The Mask And The Master (Mechanized Wizardry Book 2), page 13
The Princess was looking up at him, her spiky bangs curling down towards her dark eyes, standing comfortably erect in the tabard and leggings common to midlings of both genders. She might have looked like any other fresh-faced young apprentice in Delia, except for the filigreed tiara sparkling in her close-cropped light brown hair, and the unflappable poise she displayed at the center of two dozen armed servants.
The receptionist took a deep breath, as surreptitiously as he could, and smiled back. He put his fingers to his forehead and moved his hand forward in a gentle salute. He quickly dropped his hand to his shoulder, spreading two fingers out, and drew a line across his body as if tracing a sash from shoulder to hip. <
The Princess’ eyes sparkled, and she cast a quick glance to the Herald standing next to her. Chief Herald Dawkins, the receptionist realized, taking a look at the weathered man’s ornate epaulets, a clear badge of rank. Dawkins nodded to the Princess, lowering his hands and clasping them behind his back. He had been preparing to translate for her. The older man took an appraising look at the receptionist, a hint of approval on his well-lined face.
Princess Naomi’s hands began flying through the air, her mouth opening and closing as she silently spoke. <
“Um.” He held his hands out indecisively, then moved them in small strokes close to his body. “I wasn’t frightened, your Highness,” he said aloud along with his gestures, hoping that she’d excuse any gibberish movements as long as the words she read on his lips made sense. “I simply regret the, uh, meager reception you find here. Please allow me to arrange—a proper welcome—”
<
“My apologies, Your Highness,” he said, bowing his head. “I don’t—”
“‘Magic,’ young man,” Chief Herald Dawkins said, his face stern but his voice gentle. He traced out the same sign, flicking his fingertips. “Her Highness wishes to see your magicians.”
Our magicians…?
“Right at once, your Highness!” a booming female voice rang out from behind him. The receptionist turned to see Dame Dionne scooting at them down the hall, with Sir Ulrich and knot of other Civic ‘nauts and senior techs behind her, trying to make a dead run look as dignified as possible. The fanfare had clearly gotten their attention; which, an oddly sober-minded part of his brain mused, was the point of having fanfare in the first place, wasn’t it? The ‘nauts came to a stop and bowed deeply before the Princess and her entourage. Did I bow yet? the receptionist wondered, suddenly chilled to the bone. He genuflected so fast he almost hit his head on his desk.
“Please, please,” Chief Herald Dawkins translated as the Princess signed, with just a hint of exasperation behind her practiced smile. “Thank you for the welcome. Please stand.”
“We’re so honored to have you here, Your Highness, and so unexpectedly!” Dame Dionne said as she stood, brushing her hair out of her glasses. “I can’t tell you what an absolute pleasure it is to all of us, knowing that you feel comfortable enough with your Petronauts to… well, to just ‘drop by!’” she laughed, and all the other Civics laughed too, filling the air with desperately welcoming noise. “Did I, uh. Did I overhear that you wish to see someone in particular?”
<
“Mister Horace Lundin, please,” Dawkins said.
Lundin hugged his chest tightly, pointing at the scroll in Ronk’s hands with one finger. “There it is—the fifth line, about two-thirds of the way through.” Lundin leaned over the wizard’s shoulder as Ronk spread out the scroll, laying it open on the work table. “‘horask h’ins sh’mai destaravi calabra…?’ somewhere in there?” The Mabinanto words felt thick and brittle in his mouth; it wasn’t often he ever said them himself.
“Are you sure you mean ‘destaravi’? ‘Should another impose double access…?’”
“‘Double’? No, no, destaravi means ‘duplicative,’ right? I mean, this is the part of the pingdu calabra that establishes my magical space, and locks out other wizards from imposing magic on my subject or my area at the same time. Duplicating, layering on top of my magic. Right?”
“That’s the concept, but not the words,” Ronk shook his head. “Destaravi implies another wizard gaining access to your subject in the exact same way as you. The exact same way, as if a copy of you were to start casting the same spell at the same time.”
Lundin drummed his fingers on his arm. “Not so useful,” he said.
“No, Horace,” Ronk said placidly. “Might I suggest sh’miliv; ‘outsider;’ and… let’s see… maybe pluvuuri? ‘Additional,’ with connotations of ‘excessive’ or ‘unexpected?’”
“Excessive… unexpected…” Lundin frowned as the door swung open.
“Princess Naomi is coming!” a breathless technician croaked. “With a whole royal entourage! Down the hall! To see you!”
Her eyes were wide. Lundin’s eyes went even wider.
Dame Miri and Elia looked up from the drill across the room. The tech leaned against the doorjamb, catching her breath. “Do you need a drink?” Ronk asked.
“Yes please,” the woman gasped.
Ronk led her over to the sidebar. Lundin barely even noticed as they moved, his mind reeling. Of course, they’d all been waiting on pins and needles to hear a response from the palace about the presentation. But why, by the Spheres, would Princess Naomi possibly come to see him in person? Is she going to kill me with her bare hands?
“Senior tech Lundin, sir? Did she just say what I think she said?” Elia asked, her voice rising.
Lundin looked around the room frantically. Books, disks and parts were strewn over nearly every table. The metal press had seized up the last time they’d tried to make a new disk, so it was gaping open in the corner like a butchered carcass. The workroom was a thousand times less grimy than his old one with the Recon squad, but he was sure it would look like a sty by princessy standards. And there weren’t enough hands to set it right in time.
“I need to get Willl and Martext,” he shouted out, bolting for the side door.
“Hey, Horace!” Dame Miri called out. “If the Princess is coming to see you, don’t you think you should stay put?”
He froze. Right.
“I’ll get them,” Elia said, pulling off her eye shield and dashing for the door. “How long can it take to fill up the ‘tum tanks, anyway?”
“This delightful lady and I will clear up scrolls, once she’s had some water,” Ronk said.
“And I’ll clear up this damn press a little bit,” Dame Miri said, heading for the other corner.
“Great,” Lundin said, rushing over to join her. She gathered up the loose hooks as quickly as she could with her bandaged hands, while he grabbed a screwdriver and started closing the machine up for the time being. Over the noise of their work, they could hear the sound of footsteps in the hall, and Dame Dionne’s ringing voice.
“This is only the second time I’ve ever met royalty,” Lundin said, his hands a blur on the screwdriver. He grunted as he turned it with all his strength. “It’s still an honor to see the Princess if she’s coming to have you killed, right?”
“You already screwed that one in,” Dame Miri pointed out.
“That’s why it’s not moving.” Lundin moved on to the next screw. “Why would she come to see me?”
“She’s must’ve made a decision about the project.”
“Spheres,” Lundin swore, fighting down a lump in his throat. “She shouldn’t talk to me. Anything good that’s happened to this project in weeks has come in spite of me. Ronk’s work with the text; your modifications to the spell box; the hours the techs have put in? You’d all be better off if I wasn’t here.”
“None of us would be here if you weren’t here,” she said, impatiently. “Now wipe your nose and get ready to bow.”
Lundin finished the last screw and exhaled, trying out a wobbly smile. He bolted for the tool rack when a girl stepped through the door, her flat-soled boots clacking on the tiled floor. Lundin stopped in place, folded his hands reverently around the screwdriver, and bowed deeply.
“Your Highness,” he said to the floor.
“Hello, Mr. Lundin,” a middle-aged man said.
Lundin looked up, startled. Princess Naomi was looking at him, her eyes looking very old in her fresh face. A wrinked man stood next to her in the white outfit of a Herald with his hands clasped at his waist. Dame Dionne and several of the knighted Civics he barely knew were crowded by the back wall, looking very nervous behind their bright smiles as the royal entourage filed through the door. A few soldiers stood guard in the hallway, where Lundin could barely see them; he supposed there were even more spreading throughout the building, keeping an eye on everything. Only three guards entered with the Princess and her Herald before one of them closed the door. The spacious workroom started feeling a little cramped for the first time since he’d become a Civic.
“I bet it’s not really the Princess,” he heard Willl with three L’s say as the side door swung open.
A barely audible groan escaped Lundin’s lips. All three guards turned to the door as one, their eyes narrowing and their hands sliding towards their weapons. Willl with three L’s, Elia and Martext gasped, involuntarily raising their hands before they had the presence of mind to bow their heads.
“I, um,” Lundin began, clasping his palms together. “Your Highness, may I have the pleasure to introduce my team?” Before your guards skewer them?
Princess Naomi’s hands began to fly. “Thank you, Mr. Lundin,” the Herald translated, “I’ll be delighted to meet all your staff. But time is brief, so let me state my business first.
“I have a question for you, senior technician. I needed to see you answer this question personally. Nothing else would satisfy me… and so I made this journey,” he said, clearing his throat.
Lundin tilted his head slightly. Since meeting the Princess and receiving her blessing for the project, he’d made it his business to brush up on his hand language. The last phrase the Princess had signed looked less like <
<
She took a deep breath and drew herself up, signing with long, deliberate strokes. “The question is this. Mr. Lundin: Do you consider the demonstration two days ago as representative of the true potential of the mechanized wizardry project?”
For the barest instant, Lundin hesitated. Representative of the true potential? The Princess had to know what a disaster it had been. Did she want to hear him deny it and give the presentation a full-throated defense, to judge him as a leader? Or did she want to hear him admit failure, so she could shame him and save some face for having backed the project at all? What would be the better thing to say to protect Dame Dionne, Dame Miri, and the techs, with long careers ahead of them once the Lundin millstone was off their necks?
But even as he gamed out different responses and tones of voice in his head, running mental situations as quickly as the Abacus, he knew what he had to say. And he knew why Princess Naomi had come to see him in person. She wanted to know what he would honestly respond, without censorship, without maneuvering, without formulating it specifically to please her. The midling girl with her wise eyes knew full well that he wasn’t a good enough actor to do anything but tell her the truth. Putting any middlemen between them would have added new agendas and layers of uncertainty. And all she wanted was his honest opinion. So he gave it to her.
“Absolutely not, your Highness,” he said, softly.
The young woman nodded. <
“To make magic a force for everyday good.”
There was a long silence as the room took that in. More than a dozen pairs of eyes flicked from Lundin’s face to that of the young heir. <
Lundin opened his mouth, nonplussed, as the Princess took in the room more broadly, making her signs even bigger. “My Herald reported to me that the demonstration was disgracefully bad,” the man translated. “I certainly hope that the dog attack victim has no permanent scars.”
“Thank you, your Highness.” Martext winced as he waved with his swaddled-up hand.
“But my senior advisor weighed the travesty of your public display against the soundness of your theory, and the colossal benefits Delia could reap long-term if we became the first nation to put that theory into practice.
“Her advice—which it gives me great pleasure to accept—is to continue to support your research, and to request the Board leave your team completely intact.”
Lundin covered his mouth to keep from laughing out loud with joy. He flashed his eyes over to Dame Miri, then the other Civics, and saw the same exhilaration on their faces. I can’t flaming believe it, he thought, bowing his head while he thought of something to say. Who is this senior advisor, and when can I kiss her on her beautiful mouth? A wary thought floated up at the back of his brain, but he pushed it aside for now.
“Your Highness, I can’t tell you how grateful I am. We can’t wait to get back to work for you,” he finally blurted out in a grinning rush.
Princess Naomi waggled her hands back and forth in a decidedly girlish gesture of agreement. “I welcome your enthusiasm,” the Herald translated drily. Princess Naomi rolled her eyes and went on signing.
“There will be one significant change. Though I welcome the haste with which the Civics and the Board of Governors sought to announce your project to the broader public—indeed, at the time, we encouraged it— in retrospect the Regents, my advisors, and I feel the roll-out was conducted too soon. Some day, mechanized wizardry may revolutionize the lives of Delians of all walks of life. Until the technology is more proven, however, the potential for it to inflame wild opinions is enormous. Whether citizens develop irrational expectations, apocalyptic fears, or both, the flurry of voices will only distract you from the hard work you need to do.”
With Dame Dionne watching, Lundin fought down his impulse to cheer. Oh, to not have to worry about the damn public anymore! To have those idiotic wizards get bored and walk off the picket lines! I know it’s the Civic way to share ideas freely, but, Spheres, would I love to be a secret again! The old Petronaut joke came to mind: “A man walked up to a farmhouse during a rainstorm. He knocked on the door, and the farmer’s eldest daughter opened it up wearing nothing but a potato sack. And I’d tell you the punch line, but you don’t have the proper clearance.” Petronaut ideas just aren’t meant for everyone; at least, not until they’re good and ready.
“Instead of working directly with the general public, then,” Princess Naomi’s translator went on, “I’d like you to work with the Army.”
The cheer in his throat plummeted down to his stomach. “Pardon me, your Highness?” he asked, unable to stop the words.
Princess Naomi tilted her head, frowning slightly. So did her Herald. “The Board of Governors has assented. You’ll continue your research under the auspices of the Delian Army.
“Don’t worry; I won’t allow anyone to compromise your creative independence. You’ll continue to research the way you want, at the pace you want, as Petronauts have always done.
“But you must understand how sensitive your project is. You and I want to use it for ‘everyday good,’ but what an incredibly destructive force it would be, under the wrong hands.”
Princess Naomi took a deep breath and signed with slow, deliberate strokes. “There are men and women who want me dead,” the Herald translated, looking down at the Princess, “and Delia in ruins. And they are walking among us right now.”
Everyone in the room tried very hard not to look at anyone else. Princess Naomi went on.
“My advisors and I agree that the Civil Defense and Improvement building is simply not a secure enough location for your research to continue. Not when the threats to Delia are so immediate.”
