Of Steel and Steam: A Limited Edition Anthology

by Pauline Creeden

  The End.

  About the Author

  C.A. King is the recipient of several awards, including: The Hamilton Spectator Readers' Choice Award for 2017, 2018 & 2019 in the Best Local Author category; The Brant News Readers' Choice Award for 2017 Best Local Author; Readers' Favorite award in the short story/novella category; the 2017 SIBA Award for Best New Adult; the 2017 SIBA Award for Best Novella; 2018 Readers' Favorite International Book Awards: Gold Medal in the Fiction—Supernatural genre; 2018 Readers' Favorite International Book Awards: Bronze Medal in the Fiction - New Adult genre; 2019 Readers’ Favorite International Book Awards: Gold Medal in the Fiction – Supernatural genre; and 2019 Readers’ Favorite International Book Awards: Gold Medal in the Young Adult – Fantasy – Urban Genre.

  Currently residing in Brantford, Ontario Canada, she lives with her two sons. She began her writing career after the tragic loss of her parents and husband. Redirecting her emotions through writing became therapeutic in her battle with depression and in 2014 she decided to publish some of her works.

  Stay in touch with the author.

  C.A. King’s Website

  Radio Arcanum: A Musimagium Story

  Mary Kit Caelsto

  Radio Arcanum: A Musimagium Story © 2020 Mary Kit Caelsto

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Chapter 1

  The St. Louis railroad operators had it all wrong. After reading the latest journal by Faraday, Hattie believed the Americans doomed themselves to always be a step behind by not adopting the Cooke and Wheatstone telegraph system. Even those old fuddy duddies in the Musimagium Council believed that as magic users such mundane technologies like the telegraph were beneath them. Why use some newfangled electrical contraption when you could—what? Send someone on horseback or a long overland train ride? Hattie snorted.

  “It’s the 1840s, after all. We’re not back in the days of the Revolutionary War,” she muttered to herself as she fussed with the dials and needles on her British telegraph. “Edward would have this set and be onto his experiments by now.” She sighed. Her fellow inventor spent days lost in his laboratory, trying to apply magic to telegraph, which sounded fantastical to her. And yet, so useful. He claimed through a friend of his at the Edinburgh Academy that a trio of young students were working on theories that would prove promising. Some young lad named Maxwell seemed especially prodigious.

  Hattie shook her head and proclaimed her work with the telegraph finished. She checked her watch. Five minutes until her test with George Underwood at the main Musimagium offices in Melody. The distance, maybe a hundred miles, should be easy to cross, and they’d tapped the wire off a rail line to go to Melody, something the Council had protested. What if someone followed the wires and found them? The reply had been succinct. If they were any kind of mages, they could stop that from happening. Hattie doubted it.

  At precisely two pm on the dot, she sent the message.

  H. Smythe sending the transmission. Please confirm receipt.

  She sent again to ensure it went through. Magic ought to strengthen the signals. While she waited for a response, she picked up a pen and began writing the details of her experiment.

  The reply came. G. Underwood confirms receipt to H. Smythe. Send again.

  She did, this time adding a muttered tramitto and a burst of magical energy to the message.

  The response arrived more quickly this time. Signal much stronger. G. Underwood confirms receipt. End experiments.

  “End? We’re just getting started.” She sighed, because the Council indulged her, or rather H. Smythe, an eccentric inventor, his fancies. She added her notes, then copied them over to include in her letter to Edward. Do you think we could use magic to send the signal farther? Say between us? She laughed as she wrote it, because everyone talking about transatlantic communication was currently getting laughed out of salons and symposiums. Still, for magic users to communicate seemed like a good idea. Even now, in pockets of the west, she’d heard of mages being run out of towns or killed. A group close to the Missouri-Arkansas border called the Taney Brands had killed a mage just last month. It’d been all over the papers, though no one knew that Alvin Pendergrass had been a member of their society. If her invention could help… she wanted to make it work.

  She sat and raked her thin fingers, perfect for fixing tiny wires and connections, through her short, rough-hewn light brown hair. A little soot on her cheeks and a careful binding meant she passed as H. Smythe in public, which was exactly as she wanted it. She had no use for full skirts and cinched waists. She dashed off a letter to a friend in New York. He’d help her with her next tests. After all, he’d been the one to import her British telegraph system and was financing her ventures.

  Could magic really be used to send communications across the ocean? She stared at her world map, imagining all the places that could communicate if her experiments work. And yet, she needed more information. It was one thing to run a magical signal along a wire, something completely different to send it into air. If she knew about the work Edward’s friend was doing, perhaps she could apply that to her own experiments. Damn this need to send all letters by boat or rail. She needed—no craved—a way to talk instantaneously with her scientific magical colleagues. And a way to do so with none of the non-magical community finding out.

  Three days later, Hattie sent a wave of magical energy using the same tramitto spell through a pile of salt. Much to her surprise, the energy moved not in a straight line, but in a wave, one that with careful focus, whipped through the barrier like a snake. The trail appeared like a coil viewed from the side. She quickly used a bit of charcoal on a piece of paper to trace it, noting the imperfections in her work. She slid the salt from the wooden block, adding a piece of carbon between two pieces of paper before replacing the salt. This time, when she sent the wave through, she followed it with the blunt end of a wooden pointer. When she checked the paper, she’d transferred a perfect line.

  Excited, she checked her stock of papers, thrilled to find she could do many more such experiments. Each time, she noted the spell used, if any, the date and time, and all other variables including where she’d purchased the salt. She kept more detailed notes in a leather-bound volume at the end of her table. Next, she repeated the experiments using ashes from her stove.

  In every time the magic moved in a wavelike pattern. She’d been among those to laugh at the thought of communications without wires, and yet, if Edward’s more educated friends could do the mathematical calculations and determine some common values between the waves, she had a chance. The only question was, how to attach the same power to the end of a telegraph wire?

  Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten the leftovers of a pot of potatoes and a few hunks of beef she’d purchased from a vendor a few days ago. She’d kept it simmering on the stove, stirring occasionally. She filled a wooden bowl and grabbed the latest scientific journal, not wanting to miss a moment of learning while she sustained herself. Even magicians could not live on magic and thought alone.

  The days passed as her mind whirled with magic and scientific combining in ways she’d never seen before. How odd that one thought, one tangent could spark something new and exciting.
She’d ordered a new case of papers and they’d arrived, allowing her to test the waves through all manner of materials including tallow she’d melted from candles and even lamp oil on blotter paper. Each time, to her self-taught eyes, the waves appeared uniform.

  Yet, she failed to master getting the waves to launch through thin air. They needed a conductor, something to hold them, and that bothered her. When spells were sent, they often passed through the air, reaching their intended targets to great effectiveness. Some, mostly offensive, required touching the intended recipient. Others did not. She tried every word in her vocabulary, both Latin and English. Her bemused neighbor listened for her, though she lacked the understanding of how she’d be able to hear through walls and along alleyways, she heard nothing.

  Edward’s return letter failed to arrive. Ten days to Britain and then time to formulate a reply and send it back another ten days meant a month could pass without a word. If communications happened instantly, or within a matter of days, rather than weeks, she wondered just how much her research could improve. What vast leaps in the magical sciences could she achieve if she only had more access to the scholars who could help her? She’d never know because going to Britain was out of the equation.

  She held a crystal in her hand, a large angular chunk of quartz. As she had before, when she needed to ground herself and focus on the work at hand, she sat in her favorite chair by the cold hearth and let the crystal vibrate in her hand. She sensed it, much in the same way a hand on the chest detected a heartbeat, the way the earth’s energy moved through the crystal. Some, like the exotic malachite chip she’d discovered in a box of trinkets at the market, moved at a much faster rate. Quartz, however, remained the steadiest, and it was with this easy to obtain mineral she liked to work.

  Even Edward thought her work with crystals to be a foolish fancy. She’d get the last laugh, because deep inside, she knew the crystal had to be the key to unlocking the secrets she sought. She went to her desk, remembering some book Edward had sent along with a letter some months ago. She’d meant to read it; time slipped away from her and she’d never gotten around to it. The tome, a limited printing by someone in Britain, talked about the magical applications of crystals. The scrawled note in Edward’s chicken scratch said “thought you would enjoy this. It might be entertaining. E” For someone who worked in the sciences, his penmanship ought to be at least legible.

  She turned up the lamp and sat down in her chair, a quilt sewn by an aunt of hers tossed over her trousered legs. Skirts trapped heat so much, and at this moment, as much as she hated them, she wished she had their warmth. Science came first, as did the pursuit of knowledge. She’d let the eternal flame of intelligence warm her. She opened the cover of the book, a sense of destiny washing over her. As if perhaps this might be the very thing to unlock the pieces of the puzzle she sought to solve. Something strong enough to contain the message of the magic energy and direct it, and a gemstone held great promise. She’d used a large sapphire as a reserve of energy, feeding it bits of magic slowly, as if gently trying to spin it full of wool, until the stone positively buzzed with it. The creation of that stone had gotten her sent to St. Louis. The Council at Melody saying that the work she did was “too dangerous” and she “might get someone hurt”. They’d told her, she was but a mere lady, and shouldn’t she leave pursuit of sciences to the men?

  She shoved the memories away with an impatient wave of her hand. Except for her friend Edward and George who worked in secret to help her, the men in her life did more drinking and gambling than they did anything scientific. Her elder brother had gone to seek his fortunes on the railroad. They were giving away land, Hattie, he’d told her. Didn’t she want to come west with him and be some cattle baron’s bride? She wanted nothing of the sort and other than the fine cut of meat she purchased once a week to make her stew—the only dish she could reasonably be expected to cook—she hated the smelly, snotty beasts known as cattle. Her brother believed they’d make them rich. She knew better. She’d seen too much destitution, too many who’d come west for their dreams only to be brought face-to-face with the too harsh realities of life. She’d be just fine in her studio. Knowledge hadn’t failed her.

  Chapter 2

  Using her tools, she measured the distances perfectly between the two large hunks of quartz that she’d taken down off a shelf and spaced on her worktable. An ear trumpet pressed against the stone farthest away from her and pointed in the same direction. A wire connected to her telegraph machine slid into a hole she’d drilled in the piece of quartz closest to her. If everything went according to plan, she’d send a simple signal, it’d pass between the two stones and she’d hear it coming out the ear trumpet. She’d sketched everything meticulously and wrote her exact measurements. If this worked, she wanted Edward to recreate it. Then, perhaps, he’d quit laughing at her obsession with gems.

  Hattie took several deep breaths, then focused her magical energy at the point where the telegraph wire entered the quartz. The stones radiated no magical energy, and she’d washed them in salt water, which seemed to draw any residual energy away. When the energy built to a point where she felt it’d cross the space, she reached for the telegraph and sent the message. Test. She released the magic and waited.

  The din of people going about their business filtered in and she leaned forward, thinking maybe the sound was just too quiet to hear. Nothing happened.

  She bit her lip, disappointment welling within her. She’d been sure, so sure that this would accomplish what she wanted. So sure she could prove Edward wrong. Their correspondence intrigued her. Something about it made her want to impress him, to be seen as a scientist in his eyes.

  Going to her journal, she noted the evidence, then tried again. More silence met her efforts. No, that couldn’t be possible. She was sure—so sure—she had the formula down. She tweaked the distance, checking it with her instruments and adjusting the ear trumpet. She tried one more time.

  The silence mocked her with her failure. She wrote her experiment down, not wanting to send it until she received some positive response.

  A rap on the door frame alerted her she wasn’t alone. “Your post has arrived, Mr. Smythe,” her cleaning lady and neighbor said. “Do you need anything else before I retire for the evening?”

  “Spend the time with your family, Alva. I’m sure your sons will be excited to tell you about their day. Thank you.” She didn’t look up from her notes.

  “Most likely my husband wants his dinner.” She laughed. “One of your journals arrived. Happy reading.”

  Too many mornings Alva had found Hattie in her chair, the quilt tucked up around her chin, the coals in the stove down to faint embers, and one of these papers scattered around the base of her chair. “Thank you. I’ll get it later.” She adjusted the crystals with small movements to see if she could get them to line up better. Then, she stepped back and surveyed her look. When she glanced at the door again, Alva had left.

  Someday, she’d be able to give the woman the raise she deserved. The deserts and treats she brought supplemented Hattie’s meager cooking skills. And with Alva taking care of the domestic duties, Hattie could focus on her research. Deciding she’d stared at the long enough, she went to the papers sitting on the edge of a bookshelf. She recognized the journal and took it to her table next to the stove. The letter from Britain caught her attention. Too soon to be in response to hers, she opened it and read aloud.

  Dear Henry, I recently saw an experiment in London where mages could transfer messages the length of the hall using nothing except their own magical power and a couple of crystals. Immediately it reminded me of the work that you’d spoken about, and I regret now that I dismissed such things as being frivolous. Perhaps I’ve gotten too caught up in my calculations. I’m enclosing my own observations of the experiment and request permission to introduce you to this fellow who may travel to the states soon. I’m also enclosing some calculations that I and my fellows have been working on. Perhaps you�
��ll find them amusing. They may also be of assistance to you. I look forward to hearing about your work as it is always so fascinating to me. With highest regards, Edward.

  She read the letter again, then flipped through the papers with the equations. It took her a moment to understand what they were for. In this, she missed having a university education, but she had learned what she could from her father, an engineer, before the accident that had taken his life. Still, someday, she’d love to go to higher education and finally be able to have the learning that would make her experiments easier. The observation of the experiment, written with Edward’s usual dry humor, interested her more. She sat down and reviewed it, finding it interesting that the magic had lasted the entire length of the communication. Had that been what she’d been missing? To do that, did she need two people? She frowned. She’d just have to try it on her own and see what happened.

  “You may have just provided what I need,” she said aloud, then returning to her notes and adding her thoughts and making plans. The shadows grew dark and the traffic outside changed from the sounds of people moving to and from work to the boisterous sounds of night life. Alva had warned her with Hattie’s appearance as a slight-frame man to stay inside. Some railroad workers got rough after a few pints, or so her husband had warned her. An especially loud laugh outside her door reminded her to bar it, and she quickly ensured her small home was secure. Little did Alva know that should trouble arise, Hattie’s magic could take care of it. She’d prefer to avoid the situation, because undoubtedly it’d lead to questions she didn’t want to answer.

  Six weeks and countless unfulfilled experiments later, a knock on the door at midday startled Hattie. She stepped back from the telegraph machine. Not even the new wires she’d convinced a couple of gentleman to splice from the telegraph station five blocks away, were helping, though she now could receive train schedules when she tuned in. Perhaps the congestion had muddled the signals, but even hearing the arrival of the noon train from Chicago would be an improvement over the damned silence she’d been hearing for far too long. She’d been mulling the problem when the knock at the door had disturbed her.