Machinating, Part II
The sun was already up by the time Jason woke up the next morning, but he felt fully rested, and for the first time in several days he didn't have to favor anything as he got out of bed. After all the excitement of Louise's mission, that wasn't anything to sneer at.
But then, when he stood up, the sight of Louise's empty bed sent a surge of longing and loneliness stabbing through him. For a moment, the pain – actual, physical pain – was so intense that he almost collapsed, and he had to grab one of the bedposts for support.
See? We haven't even begun to get over our little mistress. Love isn't practical, love is insanity. And yeah, 'the heart wants what it wants', but so what? That doesn't mean the heart gets what it wants.
He glared at the bed and let go of it. Hell, if we were being practical about this, we'd have hopped into bed with Siesta yesterday morning and then ask after the married quarters that Louise's parents wanted us to have. Or wait until Jessica visits this summer and figure out who we get along with best. A peasant girl is far more attainable than a Duke's daughter.
But . . . was Siesta signaling availability because that's what she truly wants, or because that's what she thinks she should want? Wasn't she afraid that she'd been assigned as our personal mattress, that first morning when we ate together? Because familiars are taken care of, whatever their needs are.
Hell, if you look at it cold enough, it makes sense to supply a pliant source of sex if a grown man suddenly has to sleep in the same room as the daughter of a high-ranking noble. What did they tell Siesta, when they assigned her to us?
Aside from 'you better not let it slip that this is your job, or else'. We can take that as a given, assuming honeypot orders in the first place.
Hell, maybe they gave Siesta her orders when we came back from Bruxelles. That's when the other maids started to act like there was something going on, after all.
Or maybe we're just being paranoid. Gives us an excuse to be suspicious of any friendly wench while we're still pining for Louise.
. . .
Of course, if we're not supposed to be falling in love with our little mistress, it'd help if she didn't act all jealous any time a pretty girl shows interest in us. And when we were making out, that last little bit at the Inn, it sure seemed like the falling in love was mutual.
So what the hell are we going to be to each other? We haven't been talking about it. Talking around it, yeah, sliding damn close to it at times, but nothing direct. Asking Mr. Colbert if he thinks we're got a chance with Louise is closer to the heart of it than anything we've said to her.
Hell, we talked about it more directly with Kirche, that time in the medicinal pool at the Goddess Temple Inn. We'll discuss it with her most bitter enemy, but not with our little mistress herself.
Because as long as everything is kept vague, there's nothing in focus that she needs to stomp into the ground. Like she hinted that she would, when she gave us a direct order to stay out of her bed, even though it helped her sleep better.
Which means, even with Jean-Jacques appearing out of nowhere, now's still not the time to bring it up. We need that knighthood, and then we need the Germanian title after that.
And while we're trying work out how to noble up enough to court her without getting shot down immediately, she's off visiting her childhood friend and her childhood crush. There's no knowing what their renewed acquaintance will lead to, before she comes back to the Academy. We can be sure and certain, though, that the palace will have beautiful gardens and whatnot where Louise can be escorted and admire the flowers and birds and engage in demure conversation with her precious Jean-Jacques who needs to rot and die.
The vision of such a tête–à–tête brought a snarl to his lips, before Jason shook his head ruefully.
Okay, she's not the only one who can get jealous.
And let's face it: With her snarling in the background, things would have been really awkward if we'd actually been trying to put the moves on Siesta. Or Jessica. Or Elena. Or-
Anyway. Doesn't that imply that if we're the one snarling in the background it'll be awkward for her? And with how we've been pushing the development of our psychic familiar connection . . . what if she were trying to have a moment, and we went all Abridged!Alucard in her head? 'Magic girl. Hey, magic girl! He's getting away!' etc.
Turnabout being fair play, what if she did the same to us?
This connection that we've been trying to strengthen . . . yeah, that's going to make things awkward as hell if we don't each approve of who the other's dating.
And Wardes isn't any good for her.
Or is he?
Well, her family would say that he's perfect for her. But he didn't want to support her desire to stay at the Academy, to learn as much as she can about magic. And magic is what makes the nobility, here.
Going by that line of thought, Jean-Jacques Wardes doesn't care if Louise is a strong noble or not.
Which might sound all sorts of romantic back stateside, if you look at it the right way. But here it means that he doesn't care if she reaches her full potential in the most valued aspect of her station in life. Pretty sure that's not good.
So he's not good for her, not unless he gets his attitude checked. And that doesn't have anything to do with how we feel about him personally. We don't approve.
And as long as we're no more than a thought away from our little mistress, anytime one of us doesn't approve, things are going to get complicated.
Speaking of being a thought away, though-
[little mistress][,][are you up][?]
[Jason][?][i am eating breakfast].[have you finished your morning jog][?]
He grimaced and looked out the window. Going by the position of the sun, there wasn't time to jog if he wanted a real breakfast.
[i woke up too late to jog] he admitted.
There was a pause, and if Jason couldn't see her unamused glare, he could imagine it almost well enough to feel it.
[so you decided to be lazy while your master was away][?]
[no][,][i was helping mister colbert clean up his lab after an experiment went wrong yesterday morning].[it took all afternoon and tired me out]
[you could not get the maids to help clean up][?]
He blinked. Why hadn't they-? Oh, of course. [the maids would not know how to be careful with machines that he might be able to fix].[that stuff can be delicate][,][and besides i was the one who suggested the experiment][,][although that was a few weeks ago]
[hmph].[very well, but make sure you find time to exercise later][!]
[i will] he promised. Wait, she's been jogging with us since getting back from the Inn, and isn't turnabout fair play? [so how did her highness react when you went jogging this morning before breakfast][?]
The pause was palpable, and Jason grinned. Called it!
[i did not] Louise finally admitted. [i took a bath with her highness instead].[everyone at the palace can bathe every day][,][because of the nobilia that diverts the water from the river]
[ah] And that sent his brain racing for a moment. Water towers just need pumps to get the water up high enough, gravity-driven pressure does the rest. And if you're on a river you could run a pump using a water-wheel. He glanced up at the central tower. How much of that space gets used, at the top? If some of it's empty then it might be possible to put a water tank there without ruining the aesthetics-
[Jason][?]
[sorry][,][just thinking about how water pumps work without magic][,][back where i am from].[does the academy use nobilia to run the bathhouses here][?]
[no][,][i heard that the academy uses natural springs][,][but those springs might have been created long ago].[the telluric flows that the alviss need can be used for things like that]
[really][?][that sounds interesting]
[dont be too curious about that] Louise replied immediately. [my sister eléonore is one of tristains experts on geomancy][,][and she would like you even less than jean jacques]
He rolled his eyes. [lovely].[alright then][,][instead let me ask][,][how are you girls doing this morning][?]
[henrietta had nightmares while she slept][,][about all the ways that prince wales could have died yesterday].[i hate not being able to tell her][,][but i do not want to be the one who confirms that he is dead][!]
[i would not either] Jason admitted. [keeping our ability to communicate like this a secret could be a valuable advantage][,][but if you feel that it would be best you should tell her].[but please ask her to keep it confidential]
[i might][,][but not yet].[we could receive word today][,][after all]
[stick with her then][,][she will probably need comfort when word arrives]
[i will].[we are going to spend some of the morning working on the wand formula[,][but after that there is a regency meeting she has to attend]
[a meeting][?][will it be about the projects her highness is trying to push through][?]
There was a pause. [she says they might come up]
[are you going to attend][?]
[i can][,][if i want to].[but she says it will be very dull]
[yeah][,][but they also serve who sit and debate]
Another pause. [what][?]
[before the meeting you should read the proposal and the examples of training that i wrote out for henrietta][,][then during it you can support her][,][especially if you can offer examples on what your parents would do].[she said they were the best qualified to train people][,][when we held our little councils in Bruxelles][,][right][?]
Again a pause.
[she says that is a wonderful idea][!][if i can say what mother would say][,][if she were attending][,][then no one will want to be seen disagreeing with her]
Jason grinned. [sounds like a plan].[anyway][,][i need to go get some food myself][,][and you are probably almost done eating][,][so i will let you get to the lab]
[very well][,][but dont get greedy about what you eat][!][if your maid tells me you are gorging on pizza and ice cream][,][i will]
[will what][?] he sent, after several seconds failed to bring forth whatever threat she considered dire enough to deter him from pigging out. Not that he was going to, of course.
[i will bite you][!] she finally decided.
Okay, that was almost threatening. [i look forward to it] he told her, smiling. [and remember][,][there is the spell from the headmaster waiting for you]
[i know][,][and i will look at it when i return in a few days].[but do not gorge][,][and stay out of trouble][!]
The very slight sense of pressure that accompanied their mental texting eased.
So now we're looking forward to getting bitten, huh? 'Cause it'd mean she was back here at arms length with us, and not over there with Jean-Jacques. Pathetic.
On the other hand, this casual psychic intimacy is going to be a problem, especially if it keeps developing. If, that is, we don't end up pair-bonding with our little mistress.
Okay, let's be honest, we've already pair-bonded with her. Otherwise Jean-Jacques wouldn't make us as jealous as we are. So if our interest remains unrequited, we need to get past anger and move on to bargaining.
Wait, wouldn't bargaining be a rebound fling? Dammit. Alright, onto depression!
Except we don't have internet and there's no emo music on the phone.
Dammit!
Hell, at this point we're overthinking things. Let's go downstairs and join Mr. Colbert for breakfast. Gotta give him even more ideas for stuff to invent, right?
"I'll admit that the games on your phone were enjoyable," the teacher said, as breakfast wound down and Jason pulled out his phone, "but shouldn't we be using the day more productively?"
"This isn't for playing, this time." Seconds later, the texting function was on-screen, and he held the phone horizontally to get the keyboard to expand. "See these letters, each in their own little box?"
"Letters?" Mr. Colbert peered at the screen closely. "In the script of your language, I presume."
"Yep." Jason nodded, then tapped several buttons. "See how, when I touch a letter, it shows up top, letting me type out words?"
The professor nodded. "Yes. Do you wish to alter an imito tabella to do something similar to paper? It would be an interesting project, but not my usual area of experimentation."
"No, I'm showing you this because the original form of typing was on machines. Push a button, and it engages tiny levers to poke a picture of a letter, pressing an ink ribbon against a sheet of paper and imprinting the form of the letter into the paper itself. The sheet of paper is on a roller which, when the button comes back up, moves slightly to make room for the next letter. When you run out of room on a line, you move the roller so that you're ready to start the next line."
"Hm." Mr. Colbert frowned. "You would need many buttons for this."
"One for each letter, number, and punctuation mark, yeah. Just like how my phone has it. And no matter where the buttons are on your keyboard, the letters that they control have to hit the exact same spot, so that you can type out something readable. It'll require intricate and elegant design."
"And that is the code used to catch my interest, of course," the professor stated with a wry smile.
Jason shrugged. "There's more room in the lab for new projects, after clearing out the wreckage yesterday. They turn out to be pretty useful, and once someone has enough practice, you can type out what someone's saying as fast as they can say it. Faster, if you know them well enough to guess what they were going to say in the first place."
"Indeed? Very well, I shall give it some thought."
"Okay. Uh, there was something else I thought you might want to try. It's not as dangerous as gun-cotton, at least."
Mr. Colbert gave him a hard look. "That's an interesting comparison. Is this also a weapon?"
"It . . . could be. Maybe. It was a toy back in my homeland, a way to play at war without risking much in the way of injury. But here, with windstones, it might become a useful weapon."
"Windstones." A pair of eyebrows went up.
"Yeah, windstones. See, you can slowly force air into a container, and it'll pack in, like fresh bread being squeezed flat. Or maybe like a spring, because if you let the air out it comes out of the container pretty quickly. And if you use that to push a bullet down a tube, you get something that doesn't shoot with nearly the force of a real gun, but'll still sting if it hits.
"But use windstones to help push it, and you might be able to get that bullet moving fast enough to injure. Or even kill. It's a way to have a gun without having to carry around gunpowder, so no suddenly dying 'cause a Fire mage twirled his wand."
The teacher looked off into nowhere for a long moment. "To move air . . . and your people must do this purely through machines, correct? Since they lack magic?"
"Uh, yeah."
"That sounds like an interesting challenge." Mr. Colbert shook his head. "I shall have to give it a good deal of thought. Have you any other notions this morning?"
Jason flushed. "I know, I'm giving you too much to pursue at once, but . . . okay, there's this thing my people do, where water is pumped into high towers. And because water doesn't compress very well – not like air! – it can sent through pipes to individual buildings to provide running water. I can show you the basic principle behind it with a flexible tube and a pair of buckets."
The teacher blinked. "Elevating water? Would that not flood, like rivers coming off the mountains in spring?"
"You'd think so, but because water doesn't compress, there's only so much pressure you can get in pipes from the natural downward flow. If the pipes are strong enough, they prevent the flooding from happening. But you do want to be careful, cause leaks can be bad news. Uh, lead should never be used, it poisons your brain and slowly drives you crazy-"
"That is a known property of lead, yes," Mr. Colbert agreed. "Many believe it contributed to the fall of the Romalian empire."
Another parallel. Huh. "Good to know. We use steel and plastic, back home, but the steel has to be treated so it won't rust, and I'm not sure the plastic samples I gave are strong enough." Jason frowned. Martin Padway used copper pipes to reinvent brandy 'cause he specifically called out lead as unsafe. Did de Camp do his research well enough-? "I think copper is a safe pipe material."
The professor smiled. "Given the sheer number of pots and pans made out of copper, I suspect you're right."
"Great. Anyway, put in a valve with a handle, and you can control whether water is flowing through a particular pipe. Put one of those valves in a kitchen, at the end of a pipe, and as long at the high tower has water in it, whoever is in the kitchen has running water whenever they want. Cooking, cleaning, bathing . . . even drinking, if the water is clean enough."
"Is that why you've always insisted on hauling several buckets of water up to your master's bedroom?" Mr. Colbert asked. "We've thought it quite odd, as word spread, but if you're accustomed to having fresh water whenever you desire it . . . is this something everyone has, in your homeland?"
"Very nearly," Jason confirmed with a nod. "I honestly don't how how long we've been doing piped water for, but it's gotta be at least a century. At least in the cities. Part of the trick is making sure there's enough clean water, like how Bruxelles can be such a large city because of its water sources."
"Hmm, yes." The professor's eyes narrowed. "Is it all boiled, to cleanse it? That would require a great deal of fuel, without magic. No, surely the demand for water would be too high . . ."
"No, we filter it. Sand and other layers. We briefly covered it in school, when I was very young, and I'm afraid I don't remember what else is used." He shrugged. "Doesn't matter in the immediate future, for all that I wouldn't mind being able to shower instead of having to wipe myself down with rags."
Mr. Colbert blinked. "Do you mean washing yourself by letting water fall on you, as if you were in the rain?"
"Yeah, although maybe closer to standing under a gentle waterfall than getting rained on. I've even made some sketches for the idea, but trying to retrofit it into the toilet room off of Louise's bedchamber looks like it'd be too hard to manage."
"Sketches." There was a certain long-suffering element in the way the word was spoken. "If you will provide them to me, I'll endeavor to try to make sense of them."
Jason grinned sheepishly. "I'll try to clean them up first-"
He was cut off as Siesta opened the door to the lab.
"Good, you're still here!" she exclaimed. "Come with me, everyone's ready!"
He blinked. "Uh, this soon?" She's talking about the reading, right?
Mr. Colbert raised an eyebrow. "Jason, may I ask what's transpiring?"
"Oh, right. I promised Siesta I'd do a dramatic reading for the maids, in exchange for a favor. She even said it'd be after breakfast, but honestly I hadn't expected her to arrange it so quickly, though."
"You silly goose!" she interjected with a fond smile. "There's less to do in the summer, remember? When I explained it yesterday everyone agreed that they'd help clean up from breakfast so that we'd have enough time before we had to start preparing for luncheon."
The professor chuckled. "Well, if you've made a promise, then by all means you should honor it."
"True, true," Jason replied with a wry grin. The worth of your integrity is one of the few things that no one else can destroy, after all. Even if your reputation can cause others to misvalue it. "Lead on, Macduff!"
Siesta wrinkled her nose. "Who?"
He flushed. "Sorry, guess the translation didn't work right. Lead the way." Then, to Mr. Colbert: "Gun testing after lunch?"
"Indeed!" came the reply, as the maid took the familiar's hand and led him out the door.
"We're not going to the dining hall?" Jason asked, as Siesta led him away from the main tower.
She shook her head. "No, the Alviss have it to themselves all summer, and they get upset if anyone trespasses. This way!" With that, she sped up a bit, pulling on his hand hard enough that he was almost tempted to break into a jog.
They went out the gate, and into the scattered buildings that supported the commoners and livestock who lived to serve the Academy.
Then Jason almost dug his heels, when he saw the building they were approaching: The dormitory for the maids. DefCon level . . . hell, we dunno, but we definitely need to be on our guard!
And yep, Siesta pulled him inside, and then through a door that was on the opposite side as the hall into the rooms where the maids bunked.
There, in a small auditorium, sitting on the floor and packed wall-to-wall, were a veritable sea of alarmingly pretty women dressed in the black and white uniforms that the Academy maids used. Some of the faces he knew by sight, mostly the laundresses that he saw when dropping off dirty clothes and picking up fresh. And Annabelle was also there, the older woman looking rather amused by the whole business.
And as Jason entered, nearly every face turned towards him and Siesta as she led him by the hand to the front of the room.
"Siesta's brought her beau!" someone whispered to one of the few faces that hadn't turned to look. Naturally, said whisper just happened to be uttered in a lull between the sounds of rustling fabric, and the proof that everyone had heard it was given in the titters that swept the room.
We'll clear that up later, he thought, trying not to flush and only being partly successful, as he faced them all and his escort handed him the book and quickly sat down in the front row. If we need to, that is.
"Settle down, ye layabouts!" Annabelle called out. "Quiet, 'afore I decide it's back to work with ye all!"
The murmuring and titters subsided rather quickly after that.
Jason smiled nervously. Well, at least this is a friendly audience. Not like addressing a bunch of fellow high-schoolers who'd rather be anywhere else. "Hi everyone. Siesta asked me to read The Lady and the Dungeon to y'all. And," he shrugged, "if we get through it fast enough and Annabelle says it's fine, I suppose I could read another book after that."
Wait a sec-! "Er, one of the Pierre the Pirate books, that is."
More than one maid pouted upon hearing the qualification, and he did his best to avoid rolling his eyes.
Instead he opened the book. Then hesitated. A certain spiteful desire arose to try to imitate Jean-Jacques for the villain's voice, but . . .
No, let's face it, if you want to do a smexy villain there's really only one choice, especially when he's tossing girls into dungeons. And . . . huh, hadn't noticed that she was his guest for dinner before he captured her.
"'Thank you for your hospitality, Herr Reitgerte,'" Jason began, in soft dulcet tones, copied from that silly pony cartoon some of his younger cousins loved. (At least babysitting them had been easier when it was on!) "'This journey has been most tiring until now.'
"'Oh, you precious thing,'" because if he was trying to do David-Bowie-as-Jareth then he was damn well going to insert some Goblin King lines where he could, "'you're welcome to stay as my guest for as long as your health requires . . .'"
Louise woke up feeling like something was missing.
Obviously it wasn't her familiar, even if she had pretended that her pillow was his chest and shoulder a third time. (And it wasn't disloyal to Jean-Jacques to pretend like that. Not when he hadn't sought to reconcile with her at all the previous afternoon!) No, clearly it was from being by herself the rest of the day after her Highness had chosen solitude.
Perhaps she'd become used to practicing by herself during her First Form year, but she'd clearly gotten out of the habit after having her familiar around all spring. The sense of loneliness felt stronger than ever, after that.
But Henrietta had said they'd spend more time together, and maybe Jean-Jacques would finally come by to apologize for his harsh words. And if the visit was spoiled, then she could always return to the Academy and work on the spell that Jason had told her about. Besides, if she was still feeling lonely when she returned, he probably wouldn't complain if she sat in his lap to practice, like she used to do with Father when he was having her show her progress in reading. That wouldn't be disloyal, either, not even if she happened to fall asleep and he put her to bed, once again just like Father.
It was an enticing thought, sending sudden warmth flooding through her . . . but then Louise remembered that they hadn't received word of Prince Wales' death yet. It might even arrive today! She couldn't abandon Princess Henrietta when such sad news was imminent!
So instead she got out of bed and made her way to the palace baths. Only in Tristain, the Blessed Realm of Water, could even the Royal family have their own personal baths, for immediate use whenever they pleased . . . although Jason was obsessive about it, washing himself from those buckets he brought up every night. And even if he no longer looked ready to keel over once he had those buckets up the stairs, it still made him sweat enough that she could smell it on his shirts when she held them so that she could sleep through the night. (Or when she wearing them, which was even better but probably not something she should keep doing now that her fiancé was starting to court her.)
But such thoughts cut off as she entered Her Highness's bathing chamber, and found Henrietta sitting still in the pool, staring at nothing, not even swirling the heated water around her.
"I-is everything-" Louise began nervously, then swallowed. Had news already arrived? "Can I join you?"
The princess twitched at those words, but then nodded. "Please, yes," she said softly. "I shouldn't like to be alone right now."
Which was very unlike her, so Louise quickly doffed her chemise and joined her friend. "What happened?" she asked, pulling up some water with Flow to swirl around them both.
Henrietta sighed. "Nothing that I know of," she admitted, staring down into the water, "but my dreams last night were awful. So many ways that Prince Wales could die, defending Newcastle, and we shall not know his fate until he sends word or Reconquista boasts of their victory."
Louise flinched, grateful that her Highness wasn't looking at her. It was going to be sad enough, when they received word, and having to pretend that she didn't already know-!
"Everything will be fine, surely," she offered, leaning against the princess and offering a hug, one that was quickly returned. "Their plan seemed a solid one, and Reconquista was facing a Lord of one of the elements, backed by his Relics-"
"Thank you," came the reply, "but I know you too well: You're worried about them too."
There wasn't really anything to say to that.
Breakfast was a little better, with Henrietta determined to keep the topic focused on what she was doing, and away from all things Albion . . . and then Jason contacted her through their familiar link, and the thought of being there during the Regency meeting, offering whatever support she could-!
"Is that all they do?" Louise demanded incredulously, once they finally escaped the Council. "You said that Count Motte's man was tedious, but surely even he wasn't so bad! And we never had time to bring up our agenda, after hours of them going over the same few things again and again!"
"There hadn't been a Regency Council until my father died," Her Highness replied, frowning. "Not for over a century. So the Regents dispute every decision, until they gather the allies they need to call for a vote. They accomplished more during luncheon than the rest of it."
Upon hearing that, a flash of rage raced through her, and her eyes narrowed. "None of them even approached you, their future Queen, while we ate. No wonder Mother and Father refuse to attend these councils!"
Henrietta looked around, to be sure no one was nearby as they hurried through the halls. "Your mother was here, the very first time," she said, then giggled. "When it was her turn to speak, she demanded to know what my mother thought, and then demanded that we all follow Her Majesty's will. And soon Mother asked her to return home, so she wouldn't be required to decide matters all the time. That's why she wanted a Regency Council to begin with!"
Louise shook her head as they arrived in her friend's bedchamber. "And so they talk themselves hoarse instead. And while they waste time-"
She broke off as a bird rapped on the window.
Her Highness quickly let it in, and relieved it of the message scroll. Then:
"What is this? That bird had the markings of a Bruxelle messenger, but this has been sealed by Air!"
Sealed by Air?! But that- "You mean-?!"
Henrietta pressed the Ring of Water to the seal, then unrolled it slightly. "It is!" she exclaimed, joyfully. "It's from him!"
This was wonderful! But how was it possible?! Jason had told her that Prince Wales had been on the brink of death when he'd escaped Newcastle, and she'd been dreading the hour when the news arrived. But for a letter to arrive now? It must have been penned after the battle, which meant that he'd survived!
The only question was how, when no potion could work once the malice of a slow poison ruined the stomach, blocking antidotes from-
Brimir! His Highness had given Jason a potion that was a vapor, rather than a liquid. It worked by being breathed in to the lungs, rather than swallowed down into the belly! They must have come up with an antidote that worked on similar principles, and if he'd survived just long enough for the vapors to take effect-
It explained how Jason was able to escape from Newcastle as well. No doubt King James had been too distracted by the desperate efforts to save his son's life, and her familiar had found Dame Tabitha and left with her – and Zerbst, most likely – before he could hear the good news about Prince Wales' survival.
And with all night to rest and recover, the Heir to the Throne of Air would have been able to support his father during the battle, just as they'd planned. Reconquista would have been dealt such a blow-
"Louise Françoise?" Her Highness whispered suddenly. "You stiffened up, as if in shock. What's wrong?"
She shook her head. "Nothing," she murmured back. "I was worried, because they had a battle to win, and it was no certain thing, and the longer the wait for news-"
Henrietta pulled back just enough to give her a searching look, but then nodded. "Come! Let us retire to my study and we shall read his missive together."
Naturally, before reading the letter, they had to secure the study. But her Highness knew all the ways she might be spied on, and Discreet Room was but one of several spells she cast to ensure their privacy. That accomplished, the Ring of Water was employed to unseal the letter.
My dearest and beloved Henrietta, it began.
"Oh, you wicked man," the princess breathed. "I told you I was to marry Prince Atma!"
But there was still an affectionate smile on her face as she said it, Louise couldn't help but note. Which brought a bit of a scowl to her face. What kind of example was that for the princess to be setting, to be pleased by the improper blandishments of a man not her intended? Were it made public, how many maidens of weaker disposition might be tempted to entertain similarly improper and disloyal notions?
Clearly they were fortunate that she herself was the only witness to this sudden display. After all, they'd both known Prince Wales from childhood, when he'd visited from Albion and been sent to keep them company. And perhaps out of mischief as well, although if their parents had harbored such hopes they'd been sorely misplaced. They were all friends, and therefore friendly affection was natural, no matter how it might be interpreted by idle courtiers with nothing to do with their lives but gossip and foment scandal!
Not that those rumor-spreading courtiers would have time for it any longer, once they were shipped off to her parents for training as Undine Knights.
And if Henrietta had once harbored more mature inclinations towards her cousin, as she grew from a child into maidenhood, that was before Reconquista appeared and Tristain's relatively small size made the nation such a vulnerable and enticing target for invasion. There was almost nothing she couldn't do when she was determined to accomplish her goals (as Louise knew full well!), so now that she was to marry Atma Tharoor she would set aside any lingering infatuation with Prince Wales for sentiments more appropriate to her childhood friend.
"I know I called him wicked," Her Highness suddenly said, "but you need not scowl so! It's nothing more than a reminder of happier and more innocent days."
Louise gave her friend a faintly disbelieving look. "Innocent?" she murmured. "When I had to lie in the bed and pretend to be you?"
Which reminder brought some healthy color to Henrietta's face. "Y-you were there to chaperone most of our trysts!" she rejoined. "So you can bear witness to the propriety of our conduct, should it be made public!"
Most. The sudden thought of what might have occurred during unchaperoned trysts brought a matching flush to her face. "You already admitted to conduct unbecoming to a maiden!" she accused. "And that was merely then. What others-?"
The flush on her Highness's face deepened. "That was just the one time!" she insisted. "It was our last time together, before Reconquista arose and began plaguing Albion. The other times, we were young, and too shy to dare more than hold each other, and trade kisses!"
Louise was still suspicious. Some of the books that she'd borrowed from Siesta had strange notions of where kisses might be traded, and if some of those notions were clearly the result of a fevered imagination, others weren't so disturbing. (And perhaps explained why Zerbst's unfairly large bosom helped make her so popular, if men truly did like to-!)
But she shook her head. It was all in the past, after all. Henrietta hadn't yet pledged herself to the Imperial Heir, and as long as she'd avoided public scandal . . . well, perhaps trading kisses wasn't too bad a thing.
As long as the princess's newly-intended never found out.
"It was all in the past," she finally agreed. "But now you've announced your betrothal, so of course it won't happen any more."
"Of course," her Highness agreed. Then smiled impishly. "Just as you won't be snuggling up to your familiar once you confirm your own betrothal to Captain Wardes."
Louise blushed crimson. "Th-that's d-different!" she insisted. "I-I h-haven't been s-sneaking off w-with him to st-strange places-"
"Like the Charming Faerie Inn?"
Somehow, she managed to flush an even deeper red. "You s-sent us there!"
Henrietta's eyes twinkled, making the impish expression look even more terrifying(to anyone who knew her, at least!). "And since then Agnes has reported a pair of truly diverting conversations with the head of the faeries. Jessica, wasn't that her name? Did you know that commoners have some utterly fascinating notions about mages and their familiars?"
"Her cousin works at the Academy." Stupid commoners and their stupid notions! And stupid Bruxelles, where some of the more depraved nobles probably would do all that. "But familiars can't be turned into humans, so it doesn't matter."
"But yours-"
"Just go back and read the letter, before someone wonders why we need all this privacy!" Stupid Jason! Who could have guessed that, as his conditioning improved, his over-sized body would reveal broad shoulders that were as nice to cuddle into as they were unfashionable? Or that his arms would give such comforting hugs, as muscle acquired both from bucket-hauling and what he called 'push-ups' began to replace fat?
Maybe she could persuade Jean-Jacques to spend more time in the gymnasium? Perhaps Father could help with that persuasion, since he also maintained a more muscular physique than was strictly fashionable. To help when fighting orcs, he always said, but Cattleya had once told her that their mother preferred how he looked. (So liking broad shoulders wasn't strange at all! Not if Mother had the same tastes, no matter how unfashionable!)
"So, are you going to read it with me?"
"Yes." Because that way she wouldn't get lost in thought again, and give Henrietta an excuse to tease her further!
My dearest and beloved Henrietta,
Today has been one to try the spirit of even the most resolved. As Miss Vallière has no doubt revealed, we expected to be attacked today, and we were. But Reconquista, as determined as they were, had not expected my presence this day, and when their reserve fleet was committed and my Royal father faltered, I stood there beside him to take command and ravage them.
It was a hard-fought battle, but the memory of our happier days sustained me, and we proved triumphant.
We will be many days recovering from the fight, especially with the ships that we are salvaging from the battle, but I confess, I am overcome by the desire to meet you once more, to be certain that you are as safe as my beloved country.
As I said, there is much to do, and I shall have no time to spare in days to come. But this missive shall reach you tomorrow afternoon, and tomorrow evening I shall make my way to the cherry thicket where we met years ago. I pray that you shall indulge me and wait for me there.
Yours in everlasting affection,
Wales Tudor
Two pairs of eyes were wide as they finished the letter.
Then Louise closed hers. "You can't go," she said, quietly and sadly. "You know what he'll want from you."
"I can't not go," Henrietta countered, equally quietly, but full of longing. "Not after my dreams of his death last night."
Dreams that would have proven all too real, if the poison that Jason had mentioned hadn't been neutralized. And of course Prince Wales hadn't even mentioned it!
"And to send the letter from somewhere in Bruxelles . . . he must have flown to the city to deliver it, so he's already here! I can't send him away without at least meeting him!"
"But how will you slip away to join him?" Louise asked. "Jean-Jacques hasn't approached us, not even during the Council meeting," or luncheon, which had her feeling quite peeved when she dwelt on it, "but his men have been keeping a discreet eye on us all day."
"As they always do," the princess replied, unconcerned. "Agnes has helped me give them the slip often enough, I'm sure the two of us can manage this afternoon!"
That was not a thought that made her feel any better. Jean-Jacques was already upset enough at the idea of keeping secrets from him, and if she helped her Highness and they got caught-
"Besides, surely he'll have your familiar with him, and you'll want to hear how the battle went!"
Louise flushed. She was still very suspicious about the desire to meet in a cherry thicket – they'd already fruited and been harvested, which meant His Highness wished a private meeting – and if the two royals went off by themselves for that, leaving her by herself with Jason-
She flushed again, warmth flooding through her. Yes, she did miss her familiar, even after just a couple of days of separation. But he was at the Academy, so he wouldn't be with Prince Wales-
But if she still went along, then she could act as a much-needed chaperone.
It was sad. She'd grown up thinking that the two would one day marry, for Henrietta almost always got her way eventually. It had seemed romantic, and Wales had always been the third son, with a degree of freedom his older brothers lacked. But all that was over, now. And this . . . this would probably be the last time the two of them would ever be able to be alone together.
It would be nice to give them their privacy, so that they could say their farewells as they wished, but it would also invite disaster. So even if she wasn't going to get to see Jason, she would still have to come along.
"Of course I'll come with you!" Louise promised, her mind made up. "You're not leaving me to hide under the covers again!"
"Of course I'm not!" Henrietta agreed. "They already figured that trick out, remember?"
"I remember. Then, what's our plan?"
The princess smiled. "Agnes arranged for a way in, if she needed to reach me quickly. We'll use that as our way out! But first, we need to go back to my bedchamber and dress in something more suitable for a quick walk outside."
Louise looked down at herself and nodded. The dresses that they'd worn to the (utterly pointless) Regency meeting had been appropriate to the occasion. And hers even made her look slightly more mature, she fancied, implying a bosom perhaps slightly more developed than what was strictly true. But they weren't what anyone would want to wear to go sneaking outside the city to stroll through the nearby woods.
And changing out of her dress into a new one gave her an opportunity to talk to her familiar without falling into odd silences.
[Jason][!][i have wonderful news][!]
[Louise][?] came the reply. [what is going on][?]
[we just received a letter from prince wales][!][he survived][!]
There was a pause.
[what][?][!]
[i know you were there][,][and it looked like he was dying][,][but using that new method to deliver an antidote was]
Louise stopped for a moment, unable to decide on an appellation strong enough for the good news.
[clever][,][yes]
And that was her familiar, jesting with humorous understatement. [it was brilliant][!] she corrected.
[okay][,][i will allow brilliant].[it was certainly a desperate moment]
That was true. [and after the battle][,][he came here and sent a letter to her highness].[they are going to meet this evening][!]
[he sent a letter]
[sealed as a lord of air][,][so that she had to use the ring of water to unseal it]
[oh].[well that is] A pause. [that is very good]
[it is wonderful] Louise sent as a correction. [and i will be there to make sure they are well behaved]
[i see] Jason replied. [Louise][i think i am about to be very busy].[can we continue this in a little while][?]
[of course][!] She was about finished dressing anyway, so they probably needed to wait until she and Henrietta found their way to the cherry thicket.
[thank you] he sent. [over and out]
Over and-? An odd phrase, but they weren't leaving each other, so a farewell wasn't precisely appropriate. Was it something his people used, in the signals that the two of them were mimicking?
Louise shrugged to herself as she secured a traveler's cape around her neck, somewhat more rugged than the capes worn at the Academy to announce their status. For now, she would need to concentrate on keeping up with her Highness, and that had never been easy.
In hindsight, Jason reflected, making his escape after lunch, four Pierre the Pirate books, and a quick note written for Jessica about that minstrel, leading off with the voice from a guy who was well known for melting panties might have been a mistake. Oh well, it was fun and there's still plenty of afternoon left for firearms testing.
"This is somewhat later than I expected," Mr. Colbert immediately pointed out.
A sheepish smile was offered. "It turned out that some of their older books hadn't been read by any of them," except possibly Annabelle, but the head laundress hadn't said one way or another, "so they kept demanding that I read 'just one more'. Hell, I even ended up doing a reading in the kitchens while lunch was being made."
"But you're prepared now to focus on testing the weapons?"
"Yeah." The smile left Jason's face. "Honestly, I should have taken your offer to arm myself before the trip, but . . . well, next time I won't be so foolish."
"Mm." The teacher gestured toward the table that held everything they'd been working on. Fortunately, it had been on the other end of the room from the gun-cotton experiment, and everything on it had come through unscathed. "Prepare your rounds. And this time, we shall be using full powder loads."
"Full powder. Right." The thought was a bit scary – black powder wasn't nearly as volatile as gun-cotton, but the stuff was still explosive – but it made sense. The only way to know if the revolvers worked was a live fire test. Besides, we're not making the rounds with anything that'll spark. So we're relatively safe.
Despite the thought, there was still a fraught sense to it as Jason prepared the waxed paper, loading bullet and then powder, and twisting the back of the round closed.
"Alright, beginning assembly." The parts of the revolver hadn't, as far as he could tell, been altered while he was on the trip to Albion. Which meant he really could have gone armed, and not been forced to run away from those thugs when the ship had been attacked in La Rochelle.
But there wasn't any point in going over past mistakes, and he would be armed going forward, so Jason focused on assembling the revolver.
Then, as he got to the last piece, he paused. A feeling of . . . anticipation? Yes, that's what it was, anticipation welling up inside as the revolver was completed. And then it was time to load the revolver, with full powder loads for the very first time, the sense of anticipation veritably singing inside, rising up to a culmination as-
Auxilia were the subject of much contemplation and study. Which was inevitable, as the powers possessed by familiars, however useful to their masters, exhibited no particular need to conform to the elemental themes of spellcasting. Indeed, there was no known system that could predict the powers of any given familiar, although there was a great deal of accumulated observation that modern mages could peruse to determine what their familiars were likely to be able to do.
When it came to humans, however, there was no available accumulation of lore. There was no telling when a particular power might suddenly manifest. Anything might conceivably act as the trigger to discover a power.
AWARENESS(weapon-in-hand).
. . .
If, that is, the human familiar in question had been the one chosen, and not an unsuitable fluke of a mistake.
-as nothing happened. Other than a moderate sense of vertigo.
"Jason?" Mr. Colbert asked, sounding concerned, as he stood there and swayed. "Is something wrong?"
He shook his head and straightened up. "Sorry. Felt dizzy for a bit. Like something was supposed to happen."
AWARENESS(weapon-in-hand).
. . .
AWARENESS(weapon-in-hand).
AWARENESS(weapon-in-hand).
AWARENESS(weapon-in-hand).
AWARENESS(weapon-in-hand).
AWARENESS(weapon-in-hand).
AWARENESS(weapon-in-hand)-
"Do you wish to continue the test?" the professor inquired.
"Yeah, yeah, I just – I need to find the best grip for holding the revolver. Isn't helping that my left hand is suddenly itching."
Mr. Colbert suddenly chuckled. "I suspect you're simply feeling a bit nervous, now that the time has come to fully test it. So find your best grip, but do not delay too long."
"Right." Jason glared down at the gun in his hand. "Hell with it. This thing's jumping a good two centuries of research and development. We can worry about perfection after we prove it's possible. Got some targets?"
That got a pleased smile, and then a wave of a staff and a silent Levitate to clear a lane through the lab, leading to a large target set up against the far wall. "I assume you're sufficiently experienced to hit it from here?"
"Uh-" Fair question, seeing as how we haven't done hardly any shooting since starting college. Officer Burland would be disappointed at how out of practice we've gotten.
Does he still sponsor the youth group at church? Can't remember . . . the twins are probably running him ragged, if he is.
Which didn't concern the here-and-now. The victim-disarmament policy at the university that left him so out of practice, on the other hand . . . "I'll admit to letting my shooting skills, uh, mildew? But I ought to be able to hit the target, if not the center."
"Mm. Discharge when you're ready, then."
Jason nodded, set his feet to hopefully absorb recoil, took aim with both hands, and slowly squeezed the trigger, doing his best not to anticipate the shot . . . what are we forgetting about gun safety? It's been so long, we're surely forgetting-
A loud bang rang out, and a thick cloud of smoke erupted from the gun. Quite a bit more than he was expecting, and he bent over, coughing, as a stray wisp managed to reach him just as he breathed in.
"Are you well?" Mr. Colbert was suddenly there, helping him straighten up.
"It was-" he broke off as he began coughing again. Several moments later: "I knew the previous powder loads weren't full, but that was a lot more smoke than I'd expected."
"I thought you had some familiarity with guns." The older man waved his staff and Levitated over a mug of water, which was gratefully downed. "Was I in error?"
Jason shook his head and set the now-empty mug down on the table. "No, it's just that everyone back home uses smokeless powder. Black powder is only used by hobbyists, and it wasn't my hobby. So I honestly wasn't expecting quite so much smoke from one shot."
"I see." Mr. Colbert frowned. "Does that mean there's a secret to safely preparing gun-cotton? Surely no one would willingly face death daily by preparing it. Not unless they were slaves or prisoners, set to work unwillingly."
"No, no!" came the quick reply. "We don't need to keep slaves to make modern propellants. You just have to know exactly how to do it." He winced ruefully. "Which I don't, because even hobbyists don't make their own. Better to leave it to the professionals."
"Mm. Experimenting to discover the secret will take time and care, unless a sample can be obtained for duplication and analysis. It's a pity that you didn't bring a revolver with you when you were summoned."
The professor then gestured downrange, where the target they'd set up nearby had a small hole near one edge. "Nonetheless, you did hit the target, if not the center. You may discharge again when you're ready."
"Right." Yeah, trying to bring firearms through customs in multiple countries. That would have been a wonderful experience. But this isn't the time to wander off topic. So Jason re-cocked the revolver, watching as the cylinder turned, took a deep breath, and fired again. And this time he was careful not to inhale any smoke. As soon as the new cloud of smoke cleared he fired a third time, and repeated the process until every round had been discharged and the cylinder was emptied.
Then he glared at the target, now sporting six holes in wildly different spots. "I am badly out of practice." And the back of his left hand was still itching.
"That may be my own lack of skill as a gunsmith," Mr. Colbert pointed out. "Only the very best pistols are accurate beyond more than a few paces."
"I guess." Which means we need to figure out how he can shape metal more precisely with magic. Geometry or calculus, depending.
"Besides," the teacher went on, "if we wish accuracy at long distances, that's what the 'rifle' is for, is it not?"
Jason frowned, and gave the target another glare. "I hope so. Even out of practice, that was a pretty sad showing."
Mr. Colbert chuckled as he took the pistol, pulled out the cylinder, and inspected the chambers. "And once again the waxed paper has burned away adequately. Not that I expected differently."
"Yeah, it'd be odd if the full powder charge left anything behind, when the blanks didn't." A sigh. "I have to admit, I still don't like having the percussion cap separate."
The professor raised an eyebrow. "Because that's an earlier design? Your mundane percussion caps can only be used once, so it makes sense to have them be part of each round. With these, it only makes sense to keep using them until the firestone component is exhausted."
"Right, I get that. But as long as we're using firestones then the soldiers are going to be dependent on magic, and if their firestones exhaust themselves and there aren't replacements they'll be up a shit creek without a paddle."
Mr. Colbert stared at him, then burst out laughing.
"That is – not," he got out, between chuckles, "a metaphor I've ever heard. But," he continued, more soberly, "these firestone pebbles should provide sparks for hundreds of shot before needed to be replenished. Surely there would be ample opportunity to have them seen to between engagements."
"You'd think so," Jason agreed, "but once we've got this level of technology proved out, we're not too far from the point where most shots are used, not to try to kill someone on the other side, but to keep them immobile, behind defenses, and not in a position to shoot back while your own forces maneuver to better positions. In at least one of our wars it actually got to the point where thousands of rounds were discharged for every round that was actually used to injure or kill an enemy soldier."
The response was a raised eyebrow. "That seems wasteful."
"Uh-" Well, he has a point. "Fair enough. America's been better at logistics than-"
"At lodging?" Mr. Colbert interrupted quizzically. "How does that pertain to firearms?"
"Wha-? Uh, I think we've hit a translation snag. 'Logistics' is the term we use for provisioning and supplying groups of people, particularly when they can't be sustained by local resources. 'Lodging' is probably the origin of the term, but there's more to it than just finding shelter for soldiers."
The professor looked off into the distance. "Your soldiers all use guns instead of spears, correct? Or do they use both?"
Jason nodded. "Spears have been replaced, yeah. Although you can put a spear blade on the end of a rifle, just in case someone gets close enough."
"But charging a company who can discharge their rifles at you every few heartbeats would not be the same as charging a group of skirmishers who have time to fire once and maybe twice. So needing to use rifles as spears would be an exceptional event. You lack magic, you use your 'railroads' instead of airships . . . I should not be at all surprised that your people made a science of provisioning."
Mr. Colbert's gazed focused back onto the hear-and-now. "But for the foreseeable future, swift provisioning shall be limited by the availability of airships, so we should not plan on vast expenditures of ammunition."
"Yeah, but there's gonna be times where soldiers get cut off from someone willing to recharge their firestones. Then they'll be in trouble. If we could figure out the mundane version, we could prevent that."
"I take your point, but experimenting with quicksilver is dangerous, and a simple Shield may not yield adequate protection. Let us make progress where we may, first."
Jason shrugged. "Alright, fair enough. Speaking of progress, since you held off on the revolvers 'till I got back, get anything done with the rifle?"
The professor grimaced. "I still haven't gotten the 'magazine' to work, and most of the metal-clad rounds won't fit into the rifle itself. The last few days have been frustrating, which was why I'd thought to distract myself by experimenting with gun-cotton. But I did complete one, barrel and all. If you like, you may discharge a few rounds through the rifle, so that you can be the first to shoot with it as well."
"Yeah, might as well."
Without the repeater components working, it was just a single-shot rifle. But it was still a breach-loaded rifle, which meant Jason didn't have to ram the bullet down the barrel. That alone was going to allow rapid rates of fire that no one would expect.
But once it was loaded (and his left hand started itching again), he stood there, feeling very uncomfortable. About like . . . well, he'd never thrown a frag grenade, but the description of the tension of having to pull the pin and then wait for a three-count before throwing, then damned if Kratman wasn't evocative when it came to training, because that's exactly what it felt like!
"Jason?"
He twitched. "Sorry, holding this is making me nervous for some reason."
"You were away while I finished putting this rifle together," Mr. Colbert pointed out. "If you wish to wait until we've gone over the design-"
"No, no!" because suddenly turning into a Nervous Nellie was stupid, especially if it was because he hadn't been there while the older, smarter, far more experienced inventor had gone ahead with the initial build.
So after fiddling around, trying to find a grip that didn't feel quite so fraught (and ignoring more than one odd look), Jason pulled the trigger.
PAIN! screamed along his left arm as the rifle exploded, and the world went dark.
"Jason?"
The voice was loud, and urgent, and why was everything dark-?
Jason blinked, then immediately shut his eyes to protect them from light that was far too bright. "How long have I been out?" he groaned.
The light dimmed. "Not long," Mr. Colbert replied. "Although I did what I could to alleviate your discomfort before casting Awaken. How are you feeling?"
"I-" How are we-? We're lying on the ground, and- "I can't feel my left arm! What happened?!"
"Don't struggle," the teacher replied, lightly pushing him down as he started to try to get up to see the damage. "Your injuries were light, and your arm will be well. I did Numb it, because it will be sore for a while."
"Sore? What-" Jason paused. "The rifle exploded. While I was holding it. That's the last thing I remember before being knocked out and now waking up."
"Yes. You were fortunate. As I said, your injuries were light, and I treated them before Awakening you."
"I . . . it felt like I was holding a bomb in my hands. I guess that's not to far from the truth."
Mr. Colbert chuckled. "I suppose not. You seem coherent. Do you feel any dizziness?"
"No." Jason shook his head slightly. "Can I get up now?"
"Yes, make the attempt. But slowly, and without using your left arm, and halt if there is any sudden vertigo."
"Right."
Getting to his feet was easier said than done, using just one arm for leverage, but he managed in a minute or two. "So, what happened to my left arm, that you don't want me to put weight on it?"
"Several of the bones were dislocated," came the reply. "I thought it best to put them to right while you remained unconscious. Succor the Ailing should help your arm recover from the strain quickly, but don't be surprised if it's sore for the rest of the day, once Numb wears off."
He nodded. "Gotcha. Well, if that's all the damage from an exploding rifle, I'd say I was remarkably lucky. But we need to figure out a better way to test guns."
Mr. Colbert shrugged. "I would use Levitate and stand well back, if I were the one testing them. Shield won't work against something that you're holding. And it would take considerable time to adapt it, I'm afraid. Unless you have some other means, you may need to accept the risk."
Jason narrowed his eyes, frowning thoughtfully. "What about a string? Or twine, or a thin rope? Mount the rifle securely, have a good Shield up, pull the rope from a safe distance."
"Imitating the desired effect of Levitate," the teacher agreed, after a moment of thought. "Next time, we shall have to do that. But for now," he broke off and Levitated the remains of the rifle over, "let us examine what went wrong."
It was still in one piece, technically, but it was twisted into a U-shape, with a hole blasted through the metal at the bend.
"I think I see the bullet stuck in the barrel, just past the bend." Jason scratched his head. "Looks like it got stuck, and the exploding powder blasted out through a weak spot."
Mr. Colbert nodded thoughtfully, peering at the same point of failure. "I agree, that seems to be the case. We seem to have reached the limit of my gunsmithing skills, which is not particularly encouraging. Fortunately, you were lucky enough that the rifle did not explode across your arm."
"Like I said, it felt like I was holding a bomb. I was trying for the position that felt safest before I pulled the trigger."
"Mm. I've heard of poorly-built firearms exploding and killing their wielders," the teacher replied, "and of cannon overheating and injuring or killing their crews when they burst apart. So a bit of damage, easily treated, may well have been the safest outcome.
"Clearly, the barrel was too irregular to permit the bullet to pass through. Can you remember any hints for how we might address this, or have we reached the moment where we need to bring in a more experienced gunsmith?"
Jason hesitated. On the one hand, it's an entirely sensible suggestion. On the other, if we're scrambling for status, handing everything over to an expert means he'll be the one getting the design credit, and we'd just get kudos for an interesting idea.
On the gripping hand, the more people who know the details, the sooner it all gets out and the faster our enemies can copy the technology.
"Jason?"
"For the time being," he said slowly, "I think it's best if we continue to keep the details between us." Then he flexed his hand and winced. "Even if that means taking some risks because we're overly-enthusiastic amateurs."
That got a raised eyebrow and a slight smile from Mr. Colbert. "I see. Well, so long as you're willing to suffer the risks in order to pursue the rewards."
Dammit! But okay, the motivation there is kinda obvious. Still- "It's not just that, sir. A gunsmith would be using current techniques, but going by my people? About this time we'd switched over to machines for precision manufacturing. Stuff like drilling out the barrels of cannons and firearms from – I guess from blocks of metal? – instead of molds. Which means, if magic won't do, we might need to invent the tools to make rifles before making the actual rifles. Unless . . ."
"Unless what?"
"I tried to figure out basic magic theory a month or two ago, and couldn't wrap my head around it. But maybe . . . you use shapes to cast spells, so is there any point where geometric shapes are used in the effects of spells?"
That got a blink out of the teacher. "Geometric shapes? No gun is simple enough to be defined by such, not without using a truly enormous number of them."
Jason paused, then chuckled. "Yeah, you're right about that. Making complex shapes out of simple geometric forms is something that people have been working on for a while now, in our computer displays. Not easy, no. But what I was thinking about was trying to define the barrel mathematically, using something we call 'calculus'. So if there's a way to feed equations into a spell and get the result, we should look at that." He smiled wryly. "I'd have to teach you the math, of course, but as smart as you are you'd probably learn it faster than I could teach it."
Mr. Colbert stared off into the distance, not replying for a long moment.
Finally he shook his head. "No, the spells that I use to shape metal work according to what I imagine them doing. I would have to learn your 'calculus' so thoroughly that I could imagine with it, and surely that degree of comprehension would take time to learn."
Given that higher level math is a multi-year course of study, and you want to be fairly smart to attempt it in the first place? It was enough to sigh over. "Probably, yeah."
"You needn't sound discouraged," the teacher said comfortingly. "It may prove worthwhile in the end to invent new spells that can take direction from your equations. For now, though, remember that while I'm not an experienced gunsmith, I am rather more experienced when it comes to machina – or rather machines. So, do you recall any specifics of the machines your people developed for metalworking?"
"Um." Jason scratched his head, feeling sheepish. "Not off-hand. I mean, some of it's . . . I read a reference to drilling out cannon barrels, and how that would seem strange to people from several centuries earlier. So, it sounds like maybe we need to figure out how to drill out the barrel of a rifle? Since the spells we'd need haven't been developed yet?"
"Indeed, but what machines would prove equal to the task?"
He closed his eyes and thought hard. "I . . . think it's done with something called a 'lathe'?"
Mr. Colbert raised an eyebrow. "As commoners use for woodworking?" he asked skeptically. "It must take a great deal of time to make rifles, if that's how your people make them."
"No, cause we'd be using your steam engine to power it. Which means it'll be spinning pretty fast, so we've gotta figure out how to keep it from coming apart at high speeds. So by 'we' I guess I really mean 'you', sir."
"I did just claim it as my specialty," the professor allowed. "Metalworking lathes? perhaps I should investigate the tools that woodworkers already use, and see what can be adapted. There are spells to preserve the edge of a blade, after all. I shall give the notion some thought." Then he paused "The process can drill out a rifle, and I believe you mentioned that it could be used to drill out cannon?"
Jason nodded. "Yep, so once you figure out metalworking lathes it ought to be possible to up-gun Tristain's navy pretty quickly. In the meantime . . . maybe we should just go with the shotguns, for now? The waxed paper cartridges ought to be fine, and the increased rate of fire is what turns out to change everything on the battlefield. Formations tend to die if they try to charge through a volley every couple of heartbeats."
Mr. Colbert's eyes narrowed in consideration. "The accuracy – or rather lack thereof – would tend to be similar to ship muskets, but this would give us the opportunity to refine the loading mechanisms while solving the rest of it. Very well."
He turned away, going to a chest and rummaging through it. "I'm sure you'll want to rest soon, as the Numbing of your arm begins to wear off, but while you were away I had a harness made up for you, in anticipation of a successful test of the revolvers."
"A-" Jason began, but the professor had already pulled out a mess of leather cords. They didn't take long to untangle, and were promptly Levitated over for inspection.
"These are worn by pistoleers and slum bravos alike," Mr. Colbert announced, "to aid them in carrying as many rogues' pistols as they may. It's always seemed dangerous to me, but I Marked this harness for protection from Fire, and your revolvers won't discharge accidentally as long as you don't cock them in their holsters."
"Yeah, and hopefully I'll be careful about that. There's a saying about 'going off half-cocked', and I'd rather not shoot my balls off demonstrating why." The harness went on without too much trouble, although the buckles had to be at their loosest to fit on his oversized frame. And there were quite a few of the buckles, which probably made sense for a combat harness but also felt a bit like he was getting ready to pose for some sort of emo fashion shot. "So, I've got eight holsters here. Is that how many you've made?"
"No, just these two." The teacher pulled out a second revolver, picked up the first one that Jason had been shooting with, and handed them over. "I will make more soon, but today I think you should try to get used to the feel of wearing the harness." He stepped back, then adopted a considering expression. "And you should begin wearing an overcoat, I think. There are more ruffians than professional pistoleers, after all, and it wouldn't do to give the wrong impression."
"Yeah." We're gonna have to be able to show off, after all. "I'll talk to the staff, see about getting them to make me a duster and a cowboy hat." A new thought struck. "Hey, are those targets you made for Louise strong enough to resist bullets? I'm gonna need to do some serious practicing."
"Indeed they are." Mr. Colbert smiled and Levitated over a slim box. "A kit for making new rounds. The box is also Marked against Fire, and there are bullets, powder, and paper enough for a hundred rounds. I will expect you to use them all in practice tomorrow."
"Right. Um, what about the revolvers? I mean, if a Fire mage could set off the loaded rounds . . ."
"The cylinder in each revolver is also Marked against Fire." The teacher paused. "A Triangle could break the wards if he knew what to target, however."
Which limited the number of people who could sabotage him, but there was a certain household enemy that the wards wouldn't stop. "Can you improve on that?"
"Given time, yes. For now, it should suffice to prevent accidents."
"Okay." And we'll just hope Kirche doesn't bother us in the meantime. Then his arm twinged, and Jason grimaced. "And I think the numbing spell might be starting to wear off, so I guess I should try to relax for the rest of the day."
"Indeed. Rest well, and you should be fine in the morning."
He had not even made it across the courtyard when Louise sent her mental text about the wonderful news, and the sheer gall of what Prince Wales had done had him stunned and gaping as he tried to process the sudden FUBAR.
Didn't we go over the security issues? We definitely told Osmond about them, didn't we repeat them for his Highness? Didn't he get it?
Or was he too concerned about reassuring his girlfriend and arranging a booty call to consider opsec? The horny, skinny-ass, pretty-boy asshole!
Jason shook his head, pivoted, and charged off towards the central tower, glaring all the way. Good thing they have healing potions, 'cause when we're done pistol-whipping the moronic little shit he'll be bleeding teeth!
A/N:
New Spells: Succor the Ailing – healing spell of some sort.