Morthisal stood before the small panel on the wall—the one Travious had pointed out—with his arms crossed. A pair of narrow slots with a small mouth below them stared back at him. He traced them with his fingertip. The surface was cool and decidedly not powerful at all. Pressing against one of the slots, he found that his finger didn't fit.

"Locked away, are you?" he muttered.

He recalled Travious mentioning knives. Perhaps metal would grant him access to the hidden power. Turning away, he made his way to the kitchen.

The drawers and cabinets became his next targets. He pulled them open one by one and rummaged through their contents. Wooden spoons, strange tools made of a stiff, smooth material, and unfamiliar gadgets cluttered the space. None of them seemed useful.

"Where do you keep your knives, Vince?"

A small door caught his eye, tucked beneath the counter. He opened it to reveal a chamber filled with gleaming plates, pots, and utensils. They sat in neat rows inside the metallic box.

"What marvel is this?"

He lifted a plate, noting its clean surface.

"Is this a machine for cleaning?" he mused.

His gaze drifted to his own attire. Penny, the shaman, had pointed out that he had blood on his tunic. It didn’t bother him, but he’d gathered, from her reaction, that it should be cleaned off. Jack Sweet hadn’t mentioned it. Still, why not use one of these marvelous devices? He placed a cold metal knife on the counter and worked at the buttons. He had trouble with them, so he ripped the shirt upward, got it over his head, and then struggled further, getting his arms and hands out of the long sleeves. He pulled harder, and one of the bindings popped off and flew across the room.

“Blasted clothing!”

He threw the shirt in the cleaner and closed the door.

“Perhaps you can cleanse these as well. Or destroy it for all I care.”

He snatched the knife off the counter, spun it, and returned to the outlet. Morthisal held the knife with a firm grip. He wiggled the blade end into one of the slots and braced himself as he waited for the jolt. Nothing happened.

Frowning, he tapped the knife against the outlet. Still, no reaction.

"Why won't you yield your secrets? Curse you!”

His eyes fell upon a plug connected nearby. Understanding flickered.

"Ah, there's more to you."

He left the first knife in the outlet, and returned to the kitchen to fetch a second blade, and returned to the outlet.

"This should suffice."

He didn’t wait to consider the effects and simply shoved the second blade in, and his fingers brushed against the first knife.

A sudden jolt surged through him. His muscles clenched, and a sharp cry escaped his lips. A bright spark flashed, and a loud pop sounded from the wall. The lights overhead flickered, then went out, plunging the room into darkness.

He fell backward, landing hard on the floor. His limbs trembled, and a tingling sensation ran up and down his arms. The scent of burnt metal filled the air.

"To the pit with you!" he cursed the outlet.

Breathless, he stared up at the shadowed ceiling. That had been far more powerful than the blast from the car battery. He sat up slowly, rubbing his numb hands, and shook them out. The silence around him seemed heavier now with the hum of the main room of the hovel muted.

There! The veil! It was back, and closer than ever. It parted to him, and he found the thread he had lashed around the young black man named Travious. He grasped hold, and pulled.

Travious. I need further help. Return to my hovel.

The fuck? How in the... Morthisal tightened the thread. Okay. Yeah. Be there in twenty.

Morthisal did not tug the thread any harder. There was a sense of distance between him and Travious, but he had stronger control than before.

Morthisal stood and looked around the hovel. The lights were out. His eyes fell on the outlet with the knife sticking out. One had been knocked out when he had fallen back.

A black mark marred the smooth white surface as if it had been burned.

He shook his head. The taste of metal pervaded his mouth.

“Why is nothing working?”

Morthisal picked up the slender device, the one with buttons that had controlled the moving pictures before. He pressed several buttons, pointing it at the dark screen. Nothing happened. He turned it over, examining the smooth casing and the strange symbols.

Stolen novel; please report.

"More stubborn than a stone golem."

He tossed the device onto the couch and surveyed the shadowed room. The absence of light was inconvenient. Perhaps there were other chambers to explore. He moved toward an open doorway and stepped into a room dominated by a large, low platform bed draped in fabric and blankets. Pillows rested at one end. He tried the switch on the wall, but the overhead lights did not appear.

"So this is where Vince lays his head." He pushed on the bed and found it to be far too soft.

Against one wall stood a tall wooden structure with many compartments. He ran his hand over the polished surface, feeling for hidden latches or secrets. Finding a handle, he pulled, and a drawer slid out to reveal stacks of folded garments, most of a very soft material.

Who needs so many clothes?

He lifted a shirt, noting the soft fabric and bright color. He shook it out and found a clever saying upon the front. Sarcastic Comment Loading... Morthisal slid it over his head and the fabric settled comfortably around his waist. The next drawer held more clothing—trousers, some made of coarse material, others finer. He found thick hosiery rolled into pairs and shook one out, noting how small and short they appeared to be.

These wouldn't keep a child's feet and legs warm.

Opening another drawer, he discovered small clothes with curious designs. Some were adorned with images of animals or symbols he didn't recognize.

Why does he wear all of this? Morthisal shook his head. A half dozen robes are all a man requires.

Morthisal tried the switch on the wall again. Blast this dark room!

In a smaller compartment, he found another baffling collection of accessories—belts with intricate buckles, pieces of metal shaped into circles and squares with pins on the back.

"Ornaments or magical devices?" He tried to delve into a few, but they lacked power of any sort.

At the bottom drawer, he uncovered a collection of small books with glossy pages. They held images of a young Vince with other people, sometimes just other people. Some showed strange locations with towering structures of glass and steel—others, with sunny locals surrounded by water and sand.

"These are quite vivid paintings," he murmured, taking one out to examine. The paper was thick, and the painting's surface lacked brushstroke lines.

As he pondered over a picture of Vince standing next to a large body of water, a sharp knock echoed from the front of the hovel. He straightened and wondered if Travious had gotten here so quickly or if it was yet another interruption. At least back at his old fortress, he'd had Churl the goblin to chase away visitors if he was busy.

He went to the door, opened it, and found a portly man with slicked back dark oiled hair. He had a pair of small hooped earrings in each ear and wore thin-rimmed glasses. His eyes darted around, trying to see over Morthisal’s shoulder into the hovel.

“Yes?“

"Vince," the man started, "did you blow a circuit or something? A couple of tenants complained."

Morthisal wasn't sure what the man was talking about. "And who might you be?"

"I'm the goddamn landlord, Frank Buckley, and I'm not in the mood for games. Let me in right now." Frank brushed past him into the room and stopped when he spotted the knives in the outlet.

"What are you doing? Are you stupid? I should evict your ass for this!"

Morthisal was not impressed with the man's rudeness. "Do you know how to fix the problem with the lights and the talking box?"

Frank scoffed. "I'm not sure you deserve a fix after pulling this stupid shit. What were you trying to do?“

Morthisal grew weary of Frank's attitude. He threw a thread around the man and commanded, "Shut up this instant and fix the problem."

Frank's eyes glazed over, and his mouth snapped shut. He moved mechanically towards the outlet and pulled out the knives. He moved into the hallway and opened a small closet door, reached inside, and opened a small metal door Morthisal had not noticed before.

“Stop. Tell me what that is.”

“It’s your circuit breaker. They pop when you do things like shove a pair of knives into an outlet. Why didn't you reset it?“

“Show me how. And explain to me how this magical power flows as if I were a child. It seems to be invisible.”

“What, electricity? That’s not magic. It’s power, man. Comes over the wires, which come from main lines under and through the city, and those come from a dam."

"A dam? To stop the flow of water?" Morthisal understood the concept but not how it related to electricity.

Frank shook his head and muttered something under his breath as he pulled something on the circuit panel. It cracked loudly, and the lights above immediately flooded the room again.

“See? Easy peasy.”

Morthisal crossed his arms. “Frank Buckley. I would like you to explain electricity. Start at the beginning.”

“Why? I know how it gets here and how it’s made. You know you could google that shit.”

“Google that shit? Show me what that means this instant."

"Google. Use that laptop." Frank pointed at a black device sitting under a pile of papers on the table.

Morthisal followed Frank to the strange black rectangle on the table. Frank lifted the top portion, and it unfolded like a book. The surface lit up with vibrant colors, displaying small pictures and text against a backdrop of rolling hills.

"This is a computer. A laptop specifically," Frank said, his voice still a monotone from the enchantment, not that he'd had a lot of inflection outside of yelling. He demonstrated how to move his finger across a small square pad below the keys. A white arrow moved across the screen in response. "See? Move your finger here to control the cursor."

Morthisal placed his finger on the pad, fascinated as the arrow danced across the screen. Frank guided him to a colorful circle icon and showed him how to click it.

"Now, type what you want to know. Like this." Frank slowly struck the keys with two fingers until the words "How... does... electricity... work?" appeared.

The screen was filled with countless responses—images, text, and what were called "videos" that promised to explain everything from atoms to power plants.

"Show me more," Morthisal ordered. Frank demonstrated other searches: history, science, warfare, and ancient civilizations. Each query revealed endless depths of knowledge.

Morthisal stood back, astounded. "How are there not more dark lords ruling this realm? With such power at their fingertips..." He waved his hand dismissively at Frank. "You may leave now. The next time you see Vince, you will treat him with respect. And you will forget about finding the knives in the wall."

Frank nodded mechanically and left the apartment.

Morthisal turned back to the laptop and a smile spread across his face. "The knowledge of an entire world, mine to command." His fingers returned to the keys, ready to unlock the secrets of this world.