“You summering out here, then?”
“Most like.” He smiled easily. “When you see help coming up, tell them to go faster.”
“Will if we do, but ain’t likely.” Nathaniel stared off east. “Ain’t going back the way we came up.”
Owen frowned. “But I thought the Prince said…”
“He did, but Kamiskwa here, he’s itching to get to Saint Luke, and I can’t blame him.” Nathaniel sighed. “And given what the Shedashee might know about what’s on the other side of them mountains, I ain’t thinking the Prince is going to mind if we make a stop, and you fill a journal with notes.”
Chapter Thirty-one
28 May 1767 Prince Haven Temperance Bay, Mystria
Prince Vlad caught the rope Count von Metternin tossed him as the Kessian guided his canoe to the Prince’s dock. Vlad dropped to a knee and steadied the canoe as the smaller man got out. The Auropean had become quite skilled at maneuvering the craft and made no pretense of hiding his smile at that fact.
Vlad stood and nodded. “Neatly done.”
The Count tied the aft off, then stood and straightened his robin’s-egg-blue jacket. “Thank you. Two months in the wilderness and I have learned a great deal.”
“You’re looking much more yourself as well.”
Von Metternin laughed, running a hand across his clean-shaven jaw. The lower half of his face remained pale, where his beard had covered it. He’d also had his hair cut back from when the Prince had first seen him, four days previously. While he now looked quite presentable in conventional clothes, Vlad thought he caught a hint of wistful nostalgia for his wilderness outfit.
“The truth is, I should still be outfitted for travel, and heading back up to Plentiful with Hodge, save that my first duty is to you and the Princess.” He bowed briefly. “I apologize for dropping the satchel with you and then vanishing, but there were the supplies to be organized.”
“No apologies necessary. Between what you had there and what I brought back from Happy Valley, I have been quite consumed.” He waved the man forward. “Come, I can show you.”
They’d made it halfway up the lawn, when Vlad turned and stopped his friend with a hand to the chest. “Before I show you what I have learned, I need you to understand something. I trust you implicitly. What I will share with you not only has implications for our nations, but carries well beyond that. What you will learn today will forever change your vision of the world. Wait-don’t say anything yet. It may also put you in grave danger. Men who have a stranglehold on power seldom like to feel their grip loosening, and panic when their prey has escaped.”
Count von Metternin smiled carefully. “Highness, I cannot express my gratitude and pleasure in what you have said. And I would answer you the same way no matter what. But you must remember that I was in the mountains. I have seen the Antediluvian ruins. I cannot forget it, and I shall not rest until I understand what it means to the world. In your company I have seen many wondrous things, and I hope to learn many more. It pleases me that you would save me from any danger, but pleases me more to be able to shoulder the burden which this knowledge has placed on you.”
Vlad shifted his hand, throwing his arm around von Metternin’s shoulders, and steered him to the laboratory. Over the next two hours he explained what he had uncovered in Ezekiel Fire’s notes and the Good Book. He delighted in the Kessian’s reaction to having wooden disks vibrate in his palm as the Prince fiddled with wheels on gloves. Count von Metternin immediately asked for paper and a pencil, and sketched out a different control set that allowed the dragon to be controlled with only one hand, which left the other free for actually firing a pistol or swivel gun.
Lastly Prince Vlad spread out the paper taken from the doors and walls in Happy Valley. “The writing apparently was taken from a pair of golden tablets which Rufus Branch had retrieved from the ruins. To me it seems a mixture of pictograms and sigils which, I would imagine, represent phonemes. I do not know what is written here. Quite frankly, I don’t know if I want to try to translate any of it. If these formulae represent spells, I could trigger something I cannot control.”
Von Metternin frowned. “Given what Owen wrote of the people of Happy Valley on his initial visit, I would not think these are spells. If they believed that what Branch shared with them was a secret directly from God, a secret revealed in God’s own language, then to display actual spells would make that information widely available. Instead I would imagine that what these are, are key Scriptures copied out by members of the community to prove and promote literacy in the new language. By reading them and understanding them, and knowing that they were right, just, and holy, the people would confirm for themselves that righteousness of the language. They would have ensnared themselves in the trap, then be quite content because they would believe the trap was where God intended them to be.”
Vlad nodded. The Count’s point did have a logic to it. If any of the writings were traps, the people of Happy Valley could have triggered them and that would have warned the others. “I do understand what you are saying, but I maintain my reticence to pursue translation.”
“I would agree except for one key thing.” The Count picked up one of the control gloves. “You reported that using the magick became easier and less tiring over time. You attribute that, in part, to the fact that you created the spell yourself, so it is idiosyncratic. It is logical to suppose, then, that the undoing of a spell would be made easier if one understood both the nature of the magick cast and the mind of the person casting it. At least understanding what the symbols mean might provide a benefit in that regard.”
“I see your point.”
The Count tossed the glove back onto the table. “One other thing we need to do is to prepare a rudimentary version of your thaumagraph-two, really. I shall take one to my house across the river and we shall see how well we can communicate. Key to this will not, however, be my learning your spell for making the device work. Instead, I shall have to come up with my own spell. In this way each operator can be as efficient as possible.”
Vlad sat down. “Well, there is the difficulty, of course.”
“Yes?”
“Can we let people know they can create their own magick?” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, holding his head in his hands. “I have wrestled with this question for a number of sleepless nights. Even if we assume that only the most powerful and adroit could actually learn to create spells, and even if we assume they must be literate first to do so, this leaves us with a population of people who could create spells that could do incredible damage. Rufus Branch was a scoundrel and attempted murderer. Were it not for Mugwump’s intervention, he would have finally killed Nathaniel, and it was a spell that nearly killed Colonel Rathfield.”
The Count pursed his lips. “The question is, my friend, can you possibly prevent that outcome? You are brilliant, but you never saw the connection until Ezekiel Fire’s work led you to it. Even if we assume that the Church controls most of those who can make this connection by one means or another, all it takes is one madman to repeat Fire’s discovery, or a Tharyngian Laureate to reveal the secret to the world, and whatever you seek to preserve will be lost. Can you imagine a Ryngian Regiment of Riflemen where each of them has created his own magick to make his weapon fire? They might be faster, more accurate, their bullets hit with more power. The cost in blood would be incalculable-and this is just the devil we know. Whatever Branch discovered may not only release such magick to others, but that magick could be so powerful that there is no defeating it.”
“But just because we can do a thing, and just because that thing’s being done might be inevitable, we are not absolved from responsibility if we do it.” Vlad looked up. “I had only the briefest description of the magick used to fell Colonel Rathfield. It was a spell that passed ten yards through air and was able to crack his skull. I have no idea the furthest range at which it could have been used, nor the optimal range. What if that spell, used in connection with something that is linked to the target, could make the range immaterial? Warfare would be transformed in ways that I doubt any at Horse Guards are prepared to contemplate.”