by Frank Tuttle
“Which means?”
“A full stomach cheers a heavy heart,” he replied.
“My heart is perfectly fine,” snapped Meralda. “That woman does not influence it.”
“Of course she doesn’t.”
“That’s infuriating,” Meralda said.
“What is, dearest?”
“That. Agreeing with me, when we both know that wasn’t what you meant.”
“It wasn’t?”
Meralda glared. She picked up her fork and stabbed the pie, taking a good chunk of ice cream with it. “It is good,” she said, after swallowing. “But I’m still cross with you.”
“I beg your pardon,” Donchen said, grinning suddenly. “But in the process of being disarmed by charm, I have learned a few things about your mother. Though of course, such matters are of no interest whatsoever to you. I shall not bore you by presenting them.”
Meralda kicked his shin under the table.
“She took me into her cellars,” Donchen said, quickly. “Explained how she was able to exit and return, and not be seen by the Service agents watching her home.”
Meralda forced down another bite of pie. “You’re not about to tell me she has a secret door to her house.”
“Oh, but I am. The cellar was dug for a much larger home, which burned some decades ago. She removed a portion of the cellar ceiling and installed a trap door which opens into the hedge. She can come and go as she pleases, and no one is the wiser.”
“She just showed you this?”
Donchen nodded. “She said doing so was only polite, to save me the time and trouble of breaking in and searching it out myself. She knew about the Service agents, surmised I was, as she put it, either a thief or a spy. She even invited me to search her rooms, while she made tea.” Donchen paused. “Quite a remarkable person. I see much of you in her. Note the care with which I refrain from stating the converse.”
“Thank you,” Meralda said. She toyed with her fork. “You like her, don’t you?”
“I do,” Donchen said. “Much as I liked Aunt Ri.”
“Aunt Ri?”
“She wasn’t really my aunt, of course,” Donchen said. “I was, like you, sent away at a young age. Hidden in the wilderness, during a time of turmoil, raised by a kindly old couple I called Uncle Shin and Aunt Ri. I lived with them for two years, before it was safe to live with Grandfather. Aunt Ri was very like your mother — charming, intelligent, engaging. She taught me to read, taught me to defend myself against the village bully. I came to love her, as much, perhaps more, than I did my own mother.”
Meralda laid her hand on Donchen’s. “It must have broken your heart to leave them.”
“No, not really,” Donchen replied. “One night, Aunt Ri put me to bed. Read to me, as she always did. Kissed my forehead, told me she loved me. I did think it odd when she locked the door from the outside as she left, but being a child, I thought nothing of it. Until I smelled the smoke.”
“Smoke?”
Donchen dabbed at his lips with his napkin. “Yes. She’d murdered Uncle Shin before putting me to bed. Then she locked my door and set the house on fire.”
Meralda was momentarily speechless.
“But…why?”
“Politics. The ebb and flow of power. Aunt Ri probably spent her entire adult life secretly waiting for the opportunity to eliminate a son of my father. In retrospect, I feel sure she had no choice but to follow her orders.”
“How did you escape?”
“I’d loosened several floorboards long before the fire,” Donchen said. “We were taught from birth to prepare hiding places. It was no more than a game until that night.” His face darkened. “Poor Aunt Ri.”
“Poor Aunt Ri? She tried to murder a child!” Meralda said, drawing a few curious stares from fellow diners. She lowered her voice. “I hope she was brought to justice.”
“I escaped the burning house only to find her a short distance away. Her duty fulfilled, at least in her mind, she brought justice upon herself.”
He shivered, and Meralda squeezed his hand.
“I am so sorry,” she said. “So much terror for a child.”
“A hard lesson,” he agreed, his habitual smile returning. “Trust is never to be given lightly. Which is why you need not fear that I might fall under your mother’s spell. I have escaped worse than her. Walked many miles since then. No, Meralda. I keep company with your mother only to observe her. Because I care for you.”
A trio of penswifts, pads drawn and pencils at the ready, burst into the restaurant to converge on Meralda.
Donchen rose and pushed back his chair in a single fluid motion. Before any of the penswifts could speak, he put himself between them and Meralda.
“The Mage,” he said, “is dining.”
“We only have a few questions,” said one.
“Is it true you’ve deciphered the Arc’s song?” asked another.
“You’re standing on my foot,” said the third, to Donchen.
Donchen’s smile widened. He raised his arms to block the progress of the other penswifts.
“If the Mage’s meal is further disturbed,” he said, cheerfully, “You will find my boot atop another more delicate portion of your anatomy.”
Meralda sighed and stood. “Don’t injure them, Donchen. I must go anyway. Meeting with the King.”
“Can you tell us anything?” said the tallest of the trio, a beady-eyed little man who quite reminded Meralda of a beetle, all stretched out and stuffed under a hat.
“The Arc was made to store old socks,” Meralda replied. “Fashioned from hard cheese by the Elves of old. There. Now you know the truth.”
“We can’t print that, Mage,” said the man. “Please, give us something!”
“Penswifts Recovering From Sudden Rain of Chairs,” Donchen said. “Mayhem at Elegant Eatery. Various Heads Thumped. There. A headline for you. Step back, gentlemen. Or I shall become quite vexed.”
The trio of reporters exchanged worried glances before retreating, clearing a path for Meralda.
She took Donchen’s arm and together they headed for the cab. “The tall one will pay, as recompense for causing a scene,” Donchen said, tossing a wad of cash to the headwaiter as he passed. “Pray distribute this small gratuity among the wait staff.”
The headwaiter snatched the cash from the air, winked, and set off in pursuit of the penswifts.
* * *
King Yvin was a quarter of an hour late.
When he arrived, he was still chewing, and he carried a plate. “Good evening Mage, Mrs. Primsbite.” He gestured with a fried chicken leg. “Forgive my tardiness. Pressing matters of state, you know.”
Mrs. Primsbite eyed the leg-bones that adorned the King’s empty plate. “I see the state is quite bereft of vegetables. And I was sure I heard Pellabine instruct the kitchen to limit your intake of fried foods.”
“Bah,” replied the portly King, as he joined Meralda and Mrs. Primsbite in the chairs arranged before Goboy’s Glass. “I saw a turnip, just last Tuesday.” He swallowed and lowered the remains of his supper to the Laboratory floor. “We are alone? No houseplant?”
“Mug is with Donchen,” she said. “Pouting, no doubt. But we have complete privacy.”
King Yvin cast a wary eye over the racks, shelves, and tables of magical gear. “None of that records conversations, does it? Can’t be too careful.”
“None of the devices capable of storing voices are activated,” Meralda replied, her tone clearly annoyed.
King Yvin grunted. “You have the you-know-what ready?”
Meralda spoke a short soft word.
Instantly, the distant sounds of the Palace were cut off. No more muffled laughter, no more voices or thumps of boots stomping past.
“The new privacy spell is now latched,” Meralda said. “Only Tower can hear us.”
“Affirmative,” said a voice from within the dark face of Goboy’s Glass. “The bubble is steady.”
“Good,”
King Yvin said. He leaned forward eagerly. “So. Tell me what you’ve got.”
“The song is a highly compressed book, of sorts,” Meralda said. “It starts off very simply, establishing basic mathematical and geometric concepts. From there, it branches out. There is a section on physics. Another on magic. Electrical phenomena. Materials science. Even cosmology.”
“Anything in all that we didn’t already know?”
Meralda began to pace. “I have already identified a dozen revelations, in just as many fields. Consider that I have only analyzed a tiny fraction of the material we managed to decompress.”
“Revelations, you say?” King Yvin looked delighted. “Anything that might apply to weaponry?”
Meralda halted, frowning. “Is that why you demanded I decode the song?”
King Yvin sagged. “Of course not. If I had my way, and we were the only people trying to make sense of all this, I’d say record everything and then lock it all away. We’ve got enough means to make misery with what we have on hand. But Mage – something is sending the Hang into the heavens. I don’t think they’re risking the trip just to better see the stars twinkle. Now, let’s assume they too have managed to decode the song or part of it. You tell me. What might send them skyward?”
Meralda crossed her arms over her chest and ignored the sudden unease in her stomach.
“Tower,” she said. “Skip ahead to image number ten.”
Goboy’s Glass shimmered, and a diagram, traced in bright glowing blue lines, appeared.
Meralda stepped by the Glass. “This curved cylinder is the Arc. Part of the song defines its curvature, and overall shape.”
Mrs. Primsbite joined Meralda at the Glass. “Fascinating.” She pointed to the lines that radiated from the central hub to the outer rim. “But I don’t recall any such spoke-like structures in the reports.”
“That’s where things get complicated,” Meralda replied. “The spokes are there. But invisible and undetectable.”
“We’ve flown all about the wretched thing,” King Yvin said. “Haven’t run into any great huge spokes yet.”
“If I am correct, they don’t exist in our space.”
“Our space? What in blue blazes does that mean?”
“Image Five, Tower,” Meralda said. The diagram changed. “It’s quite simple. Consider a point. It has no length, no depth, and no breadth. That is a one-dimensional figure.”
“I went to school, you know,” growled King Yvin.
“Then a line,” Meralda said, pointing to the line on the Glass. “It has length, but nothing else. Cross two lines at a right angle.”
“Two dimensions,” Mrs. Primsbite said.
“Exactly,” Meralda said. “Now, add a third line to the first two, this new line at right angles to both. We now have height. That is a three-dimensional figure.”
King Yvin squinted. “What’s next? You can’t stick another line on there, not at right angles to the other three. Can you?”
Meralda nodded. “You can. We cannot perceive such a figure. However, it can exist. The spokes? If I am correct in my interpretation of the song, they are manifestations of a nine-dimensional object. Which is why they can hide from us. We see the three-dimensional protrusion of the Arc, but the spokes are hidden.”
“Why?” asked King Yvin. “What do they do? What does any of this do?”
“Image Twelve,” Meralda said. Again, the picture changed, becoming a wheel, with a small hub at the center of hundreds of spokes.
“This image is simplified,” Meralda said. “The song indicates the number of spokes to be, not infinite, but so large as to be uncountable. The aspect of the Arc we see is also merely a tiny portion of a much larger multi-dimensional construct.”
“So, it’s a great huge wheel,” King Yvin said. “Where’s the cart? Who built it?”
“In all honesty, Your Majesty, I simply do not know.”
King Yvin sighed heavily. “All right. More to the point. And none of this leaves this room.” He stood, joining the women at the Glass. “Yesterday, at half-past noon our time, a fleet of twenty Hang airships, converted for use outside the atmosphere, was launched into space. Of the twenty, only fourteen survived the ascent to vacuum. And right now, Mage, those fourteen remaining vessels are speeding toward – something. Mrs. Primsbite? I believe you have the specifics.”
“We know only that their destination is some quarter of a million miles distant,” she replied.
“Oh dear,” Meralda said. “Would you have a more precise figure?”
“Two hundred and thirty-seven thousand, four hundred and sixteen miles.”
“Then they’re off by a mile.” Meralda put her finger on the image, pointing to the hub in the center. “The song was very specific. The central hub manifests in our space at that exact distance from the section of Arc we discovered.”
“So that’s where they’re headed.” King Yvin’s face reddened. “So much for our treaty.”
Meralda frowned. “But why? The song hasn’t suggested anything concerning the nature of the wheel, or the hub.”
“I might be able to shed some light on the why,” said Mrs. Primsbite. “When the Vonats began burrowing underground, they didn’t take everyone. We have a few of those left behind.”
Meralda groaned. “Not more Vonat superstition.”
“We thought so at first,” Mrs. Primsbite said. “But we’ve established that factions of the Hang have been in contact with certain Vonat dissidents. It appears a few ancient books appear in both Vonat and Hang libraries. The books in Vonat possession were written in Hang, and vice versa. None of these books could be read, of course, until contact between the Realms and the Hang was made. But I believe the discovery of the Arc, combined with the contents of these books, is why we are here, having this lovely conversation.”
“If you had a point in there, Mrs. Primrose, it flew right past me,” King Yvin said.
She nodded. “The Arc is described as the ‘source of woe’ and the ‘bringer of destruction.’ Buried in veritable heaps of odious nonsense, though, there is this – the hub of the wheel is called an engine of creation. The repository of great power, available to all who can reach it. Though the books warn that the Arc, if awakened, will spew forth the usual dreary array of mayhem. Fires, floods, pestilence, armies of devils, legions of beasts. The illustrations were quite disturbing.”
“It appears the Vonats have decided to err on the side of caution, and dig themselves in,” said King Yvin. “While the Hang have opted to take the hub for themselves. Mrs. Primsbite. How reliable are these Vonats of yours?”
“Put a hot meal in front of them, and offer assurances they won’t be slaughtered in their sleep, and they are eager to help. I cannot speak to the veracity of their claims concerning the wheel, and this hub. But I can assure you they are quite convinced that they are telling the truth.”
“Troubling,” King Yvin said. “The Hang fleet, if it survives the journey, will reach the hub in three weeks. Tell me, Mage. What can you do in three weeks that might put the Realms and the Hang back on equal footing?”
“I certainly can’t build and launch a fleet of voidships,” Meralda said.
“I realize that. The Hang have a considerable head start in that arena. Tell me, Mage – precisely how much of the song have you managed to capture?”
“Six minutes and forty-nine seconds,” Meralda replied. “Why?”
“Because, Mage, we believe the Hang only managed four minutes and thirty seconds,” Mrs. Primsbite said. “They are stalled there. We are hoping you might, to put it bluntly, know something they don’t.”
Meralda stared at the image on the Glass. “Tower,” she said. “Image twenty.”
The Glass changed. The wheel vanished, replaced by a complex diagram crammed with strange symbols.
“There is this,” Meralda said. “Five minutes in. There appears to be a set of plans, for an electrical device.”
“A device? Which does what?”
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br /> “It doesn’t say,” replied Meralda. “But, while complicated, it’s nothing exotic. A series of pillars, each fitted with an antenna, rather like our telesonde machines. A central machine feeds a different signal to each pillar, a signal which consists of a shifting set of numbers, transmitted at specified frequencies, speeds, and orders.”
Yvin leaned close to the Glass. “That’s it? A telesonde machine?”
Meralda nodded. “In the center is a receiver. The image specifies its configuration. I only just discovered this last night, and I immediately wondered if it might be a means of communicating with the Arc.”
The King thumped the Glass, which shimmered. “Anything else?”
“Nothing I consider relevant,” she replied. “But it could be a first step in establishing a dialog with whomever or whatever created it.”
The King grunted. “How long will it take you to build this contraption, starting right now?”
“A week, perhaps a few days longer. If I halt all other work. But I believe we should first determine the purpose of the machine before we consider constructing it.”
“No time for that. Get started. Whatever you need, Mage. Just write up the orders, and I’ll see them filled as fast as is possible.” He paused. “You’re sure about this?”
“I’m not sure of anything,” Meralda said. “I thought I made that clear. There are portions of the diagram that do not make sense. And vast swaths of I simply can’t comprehend.”
“Can you build it here, Meralda, or will you require a larger facility?” asked Mrs. Primsbite.
“It’s too large for the Laboratory. The distances specified between the transmitter pillars will make the entire construction a hundred feet in diameter. Too, it should probably be out in the open, to reduce signal loss. Perhaps the Park?”
“Not for public consumption,” King Yvin said. “What about an airship hanger?”
“The roof will block the signal.”
“Tear it off. I’ll get you a hangar.”
