Caller of Lightning

by Eytan Kollin

  “I’m most pleased to hear that. If it truly is him, are there clues to the nature of casting? Which of the interpretations is correct?”

  “I honestly haven’t gotten that far. It seems to talk about power in the body, which may point to the Hooke interpretation being more accurate than Halley or Newton, but I’m not sure. Oh! It also has some mathematical formulations that I don’t understand, and some of its sentence structure seems to be idiosyncratic to the writer. Top all of that off with the flowing nature of the text’s transitions between tongues and it makes it near impossible to translate without large amounts of guesswork. Please understand that I don’t speak all the languages. I’m able to understand about three parts in five. This is going to take some time to thoroughly decipher. I would say years, but I know we have little time. Perhaps if I rush with just a few months I can have enough translated.”

  “But you can translate them. That is good news, Anthony. We appreciate your efforts.”

  “Is there nothing else you have gleaned?” Ben asked, looking between the two men.

  Anthony pursed his lips. “Well. Maybe. I believe that one of the books has a large section musing on the population density, at least I think that’s what it is. One of the mathematical tables seems to indicate that perhaps one in every several million people can use magic, but when the comet is in the sky it is more like one in two?” He looked up, a sparkle in his eyes. “It talks about holding star metal in your hand to gain its strength. ‘Who holds the star metal holds the power and gains the power,’ is the rough translation. I’m not sure the writer knows either, and that’s even if I’m translating this properly. These books truly are a treasure.”

  Peter put a hand on Ben’s arm and addressed Anthony. “We will give you the time you need to speak more authoritatively. Do you require any assistance or further resources to continue your work?”

  “I am actually concerned that the content of these journals not break out of the circle of people prepared to understand. Some of what I am reading frightens me. I think I will have to work alone, perhaps setting down a few phrases for others to help with, but I don’t want to raise too much curiosity.”

  “Indeed, we have already seen where that can lead. We will give you all the time you need,” said Peter ruefully, “so long as it is in the next few months, before the arrival of the comet.”

  Lodging House

  Tunbridge Wells, England

  September 3rd

  31

  Plans Change

  Honoured Father

  I miss’d writing on Friday and Yesterday no Post went from hence, otherwise I should before have acknowledged the Receipt of your Favor of the 30th. Mr. Jackson is prevented from setting off from here so soon as he intended by reason of the matrimonial Affair he mentioned to us not being quite settled. He says he has Letters from the Parties almost every Day, and was he to leave this Place, they would not know where to direct to him; however he expects by Wednesday next to have Matters quite adjusted. Mr. Bridges goes with us as far as Mr. Rose Fuller’s, where it is intended to stay a Day or two. In a Fortnight from hence Mr. Jackson thinks it will be proper we should set off on our Norfolk Tour, and therefore proposes being in London some Days before. I am extremely oblig’d to you for your Care in supplying me with Money, and shall ever have a grateful Sense of that with the other numberless Indulgencies I have receiv’d from your paternal Affection. I shall be ready to return to America, or to go any other Part of the World, whenever you think it necessary. We have chang’d our Lodgings to the House next adjoining, but much for the worse, tho’ somewhat cheaper. Mr. Hunter is now acquainted with a pretty many Persons, and is as fond of this Place as he was before averse to it.

  Your Letter of Yesterday, with the agreeable News of the King of Prussias having defeated the Russians was very acceptable. It contain’d some Particulars which no one else had, and I had an Opportunity of obliging several by communicating them. Rather than a proper journey beyond Scotland this winter, to the aforementioned other Part of the World, I wish to return to London to spend the turning of the year with you. My companions have graciously allowed me grant to come back to Craven Street and reacquaint myself of them early next spring. The rest of the Family desire to be kindly remember’d to you, as does Mr. Hunter.

  I am, Honoured Sir Your ever dutiful Son,

  ~Wm. Franklin

  The

  Stevenson Home

  Craven Street

  London, England

  December 2nd

  32

  Back in Town

  Ben led the way as he and his son climbed the stairs to their Craven Street rooms. Ben was much slower, with the cold winter air wreaking havoc on his stiff joints. William patiently accompanied him as the elder Franklin grunted his way up.

  “Back in town for less than an hour, and you can’t simply unpack this mysterious treasure and bring it down to show me, Billy?” Ben paused to address his son. It was too much of a struggle to talk around his climb.

  “It’s worth the trek up the stairs, Father. I swear, how do you do this nightly?”

  “I don’t suffer this nightly. It’s this damn fog that’s rolling in. Whenever there is a barometric pressure change, I stay downstairs. But fretting is for the feeble. Up we go, yes?” He grunted and kept moving.

  Ben was taking his time. He hadn’t seen his boy in months, and then he shows up and vanishes to his room for an hour. All Fall, Ben had been working on how to talk to him, but he was sinking into the mire that most parents face when attempting to communicate with a child: all he had was hope. He hoped to finally get an admission from William as to his having formed an alliance with the Penns. He hoped his son was prepared to renounce it. Never having the heart to bring it up, Ben hoped William’s conscience was inducing him to return to his filial duty.

  They finally finished climbing the stairs, and he thought it was odd the door to their sitting room was already open, but stepped through anyway. As they crossed the threshold of their darkened rooms, William gave Ben a little shove and closed the door behind him.

  “What the?” Ben exclaimed, as he quickly turned to open the door again, but opening it did not deliver the expected results. He found himself staring not at William but at a big black void. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he realized he wasn’t in their rooms at all. He stared down a long dark hallway. Suddenly, a candle was lit, then another until he could see, sitting at a desk a good forty feet in front of him, Thomas Penn.

  Thomas stood and opened his arms wide as he got up from the desk and walked over to the astonished Ben. “So, the master of the quip has nothing to say? Perhaps a little rejoinder aimed to barb my sensibilities over the tax situation? Mmm?”

  Ben drew himself up, straightening his back and posture despite the pain in his hip and, with all the dignity he could muster, spoke simply and coldly, “Where am I?”

  Thomas considered Ben for a moment and gave a modest shrug. He looked more disappointed than anything else as he said, “You are in His Majesty’s Royal Palace and Fortress of the Tower of London. You should prepare yourself, because I am taking you to see your monarch.”

  “So be it. Let us go meet the King.”

  Thomas’s eyebrows raised. “I’m impressed. No ‘that’s not possible’ nor other exhalations of disbelief from the exalted Mr. Franklin. Just the simple sentiment to get on with it. Very well then.”

  Ben stared at Thomas, wary, senses heightened. Everything inside him screamed at him to run. He did not. Instead, he calmly followed behind Thomas as they went down a corridor.

  As they made their way down the passageway in silence, candles located at intervals on alternate sides of their path burst into flame. They did not provide abundant illumination, but it was adequate. This was no home, or temple, they were in. The walls were stone, and they were old. Parlor tricks meant to make me uneasy, he thought, but then noticed beads of sweat dripping from Thomas’s temple despite the chill.

  He i
s casting a spell, Ben realized with a start. “Is this dramatic approach really necessary?”

  Thomas didn’t even turn to acknowledge him, “It is, according to His Majesty. And that is all you should concern yourself with at the moment.”

  Thomas Penn stopped before the only door at the end of the passageway. Two guards stood, one to either side, and both nodded to Thomas as he and Ben halted. “For all your purported cunning, you have always seemed to lack the right sort of understanding of your place in the events that surround you. Your fame is transitory. Your wealth is transitory. You are transitory, Mr. Franklin. Remember that, as you stand before the Crown, and understand the truth.” Thomas opened the door and held it for Ben to enter. “Or don’t. At least I’ll get a laugh out of it that way.”

  Ben straightened his jacket, glancing coolly at Thomas. He felt . . . power on the other side of that door. Raw, immense power. Steeling himself, Ben walked in cautiously. The source of the sensation he had felt became immediately obvious. The number of magically imbued objects in this room was in the dozens. It was, in truth, overwhelming.

  He collected himself quickly, glancing around the room. It was stone walled, just as the passage, though this room was well lit. And standing in front of him . . .

  “May I present his Majesty George the Second, by the Grace of God, King of Great Britain, France, and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, Duke of Brunswick-Lüneburg, Arch-Treasurer and Prince-Elector of the Holy Roman Empire.” Thomas walked past Ben into the room.

  Ben stopped in his tracks, fighting his hip and knee to bow. It was just a moment too long for Thomas to endure.

  “I know you are a simple colonial, but I didn’t actually expect you to take the first option.” Penn’s disdainful tone was voiced from a distance that came from the gap in social experience between them more than the physical space. “Surely they must have taught you how to show basic respect to your King, even across the Atlantic?”

  Numbly Ben went down on one knee in front of his monarch, George the Second, by the Grace of God, King of Great Britain, France, and Ireland and various territories around the globe including, but not limited to, the thirteen American colonies. Ben couldn’t even settle on which immensely long title to assign to him.

  George the Second was old, in his late seventies, but fit. He had less of a stomach than Ben and strong shoulders under the finery of his office. Perhaps years of avoiding books in favor of stag hunts had served his physique well in his older age. What Ben noticed first, however, was that though the King always wore a slight smile, he had intensely sad eyes.

  Off to the side to the right, not far from where he stood, there was an odd construction. It looked like some sort of temporary altar set up on the floor. Candles were arrayed among objects in front of a deep etching in the wall. The carving appeared to be an astrological chart or alchemical table, albeit not one the likes of which Franklin had ever seen before. The objects of power surrounding the etching were of varying sizes, but included an almost comical spread of oddities. There were door handles, coins, shoe buckles, and even a Jew’s harp. A suit of armor and an ornate standing mirror were the largest items in the collection. A familiar hum, so familiar that Ben usually just tuned it out nowadays, strongly emanated from that tableau.

  They set this up for me. They want me to see this and be overwhelmed. The tactic was working, but just the knowledge of the effort being put into him strengthened Ben’s nerves.

  King George either didn’t notice, or chose not to notice, Franklin’s overly long but somehow still inadequate bow—and immediately seconded Thomas’s derision. “Well, I suppose that is the most we can expect of such. Colonials.” Even after decades of living in England with only brief sojourns to his homeland, George still carried a strong German accent.

  Thomas gave a deeper bow that was both more respectful to the King and insulting to Ben all at once. He glanced back briefly and winked.

  “Forgive him, my Lord. He is merely the son of a chandler. You may need to set aside the privileges of your rank for this conversation to progress. At your discretion, of course.”

  The monarch studied his subject, and in a flash Ben realized the King didn’t see him as a person, but rather as just another prize amongst his many toys.

  “I hope he can learn.” Though George’s words were soft, his body never relaxed. “He seems rather a simpleton. Is everyone in the Colonies like this?”

  Despite the man in front of him being his King, Ben felt his hackles rise. They were playing a game, baiting him. Franklin’s anger had always burned cold, making him calmest when he was at his angriest. He stayed quiet, letting the two get whatever this was over and done.

  Thomas shook his head. “Sadly no. Mr. Franklin is considered among the best and brightest of the colonials, Your Majesty. He is even a member of the Royal Society.”

  The two both turned to see how he would react, silently appraising him. Once the silence got uncomfortable, Ben drew a measured breath and spoke. “I may be a poor, ignorant colonial, but at least I am true in my loyalty to the Throne and my love of being an Englishman. This one,” indicating Thomas, “only cares for himself. So, call me simple, but I do have my pride. Your Majesty.”

  “You have no idea how true those words are, but you will,” George the Second said carefully, dangerously. “Let’s keep this simple. You are to recover the journals from Lord One and his society, along with whatever magical artifacts you and your associates have managed to acquire. Like all those Fellows that run about in the Royal Society. Books, books, books, all the time. They took our grant but kept to themselves. Couldn’t even find a damned journal. You’re not to do that, hear? Anything you find you will place into the care of our loyal servant, Thomas Penn.”

  “Your Majesty, I don’t have any magical artifacts or journals that I am aware of possessing.” Ben paused. “I did have journals, kept in my office in Philadelphia, but somehow Mr. Penn ended up with them. Somehow.”

  Ben was taken aback as both George the Second and Thomas Penn broke out in genuine laughter. It took a moment for them to recover, but finally Penn said, “Did I not tell you it was thus, Your Majesty? The great luminary, Benjamin Franklin, whose legend is known far and wide, even across Atlantic, is quite underpowered in the current climate and completely ignorant of the situation at hand. Do you understand, Mr. Franklin, what it was you possessed and what you could help us gain? The journals contain the knowledge of Merlin, and show us the proper path to power.”

  Ben remained stoically calm, but under the surface thought, Someone isn’t as smart as he thinks. He noticed something he had failed to see previously, when being ambushed at the Penn estate. Thomas’s eyebrows furrowed a bit when he lied. So, the question of the hour for Ben was, what was Thomas lying about? If Thomas was lying, what did that say about the King? “Beyond the journals . . . I know nothing of what artifacts you seek.”

  Thomas waited for a nod from his monarch before replying.

  “These artifacts are created by people who have found themselves temporarily enabled by the arrival of the comet to imbue objects with magic that are created from star metal. They imbue it with their intention, an intention that can be detected and used by sorcerers. By mages. Since these objects were created by those who could have no knowledge of the result, they are unstable and can cause harm. Any artifacts that we have not managed to gather before the arrival of the comet will become even more powerful at that time, and these objects will become even more dangerous and unpredictable. These objects, accidentally wrought, can be used by people with true power and control. They are a hazard to the citizens of this land, and they need to be collected and kept in a safe place until the comet has passed.”

  “Are you saying this is my chance to aid my country? I don’t understand what you expect me to do.” Ben watched them both carefully.

  “To be clear, His Majesty George the Second, by the Grace of God, King of Great Britain, France, and Ireland, Def
ender of the Faith, Duke of Brunswick-Lüneburg, Arch Treasurer and Prince-Elector of the Holy Roman Empire, is also the current head of the Round Table, Apprentice-Select to Merlin, and Hand of the Martyr on Earth—though we don’t use those last titles in public.” Thomas smiled tightly. “We are aware, Mr. Franklin, that you have the ability to sense star metal when you are near it. We need you to use that skill for the good of England.”

  “What about beyond England? What about in America?” Ben asked.

  “By concentrating the star metal that has been worked here, we will be empowering our Sovereign and King to protect us all. Until the Key turned up, we were unaware any imbued star metal was in the Americas. I don’t think there is much that could be there.”

  Ben nodded, “I see. I’m still not sure what it is you would have me do.” He knew damn well what they wanted, but there was no way he was going to reveal the truth about the Assembly Bell to Thomas Penn. King or no King; he had his limits.

  King George’s humor fell away as quickly as it came. He turned back to Ben. “We are perfectly aware of what you once had in your possession, and your profound inability to retain what you had gained through no effort of your own. What we want to know, and what we need to understand, is where you got the Key. We have a careful catalog of all known objects infused by materia from the comet. Recently, these objects have been disappearing at an alarming rate, but never among the objects known to be created with star metal is a key at all, much less a key like the one you possess.”