The Nullification Engine (The Alchemancer: Book Two)

by Scott Marlowe

  "We have to cut off the flow to the modulator and make adjustments to the rest to compensate," Aaron said.

  "Right!" Willum said. "I'll take care of cutting this one off. You begin preparing your calculations for the remainder of the work."

  The professor slid over a toolbox already heavy with the instruments they'd need. He busied himself with the first priority while Aaron took additional readings from the other, still functioning modulators.

  Lord Phillip shouted down at them. "We are not seeing any difference in the readings."

  Willum grunted. After a few more moments, he had the flow of energy stifled. The seepage, which manifested as a reddish blue haze around the device, dissipated and was soon gone as the energy flow through the burned-out modulator ceased. "They should see something now," the professor mumbled to himself.

  They did, and it was not good.

  "Everything just started rising faster!" the earl shouted.

  "Tell him that's normal," Aaron said. "I'll need a few minutes."

  He got to work. Using an energy displacer and calibrator, he made fine adjustments to each of the three remaining modulators. Anything more and he risked damaging them.

  "The work moves too slowly," Willum said from over his shoulder.

  "I know!" Aaron said, a bit too harshly. He took a moment to wipe sweat from his brow. "We need to release some of the pressure from the core."

  Willum thought a moment. "We might be able to siphon off some of the energy directly from the containment chamber. I think if we..." He went to the ladder, climbing halfway before yelling instructions at the others.

  In the next moment, Aaron completed recalibrating the first modulator. The change was immediate.

  "The levels are dropping!" he heard someone shout from the control deck.

  No time for celebrations. There were still two more to go.

  "No, wait!" Lord Phillip said. "They're rising again!"

  Other voices confirmed it.

  But that didn't make any sense. The reaction should be coming under control, not getting worse. Then Aaron saw the other device. At the output side of the main regulator, almost entirely hidden behind another panel, were a whole series of tubules and flow valves. By the diminished flow in several of the tubules, it appeared their corresponding valves were clogged. Aaron let out a groan. He had to clear them and he had to do it now.

  He stood, ready to take on this unexpected task, when the machine convulsed and the collecting arms, which were making a full revolution in under a minute now, stuttered as if obstructed. The single interruption was enough to so unbalance things Aaron was hurled away from the core. Willum, too, who had just come back down the ladder. Both of them landed heavily on the metal flooring. Shouts from above indicated they were faring no better. The machine listed, leaning so far one way Aaron started to slide. Quick fingers plunged into the floor's grating stopped his motion and held him in place. Professor Willum was not so fortunate. The man scrambled for purchase even as he slid closer and closer to the platform's edge. Aaron realized the professor would never stop himself in time, so he sacrificed his own hold in order to help him.

  "Professor Willum!" Aaron yelled as he slid feet-first toward him. "Grab hold of me!"

  Aaron slid as fast as the professor, with one hand poised to slow and stop his movement and the other extended toward Willum, who was nearly at the edge now. The professor rolled over, just seeing Aaron, who had to start slowing himself. Still, Aaron was almost close enough he readied himself to grasp Willum.

  "Grab hold of me!" Aaron yelled.

  But it was too late.

  Willum sailed from the platform and out into nothingness, falling between the gyrating arms with a scream. His cry was obscured almost immediately by the electric sizzle of the containment chamber, overloaded past its tolerance level now, as it started to collapse. Above, massive tendrils of energy shot out in all directions, bathing the vastness of the chamber in shades of yellow. Shouting—and screams—sounded. Then nothing but the hum and sizzle were heard as spidery fingers continued to reach out from the collapsing core.

  Aaron slammed his fist on the metal platform. By some miracle, the machine righted itself. Aaron shook off his frustration and made his way back to the core. If anyone shouted down at him, he no longer heard them or anything else over the machine's electric sizzle. Knowing a complete failure was potentially moments away, Aaron kept his attention riveted on the valves. His tools were scattered, but he found a displacer, calibrator, and injector, which wasn't exactly what he needed but it'd do, all saved because they'd somehow fallen into the hub's assembly. No time for finesse, he hooked the injector to the first of the valves and, after giving it a moment to charge, blasted the valve. The residue clogging it came free. He moved to the next and then the next, clearing each of them. As each valve was cleared, the concordium field normalized further and the hum of the engine settled. With the last injector cleared, Aaron returned to the modulators, correcting the final two. When the last was done, he allowed himself a heavy sigh of relief before going to check on the others. Strange they hadn't come to check on him, Aaron thought, as he climbed the ladder. As soon as he poked his head above the level of the control deck, he saw why.

  Everyone was dead.

  There were five bodies. Smoke rose from each. At chests and backs were dark splotches where the core's energy had struck them. Lord Phillip was there, too, as dead as the rest of them. His skin was ashen and his eyes, open and lifeless.

  Aaron did his best to stave off the sinking feeling gripping his stomach as he went to the instrument panel. He still needed to confirm the machine's operation had returned to normal. Now, pressure levels were dropping by the second. Temperature leveled off. He located the gauge monitoring the core's energy shielding. It was nominal. Last, he picked up an encorder off one of the bodies—Willum's had fallen into the void—and measured the core's oscillating output frequency. Once more it fluctuated between a stable upper and lower bound as it continued to move toward some unknown constant. Aaron stepped back to peer up at the pulsating, cylindrical core. His gaze inevitably wandered back to the bodies of the earl and the others. Aaron didn't know if all of the earl's scientists were here, but he suspected they were. Everyone capable of working on the machine was gone.

  Everyone except him.

  It had to be worked on, too. There was no walking away from it. Someone had to watch and monitor it. Even more important, someone had to figure out why the elementalists had built it and to what purpose. Aaron stepped away from the controls in order to take in its enormity. His gaze went from the pulsating core to the machinery and assemblies to the four arms spinning in lazy motion and finally back to the control panel, filled with too many dials and gauges.

  He'd no idea where to even start.

  7. The Griffin

  JACOB MADISON SETTLED HIS TRICORN under one arm and stepped into the captain's quarters. As always, the room was smoky. Through the haze, Jacob saw Captain Kreg sitting at his desk, scribbling away, his pipe gripped tight between his lips. Standing nearby was Lundy Mortimar, bosun's mate and the lowliest son-of-a-bitch Jacob had ever met. As Jacob approached, Lundy flashed him a mocking salute finished off with a wink. Jacob ignored him as he stood at ease before the captain.

  "Ready to report, sir," Jacob said.

  Captain Kreg kept at his scribbling for a few moments more before he muttered without looking up. "That will be all, Mr. Mortimar."

  The bosun's mate came to full attention, saluted, then sauntered for the door. On his way past Jacob, he started and lifted his arms, as if he meant to bump his commanding officer. Surprised, Jacob flinched, which was exactly the reaction the bosun's mate was after. Lundy winked once more at Jacob, then left. Jacob heard him chuckling all the way out.

  "Sometime today, Commander," Captain Kreg said, sounding as if he was in his usual mood. Captain Blyden Kreg was as crotchety as they came. A salty old bastard who, like many of the crewmen, had learned hard d
iscipline from one Four Fiefdom navy or another, the old man had never been known for a kind heart. But he'd been worse than usual since a week ago, when the savant's hellion had decided to disembark from the Griffin by blasting a hole in her hull. Jacob didn't blame him for being in a sour mood over it. The girl had killed a handful of airmen and damaged the engines as well. The airship had damn near fallen from the sky. Everyone on board had a right to feel something. But no one took it out on others quite the way Captain Kreg did. The slightest infraction, whether genuine or not, was met with the harshest of penalties. As the Griffin's first mate, such disciplinary action fell to Jacob. No one had yet to feel the lash, thank the Old Gods, for this wasn't a military vessel, but he'd been forced to double work schedules and watches, dock pay, and generally make good sailors' lives miserable. It hadn't helped the captain's disposition one bit that their final commission with the savant remained unpaid.

  "Yes, sir, of course," Jacob said. "We've landed just outside Brighton. We located a suitable dry-dock frame to set down on inside their shipbuilding yard. It's still early and we flew in low enough that not many took notice. We shouldn't have to worry about too many visitors, at least for a little while."

  Airships as a whole were rare in Uhl. Brighton, for all its size and commerce, was still relatively remote, so people wouldn't have seen too many of the flying dirigibles. Captain Kreg preferred to keep a low profile most times; he'd little patience for enthusiasts and even less for gawkers. He'd wanted to fly in under cover of night, but happenstance had them arriving early morning instead. Given they'd been limping along at their best pace for days, Jacob was just glad they'd arrived at all.

  "Ms. Stratum started the engine shutdown procedure the moment we landed. She'll need a little time to do a full assessment of any additional damage we may have suffered."

  Rebecca Stratum, or Beck for short, was a good engineer, but tainted by a streak of yellow she'd probably never come clean from. When the savant's apprentice had blasted her way off the airship, she'd done considerable damage to the dycludian flow pipes, which had in turn unbalanced the engine's stabilization relays, which had the further effect of... Jacob understood as much of the technical mumbo-jumbo now as he did then. But, at the time, he'd pieced together enough to know the engine was about to overload in a very bad way and, rather than correct the problem, Ms. Stratum had panicked and run. Fortunately for all onboard, she'd run right into Jacob, already on his way down. Jacob had dragged her back to the engine room and made her get the engine under control. He learned soon thereafter that Ms. Stratum was their only surviving engineer, which wasn't saying much since they'd only started with a complement of two. Her superior, Chief Engineer Bilka, had died when shrapnel from the initial explosion had torn into him. His bloody demise had convinced Ms. Stratum to get the hell out of the engine room before the same thing happened to her. Jacob was willing to give her a pass. In the end, she'd done her duty and the airship had been saved. But the captain did not agree. He'd wanted to toss her overboard right then and there as an example to the others. Fortunately for Ms. Stratum, engineers were hard to come by. As long as that remained the case, her position onboard was secure.

  "Once Ms. Stratum has completed her assessment, she'll need access to the engine's plans. I intend to pay some of the city's tinkerers a visit, and she'll need to provide me precise specifications for anything we need constructed."

  "Fine," Captain Kreg said in a growl, not looking up from his writing. He blew out a puff of pipe smoke. "But per my usual rule, the plans are not to leave my cabin. Ms. Stratum can copy what she needs on a part-by-part basis. But I'll have those sketches back at the end of each day."

  "Sir, I might have to leave one or more of her sketches with the tinkerer."

  The captain grunted. "Then make sure you get them back when the work is complete. Also, see if you can spread the work out. Better to keep each of them in the dark as much as possible."

  "Very good, sir."

  The captain was protective of the Griffin's design and inner workings for a reason, for she possessed several very special characteristics, not least of which was her ability to fly at extreme elevation. No other flying vessel in Uhl boasted such a claim. The advantages of soaring so high were many, not least of which was flying undetected. That alone was an advantage Captain Kreg intended to hold onto for as long as possible.

  "I've already sent a man off to settle the usual docking fees with the harbormaster," Jacob said. "I'll speak to the yardmaster myself, sir, and see what he can do about supplying us with conventional building materials. Meanwhile, Mr. Briggs has handed me quite a resupply list. I've given him leave to head into the city and start inquiring about prices."

  Captain Kreg made no reply.

  "I've also assigned recruitment duties to Mr. Roe."

  Tippin Roe, a sergeant in Norwynne's army and, more recently, a prisoner onboard the Griffin courtesy of the savant, had been the first to accept a position on the airship. The man liked to keep busy, and with no way off until they set down, the decision had been an easy one for him. Pity the assignment was temporary, for while Jacob completely understood the sergeant's desire to return to his duties in Norwynne as soon as possible, Jacob felt him an honest, hard worker, his presence such a boon Jacob had readily taken him on as his right-hand man. Now, with the Griffin in port and Norwynne less than a week away as the soldier marched, Jacob expected he'd not share the sergeant's company for much longer. Tippin had at least agreed to fulfill his present duties up until the Griffin was ready for takeoff. The man had no family in Norwynne, so it was simply a matter of returning to duty. Otherwise, Jacob had no doubts he'd have jumped ship and been on his way before they'd even set down properly. The last they'd seen, Norwynne had been shocked by quake and flood with dwarven raiders picking their way through the rubble and likely killing any survivors. Hirad Bolheim, who had assumed leadership of the Fire Rock dwarves remaining onboard, had assured Jacob their raiders at the city-keep had no intention of occupying it. Such information had done little to lessen Tippin's feelings of ill-will toward Hirad and his raiders.

  When the subject of recruitment had arisen, Jacob's first and only choice had been Tippin Roe. In less than a week, Tippin had gained the respect of the other mates, and so Jacob had no doubts he'd similarly impress potential recruits in Brighton. Jacob expected the entire allotment of contracts he'd drawn up, calling for a year or more of service, to come back signed. No press gangs here, for the Griffin had no need to force people to join up. The thrill of serving onboard an airship was enticement enough. Tippin would do fine with the duty. Besides, if he'd not given it to the sergeant, it might have fallen to Lundy. Jacob believed in putting the ship's best face forward in all things, but especially when it came to recruitment. Lundy, whom Jacob was certain had been expelled from the Seacean Navy because of sheer foulness, was without a doubt the airship's worst.

  Jacob continued his report, most of the rest of it the mundane details of the airship's day-to-day operations. He approached his final point with some trepidation. "Last, sir, the mates could do with a bout of shore leave. It's been a hectic voyage, and everyone's nerves need some unwinding."

  Captain Kreg stopped his scribbling and looked up. He'd made it clear enough times he didn't like the idea of the men frolicking about off-ship, where they'd the means and opportunity to desert. But these were contracted men. As per their written agreements, they were allowed a certain amount of leisure time, which included time off-ship. The captain had little room for argument in this. He offered none now as he leaned back in his chair and set his quill down.

  "Relax, man," he said, "this isn't a bloody inquisition."

  Jacob, who remained at attention, hadn't realized he'd gone so rigid. He relaxed his stance as requested.

  A cacophony of deep laughter and coarse hollering sounded from outside the room's only open porthole.

  "The dwarves, I presume?" Blyden asked.

  Jacob waved a path through th
e smoke to the porthole. "Yes, sir. Leaving as agreed upon."

  "Good riddance, I say," Blyden said. "Disgusting creatures, those dwarves. The Griffin is better for their departure."

  "Yes, sir," Jacob said, agreeing by rote. In truth, he liked the dwarves, as did many others. Once they'd settled their differences over the 'disgusting creatures' trying to take over the ship, at least. Tippin and a good many others had wanted to throw them all overboard after that episode. Of everyone onboard, the sergeant had the most reason to hate them, for they'd been responsible for taking him and some others prisoner in the first place. In the end, cooler heads had prevailed. In return for causing no more trouble, the dwarves agreed to disembark at their first port of call and to never set foot on the Griffin again. For all their ruthlessness, the dwarves of Fire Rock had their honor. Their late leader, Engus Rul, had proven that much. Jacob watched Hirad and the handful of other dwarves walk down the gangplank before returning his attention to the captain.

  "Sir, a question."

  Blyden fixed him with one of those glares of his where his gaze narrowed and the line of his jaw tensed.

  "Since we never received final payment from the savant for our part in his little adventure, how will we pay for the repairs to the ship? I would not dictate finances to you, sir," Jacob said, knowing full well Captain Kreg, and only Captain Kreg, kept the books onboard ship, "but after paying the men their monthly due and buying even the minimum supplies, they'll be scant left for the Griffin. Parts for the engine alone are going to set us back a tidy sum."

  Blyden took his pipe from his mouth. "You packaged up the savant's books and such as I asked?"

  "Of course, sir."

  The task had been completed days ago. Every last piece of paper locked away in a number of chests and hidden so well, even the most thorough inspection had little hope of finding it. Though the Griffin's primary business was the transport of goods and the occasional passenger, not all such business was legitimate. There were plenty of hidey-holes in which to store goods they'd rather not have found by the wrong people.