VII. Experiments
Dane thumped the book down on the work table. It landed heavily, causing the various jars and writing implements on the scarred surface to rattle and quake. The book’s cover was embossed with a half-finished and sealed summoning circle for the Great Spirit of Wisdom, one of the Great Lost Spirits of Lore. Dane traced it lovingly before looking up to meet Somner’s curious stare.
“If we can find a way for you to work magic, we should be able to find it within this book,” Dane explained, opening the book to reveal ragged, yellowed pages. “This is Nyman’s 'Treatise on Magicke Demonic,' the greatest book on mage constructs extant. My father gave it to me when I first left to go to university. It’s the only known complete copy.”
Somner looked cautiously excited at his words. He reached out a hand to touch the book but flinched back, glancing up at Dane as if for permission. Dane paged through it carefully before he found the page he wanted and rotated it to face Somner. “I haven’t had very much time to look over it again since I worked on your ritual, but in summary, the amount of energy that you have is limited almost solely for the use of your continued animation. You would have to expend that energy to use magic, which would lead to decomposition, insanity, and eventually death.”
Somner paused where he stood, his hand hovering over the open book. “So there is… no hope I would be able to…?”
“I’m not saying that,” Dane retorted. The frustration in Somner’s eyes did not abate at his words, so he added, “There are a few ways, a few theories. I think that the answer might lie in what constructs do after their energy has been expended and they begin trying to… eat people. There is something in that, something which has merit as a theory of how to renew your energy, but I’m not sure what it is yet. There has to be a reason why they all do this the second their energy begins to fail. We have a week to study before we head to Linning for my next interview, and we might yet find some answers.”
Nodding solemnly, Somner shifted and took one of the other books on the table, opening it. Dane watched him fondly for a moment, despite a sudden feeling of sorrow—the sprawled legs were an all-Valerian gesture, but the way he cradled the book in his hands was a gesture all his own.
“There are three classes of animated beings,” Dane began abruptly. He looked down, away from Somner, and took his grimoire out of his pocket. “There are mage constructs, which are made of once-living flesh and have minds built off of a base of magical energy; homunculi, which are made by transmutation of clay or other substances and the body is subsequently animated furthermore by a demon; and true simulacrum, which are built in a number of various ways, but are more or less automatons—they are given a specific set of instructions and crumble once the instructions are—” He paused in his grimoire and grappled for a quill, dipping it into the ink quickly and jotting down a note.
Constructs were made of once-living flesh; once the energy of their initial animation ceremony was expended, they had to consume living flesh to sustain themselves. Why did it feel like he was missing something obvious?
“What will happen to me, if I’m… hurt, or…?”
Dane’s stomach clenched. “You’re not going to be hurt. And if something does happen, I will find the solution before anyone else realizes what’s happened and everything will be fine.”
He broke off the stare he had suddenly found himself sharing with Somner and drew the Magicke Demonic toward him.
There was a knock at the door. He looked toward the clock and cursed softly. It was just past ten thirty in the morning, and ten to three were the hours that scholars in the university could call on one another, unless a sign was put on the door proclaiming that they were otherwise entertained with a volatile experiment. He set the book down again and crossed the room, going quickly through the workroom door to the hall door. When he opened it, Stoneford was standing beyond. An expression of languid boredom was on his face, though beyond that was a certain measure of worry.
“You’re back!” he said with some kind of faux surprise, levering himself off of the doorframe and standing upright. “How delightful. I knew you were to be back today, but I assumed that you must not have been, given the lack of word sent.”
Dane knew perfectly well that Stoneford had spies in the guards; no doubt he had known they were back last night, the second that they came through the gates. He also knew that Stoneford knew that they were not supposed to be back so soon, and should in fact have been gone at least another day or two, if Beaufort had followed the proper interviewing procedure.
“Stoneford. A pleasure.”
They glared at one another for a long moment. Dane heard the soft thump of bare feet on the floor as Somner slowly approached, stopping just past his shoulder. Dane wanted him to go back to the work room—he couldn’t say such a thing because Somner would listen and never venture out again, but he wanted it nonetheless.
“Somner, nice to see you this morning,” Stoneford said politely, nodding deeply in Somner’s direction.
“Stoneford.”
With a start, Dane looked over his shoulder. Somner was looking at Stoneford with an almost petulant expression that made Dane think of Valerian, shoving Stoneford back and yelling something about stealing the last of the tea biscuits.
“How was your journey?” Stoneford directed the words to Dane, but he was looking at Somner, eyes both curious and pained.
Dane shifted subtly to put himself in Stoneford’s line of view in place of Somner. “Long,” he said shortly. “If you’ll excuse us, we were working on an experiment, so if there’s nothing…?”
“Master Downing. He said that he would like us to all come to dinner in his house off Water Street come evening.”
Stoneford was altogether too smug. Dane sighed. “Yes, tell him that I’ll come. Somner?”
Somner looked startled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I… yes, I shall come too.”
Dane nodded and looked back at Stoneford. “Well, if that’s all you wanted to discuss…?”
Stoneford grimaced and moved back out of the doorway. “Careful, Dane. You’re bordering on rude.”
Dane felt inexplicably guilty—or rather, he knew precisely why he felt guilty, but was annoyed that it was so. Somner had been right. He did hate all of those who had known Valerian, whether they deserved it or not. He sighed again and nodded. “I’ll see you at dinner, Stoneford. I’ll attempt a higher level of decorum then.”
Smiling slightly, Stoneford nodded, bowed, and walked away. Dane closed the door, standing there a moment beyond what was strictly necessary before he turned and looped an arm through Somner’s. Somner’s skin, bare due to his rolled-up sleeves, was cool to the touch. “I want to study the way you see magic as well, if we have time, but I suppose that seeing how to renew your energy is more pressing.” He started to walk toward the work room and had to tug Somner for a second before he followed willingly. “I’ll just jot down my thoughts as we go and perhaps you can give me your own thoughts on them. I’ll detail the ritual that brought you to life as well; perhaps you’ll see a solution to this problem that I missed.”
Somner smiled softly and ducked his head, causing one loose white curl fell from the clip he wore, landing over his bright eyes. Dane laughed, reaching over to brush it away with his off-hand. “You are remarkably capable, you know. If we can discover how to enable you to use magic, I imagine that you’ll surpass me.” Somner’s curls were so much looser than Valerian’s tight, corkscrew curls had been—likely, losing all of the hair and having it forced to re-grow by magic had caused it to change. Dane liked it.
One thought made him stop his admiration, though: Valerian.
He extricated himself from his hold on Somner and opened his grimoire, settling near the work table and hoping that Somner hadn’t noticed him flinch.
Water Street was one of the many posh areas in Farthing that surrounded the university, inhabited mostly by the mages that chose not to have quarters directly on the university grounds. On the street, one or two women were strolling merrily down to the market, but other than that the street was empty as Dane and Somner walked to the tall, gray-sided building that belonged to Master Downing. Stoneford was waiting by the steps already, looking vaguely annoyed.
“You’re late,” he said crisply as Dane and Somner approached.
“I’m perfectly on time,” Dane argued, but the argument was hollow; he had gotten caught up in his research, and though he was on time, normally his “on time” would have been earlier than this. “You’re just early.”
He gestured for Stoneford to precede him and the three of them entered the house. Master Downing’s house was very familiar to Dane. He had lived with Master Downing from his fourteenth year to his sixteenth together with Valerian, until they had first entered university. Stoneford, too, navigated the hall into the dining room with the kind of ease that only came from living in a place: he had been Master Downing’s apprentice five years before Valerian and Dane.
“We’re here!” Stoneford called loudly as they entered the dining room.
Master Downing looked up from the table and his brow rose. “I noticed,” he said dryly. “Dane, welcome back. How have you and Somner been since your evaluation?”
Dane shrugged, seating himself stiffly in one of the chairs across from Master Downing. He gestured absently for Somner to sit down as well as he said, “Interesting. The Mage-Prince is….” He trailed off; Somner’s head tilted, inhuman and intensely curious.
“Powerful?” he offered quietly. He drew both Master Downing and Stoneford’s eyes to him, their gazes sharp and considering in their turn.
“Is he?” Dane asked, ignoring them. “I had been considering more ‘lethal’ or ‘somewhat frightening.’”
The construct shrugged, slouching down in his chair. “Yes. He’s very powerful.”
“I’ve met the Mage-Prince before. I noticed no more power than that of other people,” Stoneford said, leaning back in his own chair and splaying his legs in a pose to match Somner’s.
Somner looked at him darkly. “Well, you wouldn’t.”
Dane nearly choked on a laugh. Master Downing didn’t even bother to choke, laughing outright at the flummoxed expression on Stoneford’s face. “He has you there, Geoffrey. Have we been introduced, Somner?”
Somner looked at him guardedly. “Not formally. You were talking to Dane at the evaluation for his mage license. You said that he needed to make sure to gain employment quickly.”
Master Downing responded, but Dane wasn’t listening. He could hear the clatter and bang of dishes from the kitchen, no doubt coming from some minor demon contracted to do the work of cooking. Master Downing and Somner’s voices made a low, pleasant drone in the background as he watched Somner’s expressions change, somewhat stiff but quickly warming. It was a comfortable scene.
“Dane.” Startled, Dane looked up. Master Downing was frowning at him, fingers enlaced together on the tabletop. He paused, then said, “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Did you ask me something?”
Master Downing sighed. “You must keep in mind that I’m asking you this not as a proctor of the university, but as one of your uncle’s council members.” He paused long enough for Dane to give him an affirmative. “Did you notice anything… odd, while you were in Nothfeld? Anything beyond what you would ordinarily expect?”
Dane tugged on a strand of hair and thought for a moment before saying, “Not really, other than Ambassador Dumot’s exceptional rudeness and Prince Mikhail’s odd predilections.”
Master Downing blinked. “Predilections?”
“He’s fascinated with simulacrum and others in the animate class, Stef, as I’ve told you,” Stoneford said. Master Downing gave him a stern look and he huffed softly, apologetically, before asking, “Just how was our dear friend Julius rude?”
Dane wasn’t quite sure how to explain it. “He was hostile to Somner and me. He seemed eager to cause trouble for us if he could. I’m not certain of what else there is to be said.”
“Delanore wanted something, or someone,” Somner said. He elaborated no further, and after a few moments, Dane stopped expecting him to. Stoneford appeared less than willing to give up, however.
“What do you mean?” he asked crossly. He leaned forward, his elbows on the tabletop and his weight bearing heavily on it.
Somner looked at him disdainfully. He didn’t seem to like Stoneford, and from what Dane had seen so far, he was not shy about expressing his dislike when he wanted to do so. It seemed odd that he truly disliked Stoneford, though—Valerian may have fought with the man on occasion, but they had always liked one another.
Somner wasn’t Valerian, though, except when he was.
“I meant as I said. He was death and want and bitter anger.” Somner looked confused then, stopping his speech abruptly and looking down. The fall of a lock of hair on his cheek was suddenly fascinating and Somner had to look away, only to accidentally meet Stoneford’s eyes.
Stoneford was amused.
Dane stood up. “I’ll go check and see how the kitchen’s doing, shall I?” He pressed a hand on Somner’s shoulder when he would have risen and quietly told him to stay there before beating a fast retreat.
Stoneford, of course, being who he was, had to follow. “Don’t say anything,” Dane said before Stoneford could start. His back to the older man, he watched the various pots and pans floating about. The demons were working invisibly and Dane wasn’t wearing his sight-cream, so despite his long familiarity with the demonic world, he still found it interesting to see.
“With so much material to work with? However will I stop myself?” Stoneford touched his shoulder, hand warm and gentle. “It’s not a crime for you to feel attracted to him.”
“He is in Valerian’s body.” Just the thought of being attracted to Valerian made Dane feel sick. It was wrong on a level more instinctual than intellectual and Dane found that he couldn’t help the disgust that rose in his throat.
“They hardly look the same,” Stoneford pointed out. “Their minds aren’t the same, for all that they share some gestures, and, or so it unfortunately appears, opinions. Their experiences are not the same either.”
Dane turned, glaring at him furiously. “Would you accept it if you were attracted to him?”
Stoneford made a face. “Just make an attempt not to hurt him by blundering your way through something he doesn’t understand. He may not be… Valerian, but I won’t permit you to harm him in any way, intentional or not.”
Dane nodded at that, conceding the point. Strangely, he felt for the first time in seven years like he and Stoneford actually understood each other. “It’s probably better you do than not. I find it discomfortingly easy to hurt him by accident. When will dinner be done?” The last he addressed to the room at large. An imp appeared before him, all black skin and pointed ears, and said in a thin, reedy voice, “Nine minutes.” It disappeared again. Without another word to Stoneford, Dane headed back into the dining room to share the news.
