The Cunning Man, page 25
“Thanks,” Adam said. He tried not to look at her lips. He wanted to kiss them and yet ... he didn’t dare. He wanted to ask her why she’d lashed out at him and he didn’t dare do that either. “I owe you a favour.”
“Yeah.” Lilith sounded as if she didn’t know quite what to say either. “I’ll collect it, sooner or later.”
She walked past him. “I have brewing to do,” she said. “You do ... you do whatever you’ve been told to do.”
“I haven’t been given any instructions, beyond devising new experiments,” Adam said. It was easier to look at the notes now. “Do you want to help?”
Lilith hesitated. “Let me do this first, then I’ll join you,” she said. “The master is not in a good mood.”
Adam frowned as a thought struck him. Jasper had backed down, the moment Lilith had stood up to him. “Lilith ... is Jasper your father’s apprentice?”
“Gods, no.” Lilith looked up from her work. “What gave you that impression?”
“He backed down in front of you,” Adam said. He knew boys who’d sooner be beaten to death than let themselves be intimidated by a girl. Lilith wasn’t any older than Jasper, if he was any judge. There couldn’t be more than a couple of years between them. “He has family connections and yet he backed down ...”
Lilith barked a harsh laugh. “Connections? He doesn’t have any connections!”
Adam stared at her. “But he said ...”
“What? People haven’t lied to you before?” Lilith smirked as she started peeling the leaves from a root. “Jasper is a newborn magician. He has no magical family. His relatives, if he has any he chooses to acknowledge, are mundanes. They’re just like you. You could be one of his relatives. He puts on airs and graces” - her smile grew wider - “and when he told you that, were you alone?”
“Yes,” Adam said. “I ...”
“I guess he thought you wouldn’t know,” Lilith said. “And he was right.”
Adam shook his head in disbelief. “And yet he’s such a pain ...”
He gritted his teeth. He’d known men who were awful to the disabled, to men who’d been fit and healthy until they’d had accidents that had crippled them, perhaps out of a desperate attempt to convince themselves that they would never wind up like that. It wasn’t fair - and, no matter the motives, it wasn’t remotely pleasant. Jasper ... he wondered, suddenly, if they were related. It wasn’t impossible ... just very unlikely. There were no magicians in his family, not as far as he knew. He could account for each and every one of his near relatives.
Lilith looked at her root. “So tell me,” she said. “What really happened?”
Adam ran through the whole story as he sat and started to study the notes. Lilith listened, her eyes narrowing at a couple of points. She seemed astonished they’d gotten into the dorm so easily. Adam suspected the magicians hadn’t taken their security very seriously. No one would dare, in their eyes, to try to break into the dorm, therefore there was no need to seal up all the entrances with unbreakable wards. And if anyone did ... they could be hexed before they could do anything drastic. Hell, he had never dared try to break into Matt’s garret. It would have been suicide before he’d devised the gas.
“I’m going to have to tighten my defences,” Lilith said. She smiled, rather wanly. “And I’d better get on with this.”
And so we’re just going to ignore the elephant in the room, Adam thought, as he studied the runes. Is that what you want to do?
He sighed, inwardly. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. They’d kissed ... was she going to pretend it had never happened? That she’d never lashed out at him? That ... his emotions churned. He didn't understand Lilith at all. She was a strange mix of haughty and friendly, sarcastic and funny, unwelcoming and welcoming ... he wished he knew what was going through her mind. Had she liked the kiss? Hated it? He liked her and yet he didn’t like her and yet ... he shook his head and forced himself to concentrate. She would talk to him in her own good time or not at all.
Courting Taffy would be easier, he thought. But she feels more like a little sister.
The thought surprised him. Did he want to court Lilith? How could he? They were from different worlds. She was so far above him that ... he might as well have been a docksman’s son from the depths, trying to court a city father’s child. Or ... a princess. The idea was preposterous. And yet, there was a bit of him that liked the concept. Lilith was pretty and smart and not, ever, the sort of person who would be happy sitting in his shadow. He’d seen a couple of wives like that, back in the docks. They looked miserable as their husbands spoke for them.
He did his best to forget the thought - he’d be safer trying to court Valerie Hunt - as he drew out the runes, considering what he could do with them. Runes didn’t last long, according to the books; a rune drawn in the sand might take effect very quickly, but it wouldn’t survive for more than a few seconds. He’d gotten around that problem by having the tiles made of iron and yet ... it had its disadvantages, too. A tiny error during forging might disrupt the magic and render the whole experiment worse than useless. And yet ...
“You can’t draw out a rune and expect it to work,” he said, more to himself than Lilith. “Why not?”
“Because a drawn rune isn’t solid,” Lilith said. “It has no presence. Or so I was told. You have to really push the pen into the parchment to make a runic pattern that actually does something.”
“Paper is safer, then,” Adam mused. “What will happen when that gets out?”
He took a clay tablet and drew out a runic pattern. “How does this look?”
“It’s a rune,” Lilith said, dryly. She sat, facing him. “What’s it meant to do?”
Adam hoped he’d gotten the design right. “I want you to try something,” he said, as he placed the tablet between them. “Can you cast a lightglobe in your palm, then steer it towards the rune?”
Lilith nodded, as if he’d asked her to do something mundane. Adam watched, trying not to feel envious, as she moved her hand towards the rune. It did nothing until her hand was almost touching the rune, whereupon it spun into a miniature whirlwind and disintegrated, scattering pieces of dry clay across the room. Lilith raised her eyebrows, somehow managing to look both impressed and completely unimpressed at the same time. Adam had to smile. It wasn’t quite the reaction he wanted, but it was close enough.
“All right,” she said. “What is it?”
“We devised a rune that should alert us in the presence of magic,” Adam said, as he reached for another clay tablet. “This is an improved version.”
“And how does it work?”
“Runes can’t handle too much power,” Adam reminded her. “This one will die very quickly, as the power flows through and overloads the rune, but the fact something happened will alert us to the presence of magic. It should keep us from touching the spell.”
He grinned. “Can you put another spell on the table? Say ... something that turns anyone unlucky enough to step on it into a frog?”
“If you wish.” Lilith pressed her hand against the table. “Done.”
Adam frowned, inwardly. His eyes insisted there was nothing there. He’d seen countless bright and flashy spells, but the really dangerous ones - to a mundane - were the spells that were silent, completely invisible, until someone touched them. A chill ran down his spine. Jasper and his friends could work on their spellcasting, until they could turn mundanes into frogs - or worse - without making it obvious what they were doing. It was just a little harder for them.
Lilith misread his gaze. “You can put your hand there if you think I didn’t emplace the spell.”
“No, thank you,” Adam said. He drew out the rune again, then nudged the tablet towards the invisible spell. The rune disintegrated, again, as soon as it was bare centimetres from the spell. “How does that look?”
“I think you’re going to upset everyone, again,” Lilith said. She tapped the table, removing the spell. “I hope it’s worth it to you.”
Adam nodded, studying the books. The runemasters of old had woven their runes into runic networks, but ... they’d been hesitant to draw them close together. There had to be a point, he reasoned, when there were so many runes that they were interfering with each other, diverting or disrupting the flow of magic in dangerously unpredictable ways. No wonder most magicians preferred to avoid subtle magic. And yet, if the goal wasn’t to hold something in place, but remove it ...
I may need something more solid than clay, he thought, as he sketched out a third concept on the tablet. It would probably get him scolded if he wanted to be a runemaster - the design looked too clever by half - but ... it wasn’t meant to last. If this works ...
“Can you do one more hex?” Adam pointed at the table. “Right there.”
“Of course,” Lilith said. She cast the spell. “What are you doing?”
Adam put the tablet on the table and nudged it towards the spell. For a second, as it crossed the line he’d seen earlier, nothing happened. And then ... he found himself falling back and hitting the floor, unsure of what had happened. His ears were ringing ... he swallowed, hard, as he rolled over and pushed himself to his feet. He’d gone deaf ... he rubbed his ears, gritting his teeth as they started to hurt. Lilith was on the far side of the table, lying on the floor ... for a horrible moment, he thought she was seriously hurt. If she was ...
He stared at the table. It was shattered beyond repair. Adam couldn’t believe his eyes. He’d seen alchemy workbenches shrug off explosions that had destroyed cauldrons and ruined tools, the blasts leaving behind scorch marks and dents, but ... he’d never seen a table smashed so badly. It looked as if a madman had hacked it to pieces with an axe. What happened?
Lilith staggered to her feet. “If you get in trouble for that,” she said shakily, “I won’t bring you any more salve. What happened?”
“Good question,” Adam said. “It was designed to rip the spellware apart.”
“It worked,” Lilith said. “And if we’d been a little closer, we’d have been hurt or killed.”
Adam couldn’t disagree. He’d have to research the concept a little more before trying it again. It was a little like trying to stop a charging man, he reasoned; the man might be deflected, slightly, but he’d still have weight and speed on his side. And if there was no way to predict which way he’d go, it could easily make things a great deal worse.
“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry.”
“I’ll make you pay for it later,” Lilith warned. “And Master Landis is going to take the table out of your pay.”
Adam winced. He’d seen Master Pittwater’s accounts. Workbenches - proper alchemical workbenches - were not cheap. But ... this was Heart’s Eye. There’d be people down in the basement or in the distant foundry who could carve a new table, perhaps before Master Landis even knew one needed to be replaced ... he shook his head, dismissing the thought before he could talk himself into it. He was already in quite enough trouble.
“At least we know it did something,” he said. “We just don’t know how to control the effect.”
He frowned as something clicked in his mind. “We need a storage medium,” he said. “We have blood for that, but we need more and ... if we can speed up the charging process if ...”
Lilith gave him a sharp look. “What do you have in mind?”
Adam grinned. The equations were fiendishly complex. He’d have to work his way through them, checking and rechecking everything one by one, then ask for someone to check his work before he risked taking the concept to the council. A charms master would be ideal. It was a pity the only one he knew couldn’t be trusted. Lilith’s father had every reason to take one look and declare the idea unworkable.
“It might not work,” he said. “But ... have you ever seen a windmill?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“It’s been an interesting few days,” Arnold said, cheerfully. He made a show of rubbing his bottom. “But it did work out for us.”
Adam wasn’t so sure. The rumours had been even more insane than he’d imagined, ranging from stories of the magicians being killed and eaten to the mundanes being given punishments so dire they’d revolt a king’s torturer, and there had been a handful of minor retaliations against mundanes on their own. Jasper and his cronies might not want to step into the open - it was clear the staff were paying closer attention to their students - but they’d sniped from a distance, every time they got the chance. Adam was uncomfortably aware it was just a matter of time before they got their act together and did something worse.
“I’m glad you feel that way,” he said, finally. The strapping had been a grim reminder that he didn’t have anything like as much autonomy as his magical peers. He was entirely sure Jasper had gotten away with everything. “If this works ...”
He glanced at the papers in his hand as they waited in the antechamber. He’d drawn up the first concepts himself, then taken them to Arnold to get his input. Arnold, in turn, had suggested bringing in Yvonne and Praxis, both for their experience and to make it harder for the council to say no when the proposal was finally put to them. It had taken a week to work through the concept, looking to remove as many bugs as possible before they started to turn the design into reality. Adam was uneasily aware that some problems wouldn’t manifest until work had started. He’d grown up hearing the story of a galleon that had sunk, immediately after launching, because the ship’s designer hadn’t had the experience to know his vessel was too top-heavy for her own good. And he had lived in a city where he could have easily found someone to double-check his work. Adam and his friends were breaking new ground.
The door opened. The Gorgon looked at them. “Come on in.”
Adam felt his stomach clench as he led the way into the chamber, Arnold trailing in his wake. It was the third time he’d faced the council ... he wondered, suddenly, if there was a limit to how many times they’d let him stand before them before they kicked him out. There had been kids back home who’d been expelled, simply for causing more trouble than their teachers were willing to bear. He wasn’t sure if that held true for magic schools, or the university, but he didn’t want to find out the hard way.
“I am glad that we are seeing you under more pleasant circumstances,” Mistress Irene said, as the Gorgon took her place behind her mistress. “Yvonne informs us that you have a proposal.”
“Yes, My Lady,” Adam said. He unfurled the papers, one by one. “If it proves workable, it will change the world.”
“Again,” Master Dagon muttered. If looks could kill - and there was a spell that could do just that - Adam would be a smoking pile of ashes. “I hope this one will be less disruptive.”
Adam braced himself. Yvonne had already given the proposal her support. Master Dagon could be relied upon to vote against it. Caleb and Mistress Irene were the wild cards. He thought Caleb would approve - the young man had a decent track record for magical innovation - but there was no way to be sure. And he had no idea which way Mistress Irene would jump. If the vote tied, what then? Would they wait for Lady Emily to cast the deciding vote?
Mistress Irene studied him for a long moment. “You may begin.”
“Yes, My Lady,” Adam said. He found himself unsure how to proceed. They’d understand the most advanced magical concepts, or at least know where to begin untangling them, but a windmill? He’d seen magicians who steadfastly denied steam engines could exist, even as they powered locomotives and paddleboats. “The basic concept of a windmill involves harnessing the power of wind to grind corn, turn wheels and other things along the same lines. It works by allowing the wind to push the sails, each gust of wind pushing the uppermost sail down and, in turn, raising up the lowermost sails so the windmill spins in a constant circle. It is a little more complex than that, but that is the basic idea.”
He paused to see if there were any questions, then continued. “Windmills are generally built in windy areas, as they are useless without regular wind.”
“Perhaps one should build a windmill outside Speaker’s Corner,” Caleb muttered. “There’s a lot of wind there.”
Adam had to smile at the reminder that Caleb was from Beneficence, too. “Yes, sir. The windmill does not so much generate power as it harvests what is already there. I propose to build something similar to harness the power of magic itself, in much the same way as subtle magic runes direct background magic into a spell. The magic will only be a trickle, at least at first, but it will build up over time. I believe we will be able to steer the flow of magic into a pre-prepared wand, recharging it without needing to draw on a magician’s power. Given time, and enough runes, we may even be able to prepare the wand from scratch.”
Master Dagon snorted. “And how do you intend to store the magic?”
“At first, magic will be stored in blood,” Adam said. “We intend to experiment with animal blood to see if we can store magic without resorting to draining humans. Later, as the magic grows stronger, it will power its own storage and ...”
“Impossible,” Master Dagon said. “The power would break the bonds ...”
“It would, if it were normal magic drawn from a magician,” Adam agreed. “Here, the levels of magic would be too low to break the bonds. It would be, if you’ll pardon the simile, like hastily adding more and more layers to a dam as the water levels continued to rise, but without the effort. As the magic grows stronger, it will both draw in more magic and tighten the bonds holding it in place. We can then use it to power tiny spells.”
“You would have to discharge the magic, somehow,” Caleb mused. “Necromancers go mad because they can’t handle the sudden power surge. How do you intend to channel the magic into the wand without causing disaster?”
Adam hid his irritation as Master Dagon smirked. Lilith’s father probably thought the proposal had been defeated. Caleb might enjoy researching magic as much as anyone else, but there were limits. Very few magicians would experiment with necromancy and those who did - if they survived - went mad. The Necromantic War might be over. It didn’t mean necromancy was suddenly no longer taboo.
