Gisella nodded and slipped from beneath his arm. “You avoid the obvious discussion. Is it to save me heartache?”
“The obvious, darling?”
She stared at him for a moment, then smiled. “From any other man, that would not have been an honest question. Husband, if magick can convey messages faster than a man can travel on foot, if it travels in a direct line, ignoring mountains and rivers, then it has most direct and terrible applications in war.”
Vlad shivered, then pulled one of the wooden disks from his pocket, tracing a thumbnail over the design burned into it. “As I visualized the code wheel, I had seen it built into a desk, where the operator would have room to write out incoming messages. I had done that, I think, to make it seem impractical in the field. And it might yet be. It could be that it would take someone well-versed in magick, someone who would be invaluable on the line, able to fire many shots before tiring, to run it. The demands, therefore, might make it completely impractical for any tactical consideration. But strategically you would be right. A field device would need be no larger than this disk.”
High above them a hawk glided lazily through the sky. “You avoid the other obvious implication, Vlad.”
“That the Church already has discovered what I know, and that they have put it in place?” He shook his head. “Circumstance argues against its deployment. As you have noted, it would confer an incredible advantage in war, so would have been used against the Tharyngians. There seems no evidence of its use in the last war, or by agents of the Crown in communicating with Launston. While we have to assume that the Church has figured out at least as much as I have, it would not seem that they have the personnel capable of using it, nor have made the decision to use it so far.”
“And if you are wrong?”
“There is the question, isn’t it?” He clasped his hands at the small of his back. “Every advancement can be seen as a boon or a curse. Steel, when used as a plowshare, makes it easier for a farmer to till more acreage and raise more food. That same steel, shaped into a sword, makes it easier for someone else to take that food away from him. Faster communications might have let us know of the damage done to settlements near the earthquake faster, so we could send relief. By the same token, faster communications will allow those who possess it to cheat those who don’t. It might even allow people in charge of armed forces to stifle the freedoms of others-perhaps just as easily as it would let news of their excesses spread far and wide.”
Vlad brought his hands forward and stared at them. “The Crown already controls the supply of firestones and brimstone in the colonies. It is not hard to imagine that both will become scarce if the Crown feels there is any real chance of insurrection. If the Control Acts are actually put into place, they could add a provision to heavily tax any use of a thaumagraph.”
“Thaumagraph?”
“From the Achean-it means miracle writing. I made it up to name my device.”
Gisella laughed gaily and closed to kiss him on the cheek. “You are the most amazing man, Vladimir. You shoulder grave weight, and yet address tiny details with whimsy and perfection.”
He laughed, embarrassed and proud at the same time. “Giving it a name makes it real-and yet we don’t even know if it will be practical. The experiment I did earlier proved I could make the thing work. In fact, I was thinking that I could rig us a series of disks, suspending them from strings, and attach bells to them that would ring with different notes. By touching disks, or even keys similar to those on a pianoforte, I could easily communicate a message to anyone who was not tone deaf.”
“As well as play music.”
“Yes, that, too, provided the magick was not exhausting.” Vlad sighed. “I was also thinking that a similar system could communicate simple commands to Mugwump in flight, obviating the need for reins and bridle. Of course, that assumes that the magick he’s using in flight will not interfere. Just so many things, Gisella.”
She took his hands in hers. “There are many things, yes, my love. You will attend to them, but first you shall come inside and join your family for supper. Your son had an exciting day. He caught a grasshopper. He wishes to show it to you.”
Vlad arched an eyebrow. “He let it loose in the house, didn’t he?”
“We believe so, yes.”
Vlad squeezed his wife’s hands. “Lead on, my darling, and thank you for saving me from myself.”
Prince Vlad forced himself to pay attention over dinner, and then participated in the great, though fruitless, grasshopper hunt. Catherine and Miranda had kept Gisella company while father and son searched the house high and low for the grasshopper.
Richard had not yet grown out of that awkward phase where, from time to time, gravity got the best of him. The boy would bend over to peer under couches and hutches, rolling through somersaults. The results always seemed to surprise him but, being a happy child, they prompted giggles instead of tears.
Vlad, of course, had no real recollection of being that age though both his parents had told him he was precocious and always interested in the natural world. He supposed he’d gotten that interest from his mother, who had taken immediately to studying Mystrian flora. Some of his earliest memories were of accompanying her into the woods, looking for flowers and studying their life cycles. He couldn’t help but notice the fauna as well and, with her encouragement, took to studying the natural world with the same concentration his father devoted to Scriptures.
Gisella appeared in the parlor’s doorway. “It’s time you put your son to bed.”
Without giving it a second thought, Vlad scooped the boy into his arms, bid Catherine a good evening and carried Richard to his room. He let Madeline dress the boy for bed, but dismissed her and sat beside Richard’s bed.
The boy smiled at him. “We find it tomorrow, Daddy.”
Vlad nodded and brushed hair from the boy’s forehead. He found it curious that he never recalled his father showing him even the least little bit of physical affection. The man must have done, but all of Vlad’s memories were of his father being stiff and distant. His father existed in a different realm, a spiritual one, where he sought to distance himself from physical reality because those realities interfered with his ability to effectively worship God. Had the Good Book not called for men to be fruitful and multiply, Vlad doubted he would ever have been born.
He bent down and softly kissed his son’s forehead. “We will. I may even have a little cage in which we can make it a home.”
“No cage, Daddy.” Richard’s face scrunched down seriously. “He wants to be free.”
“Does he?”
“Yes.” The boy nodded solemnly. “He and Mugwump will be friends.”
“I think that is a splendid idea.” The Prince gave the boy’s hand a squeeze. “Now, you get to sleep. We have to hunt tomorrow.”
The boy smiled and closed his eyes, squirming to get comfortable.
Vlad pulled a light blanket over him and sat, watching, listening to the boy’s breathing become regular as the shadows deepened in his room. It occurred to him, as he sat there, that both of his parents had spent their lives working to define the world. His father did it through reading Scripture and philosophers and doing his best to make God’s message understandable to all. And his mother had done the same thing with plants, bringing together as much knowledge as she could about each, so people could employ them in ways that would make life better. Even he had done similar things with his missions to explore Mystria and the way he catalogued the creatures.