King Tides Curse

by C J Timms

  The University guarded their knowledge like a precious newborn. Warded textbooks that prevented copying were the only place to find schematics. Gale’s eyebrows were still singed from trying to copy a design for a motor into a journal. Ionhome had no solid connection to the Internet due to the Penumbra. Googling schematics or sharing docs online was unheard of. So he was left with nudging books out from underneath seniors who’d fallen asleep studying. He spent his mornings seeking the great repositories of knowledge stored under drooling faces.

  Gale peeked at a page under the slumbering third year and punched the air silently. The third-year had fallen asleep on Appledown’s ‘Application of kinetics’. He'd been looking for this for weeks.

  Gale tried to edge around the third years arm. Gale pulled a little too fast, and the senior stirred. Gale froze, he waited until the sounds of snoring deepened, then angled the book slightly. It was open on a page on propulsion. Gale licked his lips, checked for observers around him, touched his still singed eyebrows, then breathed deep.

  He tapped a trickle of Deep Script, then summoned a droplet of water over his eye. He hardened the water gradually into a contact lens, a modified hydrolens, and created an image of the textbook on it. Like a contact lens, it settled on his eye. He waited for something to ignite.

  Breathing out, he removed the contact lens from his eye. He placed it carefully into a growing stock in a small bag he kept with him. If Giltynan caught him with copied material, he’d be out on his arse. He’d made the hydrolens's so they could be dissolved back into water with a thought.

  Gale had picked up the technique while working in the World Bar from a seedy-looking sailor. Gale had lost near a week’s wages keeping the man plied with just the right amount of liquor so that he would teach him but not be too drunk to be ineffective while he taught it to him. Managing your supervisors was a very fine balance.

  He teased the page over and formed another contact lens. He reached to grab the lens from his eye.

  The Smithy doors banged open. The contact lens slipped up behind his eyelid.

  ‘Frak.’ He mumbled.

  Ilmark lumbered into the smithy. Ilmark woke up with black coffee, one hundred push-ups and a steak. It left him with bad breath, but a good mood, most mornings. Professor Ilmark took a deep breath in and inhaled his coffee, looking around the room like an emperor surveying his domain. Ilmark was a bull of a man, the only man Gale had seen who rivalled Ironchurch. His suit was crisply pressed but tight around the shoulders, as if the man continued to put on muscle even now. An older student had tried to tell him they’d seen Ilmark benchpress a truck. Gale had scoffed, but well, there was an unused truck out the back of the smithy.

  ‘Good morning Professor,’ Gale called and darted back to the bench he had piled with his things. Gale’s eye twitched, the hydrolens flicking around the back of his eye. Ilmark cast an eye over Gale’s carefully strewn equipment and a pre-burned candle. Fail to plan and plan to fail as they say.

  ‘Ah, Ironchruch’s boy. Burning the midnight oil I see.’ Ilmark said with a firm nod. ‘Weetbix are in the kitchen, slam a few and keep going…and hey…enjoy those fidget spinners, that's my gift to you.’

  Gale internally grimaced thinking of the hours the first years were wasting making fidget spinners. Ilmark thought he knew what the ‘youth’ wanted.

  ‘Yes just getting a bit of work done,’ Gale said. The contact lens slipped back in front of his eye, half blinding him. ‘I was wondering if you’d had a chance to review my application for access to the advanced material.’

  Ilmark studied him for what felt like an age. ‘Let me show you something.’

  Ilmark lead him to the back of the smithy. Gale only ran into two benches with the Hydrolens sliding over his eye. Ilmark stopped to grab a dust-covered box from his office and pulled out three large keys.

  Ilmark lead him down the steps of the smithy. They descended through warded tunnels into bunker-like hallways where blast marks lined the walls. The stiff stench of bleach hung in the air.

  Ilmark lead him to a locked steel door. The door was covered in dust and chained with three separate locks. Ilmark pulled a key from his pocket and began unlocking the chains. A control panel opened in the centre of the door. A series of tumblers with numbers on them spun slowly.

  ‘Three…then twelve…what was the final number…twenty nine I think.’ He mumbled.

  Giant spikes shot from the door and shattered off Ilmarks skin. Not a drop of blood came forth. Maybe Gale should start the day with steak as well.

  ‘Hmmm…no it was twenty seven…’

  The tumblers slid into place the door clicked, and a section rotated away. An old fashioned gramophone horn came out. Ilmark shot a look at Gale, then leaned in to whisper. ‘Jacqui and Ironchurch sitting in a tree. K,I,S,S,I,N,G.’

  Another clink from behind the door and Ilmark scratched the back of his head. ‘I have not been able to change the original password.’

  Gale coughed into his hand. Jacqui…was that Jacqui Tangerinous? What the frak had happened between those two? Why were they the password to this room?

  Ilmark opened the door and revealed a room over thirty metres in length. It was nearly ten metres high with pristine white walls marred by random dark streaks and burn marks. The bare white walls contrasted with a clutter of machines throughout the room. The largest was a forge with a series of bellows and pumps that connected to a bathtub painted with words ‘Eureka’. A metal skeleton of a man was attached to a water wheel. A large clock with clear glass piping dripped a steady stream of fluid onto a drain in the floor.

  ‘The previous inhabitant of this room was working on something big when she disappeared in a lab accident. A real clever clogs but full of pride.’ Ilmark paused with a glance at Gale. ‘She was allowed complete free reign of the room by the Chief Smith at the time, and it cost him his job. Not clear what she was hoping to build. I’d like the extra room to expand the smithy, but the heads of the school refuse to close it down until the case is solved.

  If you can work out what this room was for, then I will let you see the advanced texts. Oh and Gale…’

  Ilmark stepped up to Gale and leaned down. The towering man looked him dead in the eye. The hydrolens floated back in front of his right eye. Ilmark smacked him on the back of the head. The hydrolens flew onto the floor where Ilmark stomped down on it.

  ‘I hate clever clogs.’

  Gale/Swan - Just good etiquette

  A fracturesmith must be able to fix a fracture in Parliament House as easily as a dive bar.

  Luckily, no matter how pretty the wood it’s hammered into, a nail remains a nail.

  Spur’s Primer for fracturesmiths 2nd Edition.

  Gale had precious little time to work on the mystery of the Eureka room when the third week of classes brought a new kind of terror. Gibraltar’s rounds may have been rough, but Arancina’s etiquette class was terrifying. Gale had thought she had seemed okay during the applications.

  He had never been so wrong.

  White table cloths and crystal glassware filled the room. Invisible servants darted back and forth, polishing cutlery. Delicate flower arrangements of white and blue hung from the ceiling.

  Professor Arancina commanded the space. She was a dark-haired woman in her late thirties with a strong jawline, a prominent nose and the pointed ears of a Paramouran. She wore a bold, dark dress with a white cloud pattern and a fascinator in her hair. She strode up and down the tables of students with military efficiency.

  ‘Master Yip, that is your allocated five minutes, please stop arranging the silverware.’ Arancina said. Yip’s head whipped up from the table. A mass of cutlery lay in precision lines on one side of his setting and an absolute mess on the other.

  Gale’s loosely arranged table setting had the ten different forks in what he hoped was a semblance of proper order. Nearby, Titus grinned like an idiot having built his into a fort-like structure. Gale could see a sausage roll poking out of
the pocket of his flannie. Frak, this would be bad. Titus grinned as Arancina approached and gave Gale two thumbs up.

  She stalked down the table pausing to examine the table setting of each student in their group of twenty. Apart from Titus, all of the students were sweating bullets, their eyes flitting anywhere but on the Professor.

  ‘Tsk, tsk,’ Arancina said halting in front of Flint, a grey-haired student from House Solvent. She pulled out a ruler, then a slim grey rod with a stormcloud pattern. She twirled the wand lightly around her hand as she examined Flint’s measurements. All eyes in the room focused on the grey wand, just a hint of burnt ash at its tip.

  ‘Tolerable.’

  Flint sagged with relief. Arancina beamed at both Adam and Alisdairs setting awarding them each ten gold to House Laurels.

  Then Arancina moved on to Titus’s setting. Titus beamed up at her, sweeping his hand above his cutlery fort.

  ‘Master Mangrove, when I asked you to set the table as if preparing for a royal visit from Paramoura, is this what you imagined?’ She asked.

  ‘Well Prof, ya asked us to set the table and told us that good manners showed strength and beauty, and this little beauty is strong as an ox.’

  The professor eyed Titus, twirling the rod in her hand. Round and round.

  ‘Ha…ha….hahahhahah.’ Arancina burst out laughing.

  Titus laughed along too. He pulled out his sausage roll and bit down. The class held their breath as pastry flakes scattered on the white tablecloth.

  Arancina jabbed Titus with her rod. Electricity shocked through Titus. His hair stood on end before he collapsed to the floor.

  ‘Good etiquette is not a light subject. Some students attend my class thinking it is pointless and they can coast through. Fracturesmiths need to go undercover in many different situations. You must be able to fix a break in a palace as easily as a caravan park.’

  The Professor stepped over Titus’s groaning form and eyed the mess that was Yip and Gale’s table setting. Gale’s eyes flicked to Yip. The rod twirled in her hand.

  Yip murky-stepped away.

  ‘You mother frakker.’ Gale said.

  Professor Arancina threw the rod across the room like an assassin throwing a dagger. It struck Yip as he reappeared. Lightning arced around him, his limbs jerking and then he collapsed to the floor. His foot gave an occasional twitch. The rod flew back to the Professor’s hand.

  Arancina smiled and twirled the rod in her hands.

  ‘Master Knott, did I hear you curse?’

  Gale offered a thin smile.

  ‘Swear jar?’

  Swan sipped her tea and eyed off the girls on her table. Her ballgown fit awkwardly across her shoulders, her white gloves itched for a weapon, and the jewellery on her neck felt heavy. She moved one hand across the table, avoiding a tiered flower arrangement, to levitate a cup to a pouring teapot.

  Another burst of electricity came from the men’s table, shaking her focus. The cup tilted dangerously as scalding hot tea swirled within it. She steadied the ship, raising the cup to inhale. Delightful peppermint.

  Paramouran heavenly high tea was more a clinical exam than a meal. Traditional heavenly high tea was served with four layers of floating cups, hot beverages and pouring pots, spliced with flying cakes. They orbited one another in reflection of the orbiting cloudscape of Celesta Firma. A liquid chocolate fountain snaked its way through the other delights, inviting the daring to use it for fondue. The centrepiece, the heart of this high tea, was a cake shaped like a floating cloud island, the capital city of Celesta Firma, Pridefall. The cake had layers of fondant and ganache, delicately designed fruits and painted flowers. The chocolate fountain formed a layered field around it, with gaps like a net, like a desert reefwall.

  ‘Oh Swan you absolute brute, you simply must pour from the elbow.’ Caucophony said. Caucophony flicked a spoon into a meringue with a twist of her wrist. Swan could break her like a Kit-Kat. Caucophony also, unfortunately, looked amazeballs in her deep green dress with her hair piled elegantly.

  She also had not forgotten Swan crashing into her last tea party.

  ‘Its alright Caucophony, she’s only a merchants daughter.’ Said Andrea.

  Larc twittered at her.

  ‘Shhhh…’ Swan hissed, at Larc in her pocket.

 

  Swan waited, poised with the spoon held above her head. Ready to strike. Sugary spheres of chocolate, caramel and cream orbited past her. Her foes were soft and squishy.

  ‘Don’t let them get you down Swan.’ Hotaru said. The cheery Wyldfell girl already well into a custard tart. ‘We’ll get it, just gentle flicks of the spoon, like fencing.’

  Swan picked out a chocolate sphere cake that floated past and edged her spoon gingerly towards it.

  ‘Settling for the lowest rung, typical’ Caucophony called.

  Swan flipped a middle finger at Caucophony. ‘What's the most difficult desert?’ She asked Hotaru.

  ‘The chocolate knight at the top of the Pridefall castle.’ Hotaru said.

 

  Swan took her spoon and instead levitated it. She could do this. Swan was Locomotyr born, and force manipulation was her thing. This was her time to shine. Her spoon rose trembling into the air, and she darted it forward, like a hurled spear.

  ‘Nice shot,’ Hotaru whispered.

  . Larc trilled in her head.

  The spoon spiralled around a croquembouche tower like a fighter darting around an airship. She paused outside the chocolate net that surrounded Pridefall. It mimicked the defence net that surrounded the actual city. Swan grinned, this would show Caucophony, her and her prim, skin and bones noble friends who’d never worked a day in their lives. She aligned the spoon with a gap in the net. She rotated the spoon in geosynchronous, waiting, waiting….there.

  Her spoon darted in, passing the chocolate net and striking at the castle. She wiggled her fingers, and the spoon approached the statue of a soaring winged knight that graced its highest peak. The spoon edged forward to part the soft fondant from the cake.

  ‘Slag.’ Caucophony whispered from down the end.

  Her anger spiked. Swan stabbed too deep and punctured the chocolate cake into its gooey centre. A trickle of liquid chocolate bled on to the surface.

  ‘Bugger’ she said.

 

  A geyser of chocolate shot from the core of the cake and soaked Swan in chocolate, head to toe.

  ‘That's our dainty Swan,’ said Caucophony from the other end of the table. Her lackeys snickered.

  Swan’s eyes flicked open, her face covered in chocolate and stared daggers at Caucophony.

  ‘I wouldn’t expect more from the daughter of a common criminal.’ Caucophony said.

  Swan smashed her fist down into her end of the table and the other end shot up. The table connected with Caucophony’s jaw. Caucophony fell backwards from her seat. Swan grinned.

  Larc said.

  The orbiting high tea deserts crashed into each other. First a cake collided with a trifle, splattering the contents. Then orbiting bastions of rock cake and pound cake collided with the croquembouche tower of Pridefall. The orbiting city came crashing down.

  ‘And with that, Pride falls.’ Hotaru said. Hotaru had snagged a red velvet muffin out of the air and dunked it in a puddle of chocolate. ‘I was rooting for you Swan, I really was.’

  ‘Frak,’ cursed Swan. A silver rod flew at her.

  Gale/Swan - Glenrowan

  Perception matters.

  Spur’s primer for fracturesmiths 2nd edition

  Gale rubbed his arm, three days later and the muscles still twitched from Arancina’s rod. He looked up at a giant bush ranger clad in plough armour. Ned Kelly had really been on the money. Maybe Swan could make him a set of armour he could wear to etiquette class. Blush would say
it was a waste for a Deep user.

  A great fracture ran down the centre of the statue’s armour. Verdant green plant life burst through the break, and the warm, muggy air of a rainforest sweated through the cracks in reality.

  In contrast, on his side of the reality fracture, the scorching Australian sun beat down into the town of Glenrowan. Glenrowan was a small town in the Wangaratta area of Victoria. Its population barely numbered a thousand, including the statue. Rain was a long-forgotten friend here. The brush was dry, the whole place a tinderbox ready to burn, just waiting for a spark.

  Glenrowan was famous for one reason. Ned Kelly, iconic Australian bushranger

  Gale tipped his Akubra down to keep off the heat. Yip offered him hypoallergenic SPF50+ sunblock, and Gale rubbed the sunblock into his arms. The burns had only just faded from the entrance exam.

  ‘Ah soak it in boys, open country.’ Titus said. ‘The home town of Ned Kelly, champion of mateship, defiance and brotherhood.’

  ‘So he was a revolutionary?’ Swan asked.

  ‘He was a thief.’ Yip said ‘A common criminal, you’d understand Swan.’

  ‘Bugger off.’ Swan said, pausing to put a coin in Titus’s swear jar. ‘I don’t steal. A Swan’s word is good as gold.’

  Yip rolled his eyes. One of his journals floated back from surveying the area and Yip pursed his lips.

  ‘Gale can you check my measurements.’ Yip said, floating a book towards Gale.

  Gale coughed, Yip wanting a double check on math? Pulling a pen from his pocket, he took the journal from the air. Yip had scrawled two lines.

  Keep calm, something wrong with this town.

  Something watches us.

  Gale shivered and breathed in, letting his Deep Script rise closer to the surface.

  ‘Shouldn’t we pin the fracture first?’ Titus asked.