man was no longer smiling. “What?”

  The driver looked as if he were going to spit. “Texas dollars, eh? I heard those sons of bitches don't even use gold for money. And they still call it an Empire. Ha!”

  Esteban sighed. This was going to be awkward. “Yes, I grew up in Texas. Look, I can give you fifteen...but that's all I have.”

  The man stared at him. “You'd give your last dollar to get to Denver? Why?” He made a face. “The last bunch of Texans who showed up there didn't do so well, from what I've heard. Why don't you stay down South and keep yer money?”

  Esteban shifted his feet and looked down. “I have to. There's a school there I need to get to. Xander's school. Have you heard of it?”

  The look in the driver's eyes softened a little. “The school for wizards? Course I have. Lot of word on the street about what he's setting up. Put yer money away.”

  “But I really have to go!”

  “And go you will. Climb aboard. He waved a hand at the empty seats behind him. “Find yerself a seat.”

  Esteban stared back at him. “But...I haven't paid.”

  “Don't worry about it. If Xander takes you on, well, then getting you there means I'm helpin him.”

  He stepped up into the coach. “You know him?”

  He man laughed. “Know him? I've carried his ass down the road many a time. Know him a damn sight better than many do, and if you're with him, then you can't be all bad. Speaking of knowin, my name's Clem. And you are?”

  “Esteban.” It was a near thing, but he managed to keep himself from saying brother Esteban. “Have you seen a lot of people going to apply for the school?”

  Clem shook his head. “Yer the first one. Wait, no. I think Lester brought one back with him from Inverness, so I guess yer the second. But I heard they were lookin for anyone from anywhere with a chance of learning the magic. You really think you have a chance?”

  “So I've been told,” said Esteban. For no reason he found himself wanting to tell Clem the truth of it. Or at least some of the truth. “I didn't want to go, but I was told if I can do it, I should. So here I am.”

  Esteban shrugged. “Well I say, go for it, Esteban.” he scratched his neck. “And tell em Clem brought ya.”

  Chapter 31

  Kareef: “the ink of scholars”

  “The ink of scholars is more precious than the blood of martyrs.”

  – Muhammad

  At first he had been stunned to learn the Ambassador Qusay was a member of the Order of Sihr, but the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. From what little he knew – he, who was now as entangled in the affairs of the order as much as he could be without having th
e black robe itself – the Order was vital to the security of the Emirates, and so who better than one of their own to be the first to know what was going on in a potential enemy.

  Watching the man read and talk to his wife Ateeqa, he wondered if the man had any misgivings about traveling to Denver. “You say they would not send me without protection, Ambassador. Are we then to expect violence, that I would need protection at a school?”

  “As long as you are alive, there is the danger of violence,” said Qusay. “But we do not seek it.”

  “I believe you are a truthful man. Burt I have heard it said that members of the Order are sometimes sent on missions of pruning.”

  “I am only a humble Ambassador, Kareef. I am charged with protecting you, it is true, in case of violence, until such time as you can fend for yourself. But that is second to my main mission of establishing formal diplomatic relations with Rado and the new Union.”

  “Forgive me for doubting you, Ambassador...but sending a member of the Order would seem to imply an expectation of the likelihood of violence.”

  Qusay regarded him. “Is it not written,” he said, “ that the ink of scholars outweighs the blood of martyrs?”

  “I have heard that,” admitted Kareef. “But I have also heard from Mullahs that this saying is considered by some to be a weak Hadith.”

  “There are differing opinions,” Qusay admitted. “But I think it has some merit in your case. You are sent to Denver, to the Xander School, to learn. I am not to interfere unless some angry person offers violence. Believe me, I hope that does not happen, because I would rather not have to act in any way that would lead them to see us as another invasion.”

  “But...can you not teach me something to start me on the path of learning what I am going there to learn?”

  “Of course.” Qusay gazed out the window. Snow-covered fields drifted by in silence for a minute. “But I am forbidden to do so except in emergencies. The whole point in sending you to this school is to see if they know anything we do not. When you have learned all they can teach you, and return, you can be taught anything you need to know that they have not given you.”