Light in the Darkness

by CJ Brightley

  He wandered the grounds for some time after his arrival, looking for the ars magica department. The university was of sufficient antiquity that many of its buildings were formed from the accretions of several centuries, producing a bewildering series of corridors, stairways, and halls connecting the older section to the new. Dominic began to think he had achieved something significant when he found the correct building.

  Dominic rubbed his chin and looked about the corridor, seeking inspiration. It seemed that the morning lecture had recently ended and students were crowding the halls. A small group descended the stairs, cheerfully arguing.

  “Of course I missed some lectures! Nobody can listen to that venerable fossil every day without risking brain fever. He's usually half asleep himself, anyway,” said a short, sandy-haired student.

  “He was awake enough to notice your absence,” observed one of his companions.

  “Pardon me,” Dominic said as they came near. “I am here to see Professor Siebert. Could you perhaps tell me where I might find him?” Siebert’s death had been recent enough an obvious foreigner like himself might not have heard about it, and it would be better to pretend he did not know. Besides, it would make it easier to come up with a believable excuse for trying to find out more about the accident. Seeing the astonishment in the faces of the students, he ventured, “This is the College of Thaumurgic Science, yes?”

  “Ah, you want the Theology department now,” said the short one. He was promptly punched in the arm by another in the group, a fellow with dark hair and a stormy, intense expression.

  “Show a little respect, Jens-Peter, it won't hurt you and it would be a welcome novelty. He could be a friend of the professor’s.” Jens-Peter's assailant turned to Dominic. “I regret to say Dr. Siebert is recently deceased.”

  A tall, grave student who had previously remained silent added, “There was an accident with some equipment in his laboratory. Are you perhaps Dr. Gavreche? He had mentioned—”

  “No, not at all. My name is Dominic Kermarec. I had never met the professor, but he was recommended to me by an acquaintance as an expert on some questions I have in my research.”

  The remaining member of the group, who had been looking about in a genial, myopic fashion during the discussion, suddenly perked up and gazed at Dominic with great interest, pushing up his steel-rimmed glasses for a better view. “Do you also work on levitation magic, then? I had not been aware…but of course, there is the group at the Université Rhames….”

  “I'm not a magician,” said Dominic hurriedly, “I merely have an interest—I'm a writer.”

  All the students, with the exception of the one with spectacles, stared at him in amazement.

  Jens-Peter laughed with frank amusement. “Quatsch! A writer, interested in magic? What do you take us for? Here is boring utility and dull theory, not missing heirs, beautiful ladies, ancient castles, and the rest of the lot.”

  Dominic could only hope they had not noticed his start of surprise at how close they had come to describing Ardhuin. “No, the fables…” he struggled for the correct Preusan word “…the stories I write are of amazing things, but things that could really happen. So if I wish to write a tale of someone who makes a magical device to rise to the top of a mountain, I look for those who work on similar things so they may tell me how my idea could be made more believable.”

  “Are you…did you write 'Secret World' in The Family Museum?” asked the dark-haired student, frowning thoughtfully.

  “Is it out already? Yes, I am the author.” Dominic was astounded that a Preusan student had read it. “Are they translating the magazine now?”

  The dark-haired student grinned. “No, more’s the pity. I have a subscription. To improve my fluency in Gaulan.” His comrades made rude noises indicative of disbelief. “I thought your name sounded familiar! Look, we're just on our way to meet a friend of ours, Dieter Theusen, and get a meal. He was Professor Siebert's assistant. Why don't you join us?”

  Jens-Peter enthusiastically seconded the invitation, with the rider, “If he doesn't mind being seen with university students in public!”

  “It wasn't so long since I was one myself,” retorted Dominic. “I would be honored.”

  “What university?” asked the tall one as they descended the stairs.

  “Université Dinan.”

  “Do you still remember how to throw bread rolls?” asked Jens-Peter.

  The other students introduced themselves as they walked to the restaurant where they would rendezvous with Dieter. The dark, stormy one was Wolfgang Maurer, the tall one gave his name as Stefan Arendt, and the bespectacled student was Jochim Weiskopf.

  “Dieter and Jochim are studying magic, as am I,” said Stefan.

  “It is the theory of magic only, for me,” said Jochim, apologetically. “My ability is itself not good.”

  “I have none at all, so I'm stuck with mechanical arts,” said Jens-Peter. “And since Maurer has ambitions to learn as much as possible without actually making himself useful, he studies both classics and literature.”

  Maurer rolled his eyes at this but said nothing.

  Dieter Theusen was an earnest, enthusiastic young man with an unruly shock of blond hair and one arm in a sling. “I was in the next room when it happened,” he said between mouthfuls. “There was this tremendous explosion, and the whole building shook. Some of the equipment cabinets fell over—that's what got me.” He indicated his arm with his fork.

  “What was he working on that was so dangerous?” asked Dominic.

  “Levitation ships,” Dieter said thickly, and took a deep drink from his stein.

  “But levitation doesn't create explosions,” Dominic protested, thinking of the countless times Ardhuin had levitated objects, including himself, without the slightest hazard.

  “Not by itself, no. But by itself it doesn't make a self-propelled ship, either. We were using a motor to actually move it. The dangerous part is mixing the magical and mechanical devices in such a close space—too much chance of a large enough piece of iron moving through a magical field and building up a discharge, and then the fuel can ignite.” Dieter shrugged. “One of the fields must have become misaligned or something. Siebert was usually very careful about that, though. He knew how dangerous it was.”

  “Are there any others working on levitation ships?”

  “Not in Baerlen,” Dieter answered, then thought for a minute. “He'd mentioned something about the Gaulans, and I think the Atlanteans are trying something too. There aren't many that have the right combination of abilities. It's pretty unconventional, mixing magic and engineering like that.”

  Dominic frowned. “If it is so dangerous and difficult, why do it? Isn't there a purely magical or purely mechanical way? It doesn't seem very practical.”

  “It will be very practical once we get it to work,” said Dieter a trifle defensively, and Dominic suspected he had been asked this question before. “We don't have anything close to a mechanical equivalent of levitation. Some say it just can't be done. Magical methods of propulsion are pretty weak, and in any case require a magician to do them—not like the levitation, which can be set as a static spell. He wanted to make something anyone could use.”

  “Why?”

  “Wouldn't you like to fly like a bird?” asked Jens-Peter, eyes brightening at the thought. “Think of the things you could see, the places you could go!”

  “I know the army is very interested,” added Stefan. “My brother is at the Kriegszauberkollegium, and they have been pursuing their own investigations as well as following Professor Siebert's efforts.”

  Dieter turned to him. “Yes, in fact there was a military magician who visited the day before the explosion.” He grinned. “I wasn't there, but the professor told me he was impressed. The fellow seemed to know what he was talking about, and even asked a few intelligent questions!”

  “He'll never get far at that rate,” observed Maurer. “They don't like you to think in the army. T
hey also don’t have a high opinion of magicians, even their own. How were you intending to use levitation ships in your writing?” he asked.

  Dominic thought furiously, casting about for a suitably fantastic plot. “Oh, I thought perhaps a competition to reach the Northern Pole. It would be easier to reach if you could rise in the air, closer to the sun and therefore warmer.”

  Jochim cleared his throat. “In fact the upper air is colder than that at the surface. It is thought it is because the air is thinner, also.”

  “Well then, thick coats. It would still be easier than going on the surface, dealing with ice and snow.”

  “We would have to improve our design quite a bit to make it work,” confessed Dieter. “The most ours could have carried was one man, and he couldn't have been very heavy, either. Not to mention the range was less than a hundred leagues.”

  Dominic sighed. “You see? This is the information that I need. It will take more work to make it believable. I wish I could have seen it.”

  “You can see what's left of it, if you like,” shrugged Dieter. “There isn't much, but we do have some drawings and a scale model.”

  “That would do admirably.”

  They made their way back out into the street and towards the university quarter. “When does your next story appear? Will you be writing about levitation ships then?” Maurer wanted to know.

  “That will have to wait until I return to Bretagne, I think,” smiled Dominic.

  “Are you making a long visit to Baerlen?”

  “I hardly know. I am here on business that has no certain end at present.” Dominic suppressed a shiver.

  “Well, if you are still here tomorrow evening, perhaps you would come to a small party at my chambers. A friend is becoming a barbarian—”

  “That means graduation,” added Stefan, seeing Dominic's startled look.

  “—and he would be honored to have a real author as a guest. He also has aspirations in that direction.”

  It was Dominic's first inclination to refuse outright, but then he recalled how Ardhuin's time would very likely be taken up. Anything would be better than staring at the walls in the palace workroom, wondering what she was doing. Maurer seemed pleased by his acceptance, and gave him the directions to his chambers. He, Stefan, and Jochim said their goodbyes and left for their afternoon lecture, while Jens-Peter accompanied Dominic and Dieter to the late professor's workrooms.

  “Don't you have classes as well?” asked Dominic.

  “I'm on my Praktikum,” said Dieter. “I finished classes last year.”

  “I have a class, but it will have to live without me.” Jens-Peter grinned unapologetically. “This is much more interesting than railroad bridges, with or without buttresses.”

  “You think anything is more interesting than lectures. It's a wonder they haven't asked you to demonstrate the use of the front gate one last time,” Dieter said, shaking his head.

  They had by now reached a series of outbuildings in the more utilitarian quarter of the university, and Dieter led the way to a long shed attached to what seemed to be an old carriage house. With a bit of effort he unlocked the door with the unaccustomed hand and motioned Dominic inside.

  “I've started tidying up, but it still is a mess,” he said. Indeed, several of the equipment cabinets had glass-fronted doors that were shattered or were missing entirely, and on tables and counters were dented and damaged objects. “Here are the design drawings, and…oh, there it is. This is the model.”

  The model looked so fragile Dominic felt it would crumple in his hand from its own weight, such as it was. Made of splinters of wood, scraps of cloth, and a few lopsided but artistic swirls in ink, it looked like the standing, bleached skeleton of a four-legged spider. “This is a levitation ship?” he asked incredulously.

  “It's just a prototype, see? To show that it works. This was Professor Siebert's clever idea, having four separate levitation sources, each on the end of one arm. To control the height, the operator would move this lever here and the arms would move down and in, concentrating the field. Of course, the field had to be precisely aligned and the arms move smoothly, or the whole thing would tip.”

  “What is the fan for?” asked Dominic, pointing to the back of the model spider.

  Dieter was shocked. “That's not a fan, that's the aerial propeller. That's what makes it move once it is off the ground. The engine is under the seat.”

  This puzzled Dominic until he looked at the drawings, which had in one corner an illustration of the levitation ship with a pilot. “Wouldn't it have been better to put the seat somewhere else? In front of the engine, perhaps?”

  Dieter shook his head. “It was most crucial to keep the mechanical engine as far from the levitation field as possible, and the field had to be symmetric about the pilot, which was hard enough to accomplish. We had some of the largest levitators ever made.”

  “Was that what limited the amount of weight?”

  “Yes. The material would simply break apart under the force of the field if we made them any larger.”

  Dominic considered further. “Could you use chryselectrum to shield the engine?”

  Dieter looked at him strangely. “Too close to the engine, and the heat would shatter it; too close to the levitators, and the field would force any shield away,” he said after a while.

  “I see.” Dominic looked at the model again and sighed. “It must have been impressive. Will you attempt to fix it?”

  “There is nothing left to fix,” said Dieter sadly. “Come and see.”

  The next room was larger, with less furniture, and a total shambles. Twisted, blackened wreckage lay strewn about, and it took Dominic some time to mentally piece together the remains to identify their original shape. “Dear God,” he whispered. There was one lump larger than the rest, looking a little like a loaf that had been split lengthwise and spread apart. “The engine…that must have been where it exploded.” It was strangely hard to look closely at it, as if it were akin to a corpse, but a sense of duty compelled him. What he saw made him glance suddenly at Dieter, startled. “I thought you said there weren't any magical devices near the engine.”

  “There aren't. There can't have been.”

  “By the end of the shaft.” Dominic pointed. “That's a stasis field—small, but powerful. You could hold twenty kilos with that.”

  A silence fell over the room, and Dominic turned to find Jens-Peter and Dieter staring at him. “I thought you said you weren't a magician,” said Jens-Peter.

  “I'm not,” said Dominic shortly. “I can see thaumurgic fields, that's all.”

  “That's all!” Dieter laughed incredulously. “What I wouldn't give…but how do you know the difference between a stasis and a levitation field? And chryselectrum? It's not precisely common knowledge, even among magic students.”

  “I've worked with a mage, a time or two.”

  “You have.” Dieter stood looking at him thoughtfully for a minute. “Look, there is simply no possible way for a stasis field to be anywhere in the structure. We didn't use one! And any fragments of the levitators would be up there,” he said, pointing to the high ceiling where a few clumps of what looked like stone were drifting like dust motes.

  “I know what I saw,” insisted Dominic.

  Dieter left the room, returning after a moment with a long wooden wand. He placed a sealed glass tube filled with a pale blue liquid into a fitting at the end. “We even had the stasis detector head, for a miracle. Now we'll see.” He slowly began to move the tip of the wand around the remains of the engine. “There, you see? Noth—”

  The tip, nearing the area Dominic had indicated, began to glow. Carefully and slowly, as if he feared to set off another explosion, Dieter placed the wand on the floor and picked up something caught in the engine casing. He stared at it for a moment, his expression stunned, then held it out to Dominic.

  “The light from the wand caught it,” he said.

  It was a half-melted shard of ch
ryselectrum.

  The wards muffled sound, so all Ardhuin heard at first were indistinct voices outside, and she pushed them to the back of her mind. She’d returned to the workroom after the first meeting, the information she’d been given making her feel numb with dread. She’d hoped to find Dominic there, but he was still out. They’d given her some items they’d found, to examine, but she couldn’t concentrate. Papers in Preusan that she couldn't read, even a scrap with Yunwiyan characters on it. Did Markus know about it? Would it get him in trouble if she told the Council what it was?

  The King had been right to invoke the compact. Someone was trying to plunge Aerope into war. Again. And the Council expected her to stop it.

  Something—the tone, the rhythm of the words—made her certain one of the voices outside was Dominic’s, and she ran and snatched the door open.

  Markus Asgaya, seated in a chair outside the workroom, was arguing with Dominic.

  “We can’t simply let her go everywhere to see things for herself, especially if what you say is true,” Markus said patiently.

  Dominic was furious. His deep-set eyes snapped in anger, and he had run his hands through his black, springy hair so many times he looked deranged. “It is true, and if you won’t let her go, send someone else!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Both men looked up at her.

  “Siebert was assassinated,” Dominic snapped, glaring at Markus. “His assistant and I found a sabotage device in the machine that exploded. A strong field encased in a shell of chryselectrum, placed near the mechanical engine. When the engine heated up, the shell cracked and the field was exposed to the moving parts.”

  She felt herself sag, as if her legs had lost strength to support her, and she clutched at the door. “We'll need to prove it,” she said finally.

  “The field is still quite strong, and we found a piece of the chryselectrum. Any magician should be convinced. And the assistant swears they used neither stasis field nor chryselectrum in the construction. It has to be sabotage.”

  “This assistant…what did you tell him? Does anyone else know of this?” asked Markus.