“Ah, young Gavin,” Rolston said, ignoring Jacobson. “Quite a bit of tomfoolery you’ve gotten up to this morning.” Jacobson shot Gavin another look to kill.
“Sir, I….”
“No need to stand on formalities, young man. We’re one big happy empire, aren’t we, Haveland?”
Hints of Jacobson’s crow’s feet appeared as he narrowed his eyes before relaxing his face. Gavin saw the brief slip of infuriation at the audacity of Rolston for coming unbidden and unwelcome. He’d seen it before. He was sure his father had plans to backstab Rolston soon enough, like he’d done to so many others.
“Run along to school now, son,” Jacobson said.
“I’m fine, by the way, Father,” Gavin said over his shoulder as he exited. His father barely looked away from Rolston as he waved a dismissive hand toward him.
The door closed behind Gavin, and he leaned backward against it as a long, defeated sigh escaped him.
Someday.
Landa, the Artificer
LILANDRA BOXLEY Townsend lived on the good side of town, a minor fact she often pretended not to be true because she disliked her family’s position in society. Her father, tall, studious John Townsend, created programs that had changed the face of London as a member of the Department of Grand Artifice. She loved how they shared a passion for using their hands.
Twenty years ago he had been recruited into the Grand Artificers. He had garnered attention for his designs, but became famous when he invented the rotating wheels for Big Ben. Since then he had been well paid to continue to aid the Council with the many defensive computational programs he had written. His position in the government was probably the only reason, like Gavin, that Landa had not ended up in irons for the mayhem they caused that morning. Instead the constables had released her to her father. Before he could alert her “sure to be disappointed” mother, Landa had run straight up to the lab to lose herself in work.
A loud boom shook the house. “What outlandish thing now!” John exclaimed. He ran up the stairs that led up to Landa’s room. When he threw open the door, Landa stood covered in black soot, holding a test tube in one hand and a charred gear in the other. He still held the automatic juice-dispensing contraption in his hands—the one her mother kept having to clean up after—which made her laugh.
“Why, hello there, dear father,” Landa attempted humorously, as much to combat any anger he possessed as it was to quiet her own for having a second disaster in one day. Her upper-floor lab centered around a large worktable made of good, thick oak. It was covered with all sorts of tools with coils and thick piping that led to boilers. There were charred wood pieces, drafting paper, and beakers with all manner of concoctions in them. The red flames from multiple burners lit the room in dancing hues as it bounced against the smoke.
“Lilandra! What on earth is happening in here?” John asked.
“It’s all right. The steam engine is stable,” Landa answered before adding in irritation, “and stop calling me Lilandra, Father!”
“Well, at least we all aren’t going to die, then. There’s that. Now what were you doing?” John asked.
“I’m… well, I’m inventing a new formula that will enhance the steam power output—”
Landa’s mother, Sarah, burst into the room, the pin that held her vibrant red hair up on the top of her round face hanging askew. It had come dislodged in her frantic dash up the steps to check on the explosion coming from Landa’s laboratory. Sarah had put on quite a few pounds Landa felt were mostly her fault since child-rearing nearly killed her. Landa thought she was still beautiful no matter how much her mother protested.
“My God! Are you all right, girl?” She turned to her husband’s otherwise placid face and said accusingly, “What are you up to up here? You promised you would work on nothing dangerous.”
“Mother, it wasn’t…. Oh, what is the difference? It didn’t work anyway.”
“Maybe if you show me your calculations, Landa, we can see if you added the correct—” John tried.
“No! Nobody is checking calculations or any other such nonsense,” Sarah interrupted. “Young lady, you march yourself right to your dressing stand and change into the pretty blue dress I picked out for you to wear to school today. And, Lilandra dear, clean your face and forget this foolishness. I swear, if your father doesn’t blow up this house, you might.” Sarah stood there holding the door open, her face sternly fixed until Landa gave up and stormed from the room.
“I won’t wear a dress,” Landa exclaimed as she slammed her bedroom door. She leaned against it to catch her breath and eavesdrop.
“I blame you,” Landa heard Sarah say. “If you would help me set limits for her, get her to dress like normal girls instead of like one of these… these… clockwork gear monkeys.”
“Now, Sarah darling, I’m one of those clockwork gear monkeys too, you know. Lilandra is just—”
“She’s just like you.”
“And that’s why you’re so round the bend. You think she likes me best, but she wants your approval every bit as much as mine. Come here.” Landa imagined her father calming her mother with a hug like he always did. Sarah always melted a little, as Landa always did when he entreated her so.
“John, she’s not normal.”
“Tut, tut, now, Mother,” John cooed.
“You know what I mean. She needs to—”
“Leave. That’s what she needs to do, so bye,” Landa said as she headed back down the hallway.
“Come here, young lady,” Sarah commanded. It stopped Landa in her tracks, and she turned back to her mother.
“Ugh, let me at least wipe your face,” Sarah said, already using a handkerchief to address the remaining black grease spots Landa had missed on her nose and cheek when changing. Landa had changed back into her daily kit of deep-pocketed black pants, vest with belts crisscrossing all around her waist and shoulders, and a top hat with her dark shaded goggles braced high on them. She had two sets of gloves hanging from her belt and some contraption in a bag, its brass gears poking out.
“I wish you would wear a dress once in a while. You’re such a pretty girl,” Sarah pushed.
“Mum,” Landa said, her irritation evident. She didn’t like this kind of attention but never fought back as her mother forcefully paid attention to the smudges on her face. “I’m fine. I didn’t mean to terrify you.” Sarah knocked the top hat from her daughter’s head as she worked, and John stooped over to retrieve it.
John smiled at his daughter as she tried to make amends. “Don’t you think a leather cap would be more practical headgear for an artificer of your caliber, love?”
Landa placed the topper back on her head with a smack and winked at her father. “But I like it.”
Brotherhood of the Mage
ORION LAY in an unconscious heap on a couch in Blaylock’s antechamber. The magick he summoned to overcome the swarm of warlock attackers had taken its toll on him and sent him into a deep sleep of recovery. Riley, his faithful servant, had placed blankets over him and healing herbs on his chest.
Blaylock entered the chambers, looking disgusted. Riley nervously popped up. Declan followed into the office and wiped sand and detritus from his robes. Riley wondered if they worried because they had just witnessed a massive display of magick not seen in many years by someone so young.
“Leave us,” Blaylock commanded.
“Lord?”
“I will tend to him now,” Blaylock said, his deep voice and large presence frightening. Riley made to leave the room but dashed behind curtains instead. He stretched out one foot and used it to close the wooden door of the antechamber so it appeared he’d gone. Normally he would never dare eavesdrop on warlocks. Not only was it forbidden, it was dangerous. But when he had heard his master’s name spoken with such vehemence, he couldn’t help himself. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing as best he could to quell his rising panic.
“Lord Blaylock, what should we do with him? Surely we—”
Blaylock’s hands had begun to glow red, and his face had grown taut with ire. “I could end this game right here, and it would appear as if he had succumbed to his exhaustion from the trials.”
Declan studied Blaylock a moment. It was unclear if his master would kill the boy. Finally he breathed a shallow sigh when Blaylock’s hands returned to normal and he moved away toward the fire.
“Alas, I think there is much to do before this child outlives his usefulness,” Blaylock said.
“It is wise to wait, I think. Especially since the boy is the only descendant of the queen, her faithful might decide to look into his death too closely,” Declan said.
Blaylock rushed at Declan with lightning speed. His feet glided magically over the floor before his hands grasped the much larger man around the throat. Blaylock’s eyes had grown obsidian. Declan struggled to turn away but remained held in place by the same red glow from a moment before.
“Do not think I am worried about impetuous followers of the faerie-loving queen. She does my bidding, not the reverse. Her followers, Declan Ahearn, are my followers, and soon everything will change.”
Declan nodded once to assure his master of agreement and compliance. Blaylock’s eyes began to return to brown.
Blaylock set him down roughly before he looked to the sleeping Orion and continued. “We cannot let this boy know anything he is not meant to know.
“You are right about one thing, though. His power is growing. His feat today will surely stir those who wish to see a son of Oberon on the throne and may shake their faith in the true master,” Blaylock said, his voice grown fervent with zealotry.
“He will return!” Declan declared, chanting the most sacred tenet of the Brotherhood of the Mage that one day he would come back to them.
“This boy,” Blaylock said, gazing again at the shaggy brown hair of the sleeping Orion, “is to go on a journey. He must think he is helping his queen, for we already know his allegiance is to her and her alone.”
“Wait. Are you sure he is really sleeping?” Declan asked.
“The magick has wiped him out, and his servant went to fetch him water. The healing spells would have laid him low had he not been knocked out. Although his pain would have been….” Blaylock raised one eyebrow and flashed a ghoulish smile. Spying with one eye from the curtains, Riley shuddered. “He must be the one to find the missing stone and deliver it unto me at the appointed time. He must think he is doing it for the queen.”
“I will make it so. I will make sure his stepfather convinces him,” Declan swore. Orion’s dead mother had chosen poorly in Rory Brody, as he was a treacherous schemer. Riley knew Rory could easily be manipulated with money and promise of power.
“This motherless child will complete the prophecy. He will pave the way, even if he is ignorant of his role. Then we will easily destroy our enemy’s infernal clockwork machines and remove them from all the lands they’ve conquered.”
When Blaylock mentioned clockworks, Declan grimaced, as any good Irishman would at the reminder of the infernal machines and those who wield them. Theirs was a land of mystery, of warlocks, faerie, and history. Machines were not to be trusted, and people who trusted machines were not to be tolerated.
“There are many prophecies, lord. His return is the only one certain. Many others have not come to pass.”
Blaylock considered this a moment. “What you say is true. There are far too many seers out there willing to give you a prophetic read for a piece of silver. This prophecy was obtained at a dear price, however, and I believe its accuracy. He will deliver the stone.”
“What if he does not want to give it to you? What if Orion wants to return Siobhán to her full power?” Declan asked.
“She has been under the guidance of the Brotherhood for a very long time, and will remain so as long as I wish it. And he is fated. He will return the stone to me. And to Éire as well, of course. Then he will come to the end of his fate, the same as his precious queen.” Blaylock picked up the red master’s cloak that was folded on the edge of his knotted wood desk.
“My master, is it wise to award the boy with the red cloak? I know his magick is strong enough, but after everything you’ve said?” Declan asked cautiously.
Blaylock cocked his head at Declan who put both hands up halfway in front of him as if to silently acquiesce. The master held the cloak up high and concentrated on it until it burst into flame, which consumed the cloak completely. “He will never receive the red cloak as long as I rule, which will be until He returns.”
“He will return,” Declan retorted, a little wearier than before.
Blaylock stopped, looming over Orion as he and Declan were about to leave the room. “There’s no reason he should miss this experience,” Blaylock said, a wicked snarl on his face. He put his right hand over the boy’s head and waved it back and forth twice, a faint red glow emanating from his palm. He continued to walk away when Orion’s back arched and he grimaced in pain.
Declan chuckled.
After they had been gone for several minutes, Riley finally chanced to exhale. It did not stop his body from shaking. He was scared. More scared than he had ever imagined being.
What to do, what to do? He knew he must tell Orion what he had heard, and in doing so, admit to a warlock that he had broken a sacred rule. Never interfere with the power plays and doings of warlocks. Serve them, stay silent, stay safe, go home at night. Surely Orion was different from what Riley’s own father said about warlocks. He had seen it with his own eyes. Orion was capable of great sympathy and care. But there were times, weren’t there? Times when Orion enjoyed tormenting him, poking fun at his weakness or shortcomings. Playing with his affections. No, he thought to himself. No. He would tell. But he was so confused about what he had heard.
“Ungh!” Orion tossed and turned, his forehead damp with sweat while his body absorbed the healing from the herbs. Riley went to him with a cool damp cloth and dabbed at his master’s forehead.
“Ri-Riley. Good, sweet Riley. I can always count on you, my friend,” Orion mumbled as he reached for and held his hand tightly.
That did it. Friend? Did Orion truly think of him as more than a servant? He would tell him everything he knew.
“Get me up. I need to go to the Grand Hall. They must be waiting for me… to award me with my new cloak.” Orion stood, wobbly, but he stood nonetheless.
“You are too weak,” Riley begged. “You must lie back down.”
“Dóthain!” Orion shouted, using the old Irish language. Riley felt foolish. Orion continued, “Enough, I said. I am fine and will be presented my red robe without delay.”
“But you aren’t getting a red robe.”
Orion stopped, turned, and stared daggers at Riley. “What?” His question was far more accusation than inquiry. “Speak.”
“I… I overheard.”
Orion barely recognized Riley’s words before turning on his heel and staggering through the entryway toward the Grand Hall. In the Hall he knew there would be revelers and food and drink and robe presentations for the accelerated of all levels. And the queen would be there. His new robe would be there.
“But…,” Riley pleaded.
It was too late. Orion would not listen. He was a man possessed. The moment was gone.
Fear of Discoveries
GAVIN WAVED at Landa as they parted ways in the school complex. She went down into the bowels of the building, to the labs where the artificers in training learned to repair the devices that kept Britain strong. If they were lucky, they would invent the next advanced thing. Gavin went to the main, more revered part of the building, to the Departmen
t of Political Administration. There the sons of the ruling class learned to be the next rulers.
He dreaded it deeply, not wanting to spend one more minute in classes with spoiled rich boys intent on following their fathers’ footsteps into the Council or Head of Barristers. He was being forced to study politics, to follow his lineage when all he dreamed of following was the wind.
Someone grabbed his hand and jerked him out of his negative thoughts and into an empty classroom. He was off-kilter, blindly led through a side door and into a cloakroom. He pushed a wool coat out of his face to find himself inches away from the one person who might scare him more than his father. Fortunately he also enjoyed these liaisons.
Lucas Johnson, a tall, awkward boy, stood close to Gavin’s face. Lucas’s brown hair swooped to the right across his forehead and revealed bottomless blue eyes. Gavin had often tried hard not to look into them and failed.
A month ago he was caught staring too long at Lucas’s profile. Gavin had jerked away, but Lucas had held him close. “I’ve figured you out.”
“What do you mean?” Gavin had asked, nerves betraying fear.
“Other people see what they expect to see, or what they want to see,” Lucas had said. “Instead I observe, Gavin. And I learn. I solve puzzles.”
“Like when you won that award, you mean?”
Lucas moved closer to Gavin. “No, not that. Well, not just the Samuel Brown Award, although I admit that was quite challenging and a bit of fun. Fixing that flawed engine design was difficult. You know they deleted data from the graph to ensure it wouldn’t work and to make it unsolvable? Quite ingenious. But they didn’t fool me. I had to work out how…. Wait, I’m sorry. I seem to have gotten off topic. I am happy you are impressed, though, but get me talking about mysteries, and see what happens? The real mystery I mean to solve is you.” Lucas stepped away to slowly circle Gavin.
“M-me?”
Absolute Heart Page 3