The Arkhel Conundrum (The Tears of Artamon Book 4)

by Ash, Sarah

  Chapter 25

  Tielen

  The Emperor was bored.

  He had just returned from a visit to the imperial dockyards where he had inspected the newly commissioned warships under construction in dry dock. He had listened to assurances from his naval architects that copper was on order from a new mine that had opened in Azhkendir and that all new ships would be copper-bottomed to give them added protection. It pleased him to think that he was supporting Azhkendir’s weak economy by importing minerals and ore; Gavril Nagarian would surely appreciate imperial investment in the stagnant Azhkendi mining industry.

  But only one of his projects really excited him: the competition to design and build a flying craft. He had pored over Colonel Lindgren’s reports on the finalists; he had even summoned Lindgren to give him his personal opinion on the individual merits of the designs. And then there was the matter of the proposed methods of propulsion. Professor Kazimir had been at work in his university laboratory all winter, pursuing his researches based on Kaspar Linnaius’s secret notebooks. But each time Eugene enquired as to his progress, he was frustrated by Kazimir’s evasive answers. The latest letter had just arrived, delivered by Gustave on a silver tray, and Eugene ripped it open, tearing the paper in his impatience for positive news.

  “Dear God,” he said aloud, flinging the paper down, “the man is a genius—at delivering ambiguous reports. What am I supposed to make of this, Gustave?”

  Gustave picked up the discarded letter and read, “‘The distillation process, while still relatively crude, is beginning to deliver more efficient results.’” He looked up, one eyebrow raised in a skeptical manner. Gustave could, by merely raising one eyebrow, express a remarkable range of reactions, most of them unfavorable. “By which he means he’s far from completing his experiments.”

  “The competition finalists have been selected. We need this propulsive fuel to be ready for the final round. Or we’ll look like fools. I think it’s time to pay Professor Kazimir a surprise visit. How do you fancy a nostalgic outing to your alma mater, Gustave?”

  Gustave flinched. “As long as I don’t happen to bump into my old history professor, majesty; I’m afraid I wasn’t the most attentive of his pupils and may even have been thrown out of his lectures on a couple of occasions.”

  “What? You, Gustave? But I’d always assumed you were the perfect student!” Eugene saw that the memory had made his imperturbable secretary appear distinctly uncomfortable and laughed out loud. He was already feeling in a much more jovial mood at the prospect of going to see Kazimir incognito—and was looking forward to seeing what effect his unexpected visit would provoke.

  ***

  Gustave led the way through quad after quad of Tielborg University and Eugene followed, passing black-gowned undergraduates hurrying off to attend a lecture. Gustave had insisted that a bodyguard should accompany them and Eugene had only relented when Gustave assured him that the three handpicked men would not be in imperial uniform but civilian clothes.

  But as they approached the School of Chymical Sciences—set at a suitably safe distance from the older buildings—a sudden explosion split the air. Jackdaws perched on the gabled roofs took off, letting out puttering cries of fright as they circled above them.

  Eugene’s bodyguards instantly surrounded him and pulled him into the shelter of a doorway. But, apart from a thin trail of smoke issuing from a broken-paned window in the chymistry school, nothing else ensued.

  “Sounded like firedust to me,” Eugene said when the ringing in his ears had cleared. “So Professor Kazimir is still encountering some difficulties with the task I set him.”

  “Let me go on ahead to warn the professor that he has visitors,” said Gustave. “Otherwise we might walk in just as he sets off another explosion.”

  ***

  The sound of frantic sweeping and the tinkle of glass fragments greeted Eugene as he followed Gustave into Kazimir’s laboratory. At first he could see no sign of the professor but the frantic brush strokes ceased and Altan Kazimir popped up from behind a laboratory bench, much flustered, his hair standing on end and dark smuts staining his face and coat.

  “Y-your imperial majesty, this is an unexpected honor, if I had known—”

  “Calm yourself, Professor.” Eugene affected his most reassuring tone. “I see we have caught you at an inopportune moment. “

  “N-not exactly. I just made a slight error in my calculations and this is the result.” Kazimir gestured apologetically to the disorder in the laboratory. “If you would care to step into my office . . .”

  The office was only a little less disordered than the laboratory; folders and notebooks were piled on every available surface, some spilling papers covered in calculations onto the floor. Kazimir swept up armfuls of his work and deposited them in a corner, clearing a chair by the desk so that the Emperor could sit down.

  “I’m content to stand, Professor,” said Gustave, nodding to the bodyguards who placed themselves outside to guard the doorway.

  “You must be aware that the grand finale of the Flyer Competition is drawing near,” Eugene said as Kazimir attempted to smooth down his wildly disordered hair and rub the smuts from his face.

  Kazimir nodded. “Very aware, because Doctor Maulevrier’s flying machine has the honor to be one of the two chosen to compete. He often comes by the laboratory to encourage me in my work.”

  Eugene could not help but frown at this. “I’m not sure the other finalists would be too happy to learn that Doctor Maulevrier has such an advantage.”

  “Oh, I can assure your majesty that I would never allow anyone, even my esteemed colleague, to cheat.”

  Kazimir looked so shocked at the suggestion that Eugene was almost sorry he had made it. He leaned forward and said in his most confidential voice, “Tell me, Professor, just between you and me, is this really a viable project? Will this miraculous explosive fuel you’ve been concocting be able to lift a heavy craft into the air and propel it forward?”

  Kazimir leaned closer. “Every detail I’ve been able to decipher from Kaspar Linnaius’s secret notebooks suggests that such a thing is possible, given the right combination of a subtle mechanism, a well-designed craft, and . . .”

  “And?” Eugene beamed encouragingly at him.

  Kazimir squirmed. “Frankly, I’m still baffled, majesty. Everything I’ve tried so far has resulted in a hazardously explosive mix. I’ve blown several model flyers to bits already. I just can’t risk using this fuel in a full-sized flyer and killing the aviator—and maybe spectators too.”

  “I see.” Eugene let out a sigh, unable to conceal his disappointment. “So we should postpone the finals?”

  Kazimir hesitated. “There is one other possibility,” he began.

  “There is?” Eugene leaned forward across the desk, all attention. Kazimir might appear timid, maybe even something of a coward, but Eugene also knew him to be a gifted man of science.

  Kazimir turned the open treatise around to show him. “I have reason to believe that Kaspar Linnaius had made a significant discovery: but, being unable to test it out for himself, he left a trail of ciphered clues.”

  “So like him,” Eugene said fondly. “He loved to play games with us; it amused him to see us struggling to work out his little conundrums.”

  “Conundrum?” Kazimir said. “Precisely the word he has used here.” He pointed at the page.

  Eugene leaned closer, peering, but then, to his irritation, was obliged to fish inside his greatcoat pocket for his new pair of pince-nez spectacles. “‘Some say the answer lies in the Arkhel Conundrum’,” he read and felt a sudden delicious frisson of excitement. No doubt about it; this is one of your devilish intellectual challenges, dear Kaspar. But are we clever enough to solve it?

  “Were all the books from the Magus’s library at Swanholm brought here?” he asked.

  “Only the notebooks and journals.”

  There was no point in prevaricating; Eugene paused a second or s
o before making his move on the unsuspecting professor. “How soon can you be ready to leave for Swanholm?”

  “Swanholm? But my research here, my lectures?”

  “As you’re coming at my invitation, I’m sure the chancellor won’t object to granting you a brief sabbatical.” Eugene stood up, eager to get preparations underway. “Astasia and I are returning to Swanholm tomorrow for a few days; the country air is so invigorating. Gustave; make arrangements for the professor to accompany us.”

  Gustave nodded and Eugene smiled genially at Kazimir as he made his exit, aware that the professor was staring at him open-mouthed, whatever protest he had been about to make, still lodged in his throat.

  “It’s just too much fun to tease the good professor,” Eugene confessed to Gustave as they came out into the quad, the bodyguards following in his wake.

  “But do you think he can solve this ‘Conundrum’?”

  “I have faith in Altan Kazimir. Behind that timid scholarly front he shows to the world lies a rather remarkable brain. If anyone can work out Linnaius’s puzzles, he can.” He turned to Gustave. “Shall we make a wager?” he asked innocently.

  Gustave laughed. “I wouldn’t dare; you always win!”

  Chapter 26

  Swanholm Palace

  Altan Kazimir stopped to catch his breath after climbing the winding stair and stared warily at the door to Linnaius’s laboratory. He had unpleasant memories of the first time he had been brought to Swanholm Palace to meet the Magus. But there was no sign of the sinister iron door-knocker, the puff-cheeked wind god, which Linnaius had once used to entrap and poison him. Even so, he glanced around uneasily, convinced that the Magus must have left some invisible alarm to catch the unwary.

  “The Emperor mentioned that the laboratory used to be protected by powerful wards.” He looked down at the ornate key Eugene had given him, saying cheerily aloud, “But I’m sure Linnaius removed them all before he entrusted me with this key. No one’s been allowed inside since he left. I imagine it’s all rather dusty by now.”

  Trying to stop his hand from shaking, Kazimir inserted the key in the lock and turned it. To his surprise, the mechanism worked smoothly and the door opened, revealing the laboratory and private study beyond, dimly illuminated by light seeping in through the cracks in the shutters. For a moment, Kazimir thought he saw the old Magus turning to greet him, his white wisps of hair and frail, bent figure belied by the keen glitter in his silver-gray eyes.

  He blinked. There’s nothing here but shadows. Annoyed with himself for giving way to his own imaginings, he made his way across the room and flung open the shutters, letting the clear daylight stream in.

  The Emperor had certainly been right about the dust; a thin film had settled on every surface; even the glass phials on the shelves had lost their sheen. And there was a strangely bitter tang to the mote-filled air, redolent of chymical residues.

  Let’s just hope Linnaius didn’t booby-trap the place with some poisonous, airborne powder and I haven’t just inhaled something that’s started to eat through my lungs or make me hallucinate and throw myself out the window.

  Even though Linnaius’s papers had all been safely re-housed in his university study, Kazimir was haunted by the fact that the Magus’s notes on firedust referred several times to “the Arkhel Conundrum”. He was certain that the wily old man had left yet another puzzle behind for him to solve; he could almost imagine him smiling to himself as he concealed the vital pieces of information. The Arkhels had been the first ruling family in Azhkendir until—centuries ago—the first of the Nagarian princes, Volkhar, had seized power, leading to a long and bitter clan war.

  An intriguing collection of old books still lined the walls of the study and Kazimir found himself gazing at the gold-tooled titles, wondering if any of them might contain a clue. He was surprised that so many were written in Francian, but then, he had heard rumors that Linnaius had been born in Francia and studied there.

  “Arkhels . . . Arkhels . . .” he muttered, running his index finger along the spines of Linnaius’s abandoned library. Eventually he pulled out a large tome entitled: “A Genealogy of the Clans of Azhkendir” and laid it on the desk. As he had anticipated, the contents were sealed with a curious metal lock which, on closer examination, proved to be a dial which could be turned to several different positions, none of which unlocked the book.

  “A coded sequence, no doubt.” Kazimir sighed and sat down at Linnaius’s desk to try to puzzle out the possible configurations.

  “Magus? Is that you?”

  A child’s voice rang out in the stairwell and moments later, a slender, fair-haired girl ran into the laboratory. On seeing him there, she stopped and her expression which had been bright with eagerness, dulled in disappointment.

  “Only me, your highness, I’m afraid.” Kazimir, recognizing Princess Karila, rose and bowed.

  “Why are you in his rooms, Professor?” Eyes as blue and clear as her father the Emperor’s challenged him.

  “I’m doing research for your father,” he said. “You may remember that the Magus asked me to continue his researches in his absence . . . and,” he ended lamely, “here I am.”

  She began to wander around the laboratory. “It’s very dirty,” she said and sneezed. “He was going to teach me how to make mirror-dust. He promised.”

  “Your highness could still start to learn the basic principles of chymistry,” Kazimir ventured, not wanting to disappoint the princess. “Would you like me to find a book for you to study?”

  She swung around to face him. “With experiments?” she asked eagerly. “I so want to do experiments.”

  He raised his hands. “Experiments must only be done in a laboratory with a trained chymist to ensure nothing goes wrong . ” The last thing I need is for the princess to set off an explosion.

  She came closer, staring up at him appealingly. “Will you teach me, Professor?”

  “I’d be honored, highness, but I’m very busy working on a project for your father right now—”

  “Princess!” A woman’s voice shrilled from the courtyard. “Where are you hiding? It’s time for your deportment lesson!”

  Karila pulled a face. “Can’t I stay here?” she whispered.

  Footsteps pattered up the stairs and as Karila slipped into the study, Countess Marta, Karila’s governess, appeared.

  “Professor Kazimir, I’m so sorry to trouble you, but I have reason to believe that my charge has been disturbing your work.” And Marta strode determinedly past Kazimir and into the study. “This is no time to play hide-and-seek, Princess. The dancing master is waiting to instruct you.”

  Karila let out a little sigh of irritation. “Very well, Marta,” she said. “But I don’t see why I shouldn’t be allowed to study the sciences as well as the arts.” And then she paused and said to Kazimir, “What’s in that big old book?”

  “I wish I could tell you, Princess,” he said and then, seized with a sudden inspiration, added, “but you may be able to help me. The Magus has left us a puzzle; if you can solve it, we can open it and find out.” Linnaius had been very fond of Princess Karila, he remembered, and might even have taught her a trick or two.

  “May I, Marta?” Karila cried, hands clasped together in fervent appeal.

  “Well, if it’s to help the professor . . .” Marta began reluctantly. Before she had finished, Karila shot back to the book of genealogy and began to examine the intricately fashioned metal dial.

  “There are letters here,” she said. “It must be a code. Perhaps it spells out a name.”

  “Linnaius called it ‘The Arkhel Conundrum’,” Kazimir said as Marta looked questioningly at him over Karila’s bent head, her smooth forehead creasing into a frown.

  “Are you sure that it’s safe for the princess?” she asked in worried tones. “This is the Magus’s conceit, after all.”

  Karila’s fingers were expertly spinning the little dial. “Jaromir Arkhel,” she spelled out. There came a litt
le click and the catch sprang open.

  “You’re a genius, Princess!” cried Kazimir, genuinely impressed. “How did you guess?”

  “I loved Jaro like a brother,” she said. “And when he went back to Azhkendir to try to rebuild his clan’s fortunes, Papa asked the Magus to watch over him. There had to be a link.”

  “Nevertheless, perhaps you’d both better stand well back when I open the book,” Kazimir said, gingerly lifting the heavy leather-bound cover. “With the Magus you can never be too sure what little traps he might have concealed.”

  A glint of phosphorescent light leaked out.

  “Ooh,” said Karila softly, “how pretty!”

  A hole had been neatly cut through the pages, forming a square recess at the center of the text. Nestled within the recess and emitting a dull ocher glow, lay a crystalline rock, about the size of a goose egg.

  “What is it?” Countess Marta said. “Why is it glowing? Is it safe?”

  The eerie glow reflected back at Kazimir in the princess’s eyes as she slowly raised her head to stare at him, through him.

  Kazimir saw Marta glance at him in shock over Karila’s head. “Time we were going,” she said firmly. “We mustn’t disturb the professor’s work any longer.”

  “Oh, Marta . . .” Karila began but her governess steered her toward the door.

  “Thank you for your help, highness,” Kazimir said distractedly, his gaze drawn inexorably back to the Arkhel Conundrum. “Well, Magus,” he muttered when they had gone, “have you left me any clues as to how to solve this mystery?”

  And then he noticed that certain words on the page in the “Genealogy of the Clans” that lay uppermost in the open volume seemed to glint subtly in the sun, making them stand out from the others, as if the rays had activated some alchymical substance carefully painted over the original text:

  ‘ S viatomir married K iraana , the Y oungest C hild of Tomas R ytsarev , Boyar, thus ensuring the continuation of the A rkhel line. F or although T eshemir, their F irstborn son, U nderwent training for the priesthood and E ntered the Monastery of St Serzhei, his brother Stavyor became L ord Arkhel on their father’s death. ’