Aether Spark

by Nicholas Petrarch

  Skaggs choked on his gin, the mixture catching uncomfortably in his esophagus so that his neck seized up and his expression turned skiwampus. He coughed forcefully to clear his throat and struggled for his breath.

  “You... what?” he choked out.

  The young man looked at him with concern. “Are you alright?”

  “Yes,” Skaggs strained. “Don’t worry about me. You say you were an alchemist?”

  “I am.”

  Skaggs swallowed hard, fighting to still his reflexes as he regained control of himself. After a moment, he could breathe normally again.

  “And, you said you grew up around these parts, your whole life?”

  “Most of it.”

  Skaggs’ mind whirled, in part because of the strange new alcohol, and because he’d been pricked by a sudden possibility.

  “You wouldn’t happen to know...” No, Skaggs thought. He couldn’t be too forward. Not yet. “...where a fellow could get a batch of that stuff for himself, would you?”

  “It’s not too hard to make, if you have the ingredients on hand. I could mix you another sometime.”

  “How about now?” Skaggs asked. “I’ve got coin, and it would make the rest of the night more pleasurable.”

  The young man shrugged. “Why not? My laboratory isn’t far from here. Did you just want to—”

  “I’ll come along!” Skaggs insisted. “Save you from having to make a trip back and all. Least I can do for the favor.”

  “You sure? It’s a bit of a walk, and… your leg,” he pointed out.

  “Never bothered me enough to pass up an opportunity,” Skaggs assured him. “And let me get this for you. Token of appreciation for the conversation.”

  He placed a few more coins on the counter to cover the drinks.

  As the young man picked up his carrier and led the way out of the pub, Skaggs’ fingers tapped against his chest lightly.

  “So, how’s it someone like yourself comes to be an alchemist?” Skaggs asked. “I’ve met a few who I don’t believe could mix up twins, let alone a drink like that.”

  “Just a typical apprenticeship.”

  “Perhaps I should give it a go. Not too old am I?” Skaggs chortled. “Who’s your master?”

  The kid didn’t respond immediately, but grew solemn as they walked.

  “He’s dead.”

  “Oh...” Skaggs fought to contain his grin. “How unfortunate. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It’s okay. It wasn’t that long ago. I’m still trying to get used to it.”

  “Well, if your skills are any testament, then he must have been quite the mentor,” Skaggs said. “How did he die, if I might ask?”

  “He was murdered,” the young man said. “On Septigonee’s Day.”

  Skaggs couldn’t contain himself, and he had to turn away as his face bent into a wicked grin. He’d found him. He’d finally found Ashworth’s apprentice.

  Chapter Forty

  An Unfortunate Business

  My work has not been without some unforeseen obstacles. But they have only proved another testament to its providence—that the will to carry on endured, no matter what was required of me.

  — Excerpt from Mechanarcissism

  I t was a chill evening, and Stoddard joined his circle of friends for a gathering at the governor’s manor to celebrate his birthday. It had begun as most social engagements did, with a general greeting followed by a speech in which various gentlemen praised the governor in one long round.

  Dinner had been provided, in which toasts were made and more speeches given, until Stoddard was quite ready to call it an end. But, as tended to happen, the event dragged on, turning to nothing more than mindless mingling.

  Stoddard idly listened to the drone of voices and tried to feign deep interest.

  “If Dempwolf is sponsoring the production then it must be worth seeing,” Timberman’s wife was saying with great enthusiasm. “We must go, Gerald!”

  “Of course,” Timberman acquiesced, though he did not appear thrilled.

  “How I’d love to see it,” Emmaline smiled. “We haven’t been to the theater in so long.”

  “Too many social engagements?” Merryfield ventured.

  “A few,” Stoddard said. “And my work continues to demand much of my attention.”

  “Ah, yes,” Timberman said. “And how does it go? It feels like forever since we’ve had an update.”

  Stoddard winced.

  “It’s coming along,” he managed to say. “A miracle is a tricky thing to replicate.”

  “Perhaps things will slow down for you in time,” Merryfield said. “It’s not good for a man to run faster than he has strength; he must take a moment to breath in the finer culture around him. Otherwise, why do we work so hard?”

  “I quite agree,” Emmaline said, casting a look Stoddard’s way. “We should take your advice.”

  Stoddard frowned, but followed Timberman’s example and conceded. “Of course we should, my dear,” he said.

  What she didn’t seem to comprehend was how precarious their situation truly was. Their company had already grown considerably sparser compared to the entourage they’d attracted when he’d first come into the meritocracy. Stoddard had noted each of the figures as they’d drifted away.

  He was slipping. Focus was shifting to more timely topics like the coming war, new hairstyles, and which social engagements were being planned for the winter. Stoddard sensed, with great anxiety, the distance which he had to fall if he slipped much further.

  “Perhaps you could share with us some of the difficulties you’re having,” Timberman suggested. “More minds make lighter work, as they say.”

  Do they say anything about the quality of those minds? Stoddard thought, but before he could respond he was approached by a manservant.

  “Pardon me for intruding, but there is a man here asking for you, Doctor Stoddard.”

  “If it’s not one thing, it’s another,” Stoddard apologized, seizing the opportunity. “Where is he?”

  “At the door, sir. He requests your presence with due haste.”

  “Friends,” Stoddard said. “My apologies, but if you’ll excuse me a moment.”

  He followed the messenger through the room, letting out a sigh of relief. People wanted news, and he was having difficulty providing it for them. He feared unless something drastic changed even Merryfield would end their association.

  “You didn’t admit him?” Stoddard asked the manservant.

  “No, sir. I thought it best we have you confirm that you knew him. He has an unsavory appearance, but he was quite adamant that you’d want to see him.”

  The hair on Stoddard’s neck bristled at the description, and he clenched his jaw when sight confirmed what he’d feared.

  It was Skaggs.

  “Should I admit him, sir?”

  “No,” Stoddard said quickly. “I’ll see him outside. Kindly show him to an empty balcony. I’ll be along in a moment.”

  The man was too bold.

  Stoddard fumed as he returned to his party.

  “Back already?” Timberman asked. “We were just speculating as to who this mystery visitor might be who’s about to steal you away from us—considering all the people worth knowing were already invited to the party.”

  “We’re not losing you to another promising companion, I hope?” Merryfield asked.

  “It’s no one of great consequence,” Stoddard insisted. “Though I am afraid I will have to leave you for a time. It’s a matter of business.”

  “How unfortunate it was able to find you here,” Merryfield laughed. “Just when I thought we might have you to ourselves for an evening.”

  “It’s a frequent inconvenience for all of his acquaintances, I’m afraid,” Emmaline said as pleasantly as she could, though Stoddard detected the note of resentment for yet another social disengagement. He’d grown quite skilled at them.

  “What a busy man you must be,” Lady Merryfield said. “Thou
gh I hope not too busy.”

  “For?” Stoddard asked.

  “We have been invited to accompany the Merryfields to the opera this weekend,” Emmaline explained. “Marietta Ferraro is singing the aria ‘La disgrazia di il cuore.’ It’s bound to be the cultural peak of the season. I told her we’d be sore to miss it.”

  “Yes, that sounds like an enjoyable evening,” Stoddard agreed hastily.

  “Though shall we have a prayer of holding your attention with the diva there?” Merryfield smiled. “Alas, we may never have our own evening with the doctor.”

  “I promise,” Emmaline said, taking Merryfield’s hand. “You two will have our undivided attention.” She cast a testing glance at Stoddard as she said it, as if to invite him to challenge her.

  Stoddard said nothing.

  “Thank you, child,” Merryfield said. “Perhaps it will be that breath of fine air you’ve needed, Doctor.”

  “I’m sure it will be,” Stoddard said. “I look forward to it immensely. But now, if you’ll excuse me. I leave Emmaline in your most capable hands.”

  “Will you be long?” she asked.

  “Impossible to say,” Stoddard said. “I hope not.”

  He peeled himself away from the party, evading those who looked like they might engage in conversation as he hurried through the estate to the agreed upon meeting place.

  As he stepped out onto the balcony, the crisp air brushed over him and he allowed his countenance to fall. There was Skaggs, resting against one of the marble pillars. Stoddard grimaced, but approached the man nonetheless.

  Skaggs saw him coming and straightened up.

  “I expressly forbade you from seeking me out in public. Much less, the governor’s house!” Stoddard wasted no time with pleasantries. “You have no business being here. What could have possessed you to appear now? Speak!”

  “Ah,” Skaggs frowned. “We’re going to start on that foot, are we? Then let me remind you that it’s your bloody business that I’m about. Do you think I’d come to one of these high-to-dos for any other reason?”

  “You are never to seek me out except in the privacy of my study!” Stoddard snapped. He glanced back into the building, but no one seemed to be paying them any undue notice.

  “Not even when I have information?”

  “Not even,” Stoddard growled. “If you have anything to report you can speak to my assistant. That’s the only way we’ll correspond from this point on.”

  He turned to go.

  “Not even if I had news about Ashworth’s apprentice?”

  Stoddard stopped.

  “Got your attention now, did I? And what if I told you he’s well and dandy, and that I happen to know where the little alchy might be right now? That’s what you were hoping for all along, wasn’t it? Someone who knew what the old man was working on? Well, I’ve found him. And I’ve nestled up to him, I have. Nestled up real close.”

  He eyed Stoddard as he turned back.

  “Where?”

  “Right under your nose,” Skaggs smirked.

  “I’m in no mood to play your games,” Stoddard warned.

  “And I haven’t been too keen playing yours,” Skaggs snapped. “But, I’ve done it, and swallowed a heap of trouble for it too. Scrounging around in the gutters on nothing but hearsay. Now if we’re done pissing unpleasantries, why don’t we get to our arrangement?”

  “Let’s,” Stoddard said coldly. “Where is he?”

  “Oh, it must eat you up that I know, doesn’t it? You’ve been after him for, what? Half a year, was it?”

  “About.”

  “Been a test of patience, hasn’t it?”

  “The greatest test of my patience has come from working with you. Now, do you know where he is or not?”

  “I do,” Skaggs hummed. “But it’s going to cost you a bit more.”

  Stoddard stepped toward him, his temper nearly at the breaking point. “We will not renegotiate our contract!”

  “Oh, but I think we will,” Skaggs grinned. “You see, all that wandering gave me time for pondering. I asked myself, what’s the use of a new leg except to end up working in some factory somewhere, slaving away for what Septigonee knows is the measliest of livings? Now why would a man such as myself want something like that? Honest, what good would it do? No, I want a decent standard of living... and you’re gonna provide it for me.”

  “I will do no such thing.”

  “You’re in no place to negotiate!” Skaggs was animated. “There is a whole room of your friends just through those doors. One misspoken word and I could reveal you for the monster you really are. You forget that I’ve seen what you’ve done. I know your true character.”

  Stoddard lunged, seizing Skaggs’ shirt and pushing him backwards so fiercely that Skaggs nearly toppled as he collided with the edge of the balcony. Skaggs struggled to regain his footing, grasping for anything to hold onto.

  “If you know my true character,” Stoddard growled, “then you know not to cross me.”

  “Wait a minute,” Skaggs begged. “Let’s not do anything you might regret.”

  “You’re testing my patience.” Stoddard pressed him further over the edge. “The alchemist. Where is he?”

  Skaggs saw it then, behind Stoddard’s eyes. He read the thought before Stoddard himself even had it, saw it form in the mind of a desperate man.

  “Cheapside,” Skaggs whispered. “At a brothel owned by a woman named Margarete. That’s where you’ll find him, I swear it is.”

  Stoddard did not loosen his grip, and Skaggs went on.

  “He’s a gangly chap. Couldn’t be more than twenty. And by the looks of him, he’s a bit worse for the wear. Life ain’t been too kind to him, what with you hounding him. He’s tired. Tired and desperate. I reckon you’ll find him willing if the right offer was presented.

  “Here,” Skaggs said, pulling a folded bundle of pages from his pocket. “Everything I’ve learned about him. Right here. Meticulous, I was. All of it.”

  Stoddard took the bundle, looking from Skaggs to the pages. The notes appeared detailed enough to follow to the boy’s whereabouts. But, could he trust Skaggs’ word? That, he was less sure of.

  “That’s everything I got,” Skaggs pleaded. “I swear. Gods above, it is. He’s there, at the dame’s place. I promise he is. I could fetch him right now, if you wanted.”

  “No,” Stoddard said, loosening his hold and letting Skaggs rise again. “I’ll contact him myself. I have no use for you anymore, Mr. Skaggs. You may consider our business concluded. As of this moment, you’re no longer in my employ.”

  “What about my compensation?” Skaggs insisted. “I went to a lot of trou—”

  He was cut short as Stoddard rushed him, shoving him with all the might he could muster. Skaggs stumbled backward on his withered leg, his eyes going wide as he tipped headlong over the balcony ledge. His cry of alarm turned to panic, ending abruptly with the sound of his impact upon the stone patio below.

  Stoddard crouched on the balcony, clutching the railing, his heart racing. He tried to regain himself as he heard the startled cries from the guests below and calls for the authorities.

  He’d had to do it. There could be no other way. Skaggs had forced his hand. Stoddard couldn’t let such a liability exist. Not now, when everything hung in such delicate balance.

  Despite the way his heart refused to quit pounding, or the cold sensation which filled his chest, Stoddard breathed a labored sigh of relief. Skaggs would haunt him no more.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Accidents

  Was I justified in what I did? Is it like they say? Do the ends truly justify the means?

  — Excerpt from Mechanarcissism

  W hat a dreadful business, all of this,” Merryfield murmured. “I don’t know how Lady Merryfield will recover. She’s much too fragile to handle something like this.”

  “I think all of us will need time to recover ourselves,” Dempwolf said. He, along with many of the oth
er guests, had come to hear from Stoddard what awfulness had transpired on the balcony.

  “I think so,” Stoddard said, still feeling shaken himself as he eyed the constables. They were conducting the investigation, and were there to hear his story as well.

  “Tell me, what was your relation to the man?” one of the constables asked.

  “No relation,” Stoddard said. “Though we had been in correspondence a time or two. He’d petitioned me to perform an operation for him as I did for Captain Harper, only on his leg. It’s terribly withered, as you’ll see from the body. When I informed him that I was already predisposed and unable to perform the operation, he sought me out and found me here.”

  “The sheer presumptuousness,” Timberman exclaimed, “to seek you at a gathering like this. You were quite considerate to meet with him at all.”

  “I thought it better to address him than have him cause a scene, given the occasion.”

  “I appreciate your consideration,” the governor said, also standing nearby to listen. “But, be careful putting yourself at the mercy of a man like that on our account. We’re lucky nothing happened to you.”

  “What did happen, exactly?” the constable asked.

  “Well,” Stoddard continued. “He asked, or should I say demanded, that I treat him. As though I could treat the man there on the spot. I tried to explain to him my predicament, and he became increasingly belligerent. He threatened that if I didn’t help him he would do something drastic.

  “Naturally, I took this as a threat and feared for my own safety. The man was outside of his mind. Before I realized what he was about to do, he’d flung himself from the balcony.”

  “The poor man,” Merryfield said.

  Emmaline remained silent. She had refused to be taken away with the other women, and Stoddard had not had the time to insist as he fielded questions. She had not taken her eyes off of him since he’d returned. He knew she was looking at him, studying him silently. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her directly.

  Did she suspect him?

  “What sort of life must that man have lived to go to such ends?” the governor asked.