The Arkhel Conundrum (The Tears of Artamon Book 4)

by Ash, Sarah

  “I think you already know why I’ve come to pay you another visit, Lord Ranulph,” she heard him say as he swaggered into the library. The paneled door clicked shut behind them.

  Lilias lingered, longing to eavesdrop, but heard a polite cough behind her; Lord Ranulph’s elderly butler, Ryndin, was standing there, one gloved hand extended, to show her into the drawing room.

  ***

  “Oh dear, girls,” Lady Tanaisie said for the third time as she sipped her tea. “Your father’s been closeted with that odious man for at least a quarter of an hour. Oh, dear me.”

  “You mean Touchet?” Lilias nibbled at an almond biscuit. “His taste in clothes is certainly odious; that jacket was so loud it hurt my eyes.”

  Lady Tanaisie sighed. “You’re family, Mistress Lilias, so there’s no point keeping up pretences. Although it grieves me to have to admit it, we’ve fallen on hard times. When Ranulph and I inherited the estate from my father, we also inherited considerable debts. We sold off some of the family treasures: pictures, silverware, my late mother’s jewels, to try to keep the debtors from our doors. But the house is becoming dilapidated; it costs a small fortune to keep an old place like this from falling down. We even sold off some land, but it still wasn’t enough. And with our dear daughters reaching marriageable age . . .” Fleurie and Clarisse each took hold of one of their mother’s hands.

  “We don’t want to be a burden, Mama,” said Fleurie in a trembling voice.

  “How could you ever be a burden, my dears? Papa and I want to ensure that you’re both happily settled, without any financial worries to inherit. And we still have to pay your brother’s way through the military academy.”

  “We all love Serrigonde,” added Clarisse staunchly.

  Lilias nodded, setting down her empty tea cup on the saucer. This is better than I could have hoped. They’re impoverished . . . and they’re desperate to find a way out. “So that impertinent fellow, Touchet, is a bailiff?”

  “Worse,” said Lady Tanaisie with a shudder. “He’s a debt collector from the Upper Rooms in Sulien. Ranulph was a little rash. In his efforts to raise funds to cover our outstanding debts, he thought he’d try his luck at the card tables.”

  So he’s an inveterate gambler, as I suspected, and she’s either a loyal wife or remarkably naïve.

  “Unfortunately, luck was not on his side, and now we find ourselves worse off than before. They’ve even been threatening to seize the estate.”

  Lilias nodded, acquiescing to the “family version,” doubtless created to save face. “I see.”

  “We could sell the town house in Sulien, Mama,” said Clarisse.

  The sound of men’s raised voices came from the hall. Clarisse and Fleurie drew closer to their mother who rose, slipping an arm around each of her daughter’s waists.

  And now they’re arguing? This just gets better and better.

  “Temir! Iarko!” Ranulph bellowed. “Escort this fellow off the estate straight away.”

  “Oh, I’ll be back soon enough, Lord Ranulph,” came Touchet’s response, “with the bailiffs.”

  Chapter 6

  Empress Astasia shivered, drawing her soft wool shawl around her shoulders as she sipped her tea.

  “The Winter Palace is full of draughts.” Her husband stood up and began to pace the breakfast room, stopping every now and then to test the windows and wainscoting for leaks.

  “Autumn in Mirom is always chilly,” she said, wishing Eugene would sit down and finish his tea; his restlessness was making her irritable. “It’s the fogs rising off the River Nieva.”

  “But this place was built a hundred and fifty years ago; it’s archaic. No architect today would site it so close to the river. In summer the rising effluvia—and those damned mosquitoes—make it unhealthy for Karila and the boys.”

  Here we go again . Astasia tried to conceal a sigh. He’s plotting something. And this was the one morning in the week they had the chance to breakfast alone without the children or Gustave arriving bearing the daily agenda. “Your tea has gone cold,” she said, trying to change the subject. “Shall I ring for a fresh pot?”

  “No need.” He stopped in his pacing to snatch up the delicate cup and downed the tepid tea in one gulp.

  “But the Orlovs have never stayed in the capital in the summer months,” she said, wondering why he was suddenly so obsessed with their domestic arrangements in Mirom. “We always went to the villa in Smarna. Lots of sun and fresh sea air! And the court came too . . .”

  “A pity that your father didn’t think to raze the whole building after the riots and commission a new one,” Eugene muttered, staring out across the Nieva. “The Kaliki Heights would make a fine position overlooking the city. Or in Brynski Park, perhaps . . .”

  “Of course, I realize that a holiday in Smarna is out of the question until the political situation stabilizes.” Astasia stirred her tea rather more vigorously than usual to contain her growing exasperation. “I hate to think what condition the Villa Orlova is in; we haven’t been back to stay there in over three years. And given the Smarnans’ rebellious nature, I don’t imagine we’ll be returning there soon.”

  Eugene turned. “If it’s any consolation, we’re no longer the Smarnans’ most hated nation.” She saw a mischievous sparkle in his keen blue-gray eyes. “That honor has gone to Francia. The two governments are still wrangling over who is in control.” The sparkle faded as swiftly as it had appeared. “If only I could . . .” He let out a sigh and sat down at the breakfast table. Astasia saw that his shoulders were drooping. This dejected posture was most unlike the Eugene that she knew.

  “My dearest, what’s wrong?” she asked, genuinely surprised.

  He heaved another sigh. “Smarna’s so far away. It would take us too many days to travel there overland—or by sea. How can I be truly in control of the empire if I can’t get to be where I’m needed quickly?”

  Astasia stood up and went to place her hands on his shoulders; she could feel how stiff and tense they were beneath the fine wool cloth of his jacket. “You can’t be everywhere at once; it’s not humanly possible. That’s why you choose your ministers with care—and why you trust them to carry out your instructions. You delegate wisely, Eugene.”

  “It wasn’t always like this.”

  “You mean . . . when you could fly?” So he was still mourning the loss of the powers he had inherited when he had been possessed by the daemon Drakhaoul Belberith. He had become a monster, beautiful yet cruel—and unimaginably powerful. Even thinking of that terrible time made her stomach contract painfully.

  “I’ve never experienced anything like it.”

  She heard the naked longing in his voice and the sense of uneasiness increased. When Eugene wanted something badly enough, he would pursue it determinedly where other less strong-willed men would abandon the quest. That was how he won my heart, after all.

  “To go wherever I wanted, unfettered by all these clumsy mortal contraptions: leaky ships, dependent on wind and tides; bumpy carriages drawn by horses that tire and drop horseshoes . . .”

  Mortal contraptions. Was that really Eugene speaking? Or was it a shadow in his mind, left by the daemon? She turned him around to face her, staring keenly into his eyes, searching for a telltale glint of emerald green.

  “What is it?” He gazed at her, puzzled. “Have I a smear of jam on my face?”

  “I was just checking,” she said sternly. “Because I thought I heard another voice talking then, not your own.”

  “Ah.” He had understood. He covered one of her hands with his own; she felt its dry warmth. “Belberith’s. But there’s no way I could ever summon him back, my dearest. Gavril and I made sure of that. And now even Ty Nagar, the gateway between our world and theirs, has sunk beneath the waves.”

  So he had been thinking about his Drakhaoul. She was not at all relieved to hear him confirm it—although, if he had flatly denied the fact, she would have been even more suspicious.

  “An
d there’s still no word from the Magus?” Not that she approved of Eugene’s friendship with Kaspar Linnaius; even the mention of the elderly alchymist brought her out in goosebumps. But Eugene valued Linnaius’s counsel more than any other man’s and she knew that he missed him sorely.

  Another heaving sigh confirmed it. “Vanished. Without trace.”

  “He was a very great age, Eugene. You have to face the possibility that he might have—”

  “No. I’d know if he’d died; I’m sure of it. He’s just being elusive again. If only I knew why.”

  “But he appointed his successor. He left Professor Kazimir all his research papers. It was as if he was going away . . . for good.”

  “He’s still alive. I feel it in my bones, Tasia.”

  “Then he must have faith that you can fulfill your role as Emperor without his help any longer.” She heard the words issue from her lips and felt guilty that she should be spouting such empty and meaningless words of consolation to him. She might not care for Linnaius, but to Eugene he had been more a second father than a mere mentor. And she knew that Karila missed him too . Perhaps I’m a little jealous that I was never a part of that time in Eugene’s life.

  She bent over him and kissed his cheek. “Why not ask yourself: What would Linnaius advise me to do?”

  He looked at her questioningly, his brow a little furrowed. And then he leapt up, wrapping his arms around her and hugging her tightly.

  “My dear girl, you’re a genius! You must be prescient.”

  “I must be?” she gasped, struggling for air.

  “There’s no point sitting around moping any longer. We have some of the best brains at work in our universities and laboratories.” He kissed her, then let her go. “I’ll set up a competition. ‘Design a Flying Machine!’ The prize will be a gold medal—and enough funds to construct the winning design.” He flung open the doors and strode away, calling out for his private secretary. “Gustave. Gustave!”

  “Oh dear.” Astasia sank back down on her chair. “What have I done?” she whispered, pouring herself another cup of tea.

  ***

  “Professor; have you seen the Emperor’s latest project?”

  Altan Kazimir started guiltily as his colleague Guy Maulevrier burst into the laboratory, and slopped his coffee down his shirt. Cursing, he pulled out a handkerchief and started to blot the stains from his coat.

  “Ha! Caught you taking an illicit break, did I?” Maulevrier said triumphantly, eyeing the crisp glazed cinnamon bun Kazimir had just been about to enjoy. “Hiding from your students?”

  “I don’t know what you mean. I was just having some coffee while I caught up with the departmental correspondence.” Kazimir heard the defensive tone in his voice. “You could have some too,” he said, glaring at his colleague.

  “Thank you; I’d love a cup.” Maulevrier poured himself one from the pot and offered Kazimir a refill which he grudgingly accepted.

  “So what’s all the fuss about?” Kazimir asked, perching himself back on the laboratory stool.

  “This.” Maulevrier placed a poster—headed with the imperial crest—on the desk in front of him.

  “‘Competition to Design a Flying Machine,’” Kazimir read aloud. “Good gracious. What on earth has the Emperor in mind this time?” He scanned the details. “Gold medal, finance and facilities to build the winning design . . . here, at Tielborg University? He passed the poster back to Maulevrier. “This is more your line of business, than mine, Maulevrier. You’re an ingenieur; you should enter.”

  “But you’re Kaspar Linnaius’s successor. You have access to the great man’s research papers.”

  In truth, Kazimir still felt a little in awe of his younger colleague; affable with staff and students alike, good-looking in a lean and smoothly chiseled way, with straight, almond-brown hair neatly tied back, he was a popular member of the faculty. But Kazimir, who had learned to be wary of such outwardly attractive individuals the hard way after his extraordinary experiences at Kastel Drakhaon in Azhkendir, thought that from time to time he caught an ambitious glint hardening the friendly light in Maulevrier’s light blue eyes. And as Maulevrier said, casually enough, “the great man’s research papers,” there it was again, that telltale glint.

  Maulevrier leaned in, conspiratorially close. “How about we collaborate, Altan? The Emperor’s a generous man; if our entry wins, he won’t be averse to splitting the prize and awarding two gold medals.”

  Kazimir instinctively drew back; such close contact made him feel uncomfortable. “But I can’t see what I could usefully contribute to such a project.”

  “A flying machine isn’t going to move through the air by the power of wind alone, is it?”

  Kazimir had a brief vision of Kaspar Linnaius, twisting his fingers to summon a breeze to lift his sky-craft. He sighed, knowing that such extraordinary powers were beyond the reach of ordinary men. “No,” he allowed. “But why do you think there might be some substance, chymical or alchymical, that Linnaius was working on? He had no need of such complications.”

  “But he was always devising new inventions to please the Emperor. I was only a research student when the firedust project was implemented—”

  “And that ended in disaster when our enemies sabotaged the munitions factory.” Kazimir shook his head, remembering the terrible night when the sky above Tielborg had lit up with the exploding kegs of firedust that reduced the factory to a charred heap of rubble.

  “Don’t tell me that single disaster would put a stop to your natural curiosity as a chymist, Altan.” Maulevrier was grinning at him provocatively.

  Kazimir sighed again. “Go on then; tell me your plan.”

  “I don’t think you ever met Gerard Bernay, did you? He was the most promising student I ever taught.”

  Kazimir shook his head; the name was unfamiliar.

  “He’s gone to Tourmalise to work as a civil ingenieur. But, for his doctoral thesis, he was preparing a design for a flying craft.”

  “His thesis?” Kazimir was interested now, in spite of his earlier misgivings. “Did he complete it?”

  “There was something of a scandal at the time. One of the undergraduates—from a rich and influential family—claimed that Bernay had,” Maulevrier gave an discreet cough, “made an assault on his virtue.”

  “Oh dear,” Kazimir said, unhappy at the mention of scandal. He would be held responsible if anything untoward were to occur in his department, in spite of the Emperor’s patronage. “And was there any truth in the allegation?”

  Maulevrier shrugged.

  “So he never got his doctorate?” Kazimir had begun to feel a certain sympathy with the unfortunate Bernay.

  “Afraid not, no. I pleaded his case, but the university board was swayed by the young man’s family and threw him out. I managed to get Bernay a post far away in Paladur in an iron works; it’s a waste of his talents, but it’s allowed the scandal time to die down.”

  “You have faith in his abilities?”

  “He’s an exceptional young man.” Was that another glint? Kazimir wondered, as Maulevrier praised his ex-student. “You might not think him anything out of the ordinary, if you passed him in the corridors here, he looks more like a laborer; rugged, completely uninterested in his appearance. But he’s passionate about his work. He has a vision.”

  Kazimir nodded, ruefully. I think I must have been like that once. Before I was ensnared by Lilias Arbelian. He shuddered in spite of himself, seeing for a moment her languorous green eyes, remembering the sensuous scent of her creamy skin. I’ve never really gotten over her. Beside her, all other women seem insipid.

  “So; what do you say, Professor?” Maulevrier was regarding him with his keen gaze.

  Kazimir made an effort to banish Lilias from his mind. “Surely if you want to use your student’s design, you have to involve him in the project?”

  “Precisely so; I thought this might give him the chance to clear his name.”

  “W
hy don’t you write to him and find out if he’s interested first?”

  “We only have six months, Professor. I thought I’d plant the seed of the idea in your mind as soon as possible. I’m sure the empire’s treasuries could fund three gold medals if we win. Which, given your genius in the chymical arts, is almost a certainty.”

  “So you want me to concoct some kind of fuel to lift this craft into the air?” Kazimir was intrigued, in spite of his initial misgivings. “And then to propel it over a considerable distance? Without exploding or catching fire?”

  “We’ll need to find a volunteer to demonstrate the prototype; the competition stipulates that the winner will be the one that flies the furthest.”

  “I see.” Kazimir had just remembered a certain battered ledger containing Linnaius’s notes that he had found gathering dust on a high shelf in the Magus’s laboratory at Swanholm entitled “On the Uses of the Unique Substance Commonly Known as Firedust.”

  “You have a distracted look,” said Maulevrier. “I’m guessing that your brilliant mind is already occupied with this little project. Leave the finding of a pilot to me. I’ll contact Bernay first—and if he’s interested, let’s work together and do our best to win the Emperor’s prize.”

  My brilliant mind? Kazimir wondered if Maulevrier was trying to tease—or flatter—him. If his experiences had taught him anything, it was never to share the fruit of his researches with his colleagues. There had to be a way of unobtrusively consulting the Magus’s notes without alerting Maulevrier to their location.

  Chapter 7

  “Gavril! Lord Gavril!”

  The calling of distant voices gradually penetrated Gavril’s thoughts. He looked up from the easel, realizing that he had been utterly lost in his work again, oblivious to everything else around him. His first reaction was one of irritation and frustration at being disturbed. The demands of the vision he was trying to capture on canvas clamored much louder than the voices of his household.

  What’s so urgent that Askold can’t sort it out for me? If it’s a household matter, then Kiukiu will deal with it.