Tuesday, November 14, 2017

The Tower: Chapter Seven, Part One

Notes: Whaaat, on time today? I flabbergast even myself sometimes. Enjoy some burgeoning destruction!

Title: The Tower: Chapter Seven, Part One


Chapter Seven, Part One

Harry Beaufort couldn’t be found inside the main building at all, or any of the accessory halls. There was a small park in the center of the campus where many of the students paused for a moment in the sun before scurrying off to their next class, but he wasn’t there either. Eventually Anton simply stopped and asked someone he recognized from one of their mutual classes, who told him, with a wry look, to “follow the sound of blasting, sir. Beaufort’s the only one with permission to be experimenting like that right now.”

Anton frowned, ready to ask for more detail, when Camille’s hand on his arm cut him short. “Listen.” He caught Anton’s eye and gazed upward. “Higher up.”

Now that he mentioned it… “The roof, perhaps? But what on earth could he be doing there?”

“I suggest we go and find out.”

The stairs leading to the roof were old and worn, and obviously not used much. In fact, there was only one set of footprints in the dust that Anton could see. Whatever Harry was doing, it wasn’t something he cared to share with others.

As soon as Anton opened the door leading out to the top of the building, he understood why. Harry stood perhaps twenty feet away from a metal dummy fused to a post midway down the rough stone expanse. He held what looked like a wand of some kind in his hand, and raising it toward the dummy, he squared his shoulders and shouted a single word: “Fire!”

To Anton’s shock, a thin jet of orange flame shot out of the wand with a bang, straight into the dummy’s chest. It didn’t cause it to burn, naturally, but the rapid appearance and speed of the flame was surprising enough. Anton heard a crack and a moment later, Harry dropped the wand to the ground, shaking out his gloved hand. “Damnation,” he muttered. “Thought I had it that time.”


Camille’s dry tones caused Harry to whirl around, one hand already reaching inside his robe for—what? A weapon of some kind, perhaps another one of these strange wands? He paused before withdrawing anything, though. “Who are you, then?”

“I am Lord Lumière, here on the emperor’s business. And you,” Camille indicated the expanse between the dummy and Harry, “seem to be in the business of novel thaumaturgical destruction.”

Harry didn’t really relax, but he did at least lower his hands. Anton breathed a silent sigh of relief. He was confident in his own abilities, but he had no idea how to quickly counter anything like a jet of flame, and despite Camille’s untouchability when it came to spells, that likely didn’t apply in this situation.

“And what do you want with me?”

“At the moment?” Camille smiled disarmingly. “A simple explanation will suffice. How did you accomplish that spell without writing out the equations for flame and prepping the ingredients beforehand?”

A smug looked crossed Harry’s round face. He looked like an overgrown cherub, rather incongruous given the smoking remnants of the dangerous wand at his feet. “Ah, but I did write the equations and prep the ingredients beforehand. I contained everything this spell needs in a hollow wooden dowel and arranged it so that my palm connected with the open end of the equation. All it takes after that is the will and the word.” He glanced down at the broken dowel with a little frown. “The energy backlash is still unstable, though—it breaks every one of the wands. I won’t try it with a stronger substance before I’m sure it won’t blow my fingers off.”


“Isn’t it?” His gaze sharpened a little. “You say you’re here from the Emperor?”

“On his business, yes.”

“You should tell him about this. Within a year, I will have a way to revolutionize how we make war. Imagine, not just one but hundreds of such devices in the hands of those who have the innate talent, but no true training. All it would take is the word and the will, and they could have an entirely new sort of weapon at their disposal.” Anton had never seen Harry so animated. It made a slight shudder run down his spine, contemplating exactly what was making the man so enthusiastic. “Fire is easy, but there are many other spells that could be loaded into these things. Percussive forces, pure heat, perhaps even poison gas! Truly, it could render pistols obsolete.”

Camille stepped a little closer. “And yet, a pistol can fire multiple shots without needing to be reloaded, whereas this appears to be done after one shot.”

Harry grinned. “Who needs one shot when you’ve got power like this? Imagine the fire spreading out like a fan instead of firing straight and slender. As a weapon to intimidate your enemies, there would be nothing else like it. Do you think the emperor would be interested in such a thing?”

“Your concept is quite intriguing, and I shall certainly mention it to him.” Anton was sure he would, too. As much as the idea sickened him, no ruler would want something like this in the hands of their enemies and not their own troops, if they could help it. The best way to get ahead of that eventuality was to be the first one to take advantage of the technology. “But this is not the matter most relevant right now.”

“Oh? What is, then?”

Camille gently interrogated him about the men who had been murdered, but at the end of it all they got from him was a shrug and a simple, “Don’t know any of those blokes. The only business I ever have on that side of town is buying cheap drinks for whatever lady of the night happens to have caught my eye.”

“I see. Can you verify your whereabouts on the night of these murders for me?”

“I was out with my mates. They were with me the whole time, you can ask them.” He pulled another wand out from the inside of his coat. “Are we done here, then?”

If Camille felt at all threatened, he wasn’t showing it. Anton did his best not to blanch as well, but it wasn’t easy. “We’re done for now, Mr. Beaufort. Thank you for your time.”

“Don’t forget to mention me to the emperor,” Harry directed as he turned back toward the dummy. “Someone’s going to pay me a lot of money to develop this for them. If it isn’t him, it’ll be someone else.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” They left, but Anton couldn’t quite bring himself to speak until they were back down on the ground floor.

“He’s a madman.”

“Sadly not.”

“Are you blind? What he’s developing—a technology like this, it could—it could—the damage that could be done is incalculable! In what way isn’t that mad?”

Camille shook his head sadly. “Unfortunately, in the world of politics, methods like Mr. Beaufort’s will be seen as innovating and enterprising and, worst of all, inevitable. Thaumaturgy has long been the mainstay of religion and science, but it was only a matter of time before such things were developed in more destructive directions. I’m afraid Mr. Beaufort’s fortunes are assured no matter where he decides to peddle his idea.”

Anton was almost spitting with disgust. “That is absolutely hideous.”

“You are not wrong.” The solemn agreement in Camille’s voice made him feel just a bit better. “And his alibi is as shaky as Mr. MacPherson’s, depending on each other as they do. We need to speak to Mr. Montgomery to get the complete picture, though.”

“Then let’s find him, fast.” If the culprit was Harry, then the sooner they could lock him away, the better.

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