"You know, if you wanted to remodel the place there were better ways," I idly remark.
lusine's face twists with rage.
"You jest? A third of my warehouses went up in flas and you jest? Do you know how much ti and money I lost? Do you comprehend that your own bottom line will be impacted?"
Financially as in life, I am confident with my bottom line. I would never invest most of my assets with a fire mage anyway.
"Of course. A tragedy. Chicago shall never be the sa," I comnt.
"It will not because three square miles have gone up in smoke! A hundred thousand people are holess."
"But there is a silver lining," I point out. "All those slums can be replaced with brand new buildings of much better quality. Parks, even. And the sll would be much improved."
"Ariane, it was warm, dry, and windy for a long ti. I know what you are trying to do and you are being silly. Childish. It was a terrible accident. Preliminary reports say a cow did it."
"Yes, a cow did it," I reply without concealing my smile. "The question is, did she use firebolt or inferno?"
I let lusine scream incoherently for thirty seconds before cutting the communication. Pleasure is all well and good but I have work to do! The demonstration is about to begin. I must monitor the situation although the sun is out, and I am a prisoner in my own quarters.
Another spell and I get a blurry vision of an open field not too far from the Boston fortress where I currently reside. A helpful assistant has the dubious honor of carrying a silver plate in front of him for the entire day, despite the sweltering heat of sumr. Curse sumr. Curse the sumr solstice most of all.
I cannot stop myself from sticking my nose to the tal surface of my scryer, even though the quality of the image does not depend on my own senses. Loth stands in the distance, looking regal in a beautifully made beige suit. He smiles genially at the sweating patent officer and assembled army officers. Their dals and decorations shine in the sun almost as much as their brows. I know for a fact Loth keeps a cooling steel plate stuck to his hairy back to handle the unbearable heat, the sly old dog. I sit back and wait for the show to begin.
The dragon vision was clear to . I still have several decades before Nirari finally backs Semiramis into a corner. I would not say that ti is on my side since her loss remains inevitable and I will have to intervene, however I have no reason to rush the final confrontation. There are still ways for to grow more powerful and to add new tools to my arsenal while Nirari has already reached the peak of his power. My options are diplomatic, technological, and the last is a special project I started before freeing the fae.
As much as it annoys , the world is also filled with threats against and my allies. The major players will not show the basic decency to wait until I rid them of a world-conquering tyrant before shoving a spike in my heart, therefore asures are required.
I need to build up my forces.
Fortunately, I enjoy doing that imnsely. Loth smiles in harmony with my own pleasure. He widens his arms in benevolent welco, a show considering his size.
"Welco, gentlen, welco to the first demonstration of the unthinkable. For the first ti in the history of mankind we touch upon the true dream. Not a controlled fall, not floating at the rcy of the wind. I am talking about the holy Grail of modern engineering: man-powered flight."
I wanted to put 'woman-powered flight' on the patent but the old Dvergur refused using my own weakness against : the rules of language. He said that if I would not tolerate the utterance of the despicable term of 'okay' anywhere on my compound, I would certainly not allow my own patent to break the laws of grammar. Curse him and curse semantics.
"We have not co here for snakeoil speeches, Mr… Skoragg was it?"
The man who spoke is a reed-thin gentleman with a ruddy face despite his bookworm physique. Scaled glasses rest on a thin nose, while he keeps in his hand a worn leather case. Except for him, everyone wears the blue of the army
"Yes," the old warrior replies with a slight Nordic accent. He decided to shelve the Scottish brogue for the occasion and for 'respectability', though it still surfaces when he swears. His new position demands it.
"My na is Loth Skoragg, head of Skoragg Heavy Industries. Our prototype is nad the Protheus and it was designed at the behest of Illinois Guns of Liberties, in collaboration with their engineering departnt. The patent includes both of us."
"I have not co here for a history lesson, Mr —"
"If you will excuse us," a colonel with a long brown beard and pale eyes interrupts.
The patent officer sighs but complies.
"Please, continue."
"Although the Protheus is a Swedish-Arican partnership, the plans and factories are all hosted on Arican soil. I have no need to explain how montous this is."
"You explain much, but I have yet to see any sign of a flying device."
Loth grins and points up. On cue, the roar of an engine cos to life and rotors turn to move the air. A shadow falls upon the assembly. A hull with a flat bottom descends like a bird from heaven, side sails taunt in the wind. Its shade covers the waiting group.
The witnesses' flabbergasted expression is positively precious. Hiding a ship in a cloudless sky can be difficult, if one forgets that the sun exists and that no one stares at it willingly.
The Protheus is not a proof of concept as most new designs are, it is a fully functional ship capable of flying at a height of a thousand feet and an autonomy of eight hundred miles at the mont. It can host a crew of twenty five and bears four light cannons aiming down. As a navy ship, it would do a decent job patrolling the coasts for smugglers. As a skyship, it bears a distinct advantage. No armies of the world can reliably take down a moving, plated target a thousand feet above their heads. It, however, can hit them just fine.
The plate bearer turns the mirror to show the Protheus land in all its glory. Two of the officers fall on their posteriors and clamber back, their eyes wide as saucers. The ship cos to rest with a light thud while red-clad sailors lower the gangplank.
The Protheus is flat-bottod so it can rest on both land and seas, but not properly sail on anything too agitated. The decision ca out of a joint accord. It pains not to have a flying and sea-worthy ship now that Pookie guards my precious hoard, I an, my art collection, however the result is worth it. I can be patient. Really. The world has not seen the end of the dread pirate. While I entertain the thought of a flying ship of the line, the officer and patent office agent have recovered enough to gather the shreds of dignity they still have. Loth walks them patiently around the ship, unveiling its attributes while a hired photographer captures the mont with his annoying contraption. Soon, they board the Protheus with various levels of courage, and the ship takes off. The plate-holder has co aboard despite the limited space. The ship will not go very high, nor will it travel very far. Only to a pier where it will settle under the amazed eyes of the populace. I hum a little tune under my breath as the inspectors stick to the railing with hilariously fake nonchalance. Loth spoon feeds them anecdotes, knowing well they will barely rember their conversation.
After a flight of half an hour at a decent speed, the ship flies low over the streets of Boston. A gasping crowd trails our prototype with excitent until it lands in the harbor.
"Mass production can begin imdiately. We have several models to choose from and we hope the army will consider our creation's remarkable potential. A ship like the Protheus can strike anywhere unimpeded, travel as fast as a running horse, and shoot without being shot at. It is as much a revolution as modern logistics was. The Protheus will revolutionize the way we wage wars, gentlen. You can count on it. And now if you will excuse , I have to greet your compatriots."
Loth steps on the railing with a sound amplifier of his own design. His rumbling voice rolls over the calm waves like an avalanche, as unstoppable as the march of progress.
"Ladies and gentlen, this is the year of our lord eighteen seventy-two. Welco…. to the future!"
***
While Loth and the more business-oriented mbers of the Accords manage the developnt of the airship project, I focus on one of the greatest challenges we will have to solve if we want to keep living under the glowing light of gas lamps, that of photography.
Indeed, with every major event attracting the presence of picture takers, we will soon be forced to shun major public events or have people wonder why all their caras only catch a blur. Unfortunately, the very idea of stabilizing our image poses a challenge. We do not lack a reflection so much as we lack presence. We remain the fleshy avatars of a curious and slightly strange god, and the Watcher has not seen fit to help us fit in too much. As usual, the solution lies in deceit and misdirection.
We need a mask.
After a little work, I believe I have found a way to cheat caras reliably. Those accursed tools rely capture light through a lens, so I must give them light to process. The good news is that the energy required to produce the image of a single vampire is extrely limited. Sadly, there are obstacles.
First, the vampire must be aware they are being photographed to 'aim' the light properly.
Second, the projected image may not match the vampire because, again, there is no true self to project for so strange reason.
I circumvent the first issue by adding an extrely complex reactive component to the masking spell, one based on the flash a cara needs to produce a good image at night. A strong variance in the lighting will cause a reaction. The second issue is more complex, and the best way I find to handle this difficulty is to 'save' a standard realistic portrait the vampire must identify with.
In the first attempts, the results are still blurry and I have to make adjustnts in material and complexity. Eventually, I pick electrum as a base component due to the vanity associated with both silver and gold. The resulting enchantnts allow to project not one but four different images depending on the vampire's body positioning compared to the cara. It feels a little unnatural and forces the vampire to wear similar clothes or create suspicion, much to Sephare's dismay. Fortunately, the canny Hastings finds an easy solution.
This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
She orders twelve different pendants and rings bearing the enchantnt.
She can afford them too.
The creation of said enchantnts for the hundreds of Accords vampires occupies much of eighteen seventy-two. While ti-consuming, the task also puts in the good graces of Mask and Eneru vampires after I sell the design to the Rosenthal. It also requires to et every vampire I create tools for seeing as they need a firm image of what they currently look like and many have forgotten. I have to paint them first.
I et a lot of people over the next months. So I even find tolerable. With enough money and goodwill collected for a while and with the first small flying skiffs shipped out to city masters across North Arica, the ti cos for to create one such item for myself. The issue is obvious and imdiate. I cannot paint myself.
Fortunately, I have no need to do so.
During the dragon hunt, I challenged the Old One to a painting competition which he beat handily at. I was allowed to keep his creation — which he casually sneezed on a canvas — and use it as a baseline. It leads my kin to say that I appear 'sunnier' and 'of an easier disposition and temperant' on film than in reality. I refrain from gouging eyes but I do gouge them on my prices for this affront.
While I work on preparing us for the future, I keep an eye on the larger events. Nirari has disappeared again into the maze of history, pursuing his mother and his ambitions. Mask has decided to bind us diplomatically rather than militarily to Sephare's delight and my personal annoyance. I believe we should make them pay for their audacity but my kin are ever pragmatic and I cannot begrudge them the wealth that cos with having valuable trading partners.
I also manage to purchase many paintings as a result, so not all is lost. I favor impressionist paintings but I do find myself acquiring naturalist paintings, so neo-classical works so long as it does not depict temples and so long as the denuded butts remain anatomically correct. Romantic and pre-raphaelite masterpieces co to bring so spice to an ever-growing collection. I find myself less interested by older trends, preferring to capture the zeitgeist of eras I have lived through. This leads to so consternation among my friends.
"You will need an entire village to host your collection," Jina remarks at so point. "And not a single visitor."
"I am the only visitor I truly seek to satisfy, and besides, have I not invited you?"
"Fair enough, sister. No one is owed a visit to your little haven. It is just such a sha. Art should be shared, should it not?"
I grumble so excuses about pedantic comnters and children with grubby fingers and no manners, but I know that she is correct. I believe I will eventually open my collection but only when I have adequate safety asures and such is not the case now. And by adequate I an that both visitors and paintings are safe, the paintings themselves remain quite safe right now.
***
"I have a gift for you," I tell lusine at the inauguration of her new stone apartnts.
"Is it syphilis?"
I roll my eyes at the cheap jab.
"If you could catch it you would have it by now. I am referring to a real gift, one that will benefit you and through your status as my faithful minion, as well."
lusine's suspicion does not ease. We stand in a small, newly opened park surrounded by storied buildings in a renovated part of Chicago. The city is gaining her letter of nobility now that the most defining architectural feature is no longer 'slum', and we have gathered to celebrate. I reach in my satchel and remove a single dark gem, glowing from an inner fire like an ember under a cloud of ash. The fire specialist's eyes widen with surprise and greed. I feel her aura resonate with the slow pulse of the incandescent piece of jewelry.
"What is that thing? Where did you find it?"
"The fae spheres, of course. I brought gifts for everyone that mattered to ."
"... thank you, Ariane."
"And for you as well."
"You bitch."
"Darkfire gems help those who prefer their heat shrouded in shadows. I am confident you will find a use for it."
"I need a new focus."
We stare at each other in silence for a minute. She knows I am a very capable crafter myself with access to Skoragg expertise. She can do no better on this continent.
"I am sure soone could help you against just compensation."
"So you gift the jewel but I have to pay to use it."
"You can sit on it for free. Does that count?"
We bicker for a while but I can tell she is most pleased.
***
It does not cost that much money to build a skyship. It does, however, require uniquely skilled workers, hard-to-source materials, and a patented technique.
I have achieved monopoly over the world's most coveted arcane technological innovation.
For a year, IGL and Skoragg Heavy Industries achieve world-wide fa. Journalists besiege the city. Scientists beg to join our hallowed ranks, bringing with them knowledge and talents. I can dine on a spy every night and never drain from the sa neck. More importantly, I beco fabulously rich. Even accounting for Accords ships, taxes, and contributions to several projects for the Accords, a hundred and fifty thousand dollars for a ship will net unprecedented profit when the production cost is barely a tenth of that. And people will pay. Affluent investors, governnts and military rushed orders to be the first to possess our work. I have no doubt that most of our sales to Europe were eventually dismantled and cracked like nuts for analysis but Loth and I made a significant effort to use fae and Dvergur runes, and there are very few experts capable of deciphering our work, not to ntion understanding it. For now, life is perfect. And so, of course, it was not ant to last.
***
I wait patiently by my office, a hand placed against the nearest illusory window. Those are actually mirrors that reflect the exterior to let in a simulacrum of the sun's light. Any casual visitor will simply see in my office by day, working normally. Keen observers might notice the blurred nature of the image, and perhaps the slightly wrong angle of the third window from the entrance which I still have not fixed, though they could bla faulty glass. Anyone asking to open a window will be flatly refused. Nevertheless, the false sunlight is of such a color that I can never truly relax in its presence. A part of sees the pale radiance and expects to burst into fla, and nevermind reason or evidence. As such, I tend to keep the mirrors off while alone.
Unfortunately, my next visitors must be given no reason to suspect that I abhor the sun. Unfortunately, our existence has reached the level of urban myth, though we have yet to deplore any loss from it. I should not give them an excuse in any case.
Four n in uniform walk through my front gate at a brisk pace. Their steps carry them through the main entrance with a decisive gait. My quietly competent receptionist Mrs. Starr directs them up and warns afterward, which is good because my Magna Arqa cannot be cast during the day. They bang more than knock on my door then step in without an invitation.
I could do sothing drastic to them and get away with it, but the truth is that the office is still not technically the heart of my domain and I have suffered fools here before. I shall suffer these as well.
The four officers stride in and stop with various expressions of disapproval.
"So it was true. A woman. I cannot believe the War Office would leave the arming of our nation's military to a re girl."
"Not that there is much to equip, Colonel Andrews. Our army's manpower is not even a tenth of France's," I casually observe. "But we are getting sidetracked. You have an injunction to deliver, yes?"
"Before we begin, I would like to give you one last chance to do what is right. I do not know whether this is so sort of trickery or you inherited this position and no heir ca to contest it, you must listen to reason. The sky ship is no less important to the developnt of our nation and the industrial revolution we find ourselves in than the cotton gin, the steam engine, the railroad and many other innovations have been over the past century. Manufactories now occupy a lot of our workforce because we have wisely protected it from the predation of the old world with reasonable tariffs and other adapted asures. The sky ship gives us a chance to compete on the global scale against those who have occupied the arena since its inception. I beg you to reconsider the export of this strategic resource to countries that have done little to deserve such boons. Countries that, I may add, are even now peeling off the hulls IGL designed to get at the secret marrow. Do not squander such a treasure."
I was going to let my guest handle it, but I believe a small precision is in order.
"Correction. What I have is first and foremost MINE."
I sit back down in my comfortable chair, doing my best not to claw my desk's surface off as it is quite expensive. Before the officers can react to my outburst, I ring a little bell I have ready. I would have normally done without but my guest insisted that it was no sign of disrespect. A mont later, a dark-haired, handso man in an exquisitely tailored suit and a winning smile crosses the threshold. While the soldiers' uniforms are a little crumpled, the newcor is so neat his appearance is almost surreal. From his pomaded hair to the flawlessly polished shoes, even a maniac would be hard-pressed to find a single flaw.
"Gentlen, hello," he says. "I am Isaac Rosenthal of the Rosenthal Consortium, Banks, and Legal services. It has co to my attention that you were to produce a 'requisition order' hmm? Let us see it? If you please?"
He snatches the wrinkled envelope from off of the officers' stunned hands and opens it with ceremony. His brow wrinkles while he reads the official docunt. Soon, he tuts under his breath.
The officers do not speak and for good reason. The asset grab they were sent to perform was decided at the highest level and by people I never suspected of treachery. Grant, you devil, I trusted you. I even got you promoted. I soothe the anguish in my heart by watching sweat pearl on the officers' skin. They ca in expecting resistance, I am sure. Threats. Grandstanding. I bypassed all that by calling upon the last option.
I brought in a lawyer.
They should not have ssed with my property!
"As expected, I see several issues with this 'requisition' order and I regret to tell you that they are as I expected. First, we are not a belligerent state…"
Thus begins a litany of complaints that lasts for a good ten minutes, a remarkable achievent considering the order itself is rely two pages long. Isaac finishes with a nice touch.
"... and last but not least, a requisition order may not cover patents, plans, and contracts as you seem to believe. I admit to knowing in advance the broad lines of this order, though I hoped you might have reconsidered this foolish endeavor, and would like to present you this executive order signed by Governor Spencer himself rescinding your permit to seize my client's property."
If I understand properly, all of those are aningless docunts disputing everyone's legitimacy and mandate in general. Pah, I care not, so long as we block their attempt. Unfortunately, it also ans that we will have to trigger a certain operation early.
***
"My little treacle tart! What brings you here in my humble abode?"
"Hello Nami. I am on my way to see Isaac, and I wanted to use this opportunity to bring you a gift."
"A gift? How precious. What manner of gift?"
"Do you have your book around?"
"You know I do, sweet thing. You asked in your latest letter, did you not?"
"I am just confirming. You will need quick access."
"Stop titillating ! What is it that you believe the experience will be worth it?"
"A potion. A mory potion made by a servant of the Court of Darkness. It will work on you."
"A mory eh? Whose?'
"Mine. It will not be as impactful as the genuine article, but I believe that given your love of dancing and new experiences, it shall still satisfy you."
"And who will be dancing?"
"The Old One."
***
The world is changing fast. Technology carries it, but the rest follows. Population leaves the countryside to glut the outskirts of town, feeding their flesh and labor to the fires of industry. Alcoholism runs rampant, and with it tax evasion and corruption beco the norm. The victors devour the vanquished. The vanquished bla devil worshippers for their defeat, rewriting history to fit the agenda of the Intergrist party. The persecution of anyone suspected of magic becos routine in the south while authorities either turn a blind eye or stand complicit. As a result, White and Red cabal recruitnt are at an all ti high.
Perhaps my ti in the faerie world has given a sense of perspective or perhaps history is accelerating. In any case, recent developnts challenge the way we act and evolve in society. Sephare, Isaac, and Constantine take to it like fishes to water. One wields the law, the second wields finance and the third influence to achieve what armies could not. We are now in eighteen seventy three and I have not had to wield my Magna Arqa to solve issues in two years.
I still used it, I just did not have to.
It is a strange new world we are leading to in this end of a century. Magic has returned to the forefront after being trimd and unveiled by the purging blaze of enlightennt, and yet rather than wonder or fear, it is dogmatic hatred and bleak resignation that celebrate its rise. It has all beco so very normal. Standard. Taxed and regulated according to well-defined laws. There are even chartered trinket shops for the discerning custors now, and alchemy shops pop out selling pimple removers and birth control elixirs of won wearing shawls so as not to be recognized.
All those challenges require new solutions and it is Isaac I et to keep control of my ships.
"The current administration has proven unable to keep their office clear of corruption despite our assistance. We face an endemic issue, so like all such problems we shall ride the wave instead of fighting it," the banker says as we watch out the window of his New York office.
"Will they not lash out when they figure out soone operated from the shadows?"
"There will be no proof, just a succession of unfortunate events. Rember, we are not intimidating your foes. We are replacing them."
"I am ready to sign on those authorizations."
"I know. The fireworks begin tomorrow."
"And when do they stop?"
Isaac's smile could not be more savage, an unsettling sign on a face of one usually so composed.
"When we are done."
***
A tidal wave sweeps across the financial landscape, a terrible event that sinks many rickety ships, their decks too weak from years of prosperity. The portents were there: railroad constructions had bood after the war with much money tied up in risky, illiquid ventures. The fires in Chicago and Boston put a strain on national reserves. To slow down the rampant inflation, the governnt raises interest rates and thus the cost of debt, punishing the typically indebted farrs.
And then it happens. Jay Cooke and Company, a major actor of the banking establishnt, finds itself unable to market several million dollars worth of Northern Pacific Railways bonds. There is much to finance but the money to do so is too scarce.
In September seventy-three, the company's unfortunate financial situation is revealed via a series of reports. The sa month, the company declares bankruptcy. The fall of the giant creates ripples, a cascading effect that culminates in the closure of the New York Stock Exchange for several weeks. Most of the railroad companies go bust. The construction of new railroads stops due to a lack of financing. Unemploynt explodes while the demand for lumber collapses.
And then, the cash which the industry was starving for flows again from mysterious actors, the very sa who had held back at the height of speculation and saved their profits. Several mysterious consortiums and obscure interest groups gobble up their competitors for a fraction of what they cost a year before. The behemoth, the leviathan raking the most profit, becos famous for the Gothic R that starts its na. The polite yet rciless lawyers they send to conduct their affairs beco known to most as last resort saviors. Many protests are broken peacefully through harsh yet human negotiations, for no one knows better than us that humans should never be backed into a corner.
Because of the economic downturn, IGL successfully asks for a right to export its goods, considering the weak local demand and the need for additional profits. The secretary of war replaces its negotiators with smoother agents. Lumber prices stop tumbling down as Marquette grows to match the demand. Three years later, the country has stabilized and we are imasurably more powerful than when we started.
Four years later, there is a transatlantic flying ship line, sky navies, and I have more money to my na than I could possibly ever hope to spend.
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