A Student's Dream (Twisted Cogs Book 1)

by Hemmings, Malcolm

  “The Donatian Oracle, when complete, will divine the future,” Carlo said quietly, without much emotion. Now that Elena was paying attention to them, she noticed how tired and run-down the pair looked. His red hair was always messy, but Carla’s long black hair was mussed as well, and there were dark circles under both of their eyes. They didn’t look nearly as excited as the beautiful masterpiece in front of them warranted. “In the time-honored tradition of De Luca Artifexes and Caelators in years gone by, I decided to make the final touch to complete this work here, in front of everyone,” Carlo continued, “please give me a few moments to prepare.” Pietro handed over the materials that he had been holding, and Carlo went to work on a patch of a few inches in the lower corner of the painting that remained blank.

  “For those of you who aren’t familiar with fresco painting,” Carla said as Carlo worked, “it is a very long process that requires very careful timing. For this painting we had to first apply the trusilar, a layer of coarse sand and lime, which we then let dry for six days. The second layer of medium sand and lime, the arricio, was then applied and smoothed, then the final layer of finest sand and lime, the intonaco. The painting is done on the fresh plaster, which then hardens when it dries. Since it must be painted wet, we had to work on the Donatian Oracle in small patches at a time.”

  “The fresco is complete when the plaster dries, over the period of a few days,” Carlo said as he worked. “Fortunately for us here, the Storm works faster. If this fresco is touched by the Storm, we’ll know as soon as the final brushstroke is applied.”

  The Oracle seemed to be looking right through Elena as Carlo spoke.

  Maybe that’s why he looks so tired, Elena thought, I couldn’t imagine falling asleep with that little girl staring at me.

  “Before you complete the fresco, Carlo,” Bea broke in, “I would just like to compliment you on your work from an artistic standpoint. This fresco is one of the most hauntingly beautiful works I’ve seen in a long time, perhaps rivaling the non-Touched work on display in Florenzia itself.”

  “Thank you, Mistress Bea,” Carlo said, though he neither looked pleased nor looked up from his work. “It’s a skill born of much practice due to many, many failures.”

  “I can’t help but think that talent also plays a large part in it. I would also hesitate to call a beautiful piece like this a ‘failure’, whether the Storm touches it or no.”

  “Perhaps.” As the patch of blank space became smaller and smaller, Carlo and Carla both seemed to be more and more tense. Finally, Carlo leaned back and set his brush back on the platter Pietro carried. “It’s done,” he said with finality.

  He rose, and both he and Carla took a step back to look up at the Oracle. The child’s eyes looked back, inscrutable and still.

  “Can...can you hear me?” Carlo asked, his voice rough. The girl in the painting continued to stare, silently. Long moments passed, moments in which Elena held her breath. A small breeze stirred the courtyard, but the rustle of the potted trees only seemed to counterbalance the inactivity of the painting. Each moment that the girl remained motionless seemed to hurt, and Elena couldn’t imagine what was going through the artists’ heads.

  Carlo turned suddenly and walked back to his place in the semi-circle, Carla following silently. He kept his back straight, and he stared directly in front of him.

  “It appears that this fresco was a failure,” he said in clipped tones, “I suppose the decision on whether or not to keep me on at Studio De Luca must be based on past work, rather than this.”

  “What should I do with the fresco?” Pietro asked.

  “Sell it. Burn it. I don’t care.”

  “Carlo-” Bea said gently

  “I think Niccolo is next, Mistress Bea,” Carlo interrupted in the same clipped voice. Bea looked as if she was about to say something, but instead shook her head and turned to Niccolo.

  “Niccolo and Nicci Loredan.”

  “Well, my bow was snapped in half, because apparently whoever the backstabber is was under the impression that a Saggitari can only use one bow or something,” Niccolo said. Elena was so used to seeing him with a bow slung over his shoulder that she’d failed to realize he was carrying one now, slightly smaller than his usual. “I’ve never had a bow break before, but I always keep spares in my room just in case.”

  “I am happy that you were not taken out of commission by the sabotage, Niccolo, but I believe your past demonstrations are enough to inform us of your powers,” Master De Luca said.

  “Ah but with all due respect sir, I’ve learned a new trick since last year,” Niccolo said. From his sleeve he drew an arrow, as thin as a needle, with one bulky knob on its end. De Luca waved a hand for him to continue. “For the benefit of my fellow garzoni, I’ll explain. My Storm is simple as can be, it balances my arrows. For the past few years I’ve been using it to correct for specialized arrows with modified fletching or flat heads, so that I can make an arrow drift to the left or right, or fire an arrow that hurts like hell but won’t pierce flesh. This year I’ve realized that my Storm might let me fire arrows that no other archer can.”

  As he spoke, Niccolo nocked the needle-like arrow to his bowstring using the bulky knob. He turned towards the fountain in the center of the courtyard, drew, and let it fly with a single smooth motion. It was strange to watch the misshapen arrow hurtle through the air on a perfectly straight path, and it sunk into the marble of the fountain down to the knob. From behind De Luca, Pietro gave a small squeak.

  “A very good application of your Storm, Niccolo, quite creative,” Bea said approvingly.

  “Although I can’t help but notice that for the third year in a row you’ve chosen to demonstrate your Storm through destruction of Studio property,” Master De Luca glared at the fountain where the needle-arrow still stuck fast.

  “I’m sorry, Master De Luca, I tried to talk him out of this plan,” Nicci said.

  “Think of it as a demonstration both of my Storm and of my personality,” Niccolo grinned.

  “So noted,” Master De Luca said. “Now, next would be Elena and Ele Lucciano.”

  She had been so interested in the others’ displays of their Storms that for a few minutes Elena had forgotten she would be going next. Trembling, she took a few hesitant steps forward, focusing all of her attention on trying to breathe.

  “M...my project was models of studios,” she almost whispered, “but only the Studio De Luca model is left.”

  “Pietro will run and fetch it while you explain,” Master De Luca nodded to the marble boy, who departed.

  “You um...you said I should be working on figuring out my Storm,” Elena felt sick, her stomach lurching. How had the others made it seem so easy? Her entire life depended on this moment, this speech, what was the trick to making it seem so casual? Although focusing on the importance of the moment really wasn’t helping her. What had she meant to say next?

  “So we devised a project that would do just that,” Ele broke in smoothly, “something useful, that demonstrated what we could accomplish while also letting us test the limits of our Storm.” Elena flashed him a look of relieved gratitude and tried to pick the thread of the explanation back up.

  “Uh, yes. So we used these models as tools to do that,” she accepted the model of the studio from Pietro as she spoke. “We used the models to discover that my Storm...it lets me build anything that already exists.”

  “That’s quite a powerful trait to have,” Master De Luca’s eyebrows shot up, “and you applied it to the models how?”

  “Since the studios all exist, I could create my own versions of them in my mind, which will let me know what they’re doing. I can know all of their plans and strategies.” As Elena spoke she felt her confidence increasing just a touch, enough that she could raise her head and speak more clearly. “With the studios modeled out like this, I could focus on the internal details.”

  “Hmmm.” De Luca was staring at the model in her hands. “If your Storm is t
o build things that already exist, why isn’t the model of the De Luca studio an exact replica of this studio?”

  “It’s...the model is just a tool, not what my project is. The models aren’t important.”

  “Ah, but nevertheless, the De Luca studio is something which exists, and thus the models’ quality is very important to your theory about your Storm. Unlike Caelators and Artifexes, a Faberi’s Storm will consistently and uniformly Touch anything they create. Why didn’t your Storm Touch this?”

  “I...” Elena stared down at the model in her hands. There was obviously an answer to De Luca’s question, but her brain seemed locked down and she couldn’t think, couldn’t even begin to figure out what that answer was. “Maybe it’s because I don’t know the details of the Studio well enough?” she ventured.

  “That excuse makes no sense, and you should know it,” Master De Luca said severely, “if your Storm needs the details to model a studio you live in, how can you map out the plans and designs of Studios you’ve never seen?”

  When she was six years old, Elena and her mother had taken a trip to a lake near Carpi to spend a day at the lakeside. She had been a curious child, and had wandered into the water, struggling as the waves dragged her under for a few long seconds before her mother was able to pull her out. At this moment, she was reminded of the waves closing over her head, the claustrophobic feeling of being sucked under the surface.

  “Maybe...maybe I’m too close to this studio, so the details in my head get in the way of the Storm?” She managed to gasp.

  “Twice, that I know of, you’ve constructed lockpicks capable of circumventing quite expensive locks. One of them you ruined since you made the lockpick out of wood. Setting aside for a moment that I don’t believe there exists a lockpick made of wood that exactly fits that lock, can you explain how your Storm worked then, when you didn’t know the details of their inner workings, and you were close to them?”

  There was nothing to say in response. A kind of quiet horror was welling up in her heart, and it was stopping all attempts she made to answer or figure out why Master De Luca was wrong. She was going to fail. A part of her wanted to take it bravely like Carlo, but judging from the burning behind her eyes she was about to burst into tears.

  “Master De Luca," Vittoria interrupted, “I wonder if you might let Niccolo and I go retrieve a few things that are pertinent to this discussion?”

  “Of course. I’m quite willing to consider all of the information available.”

  “What are you doing?” Elena asked, but Vittoria and Niccolo were already halfway to the door, and neither heard her.

  To Elena the length of time waiting for them to return simultaneously took less than a second and more than an hour. When they returned, they carried a small pouch and a wooden case. They stopped in the center, one on either side of Elena. Niccolo opened the pouch and displayed the knives that Elena had made for Frederica, while on her other side Vittoria opened the case which contained her brushes.

  “I’ve heard of these tools that Elena made," Master De Luca nodded, “and I do appreciate the craftsmanship that went into them. Unfortunately, craftsmanship isn’t what we’re judging here.”

  “You’re judging artistry, Master De Luca," Niccolo said, “Elena is a Fabera. Her artistry might not be flashy or showy, not something she can blow you away with in a single instance, but in the long run it stands to do more for this Studio than any of us. Frederica won’t have to buy knives again for years. Vittoria’s work is improved by the quality of these brushes.”

  “It’s not fair to judge Elena’s work on its own, in a vacuum," Vittoria added, “her work improves the work of everyone in the studio who works with her. Her value to the studio can’t be measured in a single project, but rather in the vast amounts of help she’ll be able to offer over the years that she’s here.”

  “I suppose just like I can’t judge a Caelator in the same way I judge a Saggitari, I should judge a Fabera on a more individual basis," Master De Luca mused, stroking his beard. “Very well. I’ll think on this. Lorenzo and Lore Malatesta, you’re next.”

  “Thank you," Elena murmured to the pair as they returned to their places in the circle.

  “Don’t mention it," Niccolo whispered back.

  “Did he say ‘Lorenzo Malatesta?” Vittoria asked. Even with the tight feeling still in her chest, Elena’s head jerked up.

  Lorenzo’s last name is Malatesta? Is he related Master Malatesta on the Street of Purple Artisans? Why is he here at De Luca’s studio?

  Lorenzo stepped forward, already holding his project, a pair of silver balls that rested in his gloved hand.

  “Speaking of helpful Faberi, my project was actually inspired by something I saw Elena working on,” he began, “she had copied down some numbers for a bow she was working on, and right away I was struck by the ludicrously low maximum velocities she’d written down.”

  “‘Low’ being a relative term, of course,” Lore broke in, “we had been working with lodestones so long that we’d become blind to other areas of study, a danger for many Machinators.”

  “Lodestone interaction exceeds the physical limitations of a bow with such effortlessness that we realized what a contribution the technology could make to the art of archery.”

  It’s not fair, Elena thought, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve, coming up with the words I had to say was like moving through molasses, but they can present things so effortlessly, because of course they can, they’re talking about lodestones.

  “There was some concern about creating a technology that would allow for more death and destruction, but there Elena came to our rescue for a second time,” Lorenzo continued, “it’s ironic, she first helped us when we had been too focused on lodestone theory to realize a real-world application, and then later helped us when we were too focused on archery to realize the application of the lodestones-”

  “An arrow’s deadliness is a function of that fact that it must be aerodynamic when powered by a single application of physical force,” Lore interrupted excitedly, “but no such constraints exist when application of force is held constant-”

  “Force-as-a-field removes all air-resistance from the equation!”

  “It removes all other forces from the equation! Like drag!”

  “Friction!”

  “Gravity! We could even use it to fly!”

  “Flight?” Lorenzo turned to his Echo, startled, “we never considered a reversal of gravity...”

  “But we could, couldn’t we?”

  “Why didn’t we think of that before? Application of similar frequencies to overcome gravitational pull...”

  “Dangerous if desynced for even the slightest instant,”

  “Yes but if we had stabilizers of some sort...Pietro could you grab me some paper?” Lorenzo asked.

  “Lorenzo, perhaps you should just show us your project,” Master De Luca put a hand on Pietro’s shoulder before he could leave.

  “Hmm? Oh, yes I suppose. This is a really interesting new idea though...” Somewhat distracted, Lorenzo lifted the small silver balls. The floated slowly into the air, then began circling him in slow orbits. With a series of small motions of his gloved hands, Lorenzo sent the silver balls bounding over each other, moving in tight circles, flying high in the air and then whistling towards the ground before stopping short inches away from his face. He made another motion and the balls resumed their lazy orbit around him.

  “That is...marvelous,” Master De Luca breathed.

  “Small resonance panels in these gloves allow for manipulation of magnetic fields which then siphon the lodestones into -”

  “I must admit to you, Lorenzo, you could explain until you were blue in the face and I wouldn’t understand how it works,” De Luca said, “but that it works is...frankly amazing.”

  “Master De Luca, do you think I could go back to the workshop? I want to work on this gravitational idea before I forget it...”

  “I suppose...but d
on’t you want to hear who stays in the studio?”

  “Hmm?” Lorenzo half turned on his way to the door, “oh, are people leaving the studio? I didn’t realize...well I’m sure someone will let me know.”

  The assembled artists stared at Lorenzo as he walked to the door and entered the studio.

  “Ehm...next is Mella and Mell Rosso,” Bea said, bringing their attention back to the semi-circle. It was Mell who stepped forward first, with Mella a little ways behind.

  “Our project is really just using the artistry we already knew we could do," he spoke quietly, confidently, a strange counterpoint to his Stormtouched who seemed to be doing her best to sink into the ground behind him. Elena couldn’t remember ever hearing him talk, but now that she heard him she didn’t really like his voice. It was confident, but there was something vaguely threatening about it. It reminded her of Slug. “We didn’t know it was typical to finish out a project in front of everyone. From what I understand, our success rate is one of the best among Artifexes, and we don’t like presenting incomplete work.” Mell shot a glance at Carlo.

  “Do you need Pietro to fetch your project?” Bea asked.

  “No need," Mell smiled and indicated Mella. She, at least, looked just as nervous and terrified as Elena felt, and was visibly trembling. From the hemline of her uniform, a small grey design suddenly snaked out into view across her chest, slid up her neck and encircled her eye in a crescent shape. “For this particular demonstration, Mella is the canvas.”

  “That is quite unique," Master De Luca said thoughtfully. “For an Artifex that uses graphite, it’s quite unique indeed. I would’ve thought that skin would be too soft and pliant a surface to draw on with...what was it called, ‘pencils’?”

  “That’s the best part, Master De Luca," Mell replied, “Mella, take off your shoe.”

  His Stormtouched obeyed without question, slipping her right boot off and setting her bare foot on the ground. The design around her eye slipped down her body again, disappearing beneath her clothing for a few moments before reappearing on her foot. After a moment of hesitation, it moved from her foot to the bare marble of the floor, where it traveled to the center of the semi-circle and stilled.