Aether Spark

by Nicholas Petrarch

  He couldn’t think of any excuse. He glanced again at the booth.

  Empty.

  “What has gotten into you?” Emmaline scolded him privately at intermission. Stoddard found it nigh impossible to concentrate. He’d spent more time watching the booth than he did the performance. By the time intermission had arrived, Lady Merryfield had declared him a most distractable fidget.

  “It’s nothing,” Stoddard assured, though he was having a difficult time masking his frustration. The booth had remained empty the entire first half of the performance, and he felt snubbed—by a lowly alchemist of all people.

  “I’ve seen you behave poorly before, and this is significantly worse,” Emmaline hissed at him. “What could have your attention so much that you can’t enjoy yourself with us? Is it truly too much to ask of you just one evening?”

  “Do you see me standing here?” Stoddard snapped. “Am I not here with you?”

  Emmaline pursed her lips, but said no more.

  They retired to the theater’s foyer to join the others who were gathering to discuss how they felt the opera was going. Many of the men were meeting for smokes in the gentleman’s lounge. Stoddard did not join them, though Merryfield inquired if he’d like to.

  He was on edge. He’d meant to meet with the apprentice during intermission, but now he had no way of knowing what the boy looked like. Nevertheless, he kept his eyes peeled for anyone who might stand out as an alchemist. He wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but he looked for it just the same.

  There was the possibility that he had simply not shown, but Stoddard found it hard to believe he would not attend. Stoddard’s letter had suggested nothing but promise to improve the boy’s circumstances as a result of their meeting.

  “Not boring you with our company, are we?” Merryfield inquired when Stoddard didn’t respond to a question he’d posed. His generally pleasant demeanor had turned anxious. “You look distressed,” he observed.

  Stoddard shook his head. “Not at all. I was just taken away a moment by... the columns!” he said quickly. “I didn’t believe you earlier, but they are impressive.”

  “You shouldn’t let his manner offend you.” Emmaline smiled a deceptively pleasant smile. “It’s just his way, getting carried off in his thoughts or with some inane detail.”

  “I was just admiring the splendor of the theater,” Stoddard insisted.

  “Oh?” Emmaline said, her facade coming down a little. Her voice was strained. “In that case, who could fault you for admiring the theater?”

  What had possessed her? Stoddard wondered.

  “Has he told you about his work?” she continued. “It’s fascinating. What was it that you were telling me about on the way over, dear?”

  Stoddard stumbled for a second. Had they talked in the carriage? But then he saw the glimmer of malice in her eyes, and he sensed what she was up to.

  “Yes...” Stoddard began. “I was telling her about an interesting idea Master Arden had come up with recently. It’s quite compelling. A theory about—”

  “Not more theories,” Emmaline protested. “Trust me, once he begins on his theories there’s no telling when the end will come. We could miss the second half of the performance! Why not tell us about one of your many accomplishments, dear? Tell us about something real.”

  “Well, my work on Captain Harper’s prosthetic continues to be a—”

  “Everyone knows about that one already, silly.” Emmaline batted at his shoulder with a playful hand, though the touch felt all but playful. “Is that your most recent accomplishment, truly? Have you not done anything noteworthy since then?”

  “As I said before,” Stoddard hissed. “Master Arden and I have been hard at work developing upon certain theories.”

  “But they don’t really count, do they? I mean, they don’t exist. They’re just ideas.”

  “All great things begin with an idea,” Stoddard insisted.

  “Yet, a man can waste away his days with too many silly ones,” Emmaline retorted.

  “I, for one, can’t imagine what it must be like to have a mind like yours,” Merryfield intervened, trying to lighten the mood of the conversation. “My accomplishment came from success in commerce, and I’m afraid I have to attribute a great deal of it to good fortune. Yet, you labor ceaselessly developing all of your ideas and theories; it’s quite admirable.”

  “If only he could cease for a moment or two when others needed his attention,” Emmaline said.

  “A great mind is not so easy a thing to switch off,” Stoddard explained, “no matter what the social agenda of the evening. My work follows me wherever I go. It is a curse.”

  “Born by all in his company,” Emmaline frowned.

  “Well, my wife and I have enjoyed the tiny glimpses we’ve had into your method,” Merryfield said. “It’s given us something to talk about an evening or two since we first made your acquaintance.”

  “Be grateful it’s only a glimpse,” Emmaline said. “You can get lost in it.”

  They stared at each other coldly, but Stoddard’s eye was torn away when he spotted a man in a heavy coat near the door. He followed the figure, but the man turned and Stoddard could clearly see the tuxedo underneath.

  It couldn’t have been the apprentice.

  “And there it is. We’ve lost him again.” Emmaline forced a laugh. “Funny how the mind is prone to wander. But, we must forgive him. He’s come to expect it of us.”

  “There are some things that demand one’s attention,” Stoddard snapped. His voice was harsh, beyond what was considered polite, but he didn’t care. He’d grown tired of the game.

  “Does it scorn you,” he asked, “that I would have more important things pressing upon my mind than you? Than a wasted evening out or some trivial entertainment? If you enjoy these sorts of things that’s fine with me, but you’ll have to realize that, if these foibles and social escapades are what you really want, it’s only through my merit that you’ll have them.

  “As you’ve been so keen to point out, I’ve had no great success since my work for the captain. Do you realize what that means for us? For you? It means that at any moment you could lose this whole facade that you’ve grown so comfortable behind.

  “Tonight, I have a chance to turn our misfortune around. You may think me impertinent. You may find me distracted. But, you will refrain from hindering me as I seek to preserve the ties that keep you in your present luxuries. It is my work that makes us!”

  Stoddard breathed heavy and fast, his passion carrying him away quite on its own. Emmaline stared at him, motionless. Her eyes were moist, and she ducked her head to hide them from the patrons nearby who’d overheard Stoddard’s rant.

  Stoddard felt the sting in what he’d said, but only for a second before he dismissed it. If they were to have a future together she would have to face the reality of their situation, and the sooner the better. If anything, it would impress upon her not to make trouble for him publicly again.

  “I’m not sure if anyone else feels the same,” Merryfield started, “but I think I could do to stretch my legs before we return to our box. Emmaline, would you care to join me?”

  Emmaline nodded, not looking at Stoddard as she let Merryfield take her hand and lead her away, leaving Stoddard to fume alone with Lady Merryfield. He snatched a drink from one of the passing servers.

  “Doctor Stoddard,” Lady Merryfield said privately, once Emmaline was out of earshot. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

  “I’m fine.” Stoddard smoothed the front of his suit. “A bit stressed from work is all, but an evening of music was just the diversion I needed. I feel quite uplifted, in fact.”

  “Good,” Lady Merryfield said, looking doubtfully at him. “My husband and I were just concerned you might be in some sort of trouble.”

  “As I said before, I’m fine.”

  She let it be, and didn’t pry further. It had been poor timing to have fought with Emmaline in front of one of his more loy
al sponsors, but it couldn’t be helped. Regardless, Stoddard made a mental note to act less absent and show more interest in his future engagements.

  “Which of the arias did you enjoy most?” Lady Merryfield asked, trying to restore civil conversation.

  Stoddard stood dumbfounded. He couldn’t recall a single one.

  Merryfield returned with Emmaline after a few minutes. She appeared to have collected herself, though she was obviously in poor spirits. Nonetheless, she took Stoddard’s arm dutifully and drew close to his side.

  “Well, now that we’ve had our stretch, shall we return to our box?” Merryfield asked.

  “I’m afraid I won’t be,” Stoddard insisted. “An urgent matter has come to my attention, and it can’t be delayed. Nonetheless, I trust I leave Emmaline in good hands. Would you see that she gets home safely tonight?”

  “We will,” Merryfield agreed. “Though it will be a shame not to have you for the second half. Are you sure now is a good time to go?”

  “It can’t be helped.”

  “Wait,” Emmaline said as he began to withdraw his arm. She leaned in close, speaking so quietly that he paused despite his present temperament. “Please stay. Don’t go tonight.”

  “It’s unavoidable,” Stoddard insisted. “You must understand. I’ll call upon you tomorrow.”

  He saw it then, a sudden relaxation in her chest, a distance in her gaze. Her eyes gave no more hints to her thoughts or feelings as she let go of his arm and took Merryfield’s.

  Stoddard watched as she was led away, but he had no time to worry about her. He turned to go, fetching his coat and hat from the coat-check, and pushing his way through the doors.

  He would see the apprentice tonight if it was the last thing he did.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Stoddard’s Offer

  How could he not see? How could he not understand? I’d call his mind weak, if it weren’t for the infinity contained within. Perhaps... he saw what I could not?

  — Excerpt from Mechanarcissism

  C hance staggered as he walked, the unevenness of the paving compounding his inebriated state. He’d lost track of time again, and it was well into the night as he made his way back from the pub. Each night found him returning later.

  Surprisingly, light was coming from Margarete’s windows. She’d probably stayed up waiting for him, Chance guessed. He knew what that meant. Another lecture. Another argument.

  He decided it would be best if he slipped in from the back… again.

  A sharp pain seized Chance’s side, doubling him over as it struck. Clutching his stomach, he clenched his teeth and set his jaw in a futile effort to ride out the pain. It was near unbearable the way it paralyzed him, sending tendrils through his spine to his extremities.

  After a minute, the pain ebbed and he was able to relax his grip on the wall. His episodes were growing worse, and he was having difficulty hiding them when they struck. Margarete had noticed one earlier, but despite her concern and urgings that he’d see a doctor, he ignored it.

  Whenever he could, that was.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate her concern. Quite the opposite, in fact. What grieved him was how often he burdened her with it; anyone could see she had enough to worry about without him.

  As the spasms faded to a tolerable level, Chance straightened again.

  He knew what the culprit was. He just wasn’t willing to part with it. Those few moments of chemical liberation were becoming the things he lived for. It kept him on for one more day in this pit.

  He decided to take another turn about the block to let his stomach settle completely before he went in. He followed the uneven walk, passing under the towering buildings and their neglected awnings.

  His mind swam, making him feel like he was teetering along the edge of some great crevice. Stumbling, he wished he could hurl himself off it. Yet, every time he felt himself come too close, there was always something that managed to hold him back.

  Ashworth’s work.

  Margarete’s concern.

  Rhett’s helplessness.

  He cursed them each silently for the steel ties with which they bound him. But, even those ties were deteriorating. He wondered how long they would last.

  He stepped over a man who’d taken up a bed in the middle of his path. For a moment, Chance begrudged the inconvenience, but then the thought occurred to him that he could very well be in the same predicament in the foreseeable future. He’d have already been there had it not been for the kindness of others.

  Chance let out a labored sigh and stopped. His stomach was still unsettled and walking was only upsetting it more. He breathed in a few deep breaths, when he heard a voice hail him from the other side of the street.

  “You there! Boy!”

  Chance looked up at the man crossing toward him, half expecting to see a constable’s uniform. He was surprised, however, to see a middle-aged man in a costly tuxedo. He carried an umbrella under his arm and looked altogether out of place in the Basin District.

  Something about him pricked at Chance’s conscience and curiosity. He came upon Chance quickly, obviously in a great hurry to get somewhere.

  “You,” the man said. “Do you live around here?”

  “Aye,” Chance responded.

  “I’m looking for someone they call Chance, an alchemist from these parts. Do you know him?”

  Chance stared at the man, studying his face and the way he looked with distaste upon the street around him. There was an air of arrogance that permeated his manners, but underneath Chance sensed something else.

  An undertone of desperation.

  This was him, Chance realized—the man behind the letter.

  “Bit far from the Spire for a party,” Chance said.

  “I’ve no time for idle chatter,” the man said impatiently. “Do you know him?”

  “Why?”

  “I have business with him.”

  “And what if he has no business with you?” He saw the realization in the man’s eyes. Good, Chance thought. Enough games.

  “Where were you?” the man demanded, his voice laced with frustration. It was obvious he was going to great effort to restrain himself from shouting. His eyes bore down on Chance as he repeated the question more slowly. “Where were you?”

  “Was I supposed to be somewhere?”

  “I sent you an invitation,” the man said. “When someone receives such an invitation it is expected he will respond!”

  “Well, you found me regardless,” Chance shrugged. “Who are you? What do you want from me?”

  “My name is Stoddard—”

  Chance’s hairs stood up on the back of his neck.

  “—and I’m here to make you a deal.”

  Chance circled slowly, his hand pulling back his coat at his hip. This was his supposed benefactor? The man who’d been hunting him all this time? The thought disturbed Chance. If Stoddard had known where he was then where was the law to break down his door and take him away?

  “How long have you known where to find me?” he asked.

  “Not long,” Stoddard said. “You’ve done well keeping yourself out of the public eye. I give you credit for that.”

  “You get pretty good at being ignored when you live in the Basin.”

  “Which you must be grateful for at the moment. You have no idea the lengths I’ve had to go to find you. Well done, indeed.” Stoddard applauded Chance with a few small claps. “But, you must have expected that I would appear sooner or later.”

  “I’d hoped later. But, I don’t expect much from anything anymore,” Chance shrugged. He glanced up and down the street. “So, where are they?”

  “Where are whom?”

  “Your thugs? Don’t you high-brow types usually bring some sort of escort when you have business with folk like me? I don’t believe for a second you came alone. They around the corner? Waiting for your order to drag me away and lock me up in the Steep? Or are you just going to have me killed?” />
  “Please,” Stoddard scoffed. “I’m no barbarian. Had you been more agreeable and accepted my invitation we’d be having this chat over drinks in the comforts of the opera house. You’ve never been to the opera house, I take it?”

  The pain in Chance’s side seized him again, and he winced in his effort to remain upright. Stoddard didn’t appear to take notice.

  “That was my gesture of goodwill,” he continued, “though it was obviously received in the wrong spirit. I don’t want you dead. You and I are both forward-thinking men. It would bring me no pleasure to see a mind like yours waste away in the confines of a prison. What makes you think I’d have gone to such great lengths to contact you privately only to see you locked away?”

  “Septigonee’s Day comes to mind,” Chance said. He knew he should be more careful—this was a crucial moment in a dangerous game—but something within him was lethargic.

  He wanted this to be the end of the chase.

  “Look around you,” Stoddard gestured. “There are no duelists. No thugs. I’m unarmed.” He opened his coat to show that he had no pistol or sword. “I wish only to speak to you so that we may fully understand one another. Exchange my story for yours, and then we’ll decide where to go from here. You have my word that when I am finished you may continue on your way unmolested by myself or anyone under my employ. You’ll never have to hear from me again.”

  He removed his hat and tucked it under his arm.

  “Will you hear me out?” Stoddard asked.

  Chance stared hard at him. He didn’t want to trust him. He didn’t want to listen to him. With every word he was forced to hear he had to restrain himself from lunging at him. But what else was in Stoddard’s cards? Curiosity got the better of him.

  “By all means,” Chance managed to say.

  “I’ve no illusion that you and I have pretense for cordial conversation—”

  “That makes two of us.” Chance stewed at the way Stoddard addressed him, as though he could ever be coaxed into letting his guard down.

  “—but for the moment, I want to speak to you as one intellectual to another. Two scientists simultaneously pursuing one goal. Do you know, you and I are not much different? I see myself in you now that I meet you in person. You were apprenticed to your old mentor how long? Four, perhaps five years?”