by Ash, Sarah
“Inventor? You mean Ingenieur Bernay?” Was he working on an invention? And I disturbed him. All of a sudden Toran longed to go back to see what Bernay was designing.
“He’s made all manner of improvements in the short time he’s been here. He’s got a mechanical mind; we call him the Professor behind his back. Saved a few of the men’s lives too. If it weren’t for him and his modifications to the main pumping engine, I’d have lost this arm, my livelihood—and my family would have gone hungry.”
***
Dusk brought drizzle down on Paladur as Toran left the Iron Works carrying the documents for the colonel. He turned up the collar of his cadet’s uniform and tucked the folder beneath his jacket so it wouldn’t get damp, glowering at the dreary sky which still bore a few faint streaks of dirty red where the sun was setting in the far west.
Yet even the dismal twilight couldn’t dampen his spirits; his mind was buzzing with ideas and his ears were still filled with the rhythmic clamor of the machinery. That single visit had re-kindled his passion for the power and potential of the mechanical arts, an enthusiasm first fired and encouraged by his grandfather.
Yet when he signed back in at the academy, he found Colonel Mouzillon’s adjutant waiting for him.
“The colonel wants to see you,” he said, setting off at such a brisk stride across the parade ground that Toran had to run to keep up.
“I came straight back from the Iron Works,” he said. “It took the superintendant a while to assemble all the necessary documents.”
“You can give those to me.” The adjutant led the way into the colonel’s quarters and gave a brusque salute to the two cadets standing guard outside. “This is a personal matter. Your father’s here.”
“My father?” Toran fumbled a salute and hurried up the main stairs after the adjutant. He could not imagine anything but that the colonel had summoned his father because he was so displeased with his conduct.
At least then I could go to university and study to become an ingenieur.
“Cadet Arkhel,” announced the adjutant, beckoning Toran to enter.
Toran swallowed hard and went in. A coal fire crackled in the grate; the two men were seated on either side in the glossy leather-upholstered chairs the colonel reserved for entertaining visitors. As Toran entered, his father rose, gazing earnestly at him.
“Toran, my boy, it’s good to see you,” cried Ranulph. “I’ll wager you’ve grown again; you’ll overtake me soon!”
Embarrassed, Toran saluted the colonel, and then bowed formally to Lord Ranulph; for one moment he had feared his father had been about to fling his arms around him.
His eyes are shining and his cheeks look even redder than usual; is it the autumn wind or has he been drinking?
“If you would like some time in private with your son—” began the colonel.
“No, no, Colonel—you need to hear what I have to say too.”
Toran swallowed, steeling himself for a lecture on his unruly behavior and dishonoring the family name.
“I’m returning to Azhkendir,” announced Lord Ranulph.
“Azhkendir?” Toran could only stare in disbelief at his father. “But why?”
“It’s a new business venture. An enterprise. An opportunity that’s too good to miss.”
My father going into business? Toran shook his head, certain he must have misheard. “But you said you would never go back. You said that everything was destroyed by Lord Volkh, that there was nothing to go back to.”
“Which is true. But Lord Volkh has been dead for several years and his son, Gavril, is generally reported to be more interested in his painting than politics, let alone reviving old clan rivalries. And since the Great Darkness, there have been no more . . . unnatural events in Azhkendir.”
“May I enquire what this enterprise entails?” asked the colonel.
“Mining, Colonel. Now that the new harbor has opened in Narvazh, there’s a direct route to Tielen; and the New Rossiyan Empire is hungry for all kinds of mineral resources.”
There’s more to this than my father’s letting on. Toran’s suspicions were multiplying. Something must have happened. Something bad.
“Which is why I wanted to reassure you, Colonel, that Toran’s fees will be covered. And, contrary to any malicious rumors you may have heard about my financial situation—”
“Wait a moment.” Toran was trying to make sense of his father’s plan. “It’s autumn. And from the little you’ve told me about Azhkendir, I remember that once the winter sets in, the sea freezes over, the trade routes shut down—and for two to three months no one can get in or out. Why go now?”
“Because if I wait any longer, others may beat me to it.” Lord Ranulph’s eyes gleamed more brightly.
“And how are you funding this trip?” Once my father gets an idea in his head, he’s obsessive about seeing it through. Toran’s mind was racing . This could be disastrous. He could ruin us as a family.
“I’ve sold off the town house in Sulien.”
Mother really loved that house. She must be very sad to be forced to let it go. “Who’s going to look after mother while you’re gone?”
“Your mother’s a practical, sensible woman who would be disappointed to hear her son ask such a question; she’s more than capable of looking after herself. But I wondered, Colonel,” and Lord Ranulph turned to the colonel, “if you would permit Toran to ride over to Serrigonde every month or so to check on my wife and daughters? He’ll have to be the man of the house in my absence.”
“These are exceptional circumstances, Lord Ranulph, so I suppose I can’t object. As long as these absences don’t affect his studies,” and Colonel Mouzillon stared piercingly at Toran. “And I, of course, will also do all I can to support Lady Tanaisie,” he added gallantly.
“Then it’s settled!” Lord Ranulph cried and before Toran could evade him, he flung his arms around him, hugging him tightly. “This is goodbye, my boy. Take good care of your mother and sisters while I’m away.” His breath smelled strongly of apple brandy.
“Wait.” Toran tried to extricate himself from his father’s bearlike embrace. “How can we contact you? Where shall we send letters?”
“You can write to me in the capital Azhgorod, poste restante. But don’t use our family name; use your grandfather’s. We don’t want to arouse unwelcome suspicions.” Lord Ranulph let Toran go and turned to shake hands with the colonel.
“Permission to accompany my father to the lodge, Colonel?” This was all happening too fast and Toran wanted to speak with his father alone.
“Permission granted.”
Once outside on the dark parade ground, Toran turned on his father. “What’s the real reason for this, Father? Is it the bailiffs again?”
Lord Ranulph stopped. His shoulders slumped and, as a sickly moon appeared briefly from behind scudding clouds, Toran saw that he looked much older and more vulnerable, the optimistic gleam in his eyes dulled.
“I can’t hide the truth from you, Toran; we’re practically ruined.”
“Ruined?” Toran echoed warily, wondering if his father was exaggerating.
“I made some ill-judged investments in the Serindhen Spice Trade. No one could have predicted the spice plantations would be washed away by that terrible tidal wave! But I don’t want the slightest whisper of scandal to harm your mother or sisters.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
Ranulph placed a hand on Toran’s shoulder and gazed intently into his eyes. “I want you to carry on here as if nothing were wrong. Keep up the pretence. Malicious tongues won’t begin to wag if you continue your training here, and the girls take part in the winter season at Sulien.”
“But Father—”
“My lord; we must go.”
Toran started as a man stepped out from the shadows; a shimmer of moonlight revealed the lean, sharp-boned features of Iarko, his father’s valet.
“I’m in excellent hands with Iarko and Temir to protect
me; don’t worry, my boy, this little venture is going to change our fortunes!” Ranulph let go of Toran. “Oh, I almost forgot; this is from your mother.” He fumbled inside his jacket pocket and brought out a crumpled envelope, placing it in Toran’s hand. “I’ll send word when we arrive.”
With a nonchalant wave, he turned and followed Iarko towards the lodge. Toran, clutching his mother’s letter, stood watching, bewildered, wondering if he would ever see his father again.
Chapter 10
‘By order of his Imperial Majesty, Eugene of New Rossiya, a competition to design a flying craft capable of sustained aerial travel over many leagues is announced. The winner must be able to demonstrate that their design is airworthy and safe. The prize: a gold medal, and a lectureship awarded by the University of Tielborg, as well as the establishment of a new department dedicated to the development of mechanical flying craft.’
Gerard Bernay unfolded the letter accompanying the announcement, trying to control a tremor in his normally steady hands at the sight of the familiar handwriting. He moved to the office window to read more it easily:
“My dear Gerard,
“I thought I should bring this to your attention. I imagine you’ve had little time to devote to your research since you started to work for Master Cardin but, even if you don’t win, entering this competition could bring your talents to the attention of a wealthy patron. Imagine being given the opportunity to develop your ideas in your own workshop without having to worry about the cost of the materials; surely any young inventor’s dream? As you were one of my most promising students, I’d be happy to endorse your application. But don’t think about this for too long; the closing date is next month.
“Your friend, Guy Maulevrier, Doctor of Mechanical Arts”
Gerard read the letter a second time. Entering the competition could place him in a very tricky situation. Tourmalise, like its larger neighbor Allegonde, had stayed neutral in the recent conflicts that had led to the establishment of the empire of New Rossiya. If he agreed to work for the Emperor, could that be seen as betraying his own principles—or worse, his adopted country, Tourmalise? The letter was couched in the vaguest of terms, implying that the project had no military connections, yet everything Eugene of Tielen had achieved in his rapid ascendancy involved deploying his armies and naval forces to invade and conquer his neighbors.
And then there was the matter of his own disgrace and unfinished doctorate. He had been forced to flee Tielborg in such a hurry that he had left most of his research material behind in the university laboratories.
I owe you a considerable debt, Doctor Maulevrier. If you hadn’t come to my rescue, I would have been forced to answer Edvin Stenmark’s charges before a university court.
Even now, far away from Tielen in sleepy Paladur, the shame of his disgrace still tormented him. He was still furious with himself for throwing away such a promising academic career over an affair with a younger student.
Edvin Stenmark’s face appeared yet again in his mind’s eye, his handsome features distorted with rage and fear, as he pointed accusingly at him over the laboratory bench and cried out, “That’s him! He’s the one who violated me.”
Every time he remembered that moment, Gerard still felt physically sick, the memory rising like a surge of bile in his throat, even though hundreds of leagues separated them. Because Edvin had been the one to lead him on, pursuing him relentlessly. Flaxen-haired Edvin, blessed with the face of an angel, the willful, indulged elder son of a wealthy Tielen noble family, who had never been denied anything he wanted.
And God knows I denied him enough times. Why I was so foolish as to give in that last time, why I did allow myself to believe he really meant what he said? I must have been flattered that such a beautiful creature was so interested in me.
He shook his head, unwilling to admit it even now . No, not just flattered. I fell for him. In unguarded moments, he would find himself recalling the way Edvin used to sit on the laboratory bench, idly swinging his elegantly slender legs as he watched him at work, lips curving in a mysterious, alluring little smile whenever he glanced up and caught his eye. The smile that always made his heart miss a beat, so intimate and affectionate that he found it hard to concentrate.
Why? Time and again he had asked the same question on the long journey to Tourmalise. Why did you denounce me, Edvin? Why did you lie? Was it all just a warped game for you, toying with the affections of a poor scholarship student, only to ruin his reputation? Or did you do it to assuage your guilt at falling for another man? Was I your last fling before a prestigious aristocratic wedding? Did you blame me to avert a scandal? Would your father have disinherited you if he once believed you’d been a willing partner, let alone initiated the affair? I’d never have betrayed you—but perhaps there were others, observing us from the shadows, who tried to blackmail you.
Gerard gazed at the letter again, the mere sight of Guy Maulevrier’s strong, distinctive hand bringing back his dreams of a distinguished academic career at the most prestigious university in New Rossiya . . . dreams that had been so rudely shattered by that single night’s indiscretion.
And at least Guy hasn’t lost faith in me. If it hadn’t been for his help, spiriting me out of Tielborg so swiftly, I’d have been forced to face those threats of litigation. Edvin’s father would have stopped at nothing to bring me down. The post of supervising ingenieur at the new Iron Works had been ideal as a bolt-hole. “Rasse Cardin’s an old friend of mine; you’ll get on well with him.” The little republic of Tourmalise was independent, and, like its larger neighbor Allegonde, it lay outside the constraints of the empire. Thanks to the enlightened attitude of its government, free-thinking and scientific endeavors were openly encouraged.
In spite of his initial resistance, Gerard found himself clambering up on his chair to reach the top shelf above the stacks of Works ledgers where he kept a folder of his ideas. He placed it on the draughtsman’s table and opened it up, frowning as he turned the pages which were filled with his sketches, dashed off in rare idle moments in the office. Even though his research had been so brutally terminated, his ideas had continued to multiply; since his days as an undergraduate, he had been obsessed with the concept of manned flight.
If my project won the Emperor’s approval and patronage, there’s nothing that Edvin or his family could do to touch me. I would be reinstated at Tielborg University and continue my research.
That desire alone was almost enough to quell the bitterness that Edvin’s betrayal had left in his heart, tarnishing every new relationship, making him wary, unwilling to get close to anyone.
It’s just too risky to have close friends, let alone a lover. Thank heaven that I can lose myself in my work here in Paladur.
Gerard folded the letter and stuffed it into the inside pocket of his greatcoat. Extinguishing the lamp on his desk, he left the office and called out into the echoing hall of the main Pump House to ensure that the workmen and apprentices had all gone home. Satisfied that none were left, he locked up for the night.
It was drizzling again outside; he turned up the collar of his coat and set off through the dreary light over the wet cobblestones . I could do with a decent hot dinner tonight. Shall I call in at the Tollhouse Tavern to join Rasse and the foundry lads for a glass of ale? Or go straight to the chop-house by the bridge?
He had just entered the alleyway that led away from the canal, debating with himself the relative merits of a good piece of beef over liver and bacon, when he heard raised voices. Turning the corner, he saw, highlighted by the rain-streaked light of the lantern, three men attacking a fourth. They had wrestled their victim to the ground and were subjecting him to a violent kicking.
Thieves? Forgetting that he was alone and unarmed, Gerard shouted out, “Hey! What’s going on?” and launched himself toward them. Something about the sight of three laying into one triggered bitter memories from grammar school days and the vicious bullying he’d had to endure because of his scholarly
nature and his Francian father.
He clamped his hands onto the shoulders of the one who was doing most of the kicking and caught hold of his right arm, twisting it and forcing it up behind his back in a lock he’d learned in the wrestling club at university. To his satisfaction he heard the man give a grunt of pain. Not so brave now, huh? But at these close quarters, he saw that this was no shabbily-dressed robber; the assailant was wearing the navy blue serge jacket of the military academy with the distinctive silver cord piping decorating the stand collar.
“Academy cadets?” He twisted the young man’s arm more tightly. “You should be ashamed, causing a public disturbance in town. I’m calling the watch.”
“Scram!” he heard one shout. The two holding down their victim let him drop, and made off into the darkness, the sound of their receding footfall echoing dully off the high brick walls on either side.
“Let me go, damn you!” His prisoner suddenly drove his head upward into his chin, wrenching his twisted arm free. Gerard’s jaw juddered with the shock of the blow; he tasted blood. The cadet staggered free and went running after his accomplices, slipping on the wet cobbles in his haste.
“Ouch.” Gerard rubbed his tingling jaw. “That hurt.” He had already decided not to give chase. He bent down over the cadets’ victim and put one hand on his shoulder. “Here; take my hand. Can you get up?”
It was only then that he recognized the dark bronzed gold of the boy’s hair.
“Toran?”
A sound issued from Toran’s mouth that was halfway between a sigh and a groan . Is he fully conscious? Gerard forgot the ache of his own jaw and slipped his arm underneath the boy’s arms and heaved him upright. Toran lashed out wildly.
“Steady on.” Gerard ducked Toran’s punch, catching him again as he staggered. “It’s me. Gerard Bernay.”
Toran suddenly gave a heaving cough and threw up on the cobbles.
“Can you walk?” Gerard asked when Toran had finished. “It’s not far back to the Foundry. Lean on me. I’ll get you cleaned up there.”
