by CM Raymond
The blueprint’s scale showed that the thing was a monster. It would take a lot to power it. That’s what the stow of amphoralds in the midsection of the ship was for. From the looks of the drawing and the reports of the rearick, they would have tons of the gemstones in there, ready to hold more power than any device he had ever seen.
Its power was undeniable, but Gregory couldn’t understand where they were planning on channeling it.
He dropped his finger onto a vague piece of equipment drawn in the dead center of the airship. While the rest of the plans were described in detail, only a single word was written next to that tech: Thule. The word was as unfamiliar to Gregory as the tech was.
It gave Gregory a strange feeling, as if his father knew that something would go there, but had no idea what it looked like—which made less sense than a flying ship. Elon had drawn everything with such precision; ambiguity was out of character for him.
“What are you?” Gregory said to the drawing.
“I might know,” a gruff voice said from behind him.
Gregory jumped, spun, and looked up into the murderous eyes of Stellan, the Captain of the Guard.
“Shit,” he cried, and as he did, Stellan’s eyes flashed white. The ogre of a man transformed into the beautiful master mystic from the Heights.
“Sorry about that,” Julianne whispered. “I’ve gotten so used to keeping the disguise on… especially through that mission. Keeping my mask intact for days straight nearly scrambled my brain.”
Gregory’s heart slowed, but only a little. “No problem. And welcome home! I didn’t realize you had gotten back.”
“That’s because it just happened. Ezekiel told me you were in the basement with plans for Adrien’s machine. I think I might be able to help.”
Julianne took some time to share the details of her journey to the Frozen North. He tapped his foot, impatient for the punchline. Mystics were amazing storytellers, but now, he just needed answers.
“When Marcus, the new Guard, and I were trying to find our way out of the crevasse, it came into view.”
“What?”
She held a cupped hand up over the workbench, and a cloudy image appeared. He had heard of the mystics’ ability to tell the best stories and to use mental magic in doing so, but he had never seen it before.
“That,” she said.
The image was of the crevasse. As Gregory shifted his position, he could see the context from multiple perspectives. The scientist in him longed to know what was even happening—how she did it. It was large and wooden, half smashed to pieces and half frozen in the ice. But it was unmistakably an airship, like the schematics laid out on his desk. Julianne pinched her fingers together and then slowly drew them apart. The image zoomed in through the wood on a piece of metal that glimmered in the light of their magitech.
“What the hell?” Gregory whispered.
Although it was sharp, he could see that the thing was some sort of mechanism—for what, he didn’t know. He had seen drawings of old great machines from before the Age of Madness. His father had some of these locked away as relics from the past. But this was beyond anything Gregory had ever seen.
“What the hell is it?” he asked.
“That is knowledge beyond mine.” She said. Then she placed her finger on the center of Elon’s blueprints. “But I bet it goes there.”
“Son of the Bitch and the Bastard!” he yelled. “Whatever you brought back from the mountains—it’s some sort of technology from the old world. And it’s precisely what will make the ship fly.”
Gregory grinned and leaned against the table.
Julianne shook her head. “My master, Selah, used to say that ignorance destroys. I thought my mission was a test... a vanity project of Adrien’s. I had no idea that I was giving Adrien exactly what he needs to destroy us.”
Gregory placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s OK,” he said. “You can’t be blamed for what you don’t know. My father and Adrien, they’re the ones to blame. They know exactly what bloodshed this will cause, and yet they’re doing it anyway. We’re only destroying lives if we refuse to act on what we do know.”
Julianne smiled. “Gregory, you speak with wisdom beyond your years. It is a shame you didn’t grow up among the mystics.”
The young man blushed at Julianne’s high praise.
“So,” she said. “How do we stop it?”
The young engineer laughed. “I have no damned clue. That’s the problem.” Gregory fell silent. All expression left his face. “But, I know someone who does.”
****
Gregory walked the silent streets of the Noble Quarter, brooding over what to do next. Although, none of the nobles needed to pay much attention to the curfew—it’s not like they were going to get in trouble with the Hunters and the Disciples—they feared what lay behind their beautiful oak doors. Adrien and the Prophet had spent years warning them of the dangers within their city, and the nobles believed. So, as the sun was starting to set, Gregory walked the streets alone with his thoughts.
The conversation about the piece of technology that Julianne brought back from the mountains was enlightening, but Gregory was no closer to finding out how they might be able to dismantle it without blowing up half of Arcadia in the process. He needed to think—and the mansion was too crowded for that, so he took to the city.
The day before, he had collected as many magitech tools as he could find and dismantled them, carefully lining their parts up on the floor of his workshop. Life, for him, had been one that revolved around these tools. Elon had been one of the first graduates of the Academy to really advance the magitech, and he did so by burning the midnight hours in his own workshop at the house that Gregory had grown up in.
Taking all the technology apart, he hoped to find something that would grant him a clue. But it was Julianne who showed him the way. Ancient technology, powered by a large magitech core, that was Adrien’s plan. That was his father’s design.
There was no way to dismantle it remotely, and despite the talented magicians that met night after night in the mansion, they couldn’t just blow it out of the sky, not something that large, not without exposing themselves in the process.
And the engine, whatever its origins, would be placed close to the magitech core. If that thing cracked... it could spell disaster for the city. So, even if they could get close enough, brute force wouldn’t work. They’d have to dismantle the engine, piece by piece, which would take time. Which meant they’d have to take the factory by force, and without the help of Karl’s people, they were woefully outnumbered.
It was a riddle without an answer. Adrien had designed his master plan well.
After a few blocks, Gregory’s mind started to wander. The houses got more lavish as he moved toward the Capitol. He had grown up in privilege all his life. Like a fish in water, he didn’t spend time thinking about his environment. The Noble Quarter was simply his home. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Now, he saw it with different eyes. The wealth of the place, which always seemed normal to him, stood out like a weed growing through the living room. Coming to know Hannah and Parker changed how he considered his own home.
For some reason, his meditation caused him to change course. He turned south and headed toward the Queen’s Boulevard.
The slovenly man at the gate into the slums narrowed his eyes at him, but said nothing. Noblemen, even young ones like Gregory, didn’t go walking in the Boulevard. His path held certain risks, but that night, he didn’t care. Pacing through the streets, the squalor that his new friends grew up with came alive for the first time ever. He noticed dirty kids, playing in the gutters and women, barely older than himself, standing on corners, trying to get a date for the night and maybe make some coin.
His stomach turned, only partially due to nerves. Poverty was something he knew about, but only theoretically. Walking through the Boulevard gave him the opportunity to stare it in the face. Theory suddenly became humanized, and his heart sank
.
Before knowing Hannah and Parker, he had assumed that the poor were the ones to blame for their situation. He’d been told that all his life. In contrast, his family—and all his neighbors—were among the nobles because of arduous work and virtuous living.
Gregory was starting to realize that the system was more complex than he had ever assumed. Not only did poverty have a face, but injustice also did. The Chancellor, the Governor, and all their cronies were injustice, and as long as they held their positions of power, that injustice would reign.
“We got em! Over here,” the shout made him jump and broke through his thoughts.
Gregory looked up in time to see a three people in white robes sprinting after a kid who couldn’t be much older than ten. It was the Prophet’s Disciples, handing out the gods’ justice.
Gregory knew he shouldn’t be here. The danger was real after dark in a place like this. He glanced over his shoulder, thinking about sprinting for the Noble Quarter. But then he saw the fear in the kid’s face. It made him think about Hannah and Parker. They wouldn’t turn. They couldn’t. Not when something so wrong was happening in front of them.
I’m a magician, Gregory said to himself. I’m a rebel. This is my purpose.
He had been given much his whole life; it was time to pay some of it back.
He chased the group into an alleyway, growing dim in the Arcadian twilight.
The Disciples in white were gathered around the kid, cowering against a mildew-laden wall. A man in the front, not much older than Gregory, shoved the boy to the ground.
“It’s time to pay, Unlawful. It won’t be long before we wipe you all from the face of Irth.”
A woman next to him grinned a wolf’s smile. “Once we’re finished with the likes of you, the Matriarch will return to bless us all.”
Gregory puffed his chest out and shouted, “Hey, leave him alone, you… you douche, um, heads.”
The Disciples looked at him, surprised to see a noble in their alley. They all laughed in unison.
“I think you’re lost, noble boy,” the leader said. “We’re doing what you and your kind are too weak to take care of.”
“Yeah,” the woman next to him said. “You should thank us for doing your dirty work.”
Gregory paced toward them, willing himself to appear confident. “Last chance, scumbags.”
Gregory crossed his arms in front of him like he had been trained to do, like he had seen Hannah do a million times.
His eyes turned black as the night and small flames flicked to life in his hands. He was almost as surprised as the Disciples. They took a step back, but it wasn’t enough.
“Anyone who stands in the way of the gods’ work deserves punishment,” an older Disciple said. He stepped forward, raising the club in his hands.
Gregory said a silent prayer to the Matriarch.
“I’m the one doing the gods’ work tonight, you bastards!” Gregory yelled as he attacked.
He threw the fireball with every bit of strength he had. It flew through the darkness and hit the Disciple square in the chest. The man screamed as his robe caught on fire. He beat at it with his hands.
In seconds the fire was out.
A small black burn on the white cloak was all the damage Gregory’s magic could muster. The Disciples stared at the noble, the same wicked smile spread across all their faces.
Shit, shit, shit, Gregory thought.
They attacked him, clubbing him until he fell to the ground, and then switched to kicking. It was pain like Gregory had never felt before, and his feeble attempts to defend himself did nothing to soften their blows.
Somehow, amidst their attack, Gregory managed to look up. The young boy from the Boulevard was sprinting out of the alley. Distracted by their violence, the Disciples didn’t even notice. The boy stopped, just before leaving, and looked back. He made eye contact with Gregory, and the look of gratitude in the child’s face nearly brought tears to Gregory’s eyes.
No one had ever looked at him like that before—like he mattered, like he had made a difference.
I could take any pain, any hurt, no matter how great, Gregory thought. If it meant someone like that wouldn’t have to.
The thought gave Gregory warmth, and he smiled, right before a club cracked him over the skull, knocking him out cold.
****
Hours must have passed before Gregory regained consciousness. He was still in the dark alley, although his attackers were long gone. He was sore all over, like he had fallen down every stair in the Academy’s tower. But as he pulled himself to his feet, there was only one thought on his mind.
I may not know how to fight, he thought. But I know how to save this city.
Gregory limped out of the alley, happier than he had been in years.
He had found his answer.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It was a cool morning, yet the sun shone brightly as Parker walked toward the Boulevard with Hadley by his side. He couldn’t say that he was happy to have the attractive mystic as his partner, but Ezekiel was wise in making the decision. Hannah had always been his partner, and he loved working with her—back when they were hustling for money and now as they hustled for the life of Arcadia.
But many eyes were on the lookout for her, and her capture would issue a significant loss for their movement and for Parker personally. He could take working with Hadley if it meant that Hannah could stay safe—relatively speaking.
“So, what is it exactly that we’re doing?” Hadley asked. “Ezekiel only told me that there was a young con artist who needed my help.”
Parker rolled his eyes. The mystic had a way of picking at him with every word.
“It’s a con alright,” Parker said. “We’re trying to steal the city’s soul back.”
As they walked, Parker explained to him about Jedidiah—the Prophet—and the way he had become Adrien’s mouthpiece, a walking disseminator of propaganda and misinformation to the common folks of Arcadia. His preaching about the proper use of magic kept the Boulevard in fear, which kept them from fighting back. And the pseudoreligious nature of Old Jed’s message kept many living in squalor clinging to a false hope.
“We need to give them a new hope,” Parker said. “Hannah and I began this project. You will help me continue it. But to do that, we need to first dismantle people’s trust in Old Jed. And that takes a certain amount of flare—which this young con artist happens to be an expert at.”
Hadley nodded along as his eyes scanned the city. The last time he had been to Arcadia, he was nearly a child. Everything had changed since then—and the change continued. They stepped into the bustling square, and Hadley asked, “I see the market sellers, the women, and children, but where are all the men?”
Parker led him through the sea of shoppers, careful to keep his voice down, away from prying ears. “Most of them are at the factory. The Capitol has been ‘employing’ them to work on the airship. By day they work on the lines, building everything needed for the technology. At night, they’re locked up in cells. Hell of a life in there. Arcadia’s leaders are making slaves of the men, and no one seems to care. As long as the payments are made to the families, the men will remain in their shackles. If they step out of line, Adrien has people that will adjust their behaviors.”
“Sounds like you know a lot about that.”
Parker pushed up his sleeves, exposing the burn marks still healing on his wrists. “You could say I know a thing or two. Barely made it out… and they’d be happy to snatch me here on the streets and send me straight back.” He eyed a pair of Guards on the edge of the market. “Come on, let’s move.”
