by Frank Tuttle
“Marvelous,” Mrs. Primsbite said. “Now what shall we say if we do establish contact with someone, or something?”
“I can prepare a sequence of mathematical fundamentals,” Meralda said. “Similar to those in the song. Perhaps we can then establish a common language, of sorts.”
“With any luck, if the Hang do make it to this hub, they’ll be greeted by something speaking Kingdom,” King Yvin said. “That ought to be a surprise. Mage, I’m sure I don’t need to stress the urgency of this.” He retrieved his plate, before heading for the door. “I envy the Kings of old. Lazy sods had it easy. Wheels in the sky. Math. Bah. Being a monarch isn’t what it used to be. Evening, ladies.”
Meralda gestured, and the doors swung open. The King departed, his guards falling into step on either side of him.
Mrs. Primsbite remained. “He failed to congratulate you, Mage, on your discovery of this. Well done.”
Meralda shrugged. “Thank you, Tower,” she said, to the Glass. “That will be all. Please resume your analysis of the diagram.”
Goboy’s Glass flashed, and an image of the Park replaced the drawing.
Mrs. Primsbite returned to her chair. “I have a few moments. Do you mind if I sit? I find your Laboratory charming.”
Meralda sat as well. “All this may well be for nothing, you know. The machine might just sit there. There’s nothing special about it.”
“It’s our best option,” replied the older woman. “Certainly more reasonable than some mad doomed dash into the void. How is your mother, by the way? Have you spoken to her?”
“I have.” Meralda fell silent. Mrs. Primsbite closed her eyes for a moment, and together the pair sat in silence.
“Are we done sharing secrets in there?” shouted Fromarch through the door.
Meralda stood. “You’re welcome to stay and rest. But if I don’t let them in, they’ll wander off to the nearest pub and be useless the rest of the night.”
“Men.” Mrs. Primsbite rose as the Lab doors opened. “Take care, Mage. See you soon.”
She vanished. Meralda’s eyes went wide.
“We all have our little secrets,” whispered Mrs. Primsbite.
The Mages stomped in. Fromarch grunted and started, as though pinched, but shrugged and kept walking. “So. Let me guess. We’re to start work on the transmitter, despite any arguments to the contrary.”
“At once,” Meralda replied. “We’ll build the pillars here, but we’ll be assembling the complete machine elsewhere.”
“Thought so,” he grumbled.
Shingvere smiled and held up a brown paper bag. “Donuts,” he exclaimed, triumphantly. “Let’s get to work, then.”
Sighing, Meralda turned to her desk.
11
Meralda awoke. The air was brisk, the stars were bright, and she could only guess the hour. Her Army cot was stiff and unyielding, little better than the cold stone floor of the roofless airship hangar.
Several paces away, Fromarch snored. Shingvere was slumped back in the recliner he’d insisted on bringing. His mouth was wide open, and an empty beer bottle lay on the floor just beneath his outstretched hand.
Mug rested on the floor beside Shingvere, his leaves motionless, his eyes closed and hanging limp.
Fully clothed, Meralda sat upright, moving quietly. She removed her shoes and made her way noiselessly to the door. After a whispered conversation with the sleepy Bellringers Meralda put her shoes back on and set off down the silent street.
A block away, she woke a cab driver and gave him an address. Meralda watched through the open window as the ponies set off, their clopping hooves and the grind of the wheels the only sound in the night.
Here and there, a light shone, but there were only two pedestrians – one a paperboy, untying his bundles of the morning edition of the Times, and a tipsy older gentleman, who doffed his hat to her and nearly fell trying to in the attempt.
The machine would be ready soon. Tirlin streamed past, sleepy and serene.
“What shall I do if I turn it on, and it just sits there, clicking and humming?” she muttered to herself. She pushed the image aside.
As the cab neared her mother’s neighborhood, and then her street, Meralda sank back, the window curtain in her hand. She realized what she was doing and chuckled. She can’t see you, she thought, scolding herself. She is indoors, and fast asleep, and you have only yourself to blame for this entire ridiculous expedition.
The cab turned the last corner.
Her mother’s modest house came into view.
The cab slowed.
There, on the trio of steps that led to the sidewalk, was her mother. She sat in the glow of a streetlamp, sipping coffee, a small black dog at her feet.
“Keep going,” Meralda hissed, closing the curtain quickly.
The driver did not hear. The dog began to bark.
“Here we are, Miss,” shouted the cabbie. “Hello, madam,” he added. “Reckon you’ve got a visitor.”
Meralda’s stomach heaved at the realization the cab driver was speaking to her mother.
“So it seems,” she heard her mother reply. “Hush, Reardon. You might as well come out, Meralda. I saw you peeking through the window.”
Meralda swallowed hard. She forced herself to open the door, but she did not step out. “Good morning. I didn’t intend to stop. I couldn’t sleep. Was just passing by.”
The driver turned to look back at her. “You gave me this address. Did I not hear you right?”
“Oh, you heard her correctly, I’m sure,” her mother replied for her. “It’s a long and confusing story.” She rose, scooped up the shaggy dog, and searched her jacket pocket. “Here.” She offered the driver a handful of coins. “Take us back to wherever you picked her up.”
The driver shrugged. “Your dog knows not to chew on my seats, does he?”
She ignored him and climbed inside, seating herself opposite Meralda.
“You needn’t look so terrified.” She closed the door and knocked on the roof. The cab set off. “So, what brings you out so early in the morning?”
When Meralda did not reply, her mother shrugged. “Meet Reardon,” she said, scratching the mop of a dog behind its ears. “He’s a dog.”
“You never liked dogs. Or anything else, for that matter.”
“Age has perhaps mellowed me. I found him by my back door. Half-starved and shivering. I bathed him and fed him, and he seems quite attached to me now.”
The tiny dog barked as his stubby tail wagged.
“Do you intend to keep him, mother? Or will you abandon him too, perhaps at the next stop?”
Her mother chuckled. “That is precisely what I would have said, were I sitting in your place. I take no offense.”
“Then I worded it poorly,” Meralda said. “I meant to offend. How did you contrive this, mother? Do you sit under that lamp every night, on the chance I might pass by?”
“Of course not. I sleep very little, these days. Reardon was restless too. I decided we’d take a walk, watch the sunrise. I was merely waiting for the dawn when you happened by. I was quite surprised to see you peeping through the window.”
“No less surprised than I,” Meralda said. “I did not come here with the intention to visit.”
“Obviously not. But you were curious, on some level. One can hardly deny that.”
Meralda said nothing.
“You have every right to loathe me,” her mother said. “Nothing I can say will negate what I did.”
Meralda met her gaze. “That is the truth. You abandoned me. Your child. You are the most heartless, unfeeling, awful woman in the world.”
“I was,” her mother replied. “I am.”
“After all this time – why? Why seek me out? Why now, mother? Why not just let me be?”
“Why come to my house, in the night?” asked her mother.
Meralda fumed, looking away.
“Because we share one thing, daughter. Curiosity. You wish to know what sort
of a monster could send you away mere days after your father died. I wish to know what became of the child I sent away. Yes, I did a terrible thing, a thing for which I expect no forgiveness.”
“Good. Because you shall never have it.”
Her mother nodded, her expression unchanged. “That is established, then. Might we not call a truce of sorts? Long enough for both of us to find the answers to the questions that haunt us?”
“You will never find a way back into my heart,” Meralda said. “Never. So if this is all some elaborate scheme, pray abandon it. I have no use for you.”
Her mother sighed and relaxed against her seat. “I am too weary for more schemes. For the first time in my life, I speak the truth. I know you will never love me. I have already proven I am incapable of loving you.”
“Yes, you have. Every hour of every day of every year you ignored me.”
Her mother smiled. “Then we are agreed, at least on that. I am a heartless fiend. You are my brilliant offspring. Might we begin from that place? With no pretense of it leading toward some tearful reconciliation?”
“Why bother with even that? What is it you want, mother?”
“I don’t know,” her mother replied. “Any more than you do. I can say only this. I wish to take walks with my daughter. To have tea with her. To hear Mr. Mug’s no doubt lengthy and detailed litany of my misdeeds. A few hours of your time, now and then. Nothing more. If that is too much to ask, say so, and I will not trouble you again.”
“Do you mean that? If I tell you to leave me alone, you will?”
“I will.”
Meralda stared straight ahead, not speaking. Her mother also rode in silence, keeping her dog in her lap.
The cab rolled to a halt. “We’re here, ladies,” announced the driver. “The docks. Going to look at the airships, are we?”
“A moment,” Meralda said, calling loudly enough for the driver to hear. “There is one thing I want from you, mother.”
“Ask.”
“Father. There is so much I don’t know about him.”
“You are very like him. I would be happy to tell you whatever else you wish to know.”
“No reconciliation.”
“We are well past any possibility of that.”
“As long as that is understood.” Meralda opened her door. “I usually take a walk around the block after supper. If you are outside, I will not object to having you join me. If the weather is suitable.”
“Of course.” Her mother nodded curtly. “We shall walk from here,” she called, to the driver. Then she retrieved a bright yellow leash from her handbag and fastened it to her dog’s plain collar. “Be well, daughter. I trust we shall speak again soon.”
Meralda exited the cab and hurried back toward the old hangar doors without a backward glance. Her mother tipped the driver, and then watched the cab roll away.
The street was empty, though the sun was beginning to touch the roofs and gables.
“Lovely morning for a walk, don’t you agree, Mr. Reardon?’ she said.
Reardon yipped, and together the pair made their way slowly home.
12
Construction of the machine took nine full days.
A ring of pylons filled the hastily converted airship hangar. Each of the twelve pylons was ten feet of gleaming copper and glowing tubes, topped with a long silver antenna. The central tower was twice that height and double the girth. In the corner of the room, a steam engine idled, hissing and rumbling, ready to turn the massive generator that would soon power the machine.
Cables and conduits zig-zagged across the floor. Meralda and the old mages had all tripped dozens of times, but the raised wooden floor Meralda ordered was only half complete.
At the base of the central tower, a hastily assembled control board sat atop a line of sturdy old schoolhouse desks. There were panels for each pylon, and a single much larger board to control the timing of the signals the Arc specified in its song.
Shingvere squinted skyward. “Not a cloud in the sky. We won’t be pulling the tarps over everything today.” He handed Meralda a fresh cup of coffee. “So, Mage, what do you think? Is today the day we speak to the Arc?”
Meralda took the cup. She had barely slept, determined to finish the last of the pylon controls the night before. “Let’s not rush this. We haven’t tested the signal connections yet.”
Shingvere and Fromarch exchanged grins. “Actually, we have,” Shingvere said. “Last night, while you were out walking.”
“Pylon seven had a bad cable fitting,” grumbled Fromarch. “We replaced it while you were gone. You’re welcome.”
Mug and his flying cage dropped down through the open roof. “Morning, Mistress, Mages.” He flew once around the pylons before coming to hover at Meralda’s side. “My, don’t we look rested.”
Meralda sighed but said nothing.
“Well, you’d all better perk up,” Mug said. “I came to warn you. His Mighty Corpulence is about two blocks away. My guess is he’s heading here to see the Wonder Widget. Are we ready to turn it on yet?”
“Hardly,” Meralda said. She frowned at the central workstation, her mind already racing with refinements and additions. “It’s barely been a week. None of the major components have been tested.”
“Test them quickly,” Mug said. “Sometimes I hide in a corner of the newsroom and listen to gossip. The papers have gotten wind of your little project. You can expect the first batch of penswifts as soon as they’ve finished their breakfast.”
Meralda groaned. “Tervis,” she shouted. “No one is to enter. Fetch more guards if you need them. And see that all the doors but the main entrance are bolted.”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied Tervis, who then tripped over a cable and went down flailing.
Outside, a bugle blew, somewhat off-key. Shouts accompanied the King’s booming voice. “Mages! You lot awake in there?”
Fromarch shouted back. “No. Go away.”
King Yvin stepped through the door, followed by half a dozen somber-faced Red Guards in street clothes.
The king stepped carefully over conduits and cables as he approached. “Where does the project stand?”
“All the major parts are complete,” Meralda said, choosing her words carefully. “But none have been tested in conjunction with the others.”
“The – what did you call it? The signal generator machine? Is it complete too?”
“In theory,” Meralda replied. “But, as I said, we have no idea if it will send clear signals to each pylon. I’m concerned about signal losses, and of course the timing.”
“But it’s built. All the parts in place. Ready to go.”
“None of it has been tested.”
King Yvin nodded. “There have been developments.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “The Hang lost contact with the remaining craft. They don’t know how or why. The Vonats just sealed all their tunnel entrances. Could be pure panic. Could be something else.”
“And our airships at the Arc? Are they reporting anything unusual?”
“Not yet.” The king glared at the central pylon. “Meralda, yes or no. Can you turn this thing on? Today?”
Mug’s coils buzzed, but aside from that, the hanger remained silent.
“Yes,” Meralda said. “But – and I cannot stress this point enough, Your Majesty. There will almost certainly be issues. Issues that will take time to address.”
“You followed the Arc’s plans, did you not?”
“I did. But only inasmuch as I understood them. This is an alien machine. If I missed anything, if I misinterpreted—”
“I have faith in you, Mage. You lot as well,” added the King, with a glance at Fromarch and Shingvere. “Say seven o’clock, then? Wonderful.” He turned, and his Red Guards followed. “Send word to the Palace if anything changes. But Mage — make this happen.”
The King and his guards marched out of the hangar.
Fromarch waited until Tervis shut the door behind them to speak
. “Guess we’d better get to it, then. What do want us working on, Meralda?”
“Go over the pylons again, one by one. Then get the generator going. We’ll have to adjust the power to the Arc’s specifications.” She tried to hide her rising panic.
“What about me?” Mug asked.
“You’re with me, over there,” Meralda said, pointing at the line of controls by the central pylon. “Watch the monitors while I try to synchronize the signals.”
Mug flew off. Meralda followed, draining her coffee and pushing aside her frustration and fear. Something in King Yvin’s voice was different, He had been hiding panic of his own.
That worried her more than the threat of failure. Meralda propped her cup on the edge of a desk, pulled a battered chair close to the most extensive set of dials and gauges, and settled down to work.
A distant bell rang six times.
“Almost time,” Shingvere said, shouting above the steady thud-thud-thud of the steam engine and the rising whine of the generator. “How’s the transmitter looking?”
“We haven’t exploded yet,” barked Fromarch, slamming a cover into place. “Meralda, I think we’re ready here.”
We are far from being ready, thought Meralda, but she bit back the words. “Pylon two isn’t talking to the mains. Could you check the cables again?”
“Probably got stepped on.” Shingvere trundled to the pylon. “I’ll pull them out and plug them back in.”
“This is ridiculous.” Mug’s many eyes kept each set of dials in sight. “Mistress, just tell Old Bloviate we’ll do this tomorrow. The Arc has been hanging there who knows how long. Another few hours won’t matter.”
“You know he’ll just insist.” Meralda tapped a dial and frowned.
Mug muttered something lost to the din of the generator.
“Try it now,” yelled Shingvere.
Meralda toggled a heavy switch. The bank of dials beside it jumped to life.
“Working,” she shouted. “Thank you.”
“Watch your step, everyone,” Shingvere replied. “Especially you,” he added, with a glare at Fromarch, who shrugged and opened another panel.