10. N #3
He sketched as he moved, once he figured he could have the Probe hold the torch.
True to form, it breathed in the black sludge that came off the flame without so much as a wheeze.
He made three full expanding circles around the World Gate before he found a set of wagons that appeared dusty, but otherwise intact.
The wheel-coverings had long since rotted away, and the glass had become discolored and crazed, but otherwise the essential mechanisms appeared intact.
“Alright,” he said to the Probe, “let’s see what we’ve got to work with.”
He stripped off his robe, leaving him in his trews and shirtsleeves, and went to work.
A giant yawn, followed by thirst, a sharp pang of hunger gave him only a vague sense of how much time had passed.
He wiped his eyes with the back of a grimy hand.
The torch, replenished at least a dozen times, now had a metal handle and crude basket to hold the flame.
It had been jammed into a convenient spot on the ground, near where the Probe stood, holding up one end of a wagon, so he could work underneath.
At least the Probe had not failed, proving that his initial speculation that a lack of ambient magic on this side of the Portal was the cause of the initial disaster.
It was still running on its own internally generated magic and the brute force of its organic body.
He did catch a whiff of urine where it had voided itself.
Next time you create a Probe, leave in the part of the brain that lets it control its own elimination.
He looked at the line of parts and components that he had salvaged, and which he thought might be useful.
They looked somewhat mismatched, and he was not altogether clear on their operating states, but when he twisted and flexed them, they seemed to move as they ought.
Now, to figure out what they all do … and how to use them.
He checked the drawings he made while collecting and inspecting the salvaged components. Each sketch seemed complete. A second yawn followed, and he felt bone weary. Enough for one night.
He froze. It seemed like a hundred years had passed since he had passed through the Gate, and he had been so busy surveying and collecting that he had lost all track of time.
He was dirty and disheveled. His appearance would certainly cause talk, and that talk could well likely pass back to Alliard’s rented ears.
His key to keeping control over his Gate lay in not drawing attention.
He must not act in a manner that would undermine the story he would tell.
Promising yes, but not ready yet for people to use. Still testing.
He felt a flutter of fear … What if the Gate itself continued to be powered? If so, then the drain on the city’s magic would stretch into the morning while everyone was awake, and be much harder to conceal. Worse, What if it wasn’t? He might be trapped!
He dropped the last armature, and hurried towards the World Gate. At first it appeared cold and still, and he felt panic rising. Then, as he got closer, the slight hum, and tiny glow that suggested it drew magic and remained operational.
He let out a gusty sigh of relief. The Probe had followed. He didn’t recall if he had told it to follow him, or had done so of its own accord, but he was glad for its presence by his side. “I’ll go through, and you follow.”
It wasn’t until after he had crossed the World Gate and stepped back into his lab that he stopped to think about how breathtakingly dangerous the passage to Triana’s world had been.
Better to have sent the Probe first, so that if the pathway failed, it, and not he, would have been fed back through the Gate, to emerge as rainbow particles.
He would have been trapped in the cave, but would be alive.
Still, he had walked there, and seen a new world with his own eyes.
He had not made it far with that train of thought when the Probe stepped through, slamming into him and driving him to his knees.
He nearly landed in a spreading puddle of wine from the bottle that had been knocked over when they first went through the Portal.
The bottle rolled a bit, letting a bit more wine dribble from the neck..
He stared at it at a long moment, certain it meant something, but too tired to work it out.
He put the Probe into its cage, and cleaned it, all the while yawning with fatigue.
Between the stress of yesterday’s events, the strain of the passage through the Gate, the fear, and the long night’s work, he thought he might be able to sleep standing up.
But, he had to keep up appearances, which meant having to stay and work, when all he wanted was to sleep.
He did find a spare robe and coat in the lab, and swore as he realized he had left the robe that he had been wearing on the other side of the Gate.
So much for concealing his presence. The robe literally had his name on it.
Too damn tired and making mistakes. He would have to go back and get the robe …
but not tonight. Too many other things to do.
He wasn’t sure how long he had been gone, but it had certainly been hours. He’d let himself get distracted in his search, and what should have been a quiet return in the middle of the night would be a very public emergence well after sunrise.
He would also be expected to respond to queries from the staff, and would need to be available in case the palace called. Tongues would wag if he took to his bed now, and—
He looked at the clepsydra to check the time, and swore out loud. The water clock showed a bit past the time that he had left, a mark at most.
What? He had been there for more than an entire day!
My wife has certainly reported me missing.
I’ve missed reports to the king. I’ve missed meals.
I never miss meals. I’ve probably been declared a criminal by this point.
Someone has certainly interrogated the girl in my absence.
And the physician is gone, and that will be noticed too, probably by that too-sharp translator.
If I set one foot outside this door, I’ll be arrested by my own guards … . I might as well find out the worst.
He looked at the candle, and rubbed his eyes, trying to clear the fatigue and think clearly.
Had he been gone that long the candle would surely have burned down, yet it had hardly changed.
No one else had access to the lab due to the spell-locks, so no one had replaced it. It had to be the same candle.
He went to the water clock and looked at the reservoir.
No noticeable change. He checked the time, looking at the water levels in the different glass tubes that showed the marks of the day and night.
It showed a time that was almost the third mark of the morning.
But it took him a moment to register that the date was …
wait. Today? I mean, the same as when I opened the Gate?
I left at three-quarters past the first mark ….
A peculiar stillness came over him, and he turned slowly to look at the wine bottle.
The wine bottle that he had knocked over just before opening the Gate.
A drop trembled on its lip, then fell into the puddle on the floor.
This is impossible. I spent hours there.
Past two mealtimes at the very least. At least a half-day gone!
But the evidence was irrefutable. He had gone and returned and the time spent seemed to be about as long as it took to eat a leisurely meal.
The panic ebbed completely, and exhaustion came over him like a weighted blanket. I’m … safe. I’m safe. That was all he could think. His brain was too fogged with fatigue to think any further.
The mage-lights started to flicker and illuminate as the ambient magic returned.
He made certain the Gate had fully powered down, and replaced the barrier that kept it from being easily seen from the door.
The Probe had gone back to its squatting position.
He looked at the wine bottle. I’ll get that in the morning.
All that mattered right now was that he was safe. Time for bed.
He was so tired he barely remembered the walk back to his living quarters.
In fact, he blanked out a couple of times, and only really revived when he felt his hand on the door handle.
A few moments later, he crossed from his tiring room to his sleeping-chambers.
He now felt grateful that the arguments and tension with Andaleisia had caused her to move into her own chambers on the other side of their sitting room.
No need to explain a midnight excursion.
Right now, his vision literally narrowed to his bed. He managed to get across the room and into it—but just barely. He didn’t so much “fall asleep” as “fall unconscious” as soon as he was in it.
He whistled tunelessly as he drank his morning tea, taking a lord’s privilege of having his meal brought to him.
The deep sleep had left him refreshed, and he’d sent the early servant away to go back to sleep.
He’d been pushing hard these last few weeks, and the late sleep left him feeling better than he had in weeks.
He looked over at the pot and lifted the lid …
something fragrant and not grown by his wife.
He hummed a bit, then poured out the tea.
He normally limited himself to one, so having a second cup felt a bit like an indulgence.
A celebration. A victory! He would have to dance a complicated dance with the king today—and he still had not sorted through the implications of everything he’d learned last night—
The tea-set had been his mother’s, an ancient thing with two cups shaped like flying serpents.
One cup held the dregs of his first portion, now bitter and cold.
He poured from the pot into the clean second cup, and froze.
He looked at the teapot, and then the cup.
He felt the slow smile spread across his face. He’d solved his time problem!
He wasn’t certain how long he had been in the cave in Triana’s world, but it had certainly been hours.
He could go into his lab, lock himself in, pass through the Gate, and work for hours …
possibly days … resting as he needed to, and returning in time to sleep and keep his regular schedule.
Even if it only doubled his time, it would double his speed.
He started working through what he would need.
Tools for the experiments. Light to see by.
A cot to sleep on. Rations. The spider legs …
big spiders … so a way to make a little fort to sleep in.