Title: The Tank: Chapter Thirteen, Part Two
***
Chapter Thirteen,
Part Two
It was as good as any time to visit with Hrym again. There
were levels of political maneuvering going on that Anton had no need or desire
to be a part of, and he still had a job to do for Dr. Grable. Let Lord Jourdain
and Camille handle unstable, shouty aristocrats—they had literally been born
for the work. Anton, however, felt more now than ever that he was unsuited to a
life in the vast public eye. He didn’t have the instincts for it—he never
automatically assumed the worst about someone, and because of that he continually
failed to see when they were being their worst. He’d done it over and
over again, especially at school, and been burned anew every time.
He didn’t want a sinecure, like so many of his fellows had,
or a place in Parliament or at court, just…an honest job where he could use his
talents to make the world a slightly better place. That seemed like the most he
could hope for at this point, and perhaps was more than he had a right to
expect given the company he kept. Imperial bastards, genteel ladies who were
also spies…
To Anton’s surprise, he saw Hrym coming out of the small
chapel that sat between the engineering and thaumaturgical wings before he even
got to his laboratory. Fortuitous. “Hrym,” Anton called out, and the
young, stoop-shouldered man obediently stopped and waited for him to catch up. “Thank
you. Was there a morning service?” he asked as they fell into step together.
“Oh no, not today,” Hrym said. “Cardinal Proulx always
cancels services when someone with a title comes here. It gives the rest of us
a chance to…” His voice trailed off for a moment.
“Keep to yourselves?” Anton suggested delicately. He could
see why the people in charge of this place wouldn’t want their staff to be seen
by many members of the aristocracy—this was meant to be a sanctuary for their
castoffs, after all.
“I was going to say hide,” Hrym replied, all bluntness but
with a tiny smile on his wide, pale face. “But I had not been to confession in
over a week, so he made time for me today.”
“That was kind of him,” Anton said. Cardinal Proulx seemed
like a man who paid close attention to the needs of his flock, tiny though it
might be here.
“He’s kinder than most,” Hrym agreed. They walked down the
long hall of the thaumaturgical building, the board on one side still touched
with Caroline’s own handwriting, then stopped outside of Hrym’s laboratory.
“I’d be pleased to wait, if you care to—” Anton began, but
Hrym cut him off.
“You can come in, if you would like to.” He blushed
slightly. “Lord Atwood says I should work at being more outgoing, and it was a
good excuse to finish up some of my simpler experiments and make room on my
tables. You’ll be perfectly all right, as long as you don’t touch anything. If
you do, though, you shall get quite a shock.”
Well, he was kinder than most to be warning Anton in
advance. “Thank you,” Anton said, and Hrym blushed further. “Please, lead the
way.” Hrym unlocked the door, opened it, and stepped inside. Anton followed,
and—
It was as if he’d stepped into an underwater cave. Anton had
seen bioluminescence before, on a trip with his parents to Norfolk. It hadn’t
lasted long, just a brief, bright blue glow along the edge of the water where
it hit the beach, but Anton had been mesmerized. He’d asked his father if there
were thaumaturges nearby who put on the show, and ended up getting a lesson in
biology. This room was filled with a similar sense of light pouring out of the
darkness. There were sconces, here and there, but no internal windows, and every
thaumaturgical symbol in the place glowed blue. Anton turned to Hrym,
speechless.
“I make my own chalks,” Hrym said. “And blue is my favorite
color. I find it soothing.”
And so you made it glow. Anton didn’t know why he was
surprised. “May I…” He indicated the room. “Look around?”
“Oh, yes. Yes.” Hrym pointed to a two-meter table along the
wall closest to the door. “I’ve got some symbology to balance over here, but
yes, please look.”
It was like being invited to take anything he wanted from
the candy store as a child. Anton made his way through the room, careful where
he was stepping—it was still quite cluttered, every flat surface and some vertical
ones covered with experiments or notations, but that was fascinating in its own
way. He recognized all the basic symbols, and some of the spells were familiar
as well, but others were completely novel. One in particular, in the far corner
of the room, worried at his brain the moment he set eyes on it. That circular pattern,
the way the symbol for fire seemed to twist again and again and—
Anton’s lungs seemed to freeze. He didn’t breathe as he
leaned in closer, stretching his trembling fingertips out toward the symbols
even though he knew it would be foolish to touch them, he’d been warned,
but how could it…where had they…who…
“Hrym,” he finally managed to croak. “Where did you get this
spell from?”
“That one?” Hrym looked over. “Oh no, don’t look at that, it
isn’t finished. Lord Atwood would like me to focus on it more, but I don’t
really like it.” He sounded a bit wistful. “He used to bring me new pieces of
it almost every day, but he hasn’t given me anything else for weeks now, and I
have so many other, better spells to be working on.” He pointed at the one at
the table in front of him. “This one magnifies sound. I think I might be able
to make it split rock, eventually.”
Of course you could. But Anton was far from done with
his interrogation. “Do you know what this spell is meant to do?” Anton pressed.
“It’s clear enough from the symbols, isn’t it? It will create
a weapon that never misses its target.” Hrym looked back down at his table. “It
seems like a good idea. Isn’t it better to succeed with only one shot?”
Anton reflexively touched the middle of his chest, where
another man had taken a bullet intended for him once. It depends entirely on
what you’re shooting at, and who’s taking the shot. Where had he gotten
this? Had someone recovered the palimpsest from Montgomery? Was it being
translated? Or was Montgomery…here?
Anton rounded toward Hrym again, determined to get to the
bottom of this, but then the thundering echo of a cannon’s blast reverberated
through the building. Anton nearly grabbed a table to stabilize himself. “What
the hell is that?” he demanded.
“Oh.” Hrym didn’t look bothered at all. “It’s nothing. Just
the tanks firing.”
Just the… Anton headed for the door. He could question
Hrym more later—right now he had to be sure that the damn building wasn’t about
to come down around their heads.
No comments:
Post a Comment