Aether Spark

by Nicholas Petrarch

  “I need twelve measures of phosphorous and aqua fortis, two bottles of thick air, and fifty measures of salt copperas,” Chance said.

  “Right,” the official said, taking the note and jotting something down in a ledger. He handed it to a boy and sent him off to fetch the components from one of the back rooms of the warehouse. “Afraid we don’t have any salt copperas, though. You’ll have to check back another time.”

  “What?” Chance asked. “How’s that?”

  “Asked myself the same thing when I found out. Why not ask your friends? They keep buying out our shipments before we even unload them into the yard. I’ve had my share of complaints, but I can’t do a thing to keep my stock full. And I’m not about to pass up a sure sale.”

  “Who’s buying?”

  “Lot of new faces,” he said, leafing through his ledger. “But, according to the certificate, they all belong to Gravatts.”

  That was odd. Salt copperas was nothing more than an additive used to stall reactions within a mixture. It was the very same additive Chance had run short on for his. What could old man Gravatts be working on that he needed so much?

  “Any news on what they’ve been producing?” Chance asked.

  “Aye, there is,” the official said, tapping his meaty finger on the countertop. He stared at Chance, his expression uncaring.

  Chance rolled his eyes and pulled a handful of coins from his pocket, laying them out before him. The official snatched them up in a single motion, depositing them in his own pocket.

  “Nothing,” he said with a grin, waving his hand in the air as though the word had vanished with Chance’s money.

  “Nothing? What kind of information is—”

  The official gave Chance a knowing look.

  “Oh...”

  That was significant. Gravatts’ laboratory was one of the largest in the Basin. His reputation allowed him to do business among some of the higher tiers of society. Of all Chance and Ashworth’s competitors, Gravatts was one of the only labs to have obtained a partial customs waiver. Their production paled in comparison.

  For Gravatts to slow his production was unusual. But, to have stopped altogether? The news presented quite a riddle.

  “Word has it,” the official said, “that a while back Gravatts up and sent everyone home with a week’s advance in their pockets and told them to come back the following week. No explanation. Nothing.”

  “What could he be working on?” Chance wondered.

  “Not a clue, but he can’t keep it up long if you ask me. Either he’s got money coming in we don’t know about or he’s gone entirely mad. Between you and me, I think the latter. Too many fumes over the years. Ah! Here are your components.”

  The boy came hurrying back and handed over the requested items.

  “Thank you,” Chance said, paying for them with the notes Liesel had given him. He placed the larger jars into a satchel. The smaller vials he secured in his carrier and tucked it underneath his coat. “You’ve been a help.”

  “It’s always a pleasure to make an exchange,” the official said, tapping his nose twice and waving Chance along. “Next!”

  Chance paused near the iron gate, leaning against one of the walls as he waited for Rhett to return from his errand. He watched the people coming and going. They moved about him in a chaotic rhythm that became white noise the longer he watched. Occasionally, a peddler approached him, offering the goods they had on hand.

  Chance was quick to turn them away.

  The law restricted any unsanctioned trade within the courtyard, but that didn’t keep independent sellers from setting up just outside the gates. They shouted at passersby incessantly, assuring whomever would listen that their wares were guaranteed cheaper or of higher quality than anything distributed by the city.

  Chance had learned early that those peddlers were more trouble than they were worth. Alchemy was a fickle craft as it was, and it wasn’t worth the risk of getting faulty components trying to save a few coins.

  His thoughts eventually turned back to Gravatts. He just couldn’t fathom what would possess the alchemist to abandon his regular production and dismiss his staff—for any length of time. Perhaps he really had gone mad. The thought wasn’t beyond reason.

  Or perhaps he was onto something new?

  Chance’s curiosity was piqued. He had a hard time believing Gravatts was the type of man who’d develop anything new, but then Chance hadn’t paid him much attention. He made a mental note to pay Gravatts’ nearest pubs a visit soon to see if he couldn’t pry a bit more information out of his men.

  “Done!” Rhett popped out from between two larger women looking proud with his satchel. It bulged with foodstuffs and other purchases Chance had entrusted to him.

  “Good job. Any money left?” Chance asked.

  Rhett held out his hand. He had a few small notes and some loose coins. “You think we could ride in a dirigible still?” he asked.

  “Not today.”

  “But we have enough money.”

  “But it isn’t ours.” Chance counted out a few coins and handed them to Rhett. “Go ahead and use that to take a rail back home. I’ll be along later tonight.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’ve got some things I have to do.” Chance tucked the rest of the coins into his coat pocket and handed Rhett the satchel.

  “Why can’t I come?”

  “Because someone’s got to take our things back to the house. And anyway, you’d just slow me down. This is a man’s job.”

  “Now, I know I didn’t just hear you refer to yourself as a man.”

  Ponti, one of Chance’s friends, came sauntering up. A lumpy rucksack was slung over his shoulder. It jangled and clanked as he walked. Chance was surprised he hadn’t heard him approach.

  “Don’t let him fool you, Rhett. He’s a whelp as much as you. Just a head or two bigger.” He gave Rhett a wink. “Chance, you shoddy piece of scrap, it’s good to see—gadgets, your face is a wreck!” Ponti leaned in so close to Chance’s face that the odor of his breath overwhelmed him. “What’d you bump into?”

  “None of your business,” Chance said, swatting Ponti away. “Just trying to get through a few errands today.”

  “Doing or done?” Ponti grinned. “Because if you’re done, I’m about ready to meet up with a few of the guys. You in?”

  Chance thought about Gravatts’ men. He wanted to find out what they were about, but the thought of relaxing from the wreck of a day it had been got the better of him. He could always investigate later.

  “Sure,” Chance agreed. “I could go for something strong right about now.”

  “Can I come with you?” Rhett asked.

  “I don’t know, what do you think?” Ponti asked. He took Rhett by the shoulder and jostled him in a rough hold. “Think he’s got enough hair on his chest to quaff vice with the worst of us?”

  “It’s not your type of place, Rhett,” Chance explained.

  “There you have it. Verdict passed.” Ponti pushed Rhett away. “Better luck next time, kid.”

  Rhett frowned and his lip quivered.

  “Hey now, hold up.” Ponti swung his rucksack off his shoulder and set it down onto the street with a clatter. He rummaged through the assorted junk before pulling out a tiny toy flying machine and handed it to Rhett.

  “Wow!” Rhett said, his eyes lighting up. One of its sides was badly damage, but for the most part it was intact. “For me?”

  “Sure, kid.”

  “Where’d you find that?” Chance asked.

  “Came crashing down on me over by Copperfield. Bloody thing nearly clipped my ear clean off it was falling so fast. Anyway, I thought you’d enjoy it. Something to amuse you while we amuse ourselves.”

  “Thanks!” Rhett said. He cocked his arm back and gave it a toss toward a less congested section of the street. The toy sailed all of two feet before flipping wing over wing and crashing down between Rhett’s feet.

  “It’s
going to need some work,” Ponti pointed out.

  “Go ahead and take it with you,” Chance said. “I’ll meet up with you later tonight, and maybe we’ll see if we can get that thing to fly.”

  Rhett didn’t show any sign that he’d heard them. He’d already scooped up the gizmo and was racing off happily with it. Chance shook his head and smiled as he and Ponti turned down the street toward the bay.

  As they walked, Ponti produced a flask from his pocket and tossed it to Chance. “Something to tide you over,” he said, “‘till we get something a bit stronger. There’s a pub down on Balderdash I have to introduce you to.”

  “Not where the Gaffer’s pit used to be?” Chance asked, taking a swig off the watery brew. He handed the flask back to Ponti.

  “Same place, though the guy running it now is top shelf. They’ve done it up a bit, too.”

  Chance looked skeptical, but followed along. “Since when did you start thinking of Rhett while you’re junking?” he asked as Ponti adjusted the sack over his shoulder.

  “Never,” Ponti said matter-of-factly. “But, I couldn’t have the whelp tugging at your heartstrings like that if we were ever going to get a drink. Come on! I lost time fetching you.”

  Chapter Ten

  Announcements

  Genius? Forerunner? Visionary? Is there a word to accurately describe man’s ascension?

  — Excerpt from Mechanarcissism

  F orgive her,” Lord Worthington said, letting out a heavy sigh. “She’s a proper lady, but her ignorance can be unbearable.”

  The men had stepped onto the patio for a moment of privacy away from the ladies. They’d finished their meal, and found the excuse for a smoke sufficient to continue their conversation from earlier.

  “I may have spoken a little too loosely,” Arden conceded.

  “No matter,” Sinclair said, taking out a cigarette case and selecting a stick. He offered one to Stoddard, who took it with thanks. “Some have a harder time digesting new ideas than others. I imagine you’ll have your work cut out trying to bring us all up to speed, doctor.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “But, it’s good to have a moment for more substantive talk,” Sinclair said, lighting his cigarette. “My son tributes your work, and rightly so.”

  “You can’t fault the boy for speaking the truth,” Lord Worthington said, lighting his pipe and taking a few thick puffs.

  “Do you agree with his assessment of your work?” Sinclair asked.

  “Master Arden is generous in his praise and he gives me great honors,” Stoddard said. “However, there is still much to learn. We have yet to fully grasp the Aether and its possibilities. However, if what we’ve discovered through this whole ordeal with the good captain is any indication of what is to come then I have high hopes for the future.”

  “And what would you need,” Sinclair asked. “Money? Time?”

  “Some time, yes,” Stoddard said. “And resources. Up until now I’ve gotten by in large measure by the generosity of a handful of donors—Harper being the principle donor, naturally.”

  “And if you had the resources? Where could you see your work a year from now?”

  “With the right equipment and more opportunities to test my mechanisms, I expect I could replicate the link reliably and begin testing its capabilities.”

  “We’ll need to see to it then,” Sinclair said. “Had I not come with business at hand, I’d like to discuss it more. However, I’m afraid Lord Worthington has been patient enough with me this afternoon and has matters of his own to discuss.”

  “Cursed corsairs have been harassing the trade routes between our southeastern colonies,” Worthington explained. “They’ve sacked one of my ships already. Over protected airspace, I might add. The spineless viceroys refuse to do anything of their own initiative to uphold their agreements.”

  “I understand your plight,” Sinclair said. Stoddard sensed his exasperation as he took in a deep breath. “I’ll do what I can to apply some pressure, but perhaps it would be wise in the meantime to invest in an armed ship of your own to hunt these corsairs. Perhaps you’ll have some luck recovering your cargo.”

  “That would be the worst course of action,” Worthington insisted. “As soon as the viceroys saw me policing their skies for them they’d wash their hands of the matter entirely.”

  Stoddard listened politely to Worthington’s take on the corsairs. He had little experience with sky-pirates, the colonies, or the politics that made it all turn. He could only offer the sympathetic nod or comment here and there.

  “Congratulations,” Arden said to Stoddard as his father and Worthington continued to speak. “I’m sure that was what you were hoping for today.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your recognition, from my father. You’ll find yourself welcome among most of the meritocracy now, I imagine.”

  “Thank you,” Stoddard said.

  “He’s yet to recognize me,” Arden said, his voice laced with a hint of bitterness. “I’d almost thought he’d forgotten how.”

  Stoddard was surprised by the young man’s openness. But then, he imagined it wasn’t easy being the son of such a distinguished figure within the meritocracy. The pressure Arden wrestled with to distinguish himself as his own person must have been intense.

  “You’ll be recognized in time, I’m sure,” Stoddard said. “It’s a long road, if my experience is a testament. Nonetheless, it is attainable.”

  “Yes, well...” Arden shuffled his feet as he watched his father. “I worry about my contribution to the city. I can’t ride in my father’s shadow forever. It’s coming time for me to distinguish myself, but as much as I’ve tried I haven’t found my niche yet.

  “Your mechanisms seem so far beyond anything I’ve ever thought to achieve, and your dedication absolute. For the first time, I’m beginning to believe what my father says about me spreading my talents too thin.”

  “What seems to be a flaw might actually be your strength,” Stoddard offered. “To have entertained so many interests is evidence of an inquisitive mind. That is a more difficult quality to develop than the understanding of any one subject. If I was to consider your ability as a mechanist, I’d suspect great things from you one day.”

  “My father doesn’t seem to think so.”

  “You’re not too different from myself when I was your age.”

  “You flatter me,” Arden said.

  “It’s true,” Stoddard insisted. “If you’re interested, perhaps you’d like to look over some of my designs firsthand? I imagine I’ll be quite busy in the coming months, but I’d be glad to set aside some time to explain them to you.”

  “Truly?”

  “Of course,” Stoddard smiled. “It would be impossible to appreciate their complexity from just one observation in the medical dome. It would be my pleasure.”

  “I’d be thrilled!” Arden said.

  “Then it is done. My office is open to you at your convenience. I’ll have my attendant made aware of it.”

  As the boy fired off a fresh batch of questions, Stoddard grinned inwardly. To have the favor of an elector was a fortune he’d not expected, but to be in confidence with his son was nearing perfection. He suspected it would prove most advantageous to keep the lad close.

  “Gentlemen, I’m afraid our brief window of time is nearly run out,” Sinclair declared. Apparently, he and Lord Worthington had come to some agreement. Worthington looked considerably less agitated. “The women will wonder why our business has delayed us so long. Shall we return?”

  “Of course,” Stoddard said.

  Sinclair put out his cigarette, and Worthington emptied his pipe.

  “Doctor Stoddard,” Sinclair said as they began to walk. “If you’re able to spare a moment, would you be willing to give a more detailed presentation to myself and the other electors? I have no doubt they’ll be interested in your work after I speak with them on your behalf.”

  “It would be my pleasure.�
��

  “It’s been too long since your work has been considered among the meritocracy, I think.” Sinclair offered his hand to Stoddard, who took it in a firm shake. “I’d like to invest in your work, personally,” he added, not letting go of Stoddard’s hand. “An initial investment of 100,000 banknotes, which is nothing compared to the sum you may receive after your presentation if you can impress us.”

  Stoddard stood dazed. “That would... thank you, Elector.”

  “My pleasure,” Sinclair smiled, finally releasing his hand. “I’ll be in contact with you in the next few days.”

  When they’d rejoined the women, servers brought out a fresh selection of desserts which the company helped themselves to. Lady Worthington appeared to be in better spirits, the effects of the sherry warming her cheeks. The luncheon was running long, and Stoddard wondered when the Sinclair would be required elsewhere, but no one seemed in any particular hurry.

  Not wanting to be rude, Stoddard resigned himself to another glass of wine. But, before he could take a drink, his thoughts were interrupted as Lord Worthington rose from his chair and cleared his throat with a deep rumble.

  “Excuse me, everyone,” he said, tapping his glass. “I feel we were fortunate to be here today. Most fortunate. Not only to have come at the invitation of our beloved elector, but to have with us his esteemed guest, Doctor Stoddard.”

  There was a general acknowledgment from the rest of the company.

  “Perhaps it’s not public knowledge, but this is not the first encounter I’ve had with the doctor,” Worthington smiled. “I had the fortune of making his acquaintance when he once—no doubt caught up in a youthful spirit—sought to court my daughter, Emmaline. Do you recall, doctor?”

  Stoddard’s face flushed. He glanced at Emmaline, but she maintained her calm, collected countenance as though nothing said had surprised her in the least. He wondered how she remained so unfazed in such moments.

  “I do recall,” he said, trying to mimic Emmaline’s cool appearance.

  “At the time, there was some concern about his standing in society—our daughter being of an esteemed family and Stoddard yet to prove himself worthy of our fair Emmaline. Given recent events, however, I think it goes without saying that my concerns are no longer pertinent. We are fortunate indeed to witness a man who is offering very real promise to our fair city.”