The Wizard from Earth (32 page)

“We have a special 'ranch' on Steam Island,” Andra replied.  “The worms came to us originally from a trader in the Southern Seas.”

“Ivan, do a search on 'Steam Island.'”

“There is no information on Steam Island in my archives.”

Aloud, Matt said,  “Okay, so what do you use for fuel?"

"There's a quandary," Prin said.  The others nodded.  “You see, the ancients state that any form of alcohol will do, but we tried naval rum and the engine will barely turn.  Do you think it's because we're using the wrong fuel?"

Matt had sampled naval rum and knew that lack of volatility wasn't an issue.  He looked between the drawing and the engine, and already had a fair idea of what had gone wrong.  He consulted with Ivan, and conveyed,  "I think your problem is the cube-square law."

"What is that?" Archimedes asked.

"Basically, you can't just directly scale up the design in the book, because the volume will increase faster than the surface area, and that will affect engine performance.  The proportions of the dimensions and other quantities will have to be recalculated, and there are other design changes that will be required too."

"Can you do that?"

"Sure." 

He studied the model again, consulting with Ivan to determine engine performance requirements based on aerodynamic characteristics.  But then his gaze came to the racks behind the gondola.  The racks contained tiny barrels, each about the size of a thumb from tip to first joint.  Scaled to life-size, the barrels would be about 350 liters in volume, and there were two rows of twenty.  Matt felt the proverbial chill down the spine.

He crouched over the model and moved his hand beneath the balloon, past the gondola to the end of the walkway.  Poised over a control panel, his forefinger pushed a miniature lever.  This pulled on a threadlike cable, which operated a release mechanism.  One of the barrels dropped free and rolled on the table, then onto the floor.  Matt stared for a moment.  He stooped and set the barrel on the table.  He stood straight and turned to the others.  They stared motionlessly at him.   

"Say again, why are you building this?"

"To render war impossible," Archimedes replied.

"How do you figure that?"

Archimedes held up his palm.  He went to the hallway and Matt heard the click of the library door being shut.  Archimedes returned and slid the workshop door closed.

Wearing a most solemn expression, Archimedes said,  "What we tell you now must never be mentioned to another soul.  Do you swear, Matt?"

"Yes," said Matt, slowly.

“Well, here is how it will work.  The barrels you see are what are called 'bombs.'  They are filled with a very powerful type of incendiary that is made from a highly flammable type of jellied rum.  The mechanisms are such that the crew of the zepallion may fly over a given target and with merely the pull of levers they may drop a bomb upon the target, and upon impact the target will be destroyed with a conflagration of fire.  Follow so far?”

“Yes,” Matt said, feeling unsteady.

"Well, think of what this means to the nature of war.  With walls and sieges obsolete, one such ship could destroy much of a city in minutes.  All from above, with complete impunity."

"So . . . how does that make war impossible?"

Archimedes glanced to the door again, then riveted his eyes on Matt. 

"Our plan – and this is the part you must absolutely never utter outside our circle – is to provide all nations with the design of a working airship.  When all nations have fleets of zepallions, the leaders will realize that war has become unthinkably horrible in its potential for ultimate destruction.  And so we will achieve lasting peace upon this planet."

Matt looked at their shining faces, all nodding in agreement.

"I see," Matt said.

Archimedes continued,  "Of course, if the Senate were to learn of our intent to share the weapon with other nations, we would be executed as traitors and Rome would keep the design for itself, to build a fleet of such ships to launch a final war of conquest against the rest of the world."     

"I see."

"And that is why you must keep it secret."

Matt caught himself from mechanically saying 'I see' again.  Finally, taking a deep breath, he said, "I can't help you."

Landar shot Archimedes a hard glare.  "You told us we could trust him!"

"You can trust me to keep your secret," Matt said.  "But I'm not helping you build this thing.  You may mean well, but this thing will be put to evil use.  It won't make war impossible, just worse.”

“And how do you know that?” Landar demanded.

“Seattle once built another type of flying machine that dropped bombs.  It didn't stop us from having wars.  Like I said, the wars only got worse.”

Landar threw up his hands.  “Seattle!  Can you even prove that such a place exists?”

Matt felt his face flush, and in a low voice replied,  "I'm sorry, I can't help you with this."

There was a long silence. 

"Cube-Square Law," Andra mused.  "Perhaps that insight is really all the help we need."

"We may as well go," Prin said to Archimedes.  "Thank you for the chips."

"Thank Matt," Archimedes replied.

But no one did.

They filed out of the workshop, into the hall and library.  While the others went up to the courtyard, Matt remained in the library.  This time, on the table, Carrot had her miniature army besieging a city wall. 

Wars are cute
, Matt thought,
when they're that small.

The voices stopped talking and the door to the street slammed, followed by the clunk of the crossbeam.  Matt flipped through library books, but his heart was not in it.  He climbed the steps to the courtyard.  The sky had grown completely dark, and the torches were sputtering from exhaustion of their fuel pots. 

Archimedes approached and asked, "How is the work on the weather station?"

"I'm designing a machine to record wind speed automatically," Matt replied. 

Archimedes patted him on the shoulder and headed toward his office.  Matt sat on a bench in the garden and gazed at flowers and stars, and mulled over what he had seen and what he could do about it, and whether it was his business to do anything about it.

An hour or so later, Ivan said, “Matt, a person is standing on the roof over the street entry.”

Matt turned and looked up.  The shadow took a back-step, hesitated, then came forward into the torchlight.  It was Carrot.  She leaped down, from one ledge to the next, as nimble as a mountain goat.  Matt was waiting where she landed in her bare feet which were, he noticed, blackened by charcoal.

"What are you doing out so late?" he asked.

"Nothing special," she replied. 

She was wearing long pants and a shirt with long sleeves.  Both were dark blue and loose-fitting. 

“I've never seen you in those clothes before.”

“They are new.”

“Where did you get them?”

“I made them.” 

Tucked in her belt were three pieces of cloth matching her outfit.  Two pieces were the right size for gloves and one, Matt noticed, was the right size to fit over her head as a hood that would cover the entire face. 

She smiled casually and met his gaze directly.  “I perceive the scent of visitors.”

"Just some friend of Archimedes who wanted to meet me."

"About what?" 

Despite his promise not to tell anyone, Matt desperately wanted to tell her everything, but then Ivan said,  “Matt, Carrot has a pouch concealed beneath her shirt on the left side.  It is empty, but is the appropriate size to carry a knife.”

Which she probably left on the roof
, Matt thought.  By now, Carrot knew that Ivan would have no difficulty spotting a concealed weapon. 

Matt fixed a smile and said aloud,  "Nothing special."

"Oh.”  She shrugged.  “Then may you have a good night, Matt.”

“You too, Carrot.”

With a bow of her head, she walked across the courtyard toward the servant rooms, keeping her arm pressed to her side where the knife sheath was hidden. 

35.

From Victory Square to the imperial palace snaked Golden Street – a wide boulevard lined with trees and the homes of the 'best' families in the Empire.  Near the base of the slope, one of the houses had been bequeathed by the sole survivor of an ancient patriarchal line to the Sisters of Wisdom. 

The transfer of title for the choice piece of real estate had been somewhat controversial, as the patrician in question had never manifested any association with the Sisters and his will had been altered just before his death to name them sole inheritor of his estate.  All the more odd, as the codicil had been urged by his young wife who had been perceived as an opportunist but had turned out to want nothing for herself – and had promptly disappeared after the will was executed and the house delivered into the hands of the Sisters. 

But the paperwork seemed to be in order.  That was the consensus of the lawyers and judges who had examined the documents and were still alive.

And so every day, upon leaving their homes and descending the gentle outermost slopes of Mount Enta into the city, the servant-borne litters of almost every patrician of Rome had to pass before the gates of the Temple of the Sisters of Wisdom. 

Not that there was much to see.  The windows were forever shuttered, the marble unadorned with decoration.  The original owner's bird baths and fountains and sculptures of nymphs had been removed and the orchid gardens uprooted, replaced by grass that uniformly grew exactly three centimeters and stopped.

All in all, the temple looked threadbare, even sterile, a massive utilitarian box on an avenue known for ostentation.  Nothing could have chilled the passing patricians more.   

That particular morning, as always, a long line of supplicants waited outside the gates.  When a handful exited, another handful was allowed admittance to ascend the steps.  The great doors of redwood from the forests of Frans cracked open, revealing the dark and cavernous interior.  The supplicants entered and the doors swung shut. 

When they emerged, a very few who had been blind and deaf and sick were cured, but all were relieved of coins.

On the street before the former mansion, rickshaws and their carriers were waiting for the wealthier supplicants to emerge.  One of the carriers was a teenaged boy, normally known to be sociable with the other drivers and charming to his passengers.  This day he had spent the last hour refusing the requests of passengers and doing nothing more than frown at the temple windows.

Then a shutter on the second floor cracked open.  A hand emerged, made a sign, then retracted.  The rickshaw driver stood straight.

The front door cracked open, and a sole supplicant emerged.  She was in her early twenties, dressed a cut above the common style.  She headed for the rickshaw behind the boy's.

"The one I wanted to see wasn't there," the boy heard her grumble to the carrier as she climbed inside.  "And the one who was there wouldn't help me.  But they took my money at the door just the same!  They are supposed to be paying me!  This whole accursed morning is wasted.  Now, I'll need to go to the palace fast, so – "

The boy touched her driver, who instantly fell unconscious to the road.  The girl looked up, saw the body of her driver, then the boy standing over him.

“What happened to him?”

“Must have swooned from the heat.”

“I did not think it was that hot.”

The boy shrugged.  “I can take you in my rickshaw.”

She sighed, and changed vehicles.  “The palace in speed.”

"Yes, ma'am."

The boy bolted up Golden Street, but before they got to the first turn, he re-routed to Dan Street.

"Taxi Boy!  This isn't the way to the palace!"

"I know a short-cut."

He trotted them through a maze of streets that became ever more narrow and decrepit.

"Mind the potholes!  I am not a bag of flour!”

The boy steered through a narrow opening into an alley bounded by sheer, windowless walls.  He stopped, dropped the rickshaw handles, and stepped back, blocking the exit.

"Where are we?  What are we doing here?" she demanded.  Fear crept into her voice as she said, “If – if this is a robbery, then you should know that I serve at the Emperor's table and my disappearance will be investigated by the palace guard.  I will give you my money, but it is best for you that my life be spared.”

“This isn't about money,” the boy replied.

He handed her an envelope with a black seal.  She removed the letter and read – or pretended to do so, for the boy knew she was only slightly less illiterate than he.

“What – what is this?”

“Your death warrant, signed by the High Priestess.”

Then her eyes randomly turned to the side, and she noticed the pile of garbage against the wall – and the motionless, prone and naked body of a boy who was a twin of the one who stood before her. She gasped and the document slipped from her fingers. 

“But how can it be!  I do not recognize your transformation scent!”

“Your gifts were revoked while you were in temple.  Soon you will be deaf and sickly and blemished as you were before.  But I will spare you that!”

The girl climbed from the rickshaw and prostrated herself.

“There must be a mistake!  I have served loyally!”

“If you have followed our instructions, then why is the Emperor again in good health?”

“I don't know, but I administered the poisons as I was told!”

“Evidence says otherwise.”

The girl flattened herself until she seemed to melt into the pavement.  Face down, she wept. 

“Please!  I beg you!  I have served you and the Sisters faithfully in all that I have done!”

The boy watched for a moment, put his hands behind his back, and said calmly,  “Very well.  If you say so.  Then rise.”

The girl arose, sniffing and wiping tears from her eyes.

The boy gazed serenely – and then snarled, 
“
Lying girl!
”

Simultaneously, both hands lashed out from behind his back.  In a blur, the girl might have seen the claws that took the place of fingers.  But then they were at her throat, and blood spurted.  Her eyes went wide and her mouth was silent and then she crumpled.   

The boy looked down and whispered, “
Lying girl!
”

He bent over the corpse, wiped his hands on her clothing, tore off the clothing that he was wearing, unwrapped a parcel among the garbage, took out the articles of clothing within and put them on.  As Inoldia transformed back into herself, she smoothed her dress and departed the alley.

A few blocks later, she was admitted through the gates of the estate of the Family Valarion.  The general was alone in the courtyard, sitting among the orchids and hummingbirds next to a small table with a teapot, a dish of cookies, and two cups.

"Tea?" he asked.  "The cookies are your favorite."

"You were expecting me?”

He poured her cup to the brim.  "I thought you would like to unwind after the execution.”

She took the cup and sat.  The tea was steaming but she drank it in a gulp.

“You have spies watching me, that's how you know what I was doing.”

“They don't watch too closely, of course.  You would likely kill them if they did.”

She smiled.

Valarion continued,  “But today it was my spy at the temple who informed me only minutes ago that the Emperor's serving girl had to change rickshaws when her carrier fainted.”  Valarion blew on his tea.  “From there it's simple logic.  Of course it was simple logic from the moment you learned that the poison didn't work, that you would blame the girl.”

“I am certain of her guilt.”

“Inoldia, to be frank, I am certain that you don't even know her name.”

“Zu – Zuno, or something.  So you think she was not guilty?”

“I have told you that I have spies watching the House of Archimedes.  The report is that the Emperor went in tired and weak.  He came out healthy and hearty.  The change happened while he was in there.”

“The witch girl could not have healed him.  Do you think Archimedes had an antidote?”

“I think we have underestimated the boy.”

“Boy?”

“As I told you, Archimedes took in a girl and a boy.  The girl is your witch, and the boy seems to have been mythologized in Britan as the Wizard from Aereoth.  From reports I have received about him, I am beginning to suspect that the people of Britain were not so gullible in coming to that conclusion.”

Inoldia remembered then that Pandora had warned her about the Wizard.  But she relaxed when she remembered what else the Mother had said about him.

“He is only a baseline.”

“A what?”

“I meant, he is only a normal human.”

“So is Archimedes, and yet he irritates you as much as me.”

She examined the delicate gold inlays in the ornamental flower patterns of the tea cup, and then she crushed it.

Scattering the fragments on the lawn, she said, “You were going to take care of Archimedes, and the girl, and the boy.  You assured me, but your plan failed.”

“There's an old military adage:  'No plan of battle survives contact with the enemy.'”

“Then why plan at all?”

“Ah, you see, plans seldom fail completely.  Often they bring you closer to success, and can be improvised in mid-battle so as to lead on to success.”

“If you have a new plan, say it, and then have it done quickly.  Your first plan was almost our undoing.  Be thankful that I pressed for the girl's swift execution.  If she had happened to mention to any of the other Sisters that I had given her a second poison for the Emperor, I would have been brought before the Mother and questioned, and then you and I would both be punished.”

Valarion tilted his head.  “How interesting.  You just so much as admitted that you can't lie to whoever this Mother person is.  I take it you don't even have a choice in the matter.”

“Valarion, I am losing patience, and you have a house full of things which I can break.”

“Very well, to business.  You want to know about the new plan.  Well, the Emperor is always having parties at the palace, right?  We'll see to it that the girl, the boy, and Archimedes are invited to one, and that they have the opportunity to be blamed for murdering him while present at the palace.”

“You are confident they will attend?  Archimedes never attends parties, and the girl and the boy come from Britan and I do not see them wanting to linger among senators either.”

“I will ensure they will all come.  That part of the plan is already in motion.”

“But then how can we poison the Emperor now?  The servant girl was our only contact within the Palace.  Do you have one of your own?”

“No, I don't.  Hadron has always had a sense about infiltration.  I was surprised you were able to slip in an agent of your own.  But it doesn't matter.  We don't need a spy, a contact, or an agent.  We have you.  You'll kill him personally – and leave incriminating evidence that points to the girl as the perpetrator, of course.”

“What kind of evidence, and points to the girl as to the what?”

“Isn't the meaning obvious from the context?  Oh, never mind.  I'll need to give you a brooch, it's being fabricated now.  And in infiltrating the Emperor's quarters, try not to be seen by the guards or to kill too many of them.  That also will arouse – “

“Valarion!  I was assassinating people before you were born!”

He smiled.  “Yes, but this is the ruler of Rome in his palace surrounded by a thousand guards, and not a village chief's wife gathering flowers by the river alone.”

She kept her expression fixed.  “She wasn't alone.  She had her daughter.”

“Who is the girl you seek to kill now.”

“You seem to know a great deal.”

“Not what I want to know.”

“You mean, what the Sisters are seeking in Britan.”

“Yes.”

“The day you learn that, Valarion, is the day you shall die.”

“Oh, that again.  Very well, I'll change the subject.” 

He yawned, then opened a binder on his lap to a bookmarked page and penciled an annotation beneath a block on a flow chart.  “You know, planning an assassination and a coup on top of it is a morass of headaches.  In the field I can always charge expenses to the treasury but here the budget has to come out of my own pocket.   And I never had to figure out how to forge invitations for a siege.  Imagine, the fate of Rome hinges on whether I can find card stock of the correct color and texture!”

A servant entered and bowed.  "Your appointment is early, my lord."

Valarion gave a sharp nod.  "Have him come – and bring more cups."

Inoldia placed her hands on the chair arms – gently – and made to rise.  "I have had enough of your petty affairs to bore me on this day.”

Valarion snapped the book shut and motioned her down.  "You will want to listen to what this person has to report.  It is very fascinating in its own right, and moreover it is the main reason why I have allowed Archimedes to remain alive so long."  He sipped his tea and stared into space.  "Indeed, Archimedes should thank me for keeping his little secret.  For if Hadron knew what I know, he might have his good friend promptly executed for treason even sooner than I will."