Rise of the Arcane Fire

by Kristin Bailey

  One by one the boys left and the lecture hall emptied, until the only other apprentice in the room rose and walked through the door, leaving me alone. Feeling the pressure of being last, I hastily finished my last note, then snatched the drawing and followed.

  Peter’s eyes were wide and nervous as I entered the room where everyone had gathered. He looked at me as if to say, Where were you?

  I lifted one shoulder in a defeated shrug and handed him the drawing.

  Thankfully, whatever skill Peter felt he lacked in comprehension of mathematics, he made up for in his ability to assemble complicated structures. His hands moved with certainty and speed as I watched the machine being born of a pile of parts.

  He caught the attention of some of the others as he quickly surpassed their efforts. I watched in awe, feeling relieved and grateful to him.

  Peter slowly pulled back a large spring-loaded hinge. Once he had it set in place, we would be the first team to finish.

  I watched as he turned the clamp down to hold the hinge back.

  It snapped, whipping a sharp edge of metal through Peter’s hand before striking the engine casing with a sharp crack that echoed off the stone walls.

  Peter cried out, cradling his hand to his middle.

  “Peter!” I shouted, and ran to his side. Blood poured from his palm as he looked at me in shock and pain. I snatched his handkerchief and used it to wrap his hand as all the others seemed to crowd in around us.

  Peter hissed as I tried to press hard on the wound. “Leave it. You’ve done enough!”

  “What’s going on?” Oliver pushed through the crowd. He took one look at Peter’s hand, then leveled me with a stern, accusing look. “What happened here?”

  “I—I . . . ,” I stammered. “I must have made a mistake.”

  I stood numb as I watched Oliver gather Peter and lead him from the room. To my left Samuel chuckled under his breath. I gathered my things to leave, feeling helpless, worried, and defeated.

  That night as I sat in bed watching the candlelight flicker against the plain white walls of my unadorned bedroom, I tried to write a letter to Will. Sheets of paper littered the floor. None of the letters seemed right. I wanted to tell him I was happy too, and that the Academy was all I’d hoped it would be. I wanted to tell him that I was managing on my own, and that I was doing well.

  I wanted to tell him that I didn’t regret my decision. I needed to tell him I was sorry.

  Instead I placed a blank piece of paper on the bedside table and blew out the candle.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It took more than a week before the next letter calling us back to the Academy arrived. The summer heat made London oppressive and stifling. Stale and bitter scents hung in the air and stuck to my skin, making me feel loathsome.

  Even when I sat at my counting desk going over the shop ledgers, I couldn’t keep my mind on the numbers at hand. Usually the task of settling the books soothed me. There was something so simple about adding and subtracting numbers in neat rows and seeing the clear result at the end.

  My work at the Academy was so much more complicated. It didn’t matter if I was balancing the accounts or making tea, my thoughts remained fixed on one thing: Where did I stand?

  Not in very high regard, most likely. The headmaster’s scowl upon seeing my design had been so sharp and harsh. My idea couldn’t have impressed him. I had thought I had been so clever, and now I just felt foolish.

  My distraction hadn’t just cost me, either. Guilt still ate at me about what had happened to Peter’s hand. I didn’t know how deep the cut was, and I prayed it had healed without complication. I had tried to write to him, then realized I didn’t even know his surname. In this instance the Amusementist rule about Christian names was frustrating, to say the least. In the end I jotted a letter of apology and sent it to Oliver with a note to forward it on to Peter.

  Oliver sent a note back saying he’d had it delivered, but from Peter I received no response.

  Finally the day arrived for the next meeting. The ride from Mayfair to the old monastery seemed longer than it ever had before, even though there was hardly any traffic for an early Friday morning. The old horse plodded along at a brisk enough pace, and Bob whistled cheerfully as he shook the reins.

  I gripped my small basket and stared at a crack in the floorboards, watching how quickly the stone street passed beneath. For once I wasn’t concerned about arriving late. I dreaded arriving at all. When we finally reached the carriage bay, I gave Bob a brief wave goodbye, then took a deep breath as I looked up at the bright sky at the top of the ramp. My steps felt heavy as I ascended into the courtyard, only to find a large crowd near the aviary. I had no wish to join them, but lingering in the archway by myself would hardly do either.

  Resigned to my inevitable disappointment, I walked up to the others.

  “What is happening?” I asked the tall Irish boy. I believed his name was Michael, but I wasn’t sure.

  Michael shifted his weight over his long, gangly legs. He tucked one hand into his pocket, which made his equally spindly arm stick out like a chicken wing. “The instructors chose the best design to remake the aviary. They’ve spent all this time repairing it. And now they’re about to reveal it.”

  I wondered for only a moment who might have had the best design, then decided it must have been David. Everything was always so easy for him. Surely the golden halo of perfection that constantly surrounded him would extend to this project as well.

  Glancing at the young earl with his impeccably cut coat and shining silk waistcoat, I realized it must have taken his valet three days to brush it until it was flawless. I tried to imagine what it would be like to have life be so effortless, but I couldn’t fathom it.

  From the arrogant tilt of his head to his proud stance, outwardly he seemed so assured of himself as he crossed his arms and glanced back at me. But there was something in his eyes, an uncertainty there. Samuel said something to him, with a rare smile on his face.

  Now there was a horrible thought. Samuel was the headmaster’s son. Surely his father had helped him with his own design. It wasn’t fair, and I couldn’t stomach the thought of passing by the aviary every day knowing Samuel was the one who had designed the repair.

  I balanced on my toes for a better view, but it was of little use. The aviary had been covered in a large white cloth. The boys around me all watched with anticipation as well. Any of them could have taken this honor. They were all brilliant— well, most were. Even the boys who tended to remain quiet— like the older boy from Russia and the Indian boy—never seemed to miss a calculation.

  I noticed Peter was standing along the wall on the outside of the crowd, near the boy from India. His hand was still wrapped in a bandage. I moved back to the other side of the group, where he wouldn’t be able to see me. I didn’t know what to say to him. I felt horrid that he’d been harmed because of me.

  Three loud cracks sounded as a staff struck the stone at the top of the stair that led into the building. By moving away from Peter, I’d unwittingly placed myself directly in front of the headmaster.

  He looked at me briefly, then lifted his hand for silence.

  The boys fell into a hush. Anticipation could be an effective disciplinarian.

  “I’m disappointed in you,” he said, looking imperious and intimidating. I glanced down at the stones at my feet. “Too many of you were blinded by what you saw before you. You made no effort to discover how the Amusement functioned. You based your designs on conjecture. Blinded by the complex, you failed to see what was simple.”

  I looked up as my legs went a bit wobbly. Peter and I had discovered the cracked pipe, and my plans certainly had addressed the problem, but I had also added complex elements based on conjecture, and I’d failed to keep things simple.

  “Power is crucial!” Headmaster Lawrence puffed out his chest. “Without power you have nothing. Everything else is trivial.”

  It was my fellow apprentices’ turn to look
uncomfortable. Several of them looked down at their feet as they shifted uneasily. Only David had the temerity to look the headmaster in the eye.

  “The winning design addressed both the problem of power and function, embracing the Amusementist motto.” For the first time the headmaster smiled. “From science, beauty!”

  Oliver and Nigel yanked on golden ropes on either side of the aviary. The cloth fluttered down, and the bower gleamed, gold in the sun.

  It couldn’t be. I pushed my way through the other apprentices, forcing them to step aside. Finally I reached the front of the crowd. I didn’t dare to hope.

  Behind the aviary a squat cylinder with a cap marked with the seal of the Amusementists had been tucked near the wall.

  I recognized it immediately for what it was.

  It was the casing for the tumbler I had so carefully planned. There it was, before me, my vision come to life.

  A great excitement, like the sun on the first fair day of summer, was glowing within me and straining to burst through my skin. The headmaster descended the steps and crossed the courtyard.

  “Congratulations, Miss Whitlock. Would you care to do the honors?” the headmaster offered as Oliver gave me a sly wink. Instructor Nigel scowled at him, then looked resigned to the inevitable.

  I took a step forward, but when my foot hit the stone, I feared my leg wouldn’t hold my weight. My knees had turned strange and weak, and I forgot to breathe.

  Somehow I managed to reach the headmaster, though I must have resembled a drunkard.

  “Let’s see if your plan worked,” he said, and I couldn’t help feeling there was an ominous undertone to his words.

  Pinching the inside of my lower lip between my teeth, I took hold of the lever and pushed it down.

  A hiss sounded through the pipes, and the birds began to tremble. They bobbed forward and back, flexing their metal wings. Then they opened their beaks.

  Just like I had envisioned, the notes poured out of the birds in a slow but recognizable tempo.

  The boys gasped as they listened to the wonderful music springing forth from the birds, cheerful, joyous, and grand.

  My heart swelled as I sang along in my mind.

  I am clever. I have done it. Now the birds here all can sing. I will one day join the Order. This has been my vic-tor—

  There was a pop, then a loud whistle and hiss. A jet of hot steam shot out of the beak of the small bird near Oliver.

  He shouted in pain as he tucked his face into the crook of his arm and leapt away from the bower.

  At once chaos broke out as everyone in the courtyard scurried to the far side, shouting and pointing.

  One by one more jets of steam erupted from the beaks of the birds.

  “It’s going to explode!” someone called out. I jabbed at the boys beside me with my elbows, trying to create enough room that I could reach the ramp and open the release valve on the boiler.

  I caught a glimpse of Peter running down the ramp into the carriage bay, just ahead of me. We turned right together and ran. I hurried to his side as he ripped open the door and turned the wheel for the emergency release. A valve opened just above where the cracked pipe had been, and steam whistled out, spilling from the small compartment and curling over the ceiling of the carriage bay. With the pressure gone the shrill whistling from the courtyard fell silent.

  Peter fell back on his bum and rubbed his hands over his face. His shoulders slumped as he pulled his hands away and stared at the bandage there.

  “What did you do?” Peter asked, looking at me with such horror on his face.

  “I don’t know what happened,” I tried to explain. “I didn’t change the valves, only the mechanism for opening them.”

  “This is your second accident.” Peter shook his head the way one laments an urchin in the street. “They’re going to fail you.”

  The large stone that had settled in my stomach felt like a boulder. As if I didn’t know that. Even the thought had me in a tizzy.

  Why?

  I couldn’t figure what I had done wrong. I could admit I’d been distracted when writing the plans for the machine that had harmed Peter, but this one was perfect. I had studied every detail over and over. Nothing in my plan could have caused the birds to fail in such a way.

  Unless I was simply not intelligent enough to see the problem.

  I couldn’t do this.

  My heart broke, the pain deep and powerful. Hearing the birds sing had been amazing. It had filled me with a sense of wonder and pride. I had never been more proud, and now this had to happen.

  Peter rose to his feet and looked back to the ramp. “Best hope no one was badly injured.” He fisted his injured hand around his bandage.

  “Oh, Lord,” I whispered as guilt added to my abject misery.

  We emerged from the ramp to find my classmates speaking in low and urgent whispers.

  I approached the first person I saw. “Noah,” I called. He turned to me, and his eyes immediately narrowed with suspicion. “Was anyone harmed?” I asked.

  Noah’s jaw flexed before he let out a heavy sigh. “Instructor Oliver has burns all along the side of his face. His condition is serious.”

  I felt ill, more ill than even the time I’d contracted scarlet fever as a child. I wished the Lord would take me, right in that moment. “Where is he?”

  “Inside.”

  I grabbed my skirts and ran for the stairs that led into the monastery.

  “Be warned,” Samuel called after me with an edge of cruel humor in his voice. “Next machine she touches will kill us all.”

  I tried to ignore him. Samuel was the worst sort of vile thing, but every once in a while the Devil spoke the truth. None of the others had proven to be half the disaster I had become.

  Racing through the halls, I searched for where they had taken Oliver, but there was no one around. When I reached the lecture hall, it was empty.

  The main hall was also empty, as were all the rooms down the long corridor to the left. Finally I found myself at the door to Headmaster Lawrence’s office.

  I raised my hand to knock but just clenched my fist in the air. Forcing myself to take a steadying breath, I tried to calm the panicked beat of my heart.

  Slow and cautious footsteps echoed through the long corridor. I froze. Something wasn’t right. Everyone in the courtyard had been rushing, not stalking.

  I turned, staring down the dim corridor, but I couldn’t see anything in what little light filtered through the dingy window behind me. “Is anyone there?” I called.

  There was no answer.

  Wary, I took a tentative step, peering deep into the corridor.

  The door to the headmaster’s office slowly creaked open to my left.

  A whole new fear caught hold of me.

  “Come in, Miss Whitlock.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I entered the headmaster’s office with my hands folded neatly in front of me, and my breath coming in shallow little bursts. Headmaster Lawrence let the door fall closed, then walked solemnly to the far corner of the room. He peered into what looked like one of Lord Rathford’s spying machines. It had the same structure of brass piping surrounding a large oval glass about two feet tall, with a crank to one side, and a dial just below it.

  In Baron Rathford’s house, turning the dial had allowed you to see out of glass eyes set into various statues around his property. I suspected the same system was at work here.

  A hazy, colorless image of one of the smaller classrooms glowed in an orb-like glass. I could see men moving around, and Oliver with a cloth pressed to the side of his face.

  Dear God, I hoped he hadn’t been deformed from the steam. Oliver was a handsome man, and my best friend’s fiancé. How would she ever forgive me if I ruined his face just before their wedding? My insides twisted painfully, and I sat down in the hard-backed chair facing the headmaster’s desk. He clicked the machine off, and the orb faded to deep black.

  “Are Oliver’s injuries serio
us?” I asked, my voice cracking. The headmaster eased into his throne-like chair. “The burns are not superficial.” The sides of his mouth pulled down into a concerned frown. “And it is ‘Instructor Oliver’ until you are fully part of this Order. Do not forget your place.”

  I felt tears stinging my eyes. How could things have gone so horribly wrong? I had been so careful, and still I had burned off half the face of a man I admired. He’d have to wear a mask to be seen in public from now on, and it was entirely my fault.

  Headmaster Lawrence’s bright blue eyes softened with sympathy. “They are tending to him. I’m sure they’re taking the utmost care.”

  I had to do something for Oliver to make up for this. He had trusted the aviary to work because he had believed in me. Now his face was wrapped in bandages. Oliver was my dear friend and mentor. I would have never forgiven myself if he had been disfigured, or killed.

  He could have so easily been killed. I swallowed a lump in my throat. “I hope he heals quickly.”

  Lawrence straightened, looking down his long and pointed nose at me. “So the question becomes, what to do about you?”

  I had only once before felt so crushed and disappointed. My life was unraveling right before my eyes, just as it had in the courtyard not that long ago, beneath the very same cage of birds.

  I despised that aviary. It had brought me nothing but misery.

  “I failed you,” I said, though it came out as hardly more than a whisper. I tried to keep my emotions in, to be strong in the face of such disgust with myself, but my throat closed up and my voice cracked as if I had a heavy noose around my neck. “I’ll leave the Academy. My apologies that your faith in my abilities wasn’t better deserved.”

  The headmaster looked at me with his brow furrowed. “What nonsense is this? You’re certainly not leaving the Academy.”

  I sat back in disbelief. Surely I had not heard him correctly. “I beg your pardon?”

  He leaned over, opened a drawer, and pulled out a familiar piece of paper. It was my drawing of the aviary, but it had been annotated. At least four different scripts had scrawled all over the surface. “I suppose you recognize this?”