Spellsmith & Carver: Magicians' Trial

by H. L. Burke

  A rogue tear trickled down her cheek. She blinked the rest away, refusing to acknowledge them by wiping them off her skin. No, she was done crying. She had better things to do.

  The door to her bedroom opened.

  “Little one, it’s time to eat.” Uncle Ezra’s thick accent was like warm molasses. Father had managed to erase all traces of his Raumanian drawl, but Ezra clung to his like rust to iron.

  She grunted. “Not hungry.”

  He stepped further into the room, shifting his weight from one massive boot to the other. Father has said that Ezra had been a prizefighter in his younger days. With hands as big as Lotta’s head and a burly, bulging physique, she supposed it might’ve been possible. However, his gentle demeanor belied a past of violence. If Father had been a saint, Ezra was an angel.

  “Little one, you must eat something,” he urged.

  “I don’t want to!” She shoved aside her tools and pulled her knees against her chest.

  She didn’t want this. She didn’t want to be sad and angry and difficult, but everything around her wasn’t as it should’ve been. Her father was dead, their shop in ruins, barely anything worth salvaging. This wasn’t her home. She’d tried to bring “home” with her, but even the few tools and prototypes she’d dug out from the wreckage stuffed the garret room Ezra had given her to bursting.

  Lotta wanted her old life back, but that wasn’t possible.

  With a sigh, Ezra ambled over and sat on her sagging mattress. The springs squeaked beneath him. “What are you working on?” He nodded towards the side table where she’d done her best to glue the schematic for her generators together again.

  “It’s a hydroelectric generator,” she said.

  His bushy eyebrows melted together.

  Lotta sighed. She always choked when explaining things to fellow engineers and inventors. Ezra could scarcely read. There was no way she’d be able to make him understand.

  “It must be important for you to give it such a place of honor.” He waved at the candles she’d set up, one at each corner of the schematic. “It looks like a shrine.”

  And it was, sort of, a shrine honoring the last gift her father had given her, his greatest dream for her, that she’d be able to present her idea to those in power and convince them to use her technology. A fool’s dream. She’d never be able to stand before strange, influential men like that.

  “So what does a hydro-what’s-it do?”

  “It makes power.” She shrugged.

  “How?”

  She bit her tongue. Ezra could never understand, and she could never explain. This was futile. However, something drew it out of her. “Water flows through it and turns the turbines, they make a … a field and … and it creates power you can use to move things.”

  Ezra tilted his head to one side. “What sort of things?”

  “Like the machines in the factories.” She sat beside her uncle.

  “Ah, so it makes magic!” His face brightened.

  “No, it makes electricity. If this generator works, we won’t need magic anymore.” She stared at the flickering candles. This generator could’ve made the factories run again, given the mob of unemployed men back their jobs, if they hadn’t killed her father. No, none of them deserved to work. The whole world could go rot for all she cared.

  “Electricity is also the stuff that sends messages through your wires and conjures lightning from the air.” Ezra pinched her cheek. “It sounds a lot like magic to this old fighter.”

  “It’s better than magic to me.” Lotta closed her eyes. She didn’t want to talk right now, just to sit and clean her tools and pretend she could fix her life as easily as she could a machine. Still, she couldn’t be cold to Ezra, not when he tried so hard to make her comfortable and happy.

  “So if it can fix the factories, why aren’t the factories using it?”

  She shrugged. “I guess no one knows about it.”

  “But you know, my little one.”

  Heat built behind Lotta’s breast bone. Yes, she did know, and her father had known—but that mob certainly hadn’t.

  It wasn’t men who killed my father. It was ignorance. Someone needs to fix that. Someone needs to tell people the truth. Father can’t now, but I can!

  She stood. “Uncle Ezra, I need parts. I need a lot of parts!”

  ***

  Auric paced in the foyer. The letter from Mill River Crossing had indicated the youngest Preston brother was on his way. The elder Preston assured them his son would be more than capable of holding down the shop while Father was ill and Jericho and Auric were away

  Father, of course, insisted he could handle it on his own. Only three days had passed since the attack, and he had regained his speech and movement. However, Auric noted that he sometimes seemed confused, and often tired. Still, the doctor said he was doing well.

  Jericho descended the stairs pulling a small trunk. The heavy piece of luggage bumped against the steps.

  Auric raised his eyebrows. “I thought you’d pack a lot lighter than that.” He waved at his own carpet bag. “That’s all I’m bringing.”

  “Yeah—” Jericho set the trunk down. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

  “All right, I’m ready!” Rill called from the top of the stairs. She hurried to the men’s side, her arms around Jaspyr. She wore a long, muslin traveling coat.

  Auric goggled at her. “Ready? For what?”

  Rill frowned at Jericho. “I thought you said you’d tell him.”

  Jericho shrugged. “Never got the chance.”

  “It’s been three days!” Her voice rose in pitch, and Jaspyr gave a nervous yip. “I’m sorry, boy.” She scratched Jaspyr’s ears, causing the fox to emit a low, mechanical purr.

  “Well, he knows now.” Jericho grinned. “Auric, Rill’s coming with us.”

  Auric shook his head. “That’s a bad idea. Rill, you need to be here for Father.”

  “Why? He’s already a lot better, and it’s not like I have the training to help around the shop.” She set Jaspyr down and crossed her arms. “Besides, I need to make sure neither of you do anything stupid. The last time I left you two alone, Jerry got himself trapped in the Fey Lands.”

  Auric shifted his glare to Jericho. “You aren’t going to back me up here, are you?”

  “I don’t see a reason to. She’s right. There’s nothing for her to do here, and it’s not like she’ll be in danger in the Capital. We’re facing a court case, not an angry mob.”

  Scratching his beard, Auric sighed. He then narrowed his eyes. “Is that what you’re going to wear?”

  Jericho glanced down. He’d put on a hip-length traveling coat, tail-less, over his workman’s trousers, plain brown vest, and button-up shirt. “It’s what I always wear.”

  “Yes, but we’re going to the Capital. Magicians there are expected to dress the part. No one will take you seriously if you aren’t in a suit.”

  “Their loss.”

  Auric exhaled. He didn’t feel like engaging in a battle of wills with Jericho right now.

  “I think you’d look handsome in a suit,” Rill commented. “You certainly did at the wedding.”

  For a moment, Jericho’s resolve seemed to weaken, but then he shook his head. “I can change when we reach the city if needed. We need to get going now or we’re going to miss the train.”

  The gig was too small for the three of them plus the luggage, so they loaded into Will’s market cart. Rill and Jericho settled onto the driver’s seat, Jericho with the reins in one hand, the other arm around her shoulders. Auric got into the back with Rill’s trunk, his carpet bag, and the buoyant Jaspyr.

  The fox bounced from one side of the cart to the other, standing on his hind legs to see over the sides as the horses pulled out of the courtyard and down the bumpy country road. Finally, he leaped into Auric’s lap, turned around three times, and curled up in a shiny metal ball.

  Auric sighed. The August sun beat down on him, and he was
glad he’d chosen his lightest coat. Jericho had already stripped down to his shirtsleeves, but Rill, probably unwilling to expose her frock to road dust, flushed red. She fanned her face with a handkerchief.

  “So this friend in the Capital, you said he’d let us stay with him?” Jericho called over the clack of the wheels and the stamp of the horses’ hooves.

  “Yes. His family has a home near the congressional offices. His name is Cordon Styles, good magician, but his family is known more for business and politics than magic. They just send their heirs to the Academy as sort of a tradition. You’ll like him. We were inseparable during my schooling. He’s, well, he was my best friend.” Auric chuckled and rubbed Jaspyr’s ears. “I guess you’ve dethroned him, though.”

  “I feel honored.” Jericho snorted, but Auric sensed more sincerity than sarcasm in his words.

  “Does he know anything about our situation?” Rill asked.

  “Only that Father’s license is under investigation. I thought about filling him in on the details, but didn’t want to commit any of it to writing, just in case it falls into the wrong hands.”

  “Smart, though I think we should keep it between us,” Jericho said. “No matter how much you trust this Styles, the more people who know the truth, the harder it will be to keep the secret.”

  While Auric could agree with this in principle, instinct told him they’d need all the help they could get. However, he was under enough stress without arguing with Jericho. He chose to remain silent.

  They traveled through the fields and into the heart of Mountain’s Foot. The railway station was little more than a ticket booth, run by an elderly couple.

  Jericho pulled their horse to a stop in front of the building next to the platform: a livery stable where their horses and cart could be boarded until the magician from Mill River arrived to drive it back to the Manor. He unloaded the trunk and placed it on the wheeled cart. Rill took Jaspyr from Auric, and together they stood upon the platform, staring at the empty tracks.

  Jericho had purchased their tickets the day before. Now they waited as the plume of gray smoke rose in the distance, heralding the approach of the steam train. The wheels clacked against the metal tracks as the massive machine hurtled towards them. Then with a squeal of brakes and a hiss of steam, it halted at the platform.

  Whistling, Jericho pushed their luggage cart towards the passenger car. “You know, the power and precision of these things always impressed me. Before the opportunity to work under your father came up, I considered studying how they were built.”

  The uniformed conductor nodded towards them, took their tickets from Auric, then motioned them into the carriage. “Enjoy your trip.”

  “Thank you.” Rill gave him her most pleasant smile and the middle-aged man flushed like a schoolboy.

  They started down the narrow aisle lined with red-cushioned benches, worn and faded but clean. There were no other passengers. Mountain’s Foot was the last stop on the western line before it doubled back to return to the Capital. Few people traveled this far, and most who were headed towards the Capital would wait for the returning half of the loop.

  “You never told me that, about wanting to study the sciences,” Rill commented.

  “I guess I didn’t think of it quite like that.” Jericho hoisted their trunk into an overhead bin. Jaspyr squirmed out of Rill’s arms, jumped onto a bench, and pressed his pointed snout against the window. “I was only five or six when the railroad extended to our village. I guess it intrigued me, and I wanted to work with something like that. Magic offers some of the same potential, I suppose, but there is something appealing about the powers of human ingenuity and technology.”

  The whistle sounded, and the train jerked to life beneath them.

  Auric sat on the bench across the aisle. “Well, you have to admit, magic is a lot quieter than machinery.”

  “Yes, but perhaps if we weren’t so dependent on magic, we wouldn’t have caused the issues with the Fey rifts … and we wouldn’t be dealing with the fallout.” Jericho waited until Rill had taken her seat before sliding next to her and holding her hand.

  Auric sighed. He’d packed a novel for the long train ride—it would be late afternoon before they arrived at their destination—but he doubted he’d be able to concentrate on it. Not with everything hanging over his head. He glanced back at his traveling companions. Rill’s head was already on Jericho’s shoulder, her eyes angled towards his face like a kitten transfixed on a sprig of catnip. No, they weren’t going to be much for conversation. Not that Auric could really think about anything but the case, and it would be foolish to discuss that on a public train.

  The green countryside flashed outside the windows, and the constant rhythm of the wheels on the tracks beneath them became soporific. The cumulative effect of several nights worried about his father’s health and the impending court case wore on Auric. He drifted off to sleep with his head against the thin pane of glass separating him from the world outside.

  About midday, a uniformed steward came by selling sandwiches and cups of tea from a wheeled cart. Jericho and Auric purchased several sandwiches, but Rill declined, saying she felt “train sick.” She alternated between staring out the window, slightly green, and concentrating on her embroidery hoop. Back when their father had forbidden her access to magical training, she’d secretly enchanted an embroidery needle to serve as a stylus and used it to practice magic under the guise of sewing. Auric hadn’t noticed her embroidering as much since she’d been allowed a true stylus, but perhaps she still enjoyed it, even when it wasn’t required for magical purposes. Jericho took a book from somewhere in his coat and stared at it between bites of sandwich. Auric sighed and tried to think of anything but their mission.

  The train made a good half-dozen stops, taking on a few passengers each time. By the time the country villages turned into the larger towns on the outskirts of the Capital, their train car was about half-full. Jaspyr poked his head over the seat, yipping anxiously at each new arrival before settling protectively at his mistress’s side. Rill stroked his metal ears and made cooing noises to soothe him.

  Finally, the green fields and stretches of woodland gave way completely to rows of closely-packed homes of brick and wood. Some towered over the city like sentinels: clock towers, church belfries, and decorative spires. The train screeched to a halt beside a crowded, covered platform in a yard crisscrossed with multiple tracks.

  Jericho nudged Rill who had drifted off on his shoulder. “Hey, we’re here.”

  “Hm?” She lifted her head and blinked out the window. “Oh!” She rubbed her eyes. “So many people.”

  Auric laughed. He remembered arriving at the Capital as a fifteen-year-old schoolboy, wide-eyed and idiotic. Well, at least Rill and Jericho would have him to hold their hands. He’d bumbled his way through his first few weeks before he learned to stop behaving like a country bumpkin.

  He stood and shook out his cramped legs. “Hopefully Cordon is waiting for us. I’d rather not bother with hailing a cab.”

  The conductor opened the carriage doors, and everyone seemed to move at once. Rill clung to Jericho’s arm against the press of humanity. Jaspyr snapped at a few folks, and for once Rill didn’t silence him. Jericho freed their trunk from the upper rack and dragged it out to the platform. Once there, he set it down to tend to his wife.

  “I’m just not used to so many people.” Rill fanned herself. “Also, isn’t it rather warm?” She unbuttoned her traveling coat and passed it to her husband.

  Auric wandered away from them, hoping to catch sight of their host. The beams of the canopy over the platform arched like the branches of trees, though grime coated the glass of the skylights, making them dingy and ruining the effect.

  Gripping his carpet bag, Auric scanned the crowd. Beyond the wooden platform, there was the ticket booth and several shops. He remembered the tea house across the street as being particularly good. Perhaps if Cordon hadn’t arrived yet, they could linger there f
or a bit.

  “Auric!” A buoyant voice rose over the bustle.

  Auric turned. A well-dressed young man with slicked-back blond hair and a waxed mustache strode through the crowd towards him. Auric brightened.

  “Cordon!” He hurried to clasp his old school friend’s hand. “It’s good to see you.”

  “And you as well.” Cordon was tall, not in the same excessive way Jericho was, but still an inch or two taller than the rest of the crowd. He flashed a smile, revealing the same easy charm Auric had always envied during their school days. Not that Auric considered himself awkward or unlikable, but he tended to overwhelm people in bursts of enthusiasm, whereas Cordon could slip into any situation and smoothly take it under control. Auric would’ve given his left eye for that level of charisma.

  “I was surprised to get your letter,” Cordon said. “I mean, I always hoped you’d reconsider your bull-headed choice to return to that backwater you call home and join respectable society again, but it sounds like that’s not what’s brought you to the Capital this time?”

  Auric laughed uncomfortably. “Mountain’s Foot isn’t all that bad.”

  The crowd thinned around them as the conductors hurried the next group of passengers onto the train.

  “So, your letter was vague but troubling,” Cordon continued. “I gather there’s been some sort of bureaucratic fuss over your father’s license?”

  “You could say that.” Auric sighed. “I’d rather wait until we get somewhere more private to discuss the details. You said it would be all right if we stayed with you during the proceedings?”

  “Of course.” Cordon nodded towards their luggage, then towards a shiny black coach-and-four waiting to the side of the train platform. “Have your man put your baggage in my carriage and we’ll get going.”

  Auric’s brow furrowed. His man? He turned and found Rill and Jericho approaching. They stopped beside Auric.

  Before Auric could introduce them, Cordon’s zeroed in on Jericho in his plain, working class clothes. “My carriage is over there, boy. Move fast, and there’s a coin in it for you.”