by Garon Whited
The real problem with analyzing it was an elementary one. It’s a prison. Physically, it’s glass. Mystically, it’s like a small universe with a spherical firmament encapsulating it. Considering the occupant, I would imagine it is not a pleasant place. Sort of a custom-built, personal Hell. I hope. But I can’t reach past the edge of the sphere with anything. Maybe I could open a gate inside it to look around, but there are obvious and unacceptable risks involved with that idea!
In short, I’m still not sure how the Thing is contained in there.
As a result, I have a spell on the bowling bag, instead. This acts… hmm. It acts like a voltage regulator, sort of. The spell filters and smooths out the flow of energies through it. If I direct a probe at the bag, it absorbs the spike in energy, stores it, and lets out exactly enough “normal” power to simulate the typical background radiation.
Wait, better example. Imagine a closed-circuit television watching something, but with a computer patched into the circuit. If something unpleasant comes into view, the computer switches to playing back some “normal” video, rather than a live feed, until the place looks normal again.
I suppose neither of those is much of an example, but it’ll have to do. Sorry about that.
The good news, from my point of view, was I had enough power inside the circle to make the concealing spell a hybrid spell/enchantment. The spell had some elements of an enchantment on it; it absorbed power on its own and was potentially self-sustaining. Not in this environment, of course, but it would still last longer than if I only wound it up and set it going. Plus, if I was careful, I wouldn’t have to cast it again. I could direct power at it every so often to charge it up.
Even better, if the Thing inside could reach out, anything it did was going to result in charging the spell and wasting the Thing’s own power. I like that.
Now the Orb of Evil is safely contained in the Bowling Bag of Blending In. And buried under the floor of the tornado shelter again. And locked in.
I really need to see about buying a rocket. They make them. There isn’t an actual city on the Moon, but they have people on it. They have a space station. You can buy a ticket and go to either one, if you want to badly enough.
Can I afford a rocket? One just big enough to launch into the sun? How much would that cost?
Right now, though, I need to clean up a bit. I’m expecting guests.
Sir Sebastian was right on time. The front gate chime went off at one minute to two o’clock. Thirty seconds later, he rang my doorbell. He was accompanied by a pair of younger men—younger than him; mid-forties or so—both of whom bore him more than a passing resemblance. Well, I was dealing with a whole family, so I shouldn’t be surprised.
“Good afternoon,” Sir Sebastian greeted me. “I must apologize; my sons asked to accompany me today. I told them it was not up to me, but we would ask. Do you mind if they observe? I will readily send them out to the car to wait, if you so wish.”
“If people always asked me for things in so pleasant and polite a manner, there would be a lot less grief in the world. Please, all of you, do come in.”
I let them in and sat them down, served cookies and asked if he cared for anything to drink. I prepared for this with my grocery run; we settled on ginger ale. I took a chair; he took a chair. His sons took the couch. Sebastian made introductions between myself and both Thomas and Reginald. We agreed it was a pleasure to meet.
“I must say, your efforts have been most efficacious,” he observed, pointedly looking around the living room. Taking out the carpeting revealed hardwood underneath. I really should refinish it.
“I hope so. It’s a work in progress, I’m afraid. You know how it is with a house.”
“Of course. Now, to business?”
“Certainly. Before we begin, do you happen to have a small, relatively simple ritual spell you can work from memory?”
“I do.”
“Good. I should have thought to make sure the last time we spoke, but, well, I wasn’t exactly prepared.”
“Think nothing of it. May I ask why?”
“Rather than take my word for it, you can test the function of my arrangements for yourself. Shall we go downstairs?” I asked, rising. Sir Sebastian used his stick to help himself to his feet, brushing aside attempts by the younger men to assist him. They followed me down through both doors and into the basement. They all noticed the heavy doors and the locks, but pointedly failed to mention them.
“Here it is,” I said, gesturing at the empty basement. “The containment circle on the floor is the important one, obviously; the others simply feed it. The one here, on this wall, is a bit crowded due to the stairs, but the setup isn’t required to be balanced or anything.” I explained, briefly, the functions of the circles. He nodded, following along.
“What you are telling me,” he said, thoughtfully, tapping his chin with the head of his walking stick, “is that you can create—in the small scale, at least—something closely akin to a lesser nexus?”
“Um. If by ‘lesser nexus’ you mean a power center with a higher level of available magic, then yes. I’ve never owned a lesser nexus, so I can’t swear to the details.”
“As you say. You mentioned I might make use of it?”
“Sure. I discharged it this morning, so you can get a sort of a minimum function baseline. Whatever has built up in the last four hours or so is yours to play with, which will give you an idea of how quickly—or slowly—it collects power. Go ahead. The circle doesn’t do anything but hold in the power, really; you can cross it without harm. But,” I added, holding up a hand to bar his advance, “before you do, be aware it’ll break any spells you have on you by trying to absorb them, going in or going out.” He frowned, obviously annoyed.
“Then, if I may pose the obvious question, what good is it?” he asked, somewhat peevishly. “You cannot cast spells out of it, and any spells you cast within it will be destroyed when you leave?”
“Oh, you let it sit and charge up. You go in, work your ritual, and that uses up all the power.”
“Ah, I see,” he realized. “So, it is not a permanent emplacement?”
“Only in the sense that you can let it charge as long as you like. The only way to really use the power is to do it all inside the circle.”
“But then it is expended?”
“Yes. I suppose that does make a difference in the pricing—I hadn’t given it that sort of thought.”
“Indeed.” He began divesting himself of various magically-charged accoutrements, handing them to Thomas and Reginald.
“If you don’t mind,” I said, “I’ll go upstairs and let you get on with it without any distractions.”
“I thought to ask, but had no polite way to phrase such a request,” he admitted.
“No problem. The doors can be opened from this side; I’ll be in the kitchen.”
“Do I need to break the circle on the floor?”
“No, the lines are there to initialize the power-collection spell. They don’t matter once it’s up and running.”
“You are most gracious.”
I went upstairs and left them to play with it. I wanted a sizable snack and a look at the effects of my latest spending on my bank balance. My accounts were okay, but I’d been dipping into my capital to pay for things. I could either live rather frugally for the next year or two, or I could put fresh money into the accounts to make up the losses—more, really, to allow for the higher-than-expected living expenses. Doing research with exotic metals alone cost enough to buy a truck. To be fair, I did plan to sell any metal samples that didn’t have a use in the project, but I’d have to buy more of whatever did… and then Bronze might decide some of them were tasty. That could get expensive, too.
I might have to go visit a local casino, or even bite the bullet and take that trip to Las Vegas. Or even Monaco. I never thought I’d grow up to make my living cheating at gambling. My mother would not approve.
I wonder. With a telekinetic tric
k applied to a racehorse, can I rig a horse race? Maybe if I pull on one side of the bit, or pull back on it? Or pick a nostril or an ear and gently pull to one side? Maybe grab a hoof and keep pulling down, simulating more weight on one foot than on the others, to throw off the gait? That would be effective, but I have to focus on one thing at a time. I could make a horse lose, but I couldn’t guarantee a winner. Still, I could definitely alter the odds substantially. That might be an alternative.
Do they have horse races at night? I could drain vitality out of horses as they go past where I’m standing—several horses at once, possibly all of them except the one I wagered on. I’ll have to look into that.
Diogenes projected the amount of additional capital I’d need to continue at my current level of expenditure. I whistled. I blame some of that preposterous number on inflation, of course, but maybe the country really was having something of an economic depression.
Sebastian and his kids came up from the basement. I didn’t know what he was prepared to offer for my services, but at least I had a good idea of what I needed. If this wasn’t profitable enough, there’s always theft.
Once we settled in the living room again, I opened up the dialogue.
“So? What did you think?”
“It is quite impressive,” he admitted. “You have an accomplishment there and no mistake.”
“I’m glad you like it. What do you think it’s worth? —bearing in mind, of course, that it’s an expendable thing.”
“If I may, I have some questions about it.”
“Fire away.”
He wanted to know a number of things—could it be larger, would that affect the rate or the ultimate power contained, did it have to have multiple wall-spells, could it be put aboard a moving vehicle, did it have to be on a rigid surface, how long did it take to set up the basic spell and how much longer for any additional spells, and so on. I never gave much thought to most of those questions, but the answers were pretty obvious to me.
With all that in mind, we haggled. Let’s be kind and say “negotiated.” We worked out a variety of prices depending on exactly what a client wanted. Size, complexity, placement—he pulled out a notepad and started working out a matrix of services and prices for everything. The man was a professional at this; he thought of everything. He even had some suggestions on how to list the income on my taxes.
Including a point I hadn’t even considered.
“Now, quite candidly, I agree these prices are fair. However, you may wish to charge more if you find your business is too demanding.”
“Supply and demand, right.”
“I do have one additional proposition for you, if I may?”
“Shoot.”
“In exchange for a percentage, I—that is, my family—can act as a broker for your services in this matter. We would let it be known you have this service to offer, as well as negotiate with potential clients regarding the details. You, of course, would do the work, but our brokerage fee is modest—a mere ten percent.”
Suddenly, I had a vision of a house of magi that had no vast library of ritual spells, no warehouse of magical paraphernalia. They didn’t have a magical tome of power with the true names of spirits and demons. Instead, they had an address book with the phone numbers of magi all around the world, a list of what those people wanted and how to provide it for them… for a fee. Or a favor. They might not be the most powerful house of magi, nor the most prolific, but certainly one of the ones you absolutely did not want to cross because everyone owed them something.
“I would be pleased to have an agent,” I agreed. “Do you think you could keep me from working weekends, and preferably not more than twice a week?”
“If that is your wish, certainly.” Sebastian made a note. “We are in agreement, then?”
“We are.”
“It is a pleasure doing business with you, sir,” he declared, and climbed to his feet. I stood with him, as did Thomas and Reginald. I wondered if they ever spoke in his presence.
“It is my honor to have you as a business agent,” I replied. “Thank you for coming.”
After some more polite phrases, we made our farewells and I went downstairs to put my Ascension Sphere back in order. As I did, I noticed something. The power-fans I had placed on the walls were “blowing” magical potential into the room. It raised the local ambient magic without the trouble of an Ascension Sphere. That is, the local power rose slightly, like the air pressure in a room with fans in all the windows, blowing inward. Simply walking away wouldn’t destroy any spells, though.
Would it be possible to set up something like a Venturi tunnel? Or something more like a jet engine? If magic can be both a “fuel” for the spell as well as what’s being pumped, would it be worthwhile to set up several such spells so the front one took in a large area, sent it to a smaller one for further compression and added velocity, and so on down until the last one blasted a high-pressure jet of raw magical power at me?
I need to experiment some more. So much to discover!
Thursday, October 21st
Mark seems to be recovering well. He’s also looking for work. He got out of the house and canvassed the neighborhood about their lawn care plans. I don’t know who else agreed to his new business, but he’s got all my yard work: a big damn hedge to keep trimmed, that long front walk to keep edged, and the whole front lawn. I asked him what he thought the job was worth and simply agreed to his price.
When I saw him mowing with that toy he called a lawnmower, I couldn’t stand it. It’s a small, electric gadget, suitable for a tiny front yard. It’s not a lawn mower; it’s a lawn clipper.
I made him an offer. I buy a mower, edger, blower, rake, and suchlike. He pays me ten percent of his daily take—not counting expenses, like grass seed, fertilizer, lubricants, replacement power packs, and a Google Vans bill—until he’s paid me ten percent over the cost of the equipment. It makes a hundred-dollar power edger cost him a hundred and ten, but he gets to use it immediately. It’s also not a fixed monthly payment—only ten percent of his net, not the gross. He went for it and he even shook my hand.
Gary drew up a flyer; I printed him a hundred or so copies. I also posted it online to various free cybersites. It’s not a good time of year to start a lawn service, but we’ll see what else develops while he’s working at that.
I still feed all the Fabulous Four when they come over, usually after they’ve finished making musical-sounding noise in the hayloft/studio. Some eat more than others; some accept my offer to take snacks home. Well… one.
Luke is doing much better at reining in his language. Patricia has my permission to smack him on the back of the head when he goofs. He’s a quick study.
Gary wanted to know if the rest of the property needed any work done. I’m not sure what needs to be done, really; the place is in good shape and I can’t see mowing all that acreage like a big yard. I’ve tentatively got the Fabulous Four making clay cups for the tree farm. It’s piecework; they’re paid to produce. They spent a good portion of this afternoon doing that.
Oddly enough, they didn’t come in to collect. They sent Gary.
I like these kids.
Saturday, October 24th
My experiments seem to be going well.
While it is possible to build a “jet engine” for magical force, it’s time-consuming and tiring. The thing takes hours to draw properly—with much of the base diagram actually copied from a jet engine—and the whole thing needs a charge from my Ascension Sphere to start it. And that’s the prototype!
Still, it’s only a proof of concept. It can be done. It can be streamlined and improved, I’m sure. For now, anytime I care to invest that much time and effort, I can have a roaring fountain of high-pressure power. I wonder what sort of reaction that would get from the local ley-line sniffers. Maybe I’ll build a full-scale one later. Right now, the working model is in the basement, helping to refill the house’s main Ascension Sphere.
I’ve also establi
shed there is a relationship between some of the paramagnetic metals and magical energy. The two that seem to react are ruthenium and iridium, although I have no idea why. It appears, at least to my spells, that using ruthenium as a core material in what would normally be considered an electromagnet causes a change in the… hmm. What do I call it? Magical flux? Put electricity through it and it makes a magical field instead of a magnetic one.
Iridium doesn’t do anything special when I use it as an electromagnet core. On the other hand, when I put it in a highly-charged magical field, I can detect a faint ripple in the fabric of spacetime. This ripple seems to happen in sync with a multicolored surface effect. Iridium was named for Iris, the goddess of the rainbow in Greek mythology, because of the many colors it displays in its salts. Apparently, the pure metal—normally a silver-white color—will also change colors while acting as a conductor for magical energy. It looks almost like the rainbow effect of an oil slick in a puddle, except it moves quickly along the surface of the metal and has a broad array of intense colors.
Prime gate material? Maybe. Still experimenting with it, though.
I’m still thinking about my magic box idea, too. Maybe my conceptual model on gates isn’t quite right. I think my biggest area of confusion with gate spells is the difference between versions. I have a basic understanding from studying gates, but I also have memories from the magicians in Rethven, especially those I ate who worked for the Hand. This is often contradictory or confusing because I also have the ghosts of magicians from Zirafel.
I think the magicians in Rethven tried to duplicate the art of magical gates from what they could glean from Zirafel. The result works, but it’s not the same thing. It’s like being a mechanic and having to switch from gasoline to diesel engines. The principle of the internal combustion engine is basically the same, but the details are so drastically different!
As a result I’ve been looking over what I know, or think I know, of the gate spell. It’s a lot of work, making one by hand. If I had enough power, I could visualize the whole thing and slap it onto an opening in a matter of seconds. But that would require some major storage batteries and six or seven years to charge them—this place is no fun, magically speaking.