Luce VI: On a Slab of Iron
“This is so boring,” Harold bemoaned, leaning back in his chair. “None of it has anything to do with our lives. It’s all just dates and facts.”
“It’s education,” Luce whispered back, trying to make sure the tutor didn’t hear him. “History isn’t exactly my favorite subject either, but you need to know all about it if you’re going to be king someday. That’s the whole point.”
“You’re not. What’s keeping you here?”
“I… It’s what we’re supposed to do. Father said.”
Harold shrugged, clearly unconvinced.
“The Cambrian College won’t let anyone in without a good grounding in all the subjects, even the humanities. It’s not about what we care about, it’s what we have to do to get there. First this, then that, then eventually the Tower for me and the throne for you.”
That was what Luce clung to, in the worst doldrums of all the essay assignments and literary analysis. Five years, and he’d be able to enter the hallowed halls of the College and truly blossom as a scientist.
“Oh please, like we’re going to have any trouble getting in no matter what we do now. Just pull that stick out for a second and enjoy yourself.”
“What are you talking about? I don’t have a stick.”
“Prince Lucifer!” the tutor snapped, her conversation with Cassia apparently over. “I wouldn’t have expected you of all people to be so easily distracted.”
“But I just—”
“He was just helping me understand it, my lady,” Harold said, coming to the rescue. “I was having trouble following.”
“What a surprise,” the tutor noted with the minimum of plausible deniability necessary. “Well, Your Highness, since you’re so well versed in the material, perhaps you’d like to explain why the Shining Prince remains so controversial.”
“Oh, of course…” Shining prince, shining prince… Was that what they called the first Harold before he was king? No, then he wouldn’t have asked the question that way. Learning the epithets had always seemed like a waste of time, even if so many primary sources used them instead of peoples’ names. There’d always be someone to explain that stuff, anyway, unlike the actual mysteries of the universe that had to be puzzled out through science and rationality.
“I’m sure he knows that, my lady. We were just talking about Arthur Williams a few minutes ago.”
Thank you, Cassia. Luce shot her a grateful look, then turned back to the tutor. “He led an army to invade Cambria, before Avalon really existed in truth. Even a hundred years later, people are still holding a grudge over it.” Stupidly. It wasn’t like it had worked anyway, or like anyone alive even remembered it.
The tutor twisted her face to the side, mulling over the answer. “Adequate, though incredibly simplified and incomplete. I recommend looking over your Caldwell again.” She said the word ‘again’ as if he were sure Luce had never read it.
Which is fair, honestly, because I pretty much just skimmed it when I had some extra time at the end of Sir Glen’s physics lesson. That tutor wasn’t bad, really, but he focused all his attention on Cassia and ignored any requests for additional assignments, which tended to leave Luce with a lot of extra time. He didn’t invite me on his boat either, which is so unfair. But the subject was interesting. They’d even recreated the first Harold’s famous brandy still once, and had a tasting session for the results. He kept up the pace, too. Unlike History or Literature, which move with all the swiftness of a death march through Nocturne.
“That will have to do for the moment, though any of you are welcome to reach me in my office if you have further questions. I believe your literature tutor will be here in about ten minutes, so I leave you to your business until such time as she arrives. Good day.”
Yeah, what a great day it is, having history and literature lessons back to back. Sometimes it was hard to hold onto how important these lessons were, when the return they offered was so distant in the future.
Harold barely even waited for the tutor to be out of earshot before standing up from his chair. “Well, I don’t want to go to that. Shall we ditch it?”
“Hah, I know what you mean,” Luce agreed. “Imagine if we actually did, though.”
Cassia tilted her head. “I did want to check something out in Alora Park. My cousin told me if you rub charcoal over paper against the Nocturne gate, words appear. And if we wait until lessons are done, it’ll be dark.”
“Well, sure, but—”
“We’re going.” Harold grabbed Luce’s hand, helping him up out of his seat. “Come on, do you want to sit in a stuffy room talking about poems or enjoy one of our seven sunny days a year out in a beautiful park?”
“It’s not about what I want, it’s just…”
“That was rhetorical. We’re going. Right, Cassia?”
“Definitely,” she said, arms already full of paper, as she raided an engineering cabinet for charcoal.
I guess one time wouldn’t hurt. It would be nice to get outside and take a walk, definitely far better than frantically leafing through a book he had no hope of understanding in the next ten minutes to prepare for an essay that would have no value to anyone.
Somehow, Harold read the acceptance on Luce’s face perfectly, stretching his own into a grin.
≋
Why must it always come to this? Getting kidnapped and force-marched into captivity aboard a ship once was definitely just misfortune, but happening twice in one year, it started to tilt more towards being Luce’s own fault. Once more, and people would probably think he liked that sort of thing.
Assuming I make it that long.
Anya Stewart has assigned Sir Prashant of Nymphell as his guard, a knight of little renown but reputed reliability, and someone Luce would have expected she’d want with her while violently seizing power in a city instead of babysitting him on a boat. He gave Luce a respectful distance as he led him into the interior of the Ferrous Ram, a courtesy the pirates certainly hadn’t extended. The warm interior even felt pleasant after the forced march through the freezing night, for all that it represented naught but failure.
The ship was bespoke in its design, heavily modified from the 115 model of steam battery produced in limited numbers at the Crescent Isle facility around the time Luce had started overseeing operations there. Despite its age, he had no doubt that it outclassed even the most recent models of its type, upgraded on a near-quarterly basis to better pursue the elusive Robin Verrou. The engine used a new model of pressure-boiler that allowed mobility competitive with the sleeker clipper designs, though it had yet to catch the Seward Folly. Apparently the latest round of modifications made it an able icebreaker, too.
A year ago, Luce would have given his favorite pen for the chance to see it up close, but the circumstances made it difficult to appreciate the more detailed look.
The odds seemed good that he would live, given he hadn’t been hanged immediately on the beach, but now he was at Perimont’s mercy, and she believed he’d helped kill her husband. And I did help cover it up for the girl who did.
It was almost laughable now, the thought that he’d done it to avert war and conflict. That had certainly come to fucking nothing.
Camille was always pushing me to do more, to push harder no matter the cost. She’d been such a damned suspicious character that it was impossible not to regard her advice with distrust, to wonder if she was merely goading him to step into the thresher for her own benefit. Maybe she was, even, but clearly a part of her was right. Tiptoeing around people’s feelings hasn’t made them any less furious, and now my reforms could die with me.
That was assuming they hadn’t arranged the whole thing, anyway. Camille and Eloise, coincidentally shaping his movements to get swept up in everything while getting cleanly away themselves, strangely knowing each other despite being about as likely to get along as polar and nonpolar molecules, or phlogiston and a match.
Camille was supposed to be bound by her word. It was extremely specific about her not leveraging other factions of Avalon against him, in fact. But perhaps she’d found a way to worm her way out of it after all. Or bet that I’d be too softhearted to call her on it and condemn her soul to perdition.
And Eloise…
People tell you who they are; the hard part is believing them, instead of hearing what you want to hear.
Father had been very clear about that, and he would know, being a master of pouring poison in people’s ears.
He and Camille had a lot in common, really, worming their way in with affable charm as they worked to destroy all that you’d built. Harold wasn’t bad at it either, though at least he kept it pointed in the right direction. For all his protestations, he was more the King’s son than Luce had ever managed to be.
What I’d give to have him here with me. He always knew what to say.
Luce sighed, tilting his head up towards the low ceiling of the corridor.
“Are you alright, Your Highness?”
Luce blinked, incredulous. I barely even moved, and you’re inquiring about my health? “Doing fantastically, thanks.”
“If you find yourself coming down with a chill, please do not hesitate to let us know.”
Am I captive to you, or a porcelain doll? “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to be ill at my own execution. That would just ruin it.”
The guard stopped walking abruptly, turning back to face Luce directly. “Your Highness, please understand, Lady Anya is simply returning you to your brother’s care. Whatever your crimes—actions, I mean to say... Whatever the truth of it, you remain a prince of the blood. Lady Anya would never allow you to come to harm.”
“Someone should tell her about the mob chanting for my death back there, then.” Of course my birth is privileged enough to get me out of treason too. This should have been a good thing, but all it represented was another condescending sop to the fuck-up prince. Even in this context, that didn’t feel great.
“Why do you think we moved so quickly to secure you?” He clicked his tongue. “Do not mistake me, Your Highness. It is not my place to comment on the fate of the late Lord Perimont, but you seem to be in dire need of an attitude adjustment, as I’m sure your brother will agree. These strange doings of yours with that sorcerer woman… The follies of youth can only excuse so much.”
Great, returning home a failure while all of my work is undone, kept in a gilded cage to make sure I don’t screw anything up again. “Is an execution off the table?” he asked, though the guard remained unamused. They’ll probably call me the Prince of Darkness back home, too, useless fop that I am.
Really, whether Camille set me up or not, this is still on me. Father asked me to fix Avaline Malin, and instead I’ve made a grand mess of it. Though perhaps he never intended to get me here at all, if the whole thing was a set-up. If he remained in a Guerron prison cell, Luce might never get the chance to truly find out. Sending the message with Corro certainly hadn’t produced any results.
“Here are your chambers, Your Highness. Lady Stewart’s own Captain’s quarters, as befits your status. Ring the bell if you require assistance, or use of the facilities. She and Sir Gerald will be returning shortly to escort you home.”
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Wonderful.” If Father grew up getting this same kind of treatment, is it any wonder he thinks he’s invincible? Even now, the same privilege is protecting him from execution in Guerron. One he might even deserve, given everything he’s done.
My whole career, I’ve been trying to minimize it, but it’s literally the only thing keeping me alive right now. Might as well use it for what I can, take the edge off of this whole blunderous mess.
“Sir, I was actually wondering if I might be permitted a tour of the engine room? I was a student of thermodynamics at the Cambrian College, and I’m always eager to see the new advancements in our technology. If Harold permits me to resume my post at the Tower, I’ll need to be abreast of the latest developments.”
The guard didn’t bother to stifle his sigh. “I’ll rouse our Chief Engineer and have him meet us down there to answer any of your questions. You’re to look, not touch. This is a delicate piece of machinery, and the last thing we need right now is another delay for repairs.”
Well, that’s disappointing. “Thank you.”
≋
“Well, this is disappointing.” Luce frowned at the paper in his charcoal-stained hands, the words on it entirely familiar and not an exciting Nocturne thing in the slightest.
“Don’t be so cranky. Enjoy the moment. We’re outside, the sun is shining, birds are chirping, we’re far from the Literature tutor… Days like this are meant to be savored.” Harold waved his hand around the admittedly beautiful park, largely empty at this hour, then shrugged. “Who cares if it’s just the Great Binder’s Call to Action?”
“It’s a piece of history right here, Luce,” Cassia added. “These are the only words we have on record that the Great Binder ever wrote. So what if we’ve seen it before? This is the source, from like a hundred years ago. It has to be.”
“She probably engraved them right after she was finished sealing Khali.”
“I guess…” Luce looked down at the words again. It’s just the same thing they taught us when we were six. Then later they’d had to analyze it with the Literature tutor, which was a thousand times worse. Dissecting the meter, the way certain topics appeared on holy line numbers… Honestly, the Great Binder was a soldier anyway, not a writer.
With flowers in her hair, and clad in shoes of white
Awakened by the midnight sun,
She brings them peace, and grants the kindness of the night
Those few who do not run
For whether on a slab of iron or of wood
The earth spirit cannot discern.
With blinded eyes, it matters not, the heart of good.
When night falls, all will burn.
We can accept our fate, and freeze and die alone.
To leave the earth mere lifeless rock
We only need to greet the darkness as a friend
And give Khali her due.
I refuse.
With will of iron, heart of ice, I make my stand
Though I cannot expect to live.
Into the panther’s den I travel once again
And only one shall leave.
A far cry from any insights into Nocturne or Khali, that was for sure. “She was right about who won, I guess.”
“Oh, come on! This is the woman who saved the world calling on everyone else to rise up and take action!” Cassia saw Luce rolling his eyes at that, and scoffed. “That’s what being a hero is all about. Everyone else was just sitting on their ass and wilting into nothingness. She knew it would be hard, but she knew she could do it, too. Good always wins in the end.”
“I don’t think it’s really about that,” Harold said, though he wasn’t usually so contrarian.
“What are you talking about? All of us wrote essays about how it is. I remember yours! It’s the right answer.”
“For the tutor, sure. Give ‘em whatever horse shit they ask for. You’re an expert at that, Luce.”
“Thank you?”
“But this engraving, she doesn’t sound confident at all. Literally, she says she doesn’t expect to live. Verbatim.”
Cassia shook her head. “Standard heroic modesty. That was an even more important cultural value then, especially in Naudion. Were you paying any attention at all?”
“Probably not, admittedly.” Harold laughed. “But I know how to read. She’s speaking as a person who’s doomed, trying to do what she can to make her mark on the world before it’s too late. Success doesn’t enter into it, it’s about… Not being passive, not being a slave to fate, you know? Even in death, she’d have made her mark on the world.”
“But she didn’t die,” Cassia said. “She won.”
Luce clicked his tongue. “She definitely died. She was born like, over a hundred years ago. Super dead now.”
Cassia rolled her eyes at the pedantry, which he maybe deserved.
“She’s saying ‘do something’,” Luce offered, folding his arms. “It’s not exactly profound.”
“Simple, maybe,” Harold agreed. “But not easy. Never easy.”
≋
“But how do you avoid hydraulic shock when the engine shuts down?” Luce asked, still fascinated despite himself after an hour touring the engine facilities.
“Hehe, I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life for someone to ask that question.” Sidney Hauvent, Chief Engineer of the Ferrous Ram, looked positively delighted to be speaking with someone with actual technical knowledge.
Looking at Sir Prashant over there, it’s hard to blame him.
“If you redirect fluid too suddenly, it creates a pressure wave that can damage internal components,” Luce explained for the knight’s benefit. “It’s the kind of thing that limits how reactive your systems can be to input, and how quickly controls can affect the interior.”
“Wonderful.” His eyes were practically rolling back in his head.
“We use a slow-release valve, where the aperture furls and unfurls gradually. No sudden closing, no water hammer mucking things up inside.”
“Can I see it?”
“The boiler’s not running now, so the pipes should be empty. No disruption if we take a quick peek.” Hauvent turned to Luce’s minder, who waved him on. “Just make sure everything’s back in place before we leave.” With a quick few tugs from his wrench, he unscrewed it from a boiler pipe and handed it to Luce to inspect.
Sure enough, the interior was a series of curled apertures which opened and closed when a small knob on the side was twisted. Shockingly smoothly too, they keep their machinery well-oiled. In fact…
Luce twisted the knob to close the valve, then kept twisting it further between his fingers, pushing against the resistance. A delicate machine… Trying very hard not to show any visible strain, Luce wedged it further and further, willing this to work.
“Ah!” he couldn’t help but exclaim when he felt it give, though the noise helped cover a soft ‘snap’ sound as the mechanism broke. “It’s brilliant! Though making such tiny components must have been terribly expensive.”
Experimentally, he twisted it back and forth again, but it had no effect on the valve within. Sealed closed, no matter what they do from the outside. And it barely felt any different, either.
“What Lady Stewart wants, Lady Stewart gets,” Hauvent said as Luce handed the valve back to him. “You think this is something? You should see the turbine. Just let me reinstall this first.”
Luce spent another hour talking with Hauvent about the engine mechanisms, both as cover and out of genuine interest, occasionally explaining a concept to the ever-more-bored Sir Prashant as he went. He might have stayed even longer, but a horn sounded from the deck, announcing Stewart’s return.
“Right, that’s enough,” the knight announced, obviously relieved. “Lady Stewart will want to see you right away.”
Fine by me.
Luce followed him up towards the deck, carefully masking any triumph from his face. Is this how Father feels, sneaking inside and sabotaging? It wasn’t hard to see the satisfaction that came from it, but it was so stressful. Why would anyone with royal resources at their disposal ever choose this path of their own volition?
“...She’s the railyard robber, too, I’m sure of it!” Gary was shouting excitedly to his mother as Luce reached the deck. “This is the master thief I’ve been tracking. She’s been wrapped up in this whole thing from the very start.”
Lady Stewart marched briskly onto the deck, not sparing her son a glance. “Your little book thief has nothing to do with the Governor’s assassination. Why the earth inflicted you with such an ego, I fear I will never know. Not every crime is connected to your pet project.”
“Then who? Surely you don’t think this ‘Florette’ organized something like this all on her own?”
Stewart shook her head. “It was Verrou behind this. I have no doubt about that. He’d have trained her, put her on the path.” She practically growled the name, her voice dripping with hate. “Ah, Prince Lucifer, good.”
“Lady Stewart,” he greeted coldly.
“Fear not, Your Highness. This folly of yours is at an end. I have my mission, to bring Lord Perimont’s killer to justice, but first your brother will decide what to do with you once he learns of your crimes.”
Is she leaving already? “What about Lady Perimont?”
“This city is her prerogative. I am to find her husband’s murderer, and the longer I wait, the more time she has to flee. Your part in this shall not go unexamined either, Your Highness. Your birth might prevent true justice, but I expect you’ll never be allowed to leave the palace again. Or perhaps they’ll toss you off to your insipid mother to get you out of the way.” She shrugged. “That’s not my concern. My work here is done.” Without another word, she marched past them into the bowels of the ship.
I don’t have long, then. What would Father do? What would Harold, or Camille?
“Hello, Gary,” Luce greeted.
“Your Highness,” he grunted, obviously unsatisfied.
The last obstacle between me and Malin.
“For what it’s worth, I think you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right.” He paused. “But as far as specifics go…”
“Verrou was with the pirates who kidnapped me, and one of them arrived in Malin long before I did. I heard about the theft from Director Thorley, and it might well have been her.” Or not, but who cares at this point? The important thing was getting off this ship.
“Oh.” Gary rubbed a red spot on his head, making Luce wince at the pleasure he’d taken earlier. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He stepped closer to the knight, wrapping an arm around his back. “In fact she could still be in the city right now. I might have an idea where, even.”
“Tell me!”
“It’s probably better if I lead you there.”
Gary shook his head. “I’m sorry, Luce, but you’ve been wrapped up in some nasty business. The Prince will decide your fate.”
“Well, I am a prince.”
“Prince Harold, I mean.”
Not that stupid then, I guess. It felt mean, doing this, but what choice was there?
Well actually…
“You don’t have to let her treat you like that, you know.”
“Mary? She’s just playing hard to get.”
Khali’s curse. “No, I mean Lady Stewart. No one deserves to be slapped around and demeaned like that, not even you. Why are you following her?”
“She’s family, obviously. And her strength speaks for itself. The epitome of everything a knight should be.”
“Should a knight slap their children?”
“If… If they’re asking for it. Right?”
Luce shrugged. “Speaking of Mary, though, she’s really close with Camille. This has to be devastating for her.”
“Ah, because she’s friends with a vile sorcerous traitor!” Gary nodded rapidly. “You know, I had her pegged from the start. I even took her into custody, though Clockchain’s corruption got her out before I had a chance to announce my findings. Damn shame, that.”
“Because of split loyalties,” Luce corrected. “Whether to be loyal to Avalon, or to friendship. Family. It’s a hard thing, to be pulled in opposite directions. You must understand that.”
“Of course I understand! I’m a master of understanding. A master-stander, if you will. That’s me.” He shifted his gaze back to the city behind them. “The master,” he repeated softly.
“I just hope my brother understands you were doing your job at the end of all of this. He executed an entire ship of pirates just because he suspected they were involved with my kidnapping. What do you think he’ll do to the traitors executing a coup against me?” Luce shook his head. “I’d love to speak in your support, if only I had anything to point to. You’ve been an excellent follower to your mother, but in this case, that’s hardly something to be proud of.”
“I…”
“Now, if I took that rowboat back to Malin, say, and got things in order. That would be because you made it happen.”
“Yeah, but then my mother would kill me. She said if I messed this up for her, she’d throw me in front of the Ferrous Ram and show me why that’s its name.”
Khali’s curse, what a monster. “You’d have a place in my court, and I’m sure Prince Harold’s too.” This is the kind of promise I’m liable to regret, but… “Captain of my household guard, perhaps. A respectable station, and befitting a companion of a lady.”
Gary stared at Luce, clearly using every ounce of his very limited brainpower to weigh his options.
Luce unwrapped his arm and walked towards the ladder at the edge of the deck, giving Gary a meaningful look. Cautiously, he began lowering himself down, and the knight didn’t stop him.
He landed on the rowboat with a thud and began untying it from the larger ship. And when he looked up, Sir Gerald Stewart was descending the ladder too.
“That’s… not what I meant.”
“What?” Stewart shouted over the wind.
“I…” What exactly am I going back to? Between Camille’s uncertain loyalties and the mass defection of the Guardians, will anyone be on my side? “Nevermind.”
It couldn’t hurt to have some backup. With a mess like this, I’ll take any help I can get.