The Nullification Engine (The Alchemancer: Book Two)

by Scott Marlowe

  Yet the houndmaster continued to approach until he stood so close Aaron found himself staring right up into those burning hell coals. He tried to keep from trembling, but failed miserably.

  —I should kill you now. You are weak. You are unfit to command us.—

  "Y-you can't kill me."

  The master's hand gripped the hilt of his sword. The muscles along his forearm quivered as he attempted to draw the blade. Behind Aaron, one of the dogs within arm's reach snapped at him. Others, with fangs bared, began a litany of growling. Aaron looked for an escape route, but there wasn't one. Even without gripping the tooth, Aaron felt the increase of heat emanating from it as the demon pushed against its magic. Little by little, the demon was winning, as more and more of the houndmaster's blade became visible. One of the hounds nudged Aaron with its head. The gesture nearly knocked him to the ground. Another came too close with its slavering jowls, acidic drool nearly dripping on his leg. He tried to stay clear of them, but they prowled in every direction he turned. Then Misery was right in front of him, the bitch so massive she almost looked down at him. This close, her fetid breath caused him to blanch. Aaron's free hand went to the alchemical vials in his vest pockets, even though he knew he'd nothing potent enough to work against a demon. He'd no idea what to do.

  Clack...clack...clack.

  The sound, come from the mist behind Aaron, halted Krosus's effort and drew the attention of the dogs. Even Misery, who had her mouth open wide, perhaps to see if Aaron's head might fit, looked in the direction of the noise. Aaron thought about using the distraction to slink away, but not all of the hounds' attention had been diverted. Curious himself, Aaron turned just enough to make out the origin of the odd noise.

  From the mist came a hobbled, hooded form. Each step was accompanied by the tap of a metal-shod staff upon the cobbled street. The figure stopped with a wide margin remaining between him and the pack. Then he turned his head and moved it in such a way Aaron thought he...sniffed the air?

  "You've a stench about you, demon," he said in a voice old and wizened. "Your hounds as well. It is...repulsive."

  Krosus and his hounds forgot about Aaron as they moved to form a semicircle about the newcomer. The man, who appeared small and fragile compared to the muscled houndmaster and the massive hell hounds, held his ground.

  —We may be unable to slay the boy, but we've no such shackles keeping us from killing you, interloper.—

  "Eh? What's this?"

  The man lifted a hand, the back of which was covered in matted fur and the fingers, tipped by claws.

  "Yes, I see now. A tendril, winding its way from you and your pack all the way to the boy." He craned his neck, looking around Krosus to Aaron. "But growing weaker. Here, we shall do something about that."

  Krosus and the pack sprang into action, the houndmaster drawing his sword while his hounds coiled leg muscles, ready to leap at the newcomer. The hooded man didn't do anything, yet the tooth of a sudden blazed with heat, growing so hot Aaron almost felt compelled to throw it from him. Shaking off his surprise, Aaron found his voice.

  "Stop!"

  The one word was all it took now. Krosus halted in mid-swing and the hounds froze. Aaron took several long breaths, waiting to see what they'd do next. They did nothing, except some of the hounds began to whine.

  "Send them away, youngling, and then we shall speak. We have business, I hope."

  Aaron needed no such direction. "Leave the city," he said, making sure his gaze swept across all of the dogs before his gaze settled on their master. "Take your dogs and go. Never again are you to enter the city of Brighton."

  He'd no idea if the pack would obey that last part, but it didn't hurt. One by one, the hounds slunk away, their tails between their legs. Only Misery and Scourge flashed him a look promising harm, but then they too were gone, faded away into the mist from which they'd sprung. That left Krosus, whose will was the strongest of all of them. But even his strength was not enough to overcome the tooth's hold on him now. His blade slid back into its sheath and he backed away.

  —Another time, boy. You cannot keep us at bay forever.—

  Then he was gone, following in his hounds' wake. The mist dissipated, but slowly.

  Aaron turned to address his savior. "Thank you, sir."

  The other bowed. "You are welcome."

  This close, with no other distractions, Aaron looked at the other with increased scrutiny. Long, claw-tipped fingers held tight to a cane the man now leaned heavily upon. His arms were covered in dark fur and his feet were bare and padded. Besides his stoop, he still stood wrong, as if his legs or midsection were jointed differently. It was hard to tell for sure, though, with most of him concealed by his dark robe. His face remained similarly hidden, with his hood drawn up and the direction of his stare at an angle, as if he did not wish Aaron to glimpse even a hint of his face.

  "You said you wished to speak to me?" Aaron asked. "I know we've never met, and I'm only recently arrived in the city, so I don't know what business we'd have."

  "In time. I would ask something of you first."

  Aaron waited.

  "I would ask you to follow me. Without question and without knowing our destination."

  Aaron didn't particularly like those terms. He didn't know this person, if 'person' was even an apt description of him, and despite what he'd just done for him, Aaron had misgivings.

  "I see the apprehension in you. But these are my conditions. For now, you follow. I promise no harm will come to you and that, when we arrive at our destination, many of your questions about a certain machine shall be answered."

  "How...?" It didn't matter. That he knew about the machine was enough. Aaron knew he had no choice but to go along. "Lead on, then."

  The hooded man eschewed the main streets in favor of dark back alleys and near-hidden byways. Aaron's resolve faltered only once, when first they were about to enter a trash-strewn alley thick with shadows. But his guide, who remained non-threatening, simply kept walking without looking back to see if Aaron even followed. Progress was slow, with the man's hobbled gait and the clack of his staff leading them on with a sense of direction which never faltered. Despite having memorized several city maps before beginning this excursion, Aaron quickly became lost. But the hooded man led them on unwaveringly, finally stopping when they entered an alley ending at a solid brick wall. Blotches of something long dried stained the alley's floor, and chips and cracks scored old, grimy walls. The windows above were a montage of broken glass and cracked frames. No one had used either building in a very long time.

  "We are here," the hooded man said.

  The alley was empty of anything Aaron considered noteworthy. Also, there was nowhere to go next except back the way they'd just come.

  "First, I think introductions are in order," the man said, pulling back his hood to reveal the elder face of a skeva. Dark eyes and a pinkish, twitching nose were set amid fur streaked with gray but otherwise dark. He'd a smallish snout and primary upper teeth which fit over his lower lip. He sniffed and, Aaron figured, waited to see his reaction.

  "I already knew you were skeva," Aaron said. He had, too, for given the bits and pieces he'd seen of him and the way he carried himself, it had not been difficult to determine. Also, he thought he'd seen a tail swishing back and forth on more than one occasion.

  The skeva accepted the admission with a nod. "I am Acharat, Chieftain of Xirklx. Also, I serve my people as shaman."

  Aaron had never heard the name of the place before. He found the word itself intriguing. "Zir... Zir-kl..."

  "'Zir-clicks' is how it is pronounced. It is the city beneath this city."

  Aaron nodded, accepting the notion of another city beneath them for now. Also, he'd try the pronunciation later. "I'm Aaron Shepherd." He looked about the alley once more, just to double-check if he'd missed anything. He didn't think he had. "Why did you bring me here?"

  "To show you something."

  "But there isn't anything here."r />
  Acharat moved to one corner of the alley. "We are not quite at our destination yet. Watch and remember, for you will wish to return to this place on your own." He touched one brick and then another. Each time, a hidden glyph became visible, lighting up, before the brick returned to normalcy. He touched seven bricks in all before stepping back. The moment he had, all of the bricks in that corner of the alley shifted to reveal a dark opening.

  "Brighton is an old city," Acharat said. "So old, very few know of all its nooks and crannies. My people certainly do not. But we know much more than the humans do. Many are the wonders hidden right beneath their noses. Your machine is one of them."

  "How do you know about it?"

  "My people have always known. We have dwelt beneath Brighton for centuries. We have seen the city and its people rise to greatness and fall many times over. Always, we remain hidden for fear of what your kind would do to us if they learned of our existence."

  "So why reveal yourself now? And why to me? How do you know I won't tell the authorities about you and your city? I mean, not that I'm going to, but—"

  "Because I have judged you and found you worthy."

  "You have? If you don't mind me asking, how did you do that? We only just met a little while ago."

  Acharat loosened his robe. Underneath he wore a leather shirt and pants and a belt which hung heavy with arrangements of beads, feathers, and pieces of bone. Around his neck hung a leather string from which an assortment of small potion bottles were strung. The shaman lifted one of the beaded arrangements from his belt and held it before him.

  "It is with this talisman that I determined your worth, youngling."

  Aaron began to think the skeva addled from age. Out of politeness, he kept that to himself.

  "Though such things can be fickle at times," Acharat said. "But you offered further proof when you saved me from those demons. No doubt remained in my mind after that."

  Aaron remained dubious concerning the methods, but the old skeva was right if he thought Aaron meant him no harm. Curiosity returned his line of questioning to the dark opening.

  "What's in there?" he asked, gesturing toward it.

  Acharat returned his talisman to his belt before waving at Aaron to follow him. The skeva went first, stooping as he stepped through. Aaron followed with a bit more apprehension. Inside, all was dark. To his surprise, steps led down and down until they came out onto a level surface. He saw nothing in the dark, but the place reeked of staleness.

  "Wait one moment," Acharat said, his voice coming from somewhere ahead.

  Aaron heard him fumbling at something. Then he heard a curse.

  "Is something wrong?" Aaron asked.

  "It's these damn old hands of mine. Steady enough to bring demons to heel, but not to hold a lantern."

  "Here, let me, sir."

  Aaron felt at his vest, his hand going directly to the two alchemicals he wanted. He unstoppered both vials and poured the contents of one into the other. Instantly, a glow emanated from the combined solution. Aaron contained it with a stopper and held it up. It produced enough light to reveal a workshop. Intrigued, Aaron started walking about the room without prompting. Acharat found and turned the key on his lantern, lighting the room even more as Aaron went about his inspection. He took his time, touching nothing, but looking at everything. Three tables were covered with what looked like half-finished projects. A metal cylinder, open at both ends but clearly missing parts, was at the center of one of the work tables. Scraps of metal littered the space around. Another table had a fan-like receiving array on it, but it also looked only half-complete. The third table was much the same, with several unfinished copper constructs in such disarray their purpose might have been as nothing more than a source of spare parts. Also, this last table had on it an assortment of machinist's tools: a heavy-duty grinder, a boring mill, and, right next to it, a pedal-driven lathe. On the nearest wall hung an assortment of hand tools, including hammers and chisels, saws and drills, taps, parallels, calipers, spanners, and a set of reamers. At the opposite wall was a large bookcase filled to overflowing with books, journals, and scrolls. Next to the bookcase was a small reading desk with an open journal on its surface. A fine layer of dust coated everything, including the book. Aaron blew on the pages to better see the writing, for while he recognized the letters, their sequential arrangement seemed strange. Looking closer, he realized the text was garbled on purpose. It was encoded.

  Still studying the journal, Aaron asked, "Whose workshop was this?"

  Acharat came to stand next to him. He extended a hand to the book. "May I?" He turned to the first page. Written in clear lettering was a name.

  Cyrus Melkor.

  "Now you know as much as I about this place. I tried reading the books and scrolls, but they are gibberish to me."

  "If they're like this journal, then they're in code. Without the cypher, you wouldn't be able to read them."

  "Ah, that explains much."

  "But why would anyone encrypt all of their texts?"

  "Why would anyone build a machine in a secret cavern?" Acharat countered.

  The skeva had a point there.

  "Not all of the texts are encrypted," Acharat said.

  "Oh?" Aaron went to the bookcase.

  "The ones in the middle, on the right."

  Aaron selected one. The title read: The Evolution of the Excelsior Pattern. Aaron had never heard of any such topic. Careful because of the yellowing and stiffness of the book's pages, he opened it to a random location. The dialect was old, but still readable. It read, "In the composite form, the subject maintains a steady pattern away from the coupling, merging into the assembly and turning to face a secondary engagement. After approximately eight seconds or two spins, the subject breaks away and rejoins the initial partner." Aaron scratched his head. The content was fairly general, and, as he scanned the remainder of the page, he saw no mention of an Excelsior Pattern. He turned to the next page where the previous description was laid out in diagram format. It showed a principle, which Aaron assumed was the subject, coupled with another, and a curved line showing direction. Other subjects were in the drawing as well, each coupled with another, but also with curved lines showing motion. If one followed the lines of motion, each subject eventually returned to their original placement and initial partner. Aaron had no idea what the author meant by 'partner.' He'd never heard the word used in a scientific context before.

  "I have to admit," Aaron said, "I've never heard of this pattern. Perhaps it never made it into modern parlance, or is called something different now, though it doesn't look familiar to me in any way."

  The ends of Acharat's mouth went up into what Aaron thought was a smile.

  "The Excelsior Pattern is nothing scientific. It is a dance."

  Aaron didn't understand.

  "It is a dance you humans once performed. Mayhap still do. I've not been invited to many human ballrooms to say one way or another." His smile went wider and he snickered. "I believe, from reading some of the other texts, Cyrus Melkor invented it."

  Aaron turned some more pages and examined each. Then he slammed the book shut, returned it to its place, and selected another. It was much the same, though this one did not cover dance movements, but the history of the art itself. Others around it contained similar content.

  "It seems Cyrus Melkor's range of subjects went beyond just metalwork, tinkering, and building giant whirling machines," Acharat said.

  "You think he built the machine?"

  Acharat joined Aaron at the bookcase. He ran a finger along the bindings of one row, looking for one in particular. Finding it, he turned to a specific location and, holding the book out, displayed to Aaron a complete schematic of the machine. It was all there, albeit in a high-level format, with significant parts broken out with encoded labels and measurements. Beneath the schematic, the caption read The Nullification Engine. Aaron took the book at Acharat's urging, set it down on the nearest table, and scanned through it.
He saw many more schematics, interspersed with more coded text. He recognized some of the components from his time with the engine. This book, along with some of the others on the same shelf, Aaron realized, were all about the machine. If he deciphered them, he'd know everything there was to know about it.

  "How did you know any of this would even make sense to me?" Aaron asked.

  "Come here and I will show you."

  Acharat walked to one of the more cluttered tables, where he scanned its surface. He found a mortar and pestle. The pestle he cast aside. The mortar he filled with a briny solution from one of his necklace potions. "I'll need something from you, but not necessarily of you..." The skeva shaman examined the exterior of Aaron's coat. He found what he needed in a single strand of long blonde hair which must have attached itself when he visited Serena. "Though you humans look odd to my kind, what with your lack of hair and all, still this girl is pretty, no?"

  "Yes, she's very pretty." Then, with some concern, he asked, "How do you know what Serena looks like?"

  "I am showing you," Acharat said, placing the piece of hair into the bowl so it floated at the surface. He sprinkled a powdery substance on top and then touched the water with a single claw. "Come, look."

  Aaron leaned forward. In the water he saw...Serena? He stepped closer. It was her, fully dressed now and walking down the hall outside their rooms in the palace. She'd boots and coat on and so obviously was heading outside.

  "Where is she going? She's too weak to be up and about."

  "Yes, I saw her faint." Before Aaron questioned that, Acharat explained. "I saw what happened last night in the engine chamber using this same method. It is a shaman's trick I have had to rely upon often of late. These old bones don't travel like they used to. With so much happening, it has proven an efficient manner in which to keep up on recent occurrences and, sometimes, to know when someone is following you." He chuckled, but it seemed at some private joke, for he next said, "I saw everything, including your efforts to keep the engine from causing any more harm than it already had."

  Aaron, still looking at the image in the water, saw it start to fade. When it disappeared, he asked a question.