Aether Spark

by Nicholas Petrarch

  Ashworth nodded again.

  “Alright then,” Chance said, letting go of him. He didn’t feel too assured, but there wasn’t anything more he could do then. He glanced around the edge of the stage. A pair of constables were apprehending yet another man.

  “Now!” Chance pushed Ashworth forward. “Run now!”

  Ashworth stood and ran toward the street Chance had indicated. His steps fell unevenly, but he was moving. That was enough for Chance.

  One of the nearby duelists called out as he spotted Ashworth’s flight. “Hey you! Stop! I said sto—ugh!”

  Chance barreled into the duelist with all his weight as he passed by, knocking the wind out of him as they tumbled to the ground. The duelist’s sword clattered against the brick road. A few other guards called out and hurried to assist their comrade.

  Chance scrambled to his feet. Now, it was his turn to run.

  Choosing a side street in the opposite direction of Ashworth’s, Chance sprinted across the square. It was nearly clear now, save for the wounded and those few who had stayed behind to mourn the dead. Chance leapt over an abandoned body and between another two guards trying to cut off his retreat.

  A third leapt out at him from a small group—another duelist—but Chance pulled a vial from Ashworth’s carrier and chucked it at him. The duelist swept his arm in a wide circle and shielded himself from the vial with his cape. It bought Chance enough time to sidestep him and turn down one of the side streets.

  He couldn’t resist a laugh, but caught his breath as a constable lunged for him. He seized Chance by the hair, dragging him back painfully. Chance let out a cry, then leaned back despite the pain and raised his foot into the man’s abdomen. The constable let go with a grunt, and Chance kept on, sprinting as fast as he could down the street.

  Outside of the plaza, it was easier to evade his pursuers. The streets were built narrow, only wide enough for carriages to squeeze past one another, and the roads took unorthodox twists as they mimicked the surface of the cliffs.

  After a few tight turns, Chance ducked behind some steps coming down off a residence and tried to catch his breath. It came in short fits. He wheezed heavily, clutching at the wall for support. He wasn’t used to running so fast, and it felt as though his lungs were being squeezed in a press—winding like rough gears in his chest.

  Is this the feeling Harper was talking about at the meeting? he wondered.

  He couldn’t be certain if he was still being followed, but he couldn’t go further. He was seized by a violent fit of coughing, though he tried desperately to control himself. If a constable was still chasing him his hiding spot would be compromised for sure.

  But, none came, and Chance thanked his fortune.

  After a few minutes of labored breathing, Chance was able to collect himself enough to stop coughing. He slumped down exhausted in the corner and rested his head against the dirty stone, mouth open to draw in as much air as he could.

  What just happened?

  He kept asking himself the question over and over, the events running through his head in rapid succession. It didn’t make sense. Who would try and sabotage their rally? Who else even knew about it?

  And what was the guard doing? Why weren’t they helping those who had been wounded in the blast? They seemed intent only on making arrests.

  A nagging thought surfaced in the back of Chance’s mind—they had been seizing, almost exclusively, those who resembled alchemists.

  He thought again of his friend and their peculiar reunion earlier.

  “Ringgold... what were you doing here?”

  Rising from his hiding spot, Chance stepped into the street and fell in with a few others moving away from the plaza. For now, he needed to make it home. With any luck, the others would have made it out as well.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Ringgold’s Warning

  I must admit, I was a little surprised by the outcome myself.

  — Excerpt from Mechanarcissism

  N either Chance nor Ashworth spoke much that evening. They sat at their table in a state of quiet shock, the silence passing tangibly between them—or perhaps through them—as they mulled the horrid day over.

  They’d made it back safely. The guard hadn’t given much chase beyond the plaza. They seemed to be satisfied with those they’d been able to snag near the stage. No word had come of how many in their company had been arrested, but Chance feared the worst.

  Rhett was resting in his room. He was alright, though shaken. The cut under his neck was more superficial than it had first appeared, but his wrist was broken. Afraid to take him to a hospital, they’d splinted the break themselves and given him something to lessen the pain.

  Liesel had offered to stay and keep a vigil with him after she’d cleaned her own wound, which was also fortunately shallow. Chance hadn’t objected. Rhett didn’t seem to want Chance near him since Chance had dropped him in the plaza.

  Chance fidgeted as a multitude of questions whirled in his head. But he couldn’t concentrate on them. Every sound, from the groan of the boards to the way Ashworth’s breath leaked out of him, irritated Chance. He couldn’t understand how Ashworth sat there so calmly. He wanted nothing more than for the silence to break.

  “Care for another cup?” Chance offered as he stood.

  “What? Oh, yes. Thank you,” Ashworth said, handing his cup to Chance. He’d only drunk it down about half-way, but it had obviously gone cold. Chance poured it out and retrieved a fresh cup for him.

  Ashworth stared at its contents when it was returned to him, swirling it around in the cup. “You don’t happen to have anything stronger, do you?”

  Chance was surprised by the request, but produced a small metal flask from his pocket.

  “It isn’t anything fancy.”

  “The worse the better,” Ashworth said with a forced smile. “It’s not meant for a celebration.”

  He poured a bit into his cup and offered it back to Chance.

  “Nah,” Chance said. “You keep it.”

  “I can’t believe he’s gone,” Ashworth said. “You know, when I administered the spark I half-expected it not to work. But when it did... gods above, I thought we had something.”

  He took a sip and winced. Chance imagined the mixture wasn’t quite what he’d expected. Nevertheless, he kept on drinking.

  “That wasn’t our first test, mind you,” he continued. Now that the silence had been broken, he talked like he was warding it off. “I don’t know if I mentioned that to you before.”

  Chance shook his head and took his seat at the table again. “There’s a lot you didn’t mention before.”

  “Willard must have been the tenth person we’d tried the serum on. We started locally—victims of illness or disease mostly—but that didn’t last long. In its first stages the serum was too... aggressive. It burned out the victim’s body within a matter of minutes. It was too shocking for the families to witness for us to continue.”

  “How did I not hear about this?” Chance asked. “All this was going on right under my nose, and you didn’t think to tell me about it? Or to include me?”

  “I’d tried to steer you in that direction a few times. Why do you think I kept trying to get you to befriend Welch?”

  “Welch knew about this?” Chance said, louder than he’d intended.

  “Not exactly,” Ashworth admitted. “But, he worked out a few of the problems we’d encountered along the way—without even realizing what it was we were trying to do.”

  Chance sat dumbfounded. “I can’t believe Welch was in on it.”

  “A part of it,” Ashworth clarified. “We kept our circle small for a reason.”

  “And you didn’t think you could trust me with it?”

  “I’m sorry about that, Chance,” Ashworth said, his voice breaking. He placed a hand on Chance’s arm. “I should have brought you in sooner. Especially when I decided to take you on as a full partner, but I didn’t know how.”

  “H
ow about ‘Hey Chance, want to work on developing a secret compound with me?’ That might have worked.”

  “I didn’t want to tie you to an enterprise that seemed destined to fail.”

  “So instead, you left me to struggle on my own?”

  Ashworth frowned, his brow furrowed as he watched Chance sulk. Rising from the table, he stepped out of the room, only to return a moment later carrying a bound folder made out of two thin wood panels.

  He set it down in front of Chance.

  “What is this?”

  “Your invitation,” Ashworth said. “I’m sorry it’s a little late, but that’s a summary of the research I’ve conducted during the development of the Aether spark. I was writing it out in layman’s terms so that others might have an idea what we’d accomplished.”

  Chance leafed through the first few pages. Even simplified, it wasn’t easy material to follow.

  “I wonder what Welch would have to say about you explaining away all his psudo-spiritualism?” Chance mused as he read.

  “The Aether isn’t spirit,” Ashworth said. “At least, not in the way most men think of spirit. How do I explain this?” Ashworth stroked his chin. “It’s a reaction—a constant, ever-changing reaction. It reacts with nearly everything that it comes in contact with and changes its nature according to the elements surrounding it. It’s just so fine an element we have difficulty perceiving the reaction. But, rest assured, it’s there. It’s working in each of us right now.”

  Chance read on, his interest piqued.

  “I’d be interested to hear what you think.”

  “I suppose I could look it over.”

  “I’d appreciate that,” Ashworth smiled.

  “And Ashworth...”

  “Hmm?”

  “I am sorry about Harper.”

  Ashworth nodded solemnly. “At the very least, we were able to say goodbye the way we should have. Do you know he forgave me? Before I could say anything about our grudge, he forgave me. Unconditionally. I’d never expected that.” He shook his head and stared at the table. “I suppose that’s one good thing that came from all of this.”

  They heard Rhett’s bedroom door close, and Liesel descended the stairs.

  “How’s the boy doing?” Ashworth asked, as she came to join them.

  “He’ll be alright,” she assured them. “Still a bit stunned, I think. I finally got him to relax enough to sleep.”

  “Glad someone was able to,” Chance said. “He wouldn’t let me touch him. I think he blames me for losing his rat.”

  “He’ll get over it once he’s had a little time to recover,” she said. “In the meantime, any idea what happens now?”

  “Nothing,” Ashworth said.

  “We can’t just do nothing,” Chance said. “What about those who were arrested? They were alchemists. Are we just going to forget about them?”

  “What can we do? Even if we tried, we wouldn’t be able to help. They likely made the arrests to keep up an image of control for the public. They’ll let them go after things settle down a bit. Our interfering would only add to the problem,” Ashworth said.

  “But—”

  “I think Ashworth is right,” Liesel interjected. “If we show up they’ll have us in a cell with the rest of them.”

  “Then what do we do?” Chance protested. “I can’t just sit here waiting.”

  “Of course not,” Ashworth said. “We’ll listen. We’ll help support the families of those who were arrested. And you’ll be busy with my research while Rhett recovers.”

  Chance paused. “Wait. What do you mean?”

  “They know I’m involved,” Ashworth sighed. “I announced it publicly when I introduced Willard today. I can only expect a visit from the guard in the next few days. They’ll almost certainly arrest me.”

  “For what? You were as much a target of whoever set off that bomb as he was!”

  “For anything they want. All they need is an excuse.” Ashworth sipped his coffee.

  “But Harper lived!” Chance struck the table with a clenched fist. “Without you he’d have stayed on that slab. You’re a hero! The proof is there.”

  “But our support isn’t,” Ashworth said matter-of-factly. “So, all I can do is wait for the inquisition to arrive.” He swirled his drink in his cup. “I was counting on Willard’s testimony.”

  “But, that doesn’t mean you have to be here when they come for you,” Liesel said. “You can stay at my place until things calm down. We’ve got a room in the cellar all ready for you.”

  Ashworth chuckled weakly. “I appreciate it, but I’m too old to go into hiding. I’d rather confront the problem at hand. And if there are men trying to stop what we’re doing, what better way to meet them face-to-face than to be here when they come knocking? If any amount of fortune still favors us, the truth will be on our side.”

  “Since when has fortune ever favored us?” Chance snapped.

  “A time or two,” Ashworth smiled. “For example, fortune sent you to me, Chance, when I needed you the most. You’ve been nothing but a trove of good fortune to an old man near the end of his usefulness. And, as a token to show I’ve always had trust in your abilities, you’ll find all of my research and properties in your name. See? Look there.”

  He pointed to the bottom of the folder he’d handed Chance. Sure enough, hidden in the corner was a mark—Chance’s mark!

  Chance was taken aback.

  “A precaution, in case something was ever to happen to me,” Ashworth explained. “You didn’t think I took you on as a partner just to collect rent on the work shed, did you?”

  Chance was about to say something when there was a sudden knock at the door. Everyone tensed as they looked to one another.

  “Are you expecting someone?” Liesel asked, hopeful.

  “Not that I know of,” Ashworth said. “Unless...”

  “That can’t be them already, could it?” Chance asked. He stood up and stepped into the threshold to the entryway. “Perhaps it’s another alchemist?”

  “Let me get it,” Liesel said, rising. “If something is wrong, you two slip out the back. I’ll stall them.”

  “What about Rhett?”

  The knock sounded more urgently.

  “We’ll have to pray they don’t think anything of him,” Ashworth said. “If they ask, he’s not apprenticed to me.”

  “Alright, stay out of sight,” Liesel said, waving them aside. Chance followed her to the hallway, listening intently.

  Liesel opened the door.

  “What do you want?” Chance heard her say.

  “Is this Ashworth’s residence?”

  “He’s not here.”

  “Is Chance here?”

  Chance peeked around the doorway and recognized the man standing before Liesel. He felt his stomach climb into his throat. Without realizing what he was doing, he marched forward and pushed his way past Liesel.

  “Chance! I was hoping you’d b—”

  Chance struck Ringgold across the face with a clenched fist and sent him stumbling backwards down the stairs.

  “How dare you!” Chance yelled. Liesel tried to hold him back, but Chance pulled away from her. “Out on assignment? You rotten sell-out!”

  He swung again, and Ringgold retreated down the path.

  “I can explain,” Ringgold said.

  “Explain what? How you sold your soul to the devils on the Spire? Watchdog? Try hellhound!”

  “If you’d just listen!” Ringgold pleaded.

  “What’s going on?” Ashworth was at the door. Recognizing Ringgold’s uniform, he too pushed past Liesel. “What business do you have here?”

  “You here to arrest us?” Chance spat.

  “No,” Ringgold insisted. He cupped his nose, a fresh pool of blood forming in his hand. “I’m here to warn you!”

  “Of what?”

  Ringgold straightened up and wiped his nose on a handkerchief from his pocket. “Can I speak with Chance, please?” He let out a h
eavy breath. “Alone?”

  “If you have something to say you say it here,” Liesel said. “You’re not taking him away. He had nothing to do with it.”

  “It’s okay,” Chance said. His eyes were fixed upon Ringgold’s. “Why don’t you two go check on Rhett?”

  “Are you sure?” Ashworth glanced nervously between the two of them.

  Chance felt like he could take another swing at Ringgold, but he swallowed the urge.

  “I’ll be alright,” he said.

  “Very well,” Ashworth said. He gestured to Liesel to return inside with him.

  “We’ll be in earshot,” Liesel promised as they closed the door.

  A long silence passed between them, and Ringgold continued to mop up his nose. Neither seemed to know where to begin.

  “I’m sorry about what happened today,” Ringgold said finally.

  “The only people I want to hear that from are those responsible for it,” Chance said bitterly. “What happened, Ringgold?”

  “I can’t talk about it.”

  “You can’t talk about it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know? What were you doing there?”

  “I told you…” Ringgold began.

  “I know, standard procedure or some slag like that, right? I saw you there, dragging away those men and women.”

  “I was following orders.” Ringgold said. “I’m a soldier. That’s what I do.”

  “And what were your orders, exactly? Apprehend as many alchemists as you could?”

  “What?”

  “The people you arrested—the guard was targeting alchemists.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” Ringgold said defensively.

  Chance gave Ringgold an incriminating look.

  “Well of course we arrested alchemists,” he admitted. “Who do you think set off the blast? We have eyewitnesses who described the man who attacked the stage—some of them from our own guard. He fit the description of an alchemist.”

  “And what makes you think that? Had on a long coat, did he? A little too much dirt on his face and a couple extra pockets?”

  “No,” Ringgold spat in disgust. “It wasn’t that. Come on, you’re smarter than this, Chance. The flask bomb? The extra explosives under the stage? You can’t honestly tell me we have no reason to suspect an alchemist was behind it. We had to respond to the present threat, and it was pretty clear what that was.”