Suddenly there was a deafening bang. One of the cables had parted at a solder joint, spitting out a shower of sparks. In the cucurbit, the visions died.
“But this is magic!” Rachad exclaimed.
“Not magic, but art. Thus was the world created; thus did all things proceed from the One. Hyle contains all forms in potential.”
Amschel moved across the chamber and opened one of his ubiquitous sample cases. Returning, he showed Rachad a number of small objects he held in the palm of his hand: honey-colored pills about half an inch in diameter.
“Although the creatures that stream from the threshold are momentary only, there is a way to trap and fix the life-denoting virtue within the field. These seeds, if placed in water in which certain mineral salts are dissolved, will bring living forms to fruition.”
“Homunculi,” Rachad breathed.
“Yes, homunculi. The minor goal of the alchemist’s art.”
“It still seems like magic to me,” Rachad said.
“But think: is not nature’s work also alchemy? Every planet is a cucurbit, in which chemicals are mixed. Every sun is an athanor, which heats planets; and so life arises. By compressing the work of eons into a small span of time, the hermetic art is achieved.”
“But the Philosopher’s Stone doesn’t occur naturally at all.”
“No,” Amschel said. “The Stone is solely the work of man.”
Chapter THIRTEEN
Dressed all in purple and black stripe and wearing his insignia of rank, Baron Matello was waiting in the courtyard of his castle when King Lutheron’s golden coach came clattering through the gate, its windows shrouded. The carriage came to rest; a footman hastened down from the rear to open the door, with its elaborate coat of arms.
The monarch stepped to the ground, looking all around him with melancholy gray eyes. Matello fell to his knees, and put his lips to the back of a limply proffered hand.
“What is your will, my liege-lord?” he asked solicitously as he rose. “Rest, or refreshment?”
“I require neither for the present, Sir Goth,” the king said, his tone business-like. “I must talk with you—in private.”
Lutheron the Third was tall and thin, barely older than Matello but seeming much older, his austere face lined and grayish. His visit to Castarpos had come as a sudden surprise to Matello, who had received less than one day’s notice of it, and he was nervous as to what its object could be, especially as he had been instructed to arrange no pomp and to make no public announcement of the king’s presence. He had, however, moved the Bucentaur into orbit so as to make way for the royal barge.
Leaving his majordomo to attend to the rest of the party, he conducted his monarch to his private office and sent for the best of his wines. Dismissing the manservant who arrived with it, he decanted it with his own hand and filled the king a goblet. Lutheron merely sipped the ancient vintage, and waved the standing Matello to be seated.
“Is this an inspection tour, liege-lord?” Matello enquired.
“I am afraid it is somewhat more than that,” King Lutheron said, smiling sadly. “The Kerek threat is developing more swiftly than ever anticipated, making it imperative for me to muster my forces. I have lately received intelligence that a major invasion is imminent.”
Matello suddenly became as stiff as wood and he clenched his hands. “By the gods, I’ve heard nothing of this! Where could the Kerek have built up their forces?”
“In the shoals and reefs bordering your end of the realm, where they have managed to amass unobserved, it seems, by using asteroids for natural cover.”
“Agh!—I should have guessed it!” muttered Matello after a pause, remembering the attack upon the Bucentaur. “That’s too close to home for comfort.”
“It is indeed, and it is essential that a fleet is raised immediately to meet the attack, or to strike first if that is possible. What can you supply by way of men and ships?”
Matello paused, then answered crisply. “I have five thousand men-at-arms. But I haven’t the ships to carry them all at once. Besides the Bucentaur, my personal ship, I have three battle-galleons, third class, and assorted smaller craft which will need to be carried by mother ship. I can manage most of those, I think.”
The king twisted a jeweled ring on his finger. “We will take everything,” he announced. “Get your men on board somehow. Any you can’t take can come aboard my own barge—later we’ll attend to their redistribution.”
“These measures will strip my domain of all troops, liege-lord,” Matello pointed out doubtfully. “I don’t like to leave my people without protection.”
“It is from the Kerek that they need protecting most,” the king answered with a sigh. “If we do not beat back the impending wave, then Maralia will be lost, just as other realms have been lost.”
Matello brooded.
“Luckily we do not stand alone,” the king went on. “The king of Wenchlas is sending help, as are the republics of Capalm and Venichea.”
“Wenchlas?” spluttered Matello. “Our sworn enemy, liege-lord!”
King Lutheron’s smile was weary. “At the present juncture of events we are natural allies. King Causus knows that if we fall, Wenchlas will be next. Indeed, were we able to rally all the human nations in a common defense, perhaps the Kerek could be contained. So far, this has proved beyond any man’s diplomacy. Now: how long before you will be ready to move?”
“To recall my troops from the Marsh worlds will take six days at least.”
“Hmm. Too long. We will leave the day after tomorrow. Your Marsh Worlds forces can make their way later.”
The main business dealt with, the king relaxed and took a deep draught of the baron’s excellent wine. “It is a great trial to me that I am able to count on so little from the dukedom of Koss,” he remarked. “You were the only man to presume to assume responsibility there, I recall. I see that you are not installed in the Aegis, however.”
“I have a plan at work,” Matello rumbled. “But I am still waiting for it to come to fruition.”
“Indeed?” The king leaned forward. “What is this plan?”
Matello hesitated, not liking to disclose his scheme. “I have succeeded in getting a man inside the Aegis,” he said.
“And you are hoping he will open it up for you?”
“Yes, liege-lord.”
“Not a perfect plan of operations,” the king commented after a moment’s thought. “Though getting a man inside at all is an achievement of sorts, I suppose.”
“The young man I am using is resourceful. I believe he will find a way eventually.”
“And how long has he been in there now?”
“Several months,” Matello admitted.
The king laughed, to Matello’s discomfiture. “Evidently, then, your plot has come unstuck. Either your conspirator has been discovered or he prefers the Duke of Koss’s service to yours. Tell me: is it true that you have the builder of the Aegis as your guest?”
“It is, liege-lord. You know the story of how he was cheated by the old duke, I suppose?”
“Yes. Quite an amusing tale. I would like to meet this beast.”
“Certainly, liege-lord. We will go to him directly.”
The king nodded, drained his goblet, and stood up. Matello rose after him, and guided him through the castle’s passages to the underground hall where Flammarion rested. “The creature’s life here is rather a dull one,” he said as they walked. “Most of his time he spends in a tank which keeps him fairly comfortable. It must be a peculiar world he comes from… I give him the freedom of the castle, too, and he sometimes roams around it. No amount of tedium or discomfort seems to bother him, I might say. He’ll wait it out for centuries to get what he regards as his due.”