Aether Spark

by Nicholas Petrarch

  “Remember,” Simon whispered. “Very carefully.”

  Chance nodded, and locked eyes with the officer.

  “We have grievances that need addressing,” Chance called back. “We wish to speak to the electors about their decision to close the Exchange in the Basin.”

  “You have no right to demand an audience with the electors.”

  “We have every right! As citizens of Hatteras we have a right to be heard by our government.”

  “You think to intimidate us in a hope we’ll bend for you? You will not be admitted in such a force. Nor under such circumstances.”

  “We’ve never been admitted whatever we’ve done. You’ve turned a deaf ear on all but your friends on the Spire. What else could we do?”

  “Disperse!” the officer bellowed. “Or we’ll have the lot of you arrested.”

  “You can’t arrest us all,” Chance said, sweeping his arm toward the sizable mob. “We’re too many. So why threaten it?”

  “Disperse!”

  “Not going to happen!” Chance shouted.

  “You wish to force our hand?” the officer asked. “You come in open contestation against the meritocracy—”

  “We come to speak with our electors!” Chance insisted. “And if you won’t permit that then we’ll find another way.”

  Even as he said it, he knew he’d spoken amiss. He felt Simon tense beside him and the officers face twitched.

  “Gentlemen,” the officer said, no longer addressing Chance, but those of his own company. “What we have here is an act of open treason. Consider them warned—anyone who does not disperse this instant will be dealt with as traitors to the meritocracy!”

  The line stepped forward in unison, and Chance felt the mob shudder behind him—but it didn’t break. They were scared, but they weren’t broken. Not yet.

  “Disperse!” the officer repeated.

  “No!” Chance shouted. “You won’t get rid of us. Not until you’ve heard our grievances and righted the wrongs which we’ve born.”

  “Constables, draw arms!”

  The line of constables stepped forward again, this time drawing clubs from their belts and raising them to the ready. Chance felt the pressure increasing. The moment was so tense he felt his ears would burst under it.

  “This is your final warning! Disperse!”

  Chance felt it before he saw it. Felt the mob swell behind him as the pressure reached its maximum capacity. It wouldn’t hold anymore. It couldn’t.

  A man charged forward from the mob.

  “No, don’t!” Chance cried out.

  But it was too late. The man hurled an object high into the air. Both sides inhaled, and the pressure became a vacuum. All noise and movement vanished but the slow arc of the device. It came down on the line of soldiers and erupted in a plume of liquid flame.

  So, Chance thought in the second that followed. It’s a fight after all.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Poor Timing

  What a fool I was, thinking I was in control. Experience should have taught me the danger of the unaccounted variable.

  — Excerpt from Mechanarcissism

  I don’t want to fight!” Emmaline said.

  “Then what is this all about?” Stoddard asked, impatience dripping in his voice.

  She’d burst into Stoddard’s office, nearing hysteria, right in the middle of a meeting he’d scheduled with a potential sponsor. He’d had to dismiss the man with little explanation when she wouldn’t be removed. She’d demanded Stoddard’s time, and begrudgingly he’d consented, though he’d kept behind his desk to ward off the conversation as best he could.

  He hadn’t succeeded.

  “You barge in here and chase off one of the few sponsors who’ve approached me in months. You refuse to wait even for a moment outside. Do you expect me to believe this isn’t going to be a fight?”

  “Then perhaps it’s time we fought,” she said. “Don’t you think so?”

  “And what good would that do us?”

  “If nothing else it would get us talking again. I feel like I haven’t truly spoken to you in ages.”

  “Perhaps that’s because you’ve kept enough company lately for the two of us,” Stoddard said.

  “I’ve been trying to keep up our social obligations,” she defended. “One of us has to, and you’ve proven you’re incapable of that. It’s a miracle you keep receiving so many invitations given how disagreeable you can be.”

  “Count me fortunate,” Stoddard said

  “I honestly think you have been. Why else would anyone willingly put up with your unpleasantness?”

  “My work is valuable. It’s as simple as that.”

  “You don’t think it’s something else?” she asked.

  Stoddard frowned. He knew what she was fishing for, but he wasn’t about to humor her childish need for recognition. He turned back to his work.

  “What are you working on?” she asked, prying at him. She wasn’t going to let him go. Not this time.

  “Nothing.”

  “See?” she pleaded. “Don’t you see it? This is what I’ve been trying to tell you. You’re so closed up. You weren’t always like this. What’s wrong?”

  Stoddard kept his gaze on his desk. She wouldn’t understand. She couldn’t understand. She didn’t know what it was like, what being a part of the meritocracy truly meant. The nightmares that woke him in cold sweats in the middle of the night. It was a balancing act along the edge of a knife.

  If she only knew how close he’d come to falling off.

  “You spend so much time on it,” Emmaline said, “your work.”

  Her hand drifted over the papers before Stoddard, and he felt the hair on his neck rise.

  “I remember when you used to tell me all about what it was you were doing. How we’d sit out by the tree on my father’s estate. You’d share with me all the dreams of what you planned to create. How the city would change because of your ideas. And now...”

  Her voice faded away wistfully.

  “I don’t have time for the endless chatter I used to,” Stoddard said. “I’m not a dreamer, Emmaline. I’m a visionary. It takes hard work to see that vision become reality.”

  “And yet, you don’t see it, do you?” Emmaline asked softly. “Don’t see the reality right in front of you.”

  “I see my work,” he said, gesturing again to the piles before him.

  “And nothing more?” she asked, hopeful.

  “What else is there?”

  “Less than I’d imagined, I think.”

  Stoddard looked up then. Emmaline’s eyes were wet, though she maintained her composure. He remembered the subtle relaxation of her chest the night before, when he’d turned her away, and it clicked in his mind. He remembered why he’d loved her.

  Emmaline had always been a strong, if not socially minded, woman. Yet, despite what was expected of her, she’d always retained ownership of her heart. It had drawn him to her so long ago when they’d first met, and lasted the years when they’d been forced apart.

  But it was fading, and as Stoddard watched it go out of her he recognized what had been there all along. Her heart was breaking… and Stoddard had broken it.

  “Emmaline,” he said, his voice softened by her tears.

  “I don’t know what I was thinking,” she said, trying to sound unconcerned. “You’ve always loved your work. I don’t honestly remember a time it hasn’t occupied your mind. While I was entertaining foolish thoughts of love, your mind turned on nothing but your creations. And now it turns on what? I can never know.”

  “Emmaline.”

  “I mean it,” she warned. “It feels like I hardly know you anymore, Jonah.”

  Stoddard felt her plea pierce him with the use of his name. It had been ages since he’d heard it.

  “I loved the man who dreamed with me when I was young,” she said. “The one who made me feel like I would be a part of those dreams. You once said to me that all of this woul
d take us to a beautiful future. But, all it’s brought us is distance. I feel as though I’ve lost you.”

  Her voice broke into sobs.

  “Emmaline.” Stoddard rose from his desk and took her hands. “I’ve tried for nothing else than to secure our future together. That’s all I’ve been trying to do. Perhaps it’s demanded more of my attention than we’d expected, but that doesn’t mean it will always be this way. Things are turning in our favor now, even as we speak. Soon that future will be secured for both of us, and we’ll have time again for one another as we once did.”

  She turned away, but he didn’t let her hands go.

  “Emmaline, I know I haven’t shown it recently, but I do care for you. You remain the only thing I do actually love in this world.”

  “That’s not true,” she whispered. “You love your work. More than anything else, you love your work.”

  “Not more than you,” Stoddard insisted.

  Emmaline frowned pitifully, but the pity wasn’t directed toward herself. She looked deep into Stoddard’s eyes.

  “Yes, you do,” she said. “I know it now. Perhaps I always knew it, and only now realized what it meant. I’ll always be your second love.” She gave a weak laugh. “I suppose that makes it easier to accept. I don’t know why I expected more. It was the same way with my father.”

  “I’m creating something more for us,” Stoddard insisted.

  Emmaline nodded, though it was strained. “I know. But... I don’t know if I want what you’ve created.”

  Stoddard was about to speak, but she silenced him gently with a finger to his lips.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered. “Do what you must. I understand now. I think... I think we love different things.”

  Stoddard felt the twist in his heart. Her fire, which he’d admired about her, was dimmed. He cursed himself silently that he’d been the cause.

  “I hope you find happiness in your work,” she said, and turned away.

  Stoddard grasped her hands tighter, not willing to let her go. She let him hold her there, though she wouldn’t look at him.

  “I promise you,” he said, mustering all the strength he had to compensate for hers. “Fortunes are turning, Emmaline. Our future is here, right now. I’ve seen to that, and nothing can rip it from us. I’m here. Right here, in this moment. I admit I’ve been neglectful, and that my work has consumed my thoughts these past months, but you must believe me it’s not been my intent—it’s never been my intent to lose you. Emmaline...”

  He lifted her chin with a tender hand, so that he was looking into her eyes. They were soft, and he saw her desire to believe in his words.

  “I’m here again,” he assured her. “From this moment I will—”

  The door burst open and Emmaline and Stoddard jumped as Donovan came into the room.

  “Sir!” he cried, then hesitated when he saw Emmaline crying. He shuffled on his feet, unsure whether to continue or not.

  “What do you want?” Stoddard barked, making Emmaline jump a second time. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I thought you should know. There’s been a revolt! A mob has formed and is marching on the Spire even as we speak!”

  Stoddard frowned. “The guard will take care of them,” he said. “It doesn’t concern us.”

  “But sir,” Donovan’s words were strained. “The alchemist... the apprentice you met with last night. He’s there! He’s leading it!”

  Stoddard heart caught in his throat. Through his mind flashed a nightmare far too real. In it he saw his last chance at discovering the alchemists’ secrets snuffed out, his work unraveling, his endorsements withdrawn, and all he’d worked to achieve slipping between his fingers.

  The guard would certainly deal with the revolt, and they’d be thorough about it. Particularly if men like Vanzeal were involved.

  “You’re certain?” he asked, hoping against hope to be contradicted.

  “I saw him with my own eyes,” Donovan swore.

  It was too much.

  “Attend me,” Stoddard demanded, forgetting his coat entirely and stomping through the door.

  Donovan cast an apologetic glance at Emmaline and raced after him, leaving Emmaline alone in the quiet of the study with her quieter tears.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  The Clash

  When all else fails, duck and cover.

  — Alchemical Proverb

  C hance heard the shout before he realized what was happening. The constables in the front line dropped to a knee simultaneously as the soldiers behind them raised rifles to the ready. The mob recoiled at the movement, but there was no place to go. Chance felt Liesel grab him by the shoulder and pull him backwards as the soldiers fired.

  The sound was deafening as the reports of the rifles tore through the open air. Those at the front took the brunt of it, falling to the ground like a wave crashing—many wounded and others lifeless.

  It was only a moment as the shock sank in, but Chance blinked in disbelief as he assessed what had just happened.

  First, and most importantly, he was still alive. Liesel had grabbed both him and Rhett and pulled them back so they’d been shielded by others less fortunate. Rhett scrambled away from the bodies, holding his ears against the groans of the wounded. Chance looked at them with disgust, and then dread as he realized exactly what he was looking at.

  Kwame lay lifeless at his feet.

  The cloud of smoke from the rifles masked the line, but he heard the commands of the officers to reload. The mob pulled back, eager to avoid the next deadly wave of lead prepared for them.

  “Get back!” Simon shouted at Chance, pushing him to his feet. “Go! Go!”

  Liesel seized Rhett and dragged him away as the soldiers leveled their rifles and again the thunderous peal split the air.

  More bodies fell, and the mob broke into full flight.

  Chance and his friends did the same, ducking low as they made for the first source of cover they saw—the fountain in the center of the plaza. It felt like they ran forever, and with every step Chance’s body remained tensed, expecting the third volley to come at any moment with its deadly verdict.

  But it didn’t come; not from behind them at least.

  It came from in front.

  Chance looked up as he neared the fountain to see a man in plain clothes rise up on the rim, a rifle cocked tight into his shoulder. The flash of the muzzle coincided with the shot as he fired once over the heads of the fleeing mob.

  The bullet soared true, striking one of the soldiers. He fell backwards, his rifle going off as he fell and sending its bullet high and harmless into the air.

  More intermittent shots sounded from across the mall, and Chance saw men and women standing high to return fire.

  Members of the Resistance, Chance realized. They had to be. He hadn’t realized they’d even joined up with the march.

  Their fire covered the mob’s retreat and the soldiers on the steps stumbled in surprise at the unexpected retaliation. Chance took the opportunity to breathe in a few grateful breaths.

  “Glad you made it,” Simon said to the man on the fountain as they ducked down behind him for cover.

  “You didn’t give us much warning,” the man said. “We’re still missing quite a few.”

  “Well, I wasn’t planning for this either,” Simon said.

  “Whether we planned for it or not, it’s here,” Liesel said, drawing her pistols. “You alright, Rhett?” she asked.

  Rhett looked shaken, but he nodded as he hugged the lip of the fountain, cringing whenever a gun went off nearby.

  “I told you it might go south,” Simon said to Chance.

  “And it could still swing further,” the man on the fountain said. He knelt down and worked quickly to reload his rifle. “You the kid who started this mess?” he asked Chance.

  Chance nodded slowly.

  “Well, it’s an honor to meet you,” he said, shaking Chance’s hand vigorously. “Name’
s Flynn. We’ll try and give you all some cover till you can clear the plaza. After that, I’m not sure what good we can do.”

  “Much appreciated,” Simon said, patting Flynn’s leg. “You heard him. Best make for the side-streets and get scarce.”

  “What about you?” Chance asked.

  “We’ll be fine,” Simon said, raising his rifle to the ready.

  “We’ll hang back here and make sure you have time to get out,” Liesel said.

  “Then I’m staying with you,” Chance insisted. A bullet nicked the fountain above them, and they flinched under a light dusting of stone.

  “This isn’t just a demonstration,” Simon said. “This is a real scrap. People are going to get hurt.”

  “This is my fight,” Chance insisted. “I’m staying, whether you like it or not.”

  “Rhett?” Liesel asked.

  “I’m—” He winced as another bullet whizzed by. “—with Chance,” he managed to say.

  “Stubborn boys,” Liesel groaned. “For neither of you having parents, I wonder where you got it from.”

  “Here they come,” Flynn called from the fountain, rising up again. “Look alive!”

  They all turned to look across the mall. An officer on the steps shouted a command and the constables stepped forward, clubs drawn and readied. At a word, they split into four separate lines and charged the fleeing mob, spreading out over the plaza as they advanced. Clubs descended brutally upon anyone who’d been unfortunate enough to fall behind—injured or not.

  “They’re sweeping the plaza!”

  “Bloody tyrants,” Flynn cursed.

  “If they can keep us disorganized they’ll have an easier time quelling this fight. Don’t let them divide us!” Simon shouted.

  “Haven’t they already?” Chance asked. The mob fled in any direction they could to find safety. The fight was clearly out of them.

  “Not yet they haven’t,” Flynn said, raising his rifle and leveling it on the advancing force. “Company, ready!”