by Adam Dreece
The street gambler smiled at him nervously. He knew if he backed out now, he’d never be able to work this part of town again. “Okay.”
When the crowd erupted once more, both LeLoup and the boy were excited and pressed their thumbs together in triumph. Members of the crowd immediately copied them.
“My young friend here has a talent, ladies and gentlemen!” yelled LeLoup, raising the noise level.
“You just wiped out a year of earnings, kid,” whispered the street gambler angrily.
The boy gave him his own version of LeLoup’s predator grin. “That’s a shame. I thought we’d taken everything. Let’s see if I can make this a bad decade for you, shall we?”
LeLoup gave the boy a slap on the back and grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him in. “Win this one, boy, and the world is yours.”
The boy nodded excitedly.
“What’s your name?” asked LeLoup, releasing him.
“Franklin. Franklin Watt.”
LeLoup couldn’t believe the day he was having.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
A Neu Way
Marcus banged on the ceiling for the driver to stop the carriage. Moments later, the door opened.
“Everything okay, sir?” asked the new captain.
Climbing out, Marcus said, “We’re going for a walk, no entourage.”
“Sir, we—”
Marcus cut his new captain off. “You weren’t going to say that you have orders from someone, were you? I’d hate to have to replace my captain twice in two days.”
Nervously, the captain shook his head. “I was… I just… we are in the middle of nowhere.”
“Actually,” said Marcus, scanning the winding road carved through yet another forest, “we are very much somewhere. Remain here.”
Nikolas was a bit surprised when the door opened; he’d been lost in a book. Marcus had been in the front office section of the carriage working since the early morning, leaving Nikolas in the back with books, paper, ink, and his thoughts.
Stepping out and having a good stretch, Nikolas took in the scenery. The sky was a deep blue, with a handful of gray clouds. The trees and other foliage gave Nikolas a good idea of where they were, but not why they’d stopped. He was about to ask Marcus about where they were headed when, for the first time, he saw the carriage in full daylight. It was quite something to behold.
The extended carriage had four sets of twin wheels, with a wheel-within-a-wheel design, connected with tightly coiled springs. The exterior was painted fairly simply, in black and gray. At the front was a bench seat for the driver with a flip-up armored panel for cover. Four crouched soldiers were stationed on top with rifles.
Nikolas bent down and studied the suspension and wheel system in detail. He muttered to himself as he pieced together how it worked and why certain engineering decisions had likely been made.
“Do you approve?” asked Marcus, curious, as Nikolas got himself fully under the carriage to scrutinize it up close.
Nikolas nodded. “It’s a very practical design. The horses aren’t the sole source of propulsion, though, yes? I noticed—”
Marcus laughed. “How long did it take you to realize that after you were under there—a minute?”
Nikolas pensively touched his fingers to his thumb, counting. “Approximately.”
“It took Simon nearly twenty minutes,” he replied. “I wouldn’t give him any of the details, however.”
Nikolas took Marcus’ hand and got back to his feet. “It’s nothing obvious. You shouldn’t worry,” said Nikolas, brushing himself off.
“Indeed,” said Marcus, smirking.
Nikolas added, “I was curious about it, as I had noticed a particular sound when we were traveling. There’s a… a type of harmonic rubbing, metallic sounding. It occurred every two to four seconds when we were on an incline. I couldn’t place it at first, but now it’s clear to me.
“I realized that it must be related to this carriage being heavily armored, yes? So I calculated the weight it would have to be, and determined that it couldn’t be pulled by four horses alone. Also, I assume it’s meant to withstand a cannon blast from one hundred yards, yes?”
Marcus chuckled. “It’s supposed to be eighty. I’ll have to make a point of checking; I wouldn’t want to make a horrible mistake. I’ve missed you, old friend.” He gave Nikolas a friendly slap on the back. “So, tell me while we walk, what’s the auxiliary propulsion system?”
Nikolas rubbed his forehead. “I assume that you have some form of pop-up armaments, yes?”
Marcus nodded, chuckling some more.
Taking off his spectacles and cleaning them on his shirt, Nikolas’ eyes danced about as he studied the machine he’d constructed in his mind. “You are still after the steam engine, so that must be accounted for.”
Marcus moved his head from side to side, not wanting to answer, but rather wanting only to acknowledge that it was an adept question.
“So given Simon’s skills, and assuming no external factors, I’d say you used your expertise in alchemical materials to… no,” said Nikolas, cutting himself off, “that would have been… too volatile. No, you’d need something more simple.” He closed his eyes and scrutinized every detail of the carriage he’d imagined.
“When we went up that hill an hour ago,” he said, putting a hand over his eyes, “the transition to the incline was smooth.” Nikolas stood a few steps, eyes covered. “It couldn’t be chemical, as there was no kick. It must be… springs. You’ve figured out an effective way of storing the kinetic energy when going downwards and using it when going uphill. The alchemical part is for something else.” Nikolas took his hand away and squinted for a moment. “Did Laurent DeLau design this?”
Marcus stopped, flat-footed. He hadn’t expected Nikolas to be able to make such a series of leaps. He straightened up and thought for a moment. He’d only ever underestimated Nikolas a handful of times.
He put his arm around Nikolas to get them moving again. “Just a little further. There’s something I want to show you. And to answer your question: yes, Laurent was working for me. He passed away about two years ago. Lived like a king, and passed away one day rather suddenly.”
A few minutes later, they arrived at an unassuming, small log cabin. It was only six-by-eight feet wide.
“Do you remember when we discussed what it would take to change the world?” asked Marcus, standing in front of the simple wooden front door.
Nikolas noticed that two trenches had been dug through the forest to the cabin from opposite directions.
Marcus cleared his throat, getting Nikolas’ attention and a smile.
“We talked about a lot of things years ago,” said Nikolas. “But do I remember that one? Yes.”
Marcus nodded. “That discussion in particular provided me some much-needed clarity. It gave me a roadmap for what I needed to do, and what I soon will have accomplished.
“I believe I’ve solved all of the issues. Granted I’ve made enemies along the way, some of them more dangerous than others, but I’m very close to completing my plans. The solution to the biggest of the problems we imagined is right behind this door.”
“You’re still thinking about her,” said thirty-three-year-old Marcus, smiling. It was rare that he got to tease Nikolas about something that had any effect on the young man. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re completely distracted by her.”
Eighteen-year-old Nikolas squirmed in his chair and furrowed his brow. He pulled on his fledgling brown beard. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Who is this ‘her’?” he said, trying to wave off Marcus.
Marcus laughed and slammed the table. “I must get my wife in here to witness this. Nikolas Klaus, right hand of the High Conventioneer, is distracted by a woman! Richelle! Are you there? Richelle!”
Nikolas scanned about nervously.
“She’s not home,” said Marcus, laughing.
Nikolas tried glaring at Marcus, but the sheer joy in the ma
n’s face was too much for him to overcome. He got up and paced around the room a bit. “Do you think—” and then he stopped.
“What?” asked Marcus. “If she was interested in you? I don’t know. She did ask you your name six times, as you stood there looking absolutely stunned at the beautiful, intelligent woman talking to you.”
“I was… thinking… about big things! Important things,” retorted Nikolas, gesturing at the ceiling. “Anyway, women are a mystery to me that no wisdom or advice seems to illuminate.”
“Here’s some that will. When spoken to, try to respond, preferably in a manner that somewhat resembles normal speech,” said Marcus, chuckling.
“I was thinking! She confused me. This woman interfered with my thoughts, that’s all. I always notice women as people, as entities that consume physical space. As entities with whom I can have intellectual conversations on any range of matters, yes? But this Isabella… she is different, she is… present.”
Marcus held his sides as he laughed. “Try not to remark on that quality of hers. She may not take it as the compliment it is meant to be!”
Nikolas stared at the sheets of parchment covering the walls of Marcus’ study, in hopes of buying himself some time to find a way out of Marcus’ social trap.
They’d been writing ideas on the sheets all day, brainstorming about anything and everything, an exercise they’d started to do more and more often. Everything was written in the age-old secret scripting language of Crayo. What appeared so innocent on one level would surely have had him and Marcus arrested, if not beheaded, if anyone knew. Nikolas found the exercise very freeing.
“So what are these grand thoughts you were trying to wrestle with?” asked Marcus, leaning back in his chair, arms folded.
Nikolas stared at the floor to focus. “I was thinking about… what have been the core challenges and failings of every governing body, from kingdom to empire to nation state. More importantly, I was asking myself: can they be resolved? Is it a question of insight, innovation, or imagination?”
“Really?” asked Marcus sarcastically.
“Yes,” said Nikolas, nodding.
“Indulge me,” said Marcus, waving for Nikolas to carry on. “Prove to me that you were not lost in the eyes of one Isabella von Delona.”
Nikolas paced around the stone floor, looking at the bookcases and gas lamps hanging in the corners. “I’m ignoring problems such as agricultural yields, taxation, and such,” he said, stalling.
Marcus shrugged. “I’m fine with that. They’re solvable.”
Nikolas continued, “Transportation is the first problem. One needs a superior transportation system to allow for a small military to cover a large area. Large armies have a high cost and are difficult to move, and therefore easy to outmaneuver. A superior transportation system needs to be developed that can make such a displacement quickly and effectively. A smaller military would have the peripheral benefits of less morale management and fewer recruitment issues.”
“What about simply having horses for everyone?” asked Marcus, throwing in a question he already knew the answer to.
Nikolas scoffed. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Marcus might as well have proposed riding pigeons. “Horses are too few. Never mind that it’s too expensive to train them as well as the soldiers, plus there’s feeding and caring for them. Also, there is—”
“Yes, yes, moving on,” said Marcus, gnawing on the end of a wooden spoon. He took his feet off the table that divided the study in half and leaned forward. “Okay, Conventioneer Klaus, I’m almost believing that you weren’t thinking about… what’s her name?”
“Isabella,” said Nikolas, joy springing to his face.
Marcus smiled and shook his head. He loved Nikolas dearly, and hadn’t imagined he’d ever see him like this. “What else?”
Nikolas was ready for him. “Then there’s the art and science of communication. Every regime ultimately has failed because it doesn’t have the ability to react quickly enough to crisis, particularly at its frontiers. Secrecy, security, speed, and efficiency are all vital. This is the greatest problem, yes?”
Marcus was impressed.
“So you believe me that I wasn’t thinking about this… this woman?” said Nikolas, folding his arms and raising his chin.
Marcus stood up. “Oh, no, not in the slightest. You were thinking of Isabella, you can’t fool me for an instant. However, you thought better on your feet than you ever have. That tells me you were seriously thinking about her. I promise I won’t mention anything to Richelle, yet.
“But this line of thinking, it’s very interesting. I think we should spend the rest of the day on this.”
Marcus and Nikolas entered the log cabin. It was windowless and barren, save for a table with a large box on it, and two ceiling-hung oil lamps.
As Marcus lit the lamps, two shiny metal tubes revealed themselves. They came out of the floor and through the bottom of the table. Most of the table was taken up by a secured wooden box.
“Any ideas yet?” asked Marcus, as he slid the puzzle locks on the box open and removed it. Underneath were the connected ends of the two tubes, and a lever.
Nikolas studied it, shaking his head.
“This is the key,” said Marcus, opening a drawer and removing a small cylindrical canister from it. “I place whatever message I want into this, pull the lever to allow it to be inserted into the tube, then seal it back up and it speeds away to its destination. That destination could be one of several locations throughout the kingdoms. Which one is controlled by these rings on the side of the canister. Each location has a particular setting. I can have up to two hundred and forty-eight locations.”
Marcus took out paper and ink from the drawer and wrote a note, and then put the paper in the tube. As he pulled the lever, there was a sudden ‘thum’ sound.
Nikolas gave Marcus a narrow-eyed gaze. “Tulu?”
Marcus was astonished. “Pardon?”
Nikolas tapped his chin in thought. “Tulu Neuma. You introduced me to him once, yes? Long ago. We were working with Christophe on the second set of King’s-Horses and planning our escape. He was a Conventioneer… from the Angel Fingers islands? Short, bald man, with dark skin, yes? The mechanics of wind and air were something he understood like no one I’d ever met.”
Marcus bowed his head slightly. “You have a memory like no one I’ve ever met. You really remember a five-minute long conversation in some hallway, decades ago?”
Nikolas stared at Marcus, confused, not sure what deception would have gained the other man. “You remember it.”
“Yes, well, for a different reason. I took Neuma under my wing after my… failed escape. When I became regent, I gave him ten years to show me this idea of his could work. He called it the Tube von Neuma.”
Nikolas smiled, remembering the rules for Conventioneers. Their inventions were required to be named with a simple noun, followed by their name, under the belief that over time, the name would be forgotten.
“I assume you changed that to the Neumatic Tube, yes?” said Nikolas, the rebel in him enjoying the moment.
“Of course,” replied Marcus, smiling. “He was able to prove it in nine years, on a small scale. We were able to send messages from one end of a castle to another. Bit by bit, we took steps that led here.”
“It must have cost—”
“A king’s ransom?” interrupted Marcus. “And then some. I’m fortunate to have very deep pockets available to me. Anyway, in about thirty minutes we should have our response.”
Nikolas examined the simple tube and wondered, “Where could the message go in thirty minutes?”
“I sent it to my home just outside the capital city of Teutork,” said Marcus, with a catbird smile. “The outer ring determines its destination. There’s a ring inside the tube here that would stop any messages intended for here from going past.”
Nikolas calculated the distance, the speed the message would need to go, the amount of time f
or someone to hear and react to a bell or something indicating there was a message, the amount of time to respond, and then for the response to be received. “That’s… incredible.”
Marcus had a huge grin. “I haven’t heard you give that level of commendation for an invention… ever. Mind you, Isabella was able to get those out of you every time she showed up. That is, provided she wasn’t covered from head to toe in mud.”
Nikolas let out his first genuine laugh since Solstice. “I’d forgotten about that time. Yes, the day of the heavy rains and that wagon that raced outside of your home.”
Marcus grabbed the table as they laughed. “And Richelle tried to help her but then she tripped… knocking over the crates of flower petals.”
“Oh! The flower petals!” Nikolas bent over, laughing hard. “They stuck to her. From head to toe, yes?”
“She… she looked like a chicken!” said Marcus, doubling over.
Nikolas roared with laughter, falling on his butt. “Oh, but she was a most beautiful and graceful chicken.”
“Richelle kicked me so hard for laughing. I still have the scar,” said Marcus, starting to calm down.
“I will never forget the image of everyone so horrified. Yet Isabella stood there, dignified, and then started to laugh and dance about, yes? She was an angel,” said Nikolas, sighing. He’d forgotten how much he’d missed the good times, when Marcus had been an older brother figure to him.
Marcus sighed. “They were great women.”
Nikolas nodded, a moment of sadness creeping over him as the memory of Isabella faded back into history.
Marcus patted Nikolas on the back. “We’ll come back later, as I want to prove to you this works.” He motioned for Nikolas to head out. “Let’s have some lunch. I had one packed for us.
“While it is not perfect, does this solve the problem of communication?” asked Marcus, returning them to the points from earlier.
Nikolas had always assumed that Marcus’ ambitions would hit a limit—whether the limit of his lifespan, or a limit of technology. Clearly, he’d been wrong.