Finn Mecant was not a man easily given to bouts of nervousness. That certainly hadn’t always been the case, but after nearly ten years spent delivering goods across kraken infested oceans, through monster filled jungles and over treacherous mountain passes, any notions of nervousness he might once have possessed had been for the most part, beaten out of him.
Now, to be fair, a certain amount of fatalism had risen to take its place, but he preferred to think of that as an inevitability in his profession.
One could only watch so many ships full of precious cargo be sucked under the waves by grasping tentacles before they came to the realization that sometimes shit just went south on you – and there was sweet fuck all you could do about it.
Sweet fuck all indeed, he thought as he glanced down at the wooden peg that now served as his right foot – and the reason why he’d spent the last twenty years overseeing the growth of the Mecant clan from his office rather than from the deck of a ship.
No, his wives, daughters and many other more distant relations saw to those tasks now.
Regardless, he yet had a role to play in the company.
“Lord Redwater,” he greeted, clambering to his feet as the young man stepped into the meeting room they’d set aside. “It’s an honor to finally meet the man my daughter speaks so highly of. Please, accept my humblest apologies for not greeting you myself in the courtyard.” He knocked his foot against the hardwood floor with a small thud. “As you might imagine, this old thing makes getting around a little more difficult these days.”
Even as he spoke, he took the young man in.
Normal was the first thing to leap to mind. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. A build that was more athletic than svelte, though that was hardly surprising given his ongoing attendance of the Academy of Lindholm. Handsome enough, the old dwarf supposed, but healing magic meant that was common enough amongst the nobility.
Truth be told, he didn’t really know what else he’d been expecting. Still, to hear her talk about the man, one would think he was Lyle Lysander come again.
…Then again little Bonnlyn ever had a habit of describing all the boys she developed an eye towards as such, so he supposed that was hardly too surprising. ‘A girl with a good head on her shoulders, with an unfortunate tendency to listen to the lips below the belt instead’ was how he recalled one of his sister’s describing her niece, and as much as it burned him, he’d hardly been able to refute the point.
Indeed, he idly made note of little Bonnlyn’s presence – her expression slightly nervous and a box of some sort in her arms - coming up behind the human, even as the young man reached out a hand.
“No apologies needed,” the boy intoned. “Bonnlyn informed me of your injury on the way over. My sympathies.”
“Ah, the advantages of a filial daughter.” Finn smiled as he gestured for the young lord and the daughter in question to take a seat at the nearby meeting table. “I trust she has been an equally conscientious teammate?”
“Of course,” the boy replied smoothly, as he sat down in the one seat present intended for people slightly taller than a dwarf. “I can say without a shadow of a doubt that if it weren’t for her presence on team seven, I’d likely be Lord Blackstone right now rather than Lord Redwater. And while that difference might not mean much to others, it means a lot to me. So I owe your daughter a great deal.”
It was empty flattery and they both knew it. Bonnlyn was many things, but a warrior wasn’t one of them. She’d discovered her magic late in life and her attendance at Lindholm Academy was more a result of well-placed bribes than any inherent skill on her part.
Which was not to say that Bonnlyn was without talent. She was as able a merchant and administrator as any of his children, it was simply rather unfortunate that said skills weren’t terribly useful in the role she’d found herself shoved into.
Though given how flushed her face has gotten, he thought as he glanced at the girl in question. It seems she’s chosen to forget that little detail in favour of enjoying the compliment.
…Again, the big head was subordinate to the lower lips where his daughter was concerned.
Rather than sigh though, the older Mecant kept his smile up as he maintained his focus on their family’s best opportunity to not just break into the noble markets but do so with an advantage.
That was part of the reason he alone was greeting the man, while his wives were off on other errands. Another man would hopefully present something akin to a more… sympathetic face than a small horde of dwarven women.
“This old man is overjoyed to hear that,” he said. “Even as it saddens him to know that her aid was necessary in such a way. It’s a terrible thing when a parent tries to dictate the future of their child against their will.”
Even as he said the words, he counted his lucky stars that Bonnlyn had agreed to be sent to the academy. To give up on a role she’d been preparing for her entire life in favor of one she knew next to nothing about.
He genuinely didn’t know what the outcome would have been if she’d refused to embrace the opportunity her magic presented.
“Well,” the boy shrugged. “Unfortunate or not, I doubt anyone can say it didn’t work out for the best. At least, from where I’m standing. Had my betrothal to those slavers up North not been so abhorrent to me, I might not have focused so much effort into escaping said engagement, and in turn would probably never have caught the Queen’s eye.”
Yes, the Flashbang, Bolt-Bow and Kraken-Slayer. Now the origins of the first were in debate and the last he was but a contributor to, the fact remained that the young man across from him was quite a font of clever ideas.
The existence of the Interrupter Gear and Radio was theoretically further proof of that, even if they weren’t known to the public yet. Indeed, even within the Mecants the existence of those devices was limited to him and Bonnlyn.
And the latter had only been revealed to him by his daughter to reinforce to him how important it was that the family get in on the ground floor of whatever it was William was creating.
Finn was… less sure.
Rumours persisted that the newly created workshops of Count Redwater ate up resources and spat out junk, with workers spending their days crafting items with no obvious purpose.
In short, exactly what one would expect from a young man saddled with a leadership position he wasn’t prepared for as a result of a few one off innovations that he couldn’t repeat.
Indeed, despite his daughter’s claims to the contrary, Finn would admit that he found it difficult not to believe the chatter pervading the capital.
After all, it wasn’t like he’d seen this Radio or Interrupter Gear. He just had his daughter’s word to go on.
And while he wanted to trust her…
There’s every chance she’s listening to her lower lips, he thought silently as his eyes flitted over the girl.
“Well, it speaks well of your talent that you were able to see opportunities in such an unfortunate set of circumstances,” Finn said aloud. “So much so that I find myself glad you’ve chosen to set your eyes on the path of magic rather than that of commerce.”
As he spoke, his eyes moved to the box Bonnlyn had plonked onto the table when she sat down. The invitation was clear, though subtle enough that it wouldn’t be interpreted as a command of any kind.
“Well,” the boy said as he obligingly reached for the case, plucking at one of the latches on the side before pulling it open. “I wouldn’t say I’ve entirely abandoned the path of commerce.”
The object inside was… Finn didn’t know what it was. Some kind of peculiar metal box with a brass funnel sticking out the top and a circular plate below that. To the side, there was a crank, which his daughter obligingly started to turn.
His eyes flitted back to the count, asking for an explanation. Rather than speak though, the boy reached into a compartment on the bottom of the box, extracting from it a metal disk covered in strange concentric grooves.
“Aluminium,” the boy said, as if that explained anything at all, before he placed the disk atop the one on the box. “Though to tell the truth, glass or even clay would work in a pinch.”
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That done, the boy moved to position another lever over the top of the disk, such that the needle it held was placed within the grooves of the disk. Then he leaned over to flick another switch… and the disk started to spin.
But Finn barely noticed that.
Because music started to play. Beautiful music. Loud and vivacious, the sounds of an entire orchestra practically leapt from the box.
The dwarf was no real patron of the arts. That was a noble’s game. For his part, most of the music he’d heard in his life was borne from the mouths and instruments of bards and revellers in roadside inns. Individuals or groups of three playing for drunken crowds with more enthusiasm than strict skill.
This wasn’t that.
Not even close.
Finn could hear it; dozens upon dozens of instruments working together in harmony to produce the most glorious sounds. The sort of thing that one could only hear in the most prestigious music halls in Lindholm.
Yet here it was, playing merrily within a small meeting room in his clan’s compound, the absent smell of fish guts from the nearby market wafting through the air.
Incongruous, that was the only word for it.
Eventually though, it came to an end, the stringed and brass instruments of that great phantom orchestra finally winding down. And in the silence that remained, Finn could only stare.
“I…” he started to say, before realizing his mouth was dry. “I… thank you for that.”
The mysterious young man just smiled, even as Finn’s daughter beamed at him across the table, obviously delighted in throwing her normally unflappable dear old dad off-kilter.
“I…” the dwarf started to say, before wetting his dry mouth. “Did you know that, in the West, the music halls of the Sunlit city each have access to but a single communication orb. Paid for by the Empress herself, such that she might at any given moment in the day amuse her courtiers by having an entire orchestra play for them from across the city. Indeed, the music halls work in shifts to ensure that, at no moment during the day, the Empress is without that option. It’s considered a matter of some prestige.”
Finn raised a single finger as he pointed at the box. “That, is no communication orb.”
Was this… was this the radio his daughter had spoken of? A means to convey sound across great distances without the need for expensive void-touched crystals? Was that what the boy had just presented to him?
Finn hoped not.
Oh Ancestors, he hoped not.
Radio was a weapon. The kind that Queens and Duchesses would kill to attain – or keep from their enemies.
It was not the kind of thing his family wanted anything to do with. Not now. Not until it had been proliferated across the country in sufficient numbers that it was known by all.
He needed it out of here.
Now.
He needed to make it clear to both this madman and his foolish daughter that he’d never seen this device and had no idea it existed.
The alternative… the alternative didn’t bear thinking about.
“It’s not a radio, dad,” Bonnlyn said slowly, drawing him from his worst imaginings.
“It’s not?” he coughed.
“It’s not,” the boy said. “For all the reasons I’m sure you were just thinking about.”
…Well, at least the boy had some sense. Drawing himself up now that he was sure his entire bloodline wasn’t about to be wiped out for being made privy to a secret that would shake the nation, he eyed the box once more.
“Then what is it?” the man asked.
“I call it a gramophone,” the boy said. “And it’s not unlike a music box.”
Ah, that made more sense. And with that sense, the man could feel excitement build in his chest at the possibilities this… handheld orchestra held.
“Ah, then does that mean the disk you held before, the aluminium one, functions in a similar method to a cylinder drum?” Finn asked as he leaned forward to inspect the many grooves the disk held.
The boy for his part actually looked a little surprised, either by how quickly the merchant had changed gears or that the man actually had insight into how his new device worked.
“Yes actually,” the boy said, smiling as he gestured to the needle holding arm of the ‘gramophone’. “These grooves function in a similar way to the raised bumps you’d find on a cylinder drum.”
Finn hummed. “Only infinitely more complex. They’d have to be to produce such varied sound.”
In his experience, music boxes were a delight to listen to, but they held a very simple tune, one that repeated every few seconds. Nothing at all like the… sweeping crescendo he’d just heard.
“How does it produce sound?” The dwarf asked. “The raised bumps in a music box are there to pluck a comb within.”
Part of him expected the young man to clam up, seeking to hide some of the methodology behind the machine’s function. Instead, the boy’s grin got wider if anything.
“Ah, I… have you ever run your finger across the rim of a bowl or glass?” he asked excitedly.
Finn nodded, even if it had been many years since he’d done so, not since he was a lad. Indeed, these days his experiences with such things was more often kept to instructing his youngest not to do as the boy just mentioned.
“It produces a sound. Like the echo of a cave.”
The boy nodded eagerly. “That sound is caused by vibrations resonating in the material of the bowl. The needle on the gramaphone works in the same way. By running along the grooves in the disk, it vibrates to produce noise and that noise is then transferred up the needle and amplified by the funnel on top.”
That was… genius.
There was no other way to describe it. How did…
Finn resisted the urge to shake his head. It was best not to question how geniuses – and the boy was one for sure – figured out the things they did.
No, he was a merchant and he’d focus on what he knew.
“If that’s the case,” the man said thumbing his chin as his brain went to work. “The true cost of this machine isn’t in the gramaphone itself… but in that, I believe you called it a record?”
The boy nodded, casually waving the likely priceless thing about, making the old man’s heart skip a beat. “Sort of?”
“Sort of? I apologize if this old man has failed to understand something here… but based on what you’ve described to me, the creation of a ‘record’ would require nothing less than a master smith.”
The carving of grooves in such a manner so as to make the right sound. Just figuring out how to carve them in such a way would be the work of years or decades. And then the skill required to actually carve them out correctly? Even with magic, Finn couldn’t even begin to imagine the sheer level of focus required.
Then again… Bonnlyn did say the boy was something of a prodigy on that front, Finn thought idly.
Rather than the boy, it was his daughter that spoke this time – and she was holding another priceless disk! “Not necessarily. I wasn’t there when William made that first disk, but I was for this one.”
Placing this new disk onto the gramaphone, Finn readied himself for another bout of enchanting music… only to wince as something far more warped issued forth from the machine.
“Oh, come on!” Bonnlyn shouted over the sound from the machine. “My singing isn’t that bad.”
Finn dared to disagree. His beloved little Bonnlyn shared many traits with her dear mother – and singing ability was one of them. He loved Annelin with all his heart, but the woman could make a Kraken flee when she tried to sing.
Bonnlyn was little different in that regard, as a stilted attempt at what might have been the Orichian national anthem issued forth from the Gramaphone.
Fortunately for all of them, having made her point, Bonnlyn lifted up the needle-arm of the machine with a huff, bringing the sound of her singing to an end.
Still, the point was made. Finn sincerely doubted a master smith would spend any amount of time recording… that, if it actually required any real effort to do.
If anything, part of him was a little annoyed at the waste in aluminium said disk now represented.
“You said you were present when William ‘made’ that?” the older man asked. “How?”
Rather than answer with words, his daughter simply leaned into the funnel and mimed – thankfully! – singing while spinning the disk below.
Even then, it took Finn a few moments. “Vibrations.”
This time the boy was beaming. “Bonnlyn said you were smart. I’m glad to see where she gets it from. You’re right. If the needle vibrating can produce sound, then sound can make the needle vibrate. And, if it’s running across a disk like this when it does, it’ll cut the right grooves to recreate that sound.”
Ignoring the way his daughter was blushing again, Finn turned to the boy. “You’d need a sharp needle to cut aluminium like that. A different one from the kind you use to ‘play’ the sound back.”
The boy nodded idly. “Diamond.”
Yeah, that’d do it.
Still… as incredible as all this was, it begged the question.
“Why?”
The boy seemed surprised. “I’m sorry, why what?”
Finn gestured to the gramaphone. “Why bring this to me? Why explain it? With a device like this… the world is yours.”
Sure it wasn’t radio or some other kind of weapon, but that made it in some ways more valuable, not less. The Count could freely sell it not just to his allies in Lindholm, but overseas as well.
And people would buy it. Nobles from across the land would practically fight over the right to purchase one of these wonder machines and the ability to have an entire orchestra ready to play for them on demand.
Sure, others would produce gramophones of their own, but that wasn’t where the real money was. If William could hide the method to produce new records, he’d be able to maintain a monopoly on them – and charge absurd amounts for new ones. Special limited variants could be made and the nobility would fight amongst themselves for the prestige of having access to them.
And their squabbles would only serve to drive the demand higher and fill the boy’s pockets with more gold than he could ever spend.
…And yet he’d come here.
Sure, the boy was his daughter’s friend… but this…
The boy stared in incomprehension for a few seconds, before realization seemed to hit him and he shrugged. “You said it yourself. I chose the path of magic, not commerce.”
He idly ran a finger over the record in his hand. “I designed the machine. I can make more. And I could probably sell it on… but it’s not my area of expertise.”
He leaned back in his seat, before slowly sliding the disk across the table towards Finn. “So I figured I’d hand all that crap off to someone who actually knows what they’re doing.”
Ignorant or uncaring of the incredulous stare he was getting from the older man, the boy idly stretched out his arms as he fought down a yawn. “Besides, I’ve got more important things I need to do. Running my county. Working on new shard designs. Upgrading the new cruiser we’ve got. Nah, I figure it’s better for me to hand this stuff off to you, let you run with it, and then just take a percentage of the royalties.”
He clicked his fingers as if an idea had just occurred to him. “Oh, and you’ll need to be in charge of the manufacturing. My industrial capacity is kind of maxed out at the minute. That’s part of why I told you how it works. I mean, I’ll explain it in detail later, but for the moment I wanted to make it clear that it’s not that hard to make this stuff, even without mages.”
Finn just stared, eyes dipping from the record now in front of him to the madman who’d created it – and was now practically giving it away.
Because he couldn’t be bothered to make more or sell them.
It didn’t compute.
He didn’t understand.
And as his eyes flitted over to his daughter for some… any kind of explanation that made sense, he found her expression was filled with nothing but compassion and understanding.
“You get used to it,” she said.
Absently, for a lack of anything else to say, the dwarf just nodded.
What else was there to say?
Beyond…
“What kind of percentage in royalties were you looking for?” he asked finally, banking on what he knew to maintain some small grip on reality.
When the madman finally answered, it was all Finn could do not to choke on his own spit.