Chapter Two
TWO
Vesper joined the crowd pressing forward, carefully maneuvering toward its front.
She hadn’t found Mr. Kite yet, but perhaps closer to the exhibition stage she’d have better luck.
A sense of anticipation grew as the chandeliers overhead dimmed.
In their place, the flicker of enchanted candle lights bathed the entire atrium in soft lavender.
The blond woman who’d spoken before was now joined by Francis Gladwell onstage.
She waited until the atrium quieted before speaking again.
“Good evening, everyone! My name is Lara Oelrich, and on behalf of the Basalton Museum of Art’s Heritage Society, I’m pleased to welcome each of you tonight.
We are so grateful for your patronage, which not only allows us to host world-class events, but also helps support the museum’s various projects, such as the recent restoration of its botanical garden and maze.
” She clapped her hands together. “And now, without further ado, please join me in welcoming tonight’s guest of honor: Mr. Francis Gladwell! ”
The crowd broke into polite applause as the inventor raised his hand in greeting. Mrs. Oelrich descended the stage, and then Mr. Gladwell stood alone.
“Thank you all for joining me tonight,” he began. “The work has been tireless, but in just a moment, you all will be the first to see a technological advancement that’s been years in the making, one that’s going to change history.”
Several people around Vesper leaned in, and even her own pulse quickened.
“It begins with a simple truth,” said Mr. Gladwell.
“We live in a society where there is infinite power at our very fingertips in the form of arcanic energy. It’s all around us, latent, but its access is restricted to those who can afford a private education in Thaumaric, the ancient language in which incantations are written and spoken.
But what if that changed?” The inventor’s green eyes brightened.
“What if there was a way for everyone to speak Thaumaric and access arcanic energy the way a sorcerer does without years of expensive schooling? What if I told you that I have invented a machine that will allow just that? Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you … the Gladwell Machine!” He pulled the black cover away with a flourish.
Someone gasped, and Vesper peered closer.
The device Mr. Gladwell had unveiled looked like a small wooden box topped with a coil of wire on its left, and two long copper prongs enclosed in a glass dome on its right.
A metal switch jutted out from its side, and what looked like a keyboard was affixed to its front.
Vesper thought it looked rather plain, but the inventor was grinning ear to ear.
“Now, I know what some of you might be thinking,” he said, “and I’ll be the first to admit, my machine doesn’t win points for its appearance, but its capabilities are extraordinary.
The Gladwell Machine is a thinking machine, a translator of sorts.
One only needs to provide it with a prompt, and it can produce a written incantation in Thaumaric.
Years of expensive education are no longer necessary to access sorcery. ”
“Sir!” a woman in the crowd called out. “Do you mean to say that that little device can produce incantations the same way a sorcerer does?”
Francis Gladwell’s eyes lit up. “Precisely! But I can show you better than I can tell you. I’d now like to give you all a short demonstration, with a real sorcerer’s help.” He searched the atrium, then pointed. “Ah, there! Our gracious host, Mr. Maximilian Kite. Please, sir, join me.”
Vesper craned her neck as she waited to see the old man she’d been looking for.
Instead, the young sorcerer she’d met at the dessert table ascended the stage with a champagne flute in hand and gave the crowd a lazy wave.
The surrounding violet candlelight illuminated the smug look on his face, and Vesper stared a moment in confusion before it dawned on her.
She’d been duped.
“Mr. Kite!” Francis Gladwell shook the sorcerer’s hand. “I think it’s fair to say that you’re an accomplished sorcerer, no?”
Maximilian Kite gave the inventor an indulgent smile. “Yes, I would say that’s fair.”
“And would you mind sharing how long you’ve studied Thaumaric?”
“Nine years.” The sorcerer’s answer was immediate, and Vesper thought she detected a hint of pride in his voice.
“Excellent!” said Mr. Gladwell. “Then I’m sure you’re more than comfortable giving these good people a quick show of your ability?”
A smirk tugged at the corners of the sorcerer’s mouth. “Is this my exhibition or yours, Mr. Gladwell?”
The inventor smiled, all teeth. “Come now, Mr. Kite, humor us! Just a short demonstration. Unless…” He faced the audience. “Perhaps our sorcerer has developed a bit of stage fright?”
Several people in the crowd tittered, and Vesper watched Maximilian’s smirk falter. He looked down at the champagne glass in his hand, then seemed to make a decision.
“Very well,” he said. “A quick demonstration.” He raised his champagne glass, closed his eyes, and went still.
Vesper watched his lips move as he muttered something she couldn’t hear.
He might’ve been meditating, or praying.
Then she saw it: a purple spark, just like the one she’d seen at the dessert table.
The champagne in the sorcerer’s glass began to swirl, though his hand didn’t move so much as an inch.
Slowly, it rose from the flute and into the air, hundreds of pale gold droplets glittering against the candlelight.
Maximilian kept speaking, his words unintelligible, and Vesper watched as those droplets came together to form something, a shape.
She made out a small round head, the point of a tiny beak, then the unmistakable lines of feathers.
A bird, she realized with astonishment.
Maximilian opened his eyes, smiled, and crooked his index finger just slightly.
At once, the champagne bird spread its golden wings and began to soar around the atrium and over the heads of the awestruck onlookers.
Several people sighed with appreciation, and even Vesper was quietly impressed.
The little champagne bird returned to the stage, delivered a final pirouette, then dropped neatly back into Maximilian’s glass.
He raised it, as though giving a toast, then bowed.
At once the crowd broke into wild applause.
When it subsided, the sorcerer nodded to Mr. Gladwell.
“Will that do, Francis?”
“Certainly.” The inventor looked inexplicably amused.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Kite. That was quite an impressive little trick. But let’s see how it compares against the capabilities of the Gladwell Machine.
” He turned to a woman standing a few feet to the right of Vesper and grinned.
“Ma’am, might I ask you for a favor? Name an animal for me, any one you’d like. ”
“Hmm…” The woman he’d called on—a middle-aged brunette—smiled. “Dragon.”
“Ah.” Mr. Gladwell grinned. “An excellent choice!” He moved to stand beside his machine.
“Mr. Kite just conjured a bird from the champagne in his glass. Now, I don’t happen to have any champagne on hand, but I wonder if I might do something else.
” He massaged his chin, as though deliberating, then snapped his fingers.
“Yes, I think I’ve got it.” He typed several words onto the Gladwell Machine’s keyboard, flipped its switch, then stood back.
For a moment, nothing happened, but then Vesper heard a low hum.
She watched as bright purple sparks began to appear between the two copper prongs encased in the Gladwell Machine’s glass dome.
They started small, then grew bigger, fizzing and popping like tiny fireworks.
It looked like sorcery. The machine began to buzz, and Vesper watched as a small ribbon of paper unfurled from a slot in the machine’s front that she hadn’t noticed.
Mr. Gladwell grabbed it, then held the paper aloft.
“An incantation,” he declared, “to create a dragon made not of champagne, but of fire!”
“Mr. Gladwell.” Maximilian suddenly looked alarmed. “Perhaps you might demonstrate your device’s abilities with something slightly less incendiary.”
“Now, now, Mr. Kite.” The inventor patted him on the shoulder. “You’ve had your turn, now it’s mine. Fair is fair.”
Maximilian looked like he wanted to say more, but instead folded his arms and closed his mouth. Vesper noticed that his eyes stayed trained on the paper in Mr. Gladwell’s hand.
The inventor faced the audience again. “Mr. Kite said earlier that he’d studied Thaumaric for nine years.
I have not studied it for a single day in my life, and yet I’m going to show you what the power of technology can do.
” He looked down at the paper, skimmed the words inked across it, then spoke in a language Vesper had never heard before.
The words were strange and slick, like water running across stones in a creek.
That had to be Thaumaric. She looked to Maximilian Kite, and saw to her surprise that he was now openly scowling at the inventor, as though Mr. Gladwell had said something obscene.
There was a thunderous boom, then, one by one, the inventor seemed to summon the flame from each of the atrium’s candles.
Ribbons of bright violet-blue light snaked through the air, gathering above Mr. Gladwell’s raised hands.
Like before, a shape began to form as the flames came together, but this time Vesper held her breath.
A row of teeth each the length of her finger formed; massive wings sent purple embers into the air as they unfurled.
The dragon opened its mouth, and though no sound left it, she imagined its guttural roar in her mind.
Her cheeks began to sting, as though she was standing directly in front of an open stove.
Several people in the crowd gasped with delight and fear.
“Behold!” Francis gestured toward the fiery dragon as it writhed and coiled above him. “This is what real technological advancement looks like. This is the power of the Gladwell Machine!”
“Mr. Gladwell!” Maximilian’s eyes were on the fiery dragon. He’d gone pale. “I believe you’ve made your point!”
The inventor looked up. If he was at all concerned about the dragon, he showed no sign of it as he lowered his hands.
At once, the fiery apparition disintegrated, and the ribbons of fire returned to their candles around the room.
Vesper touched the back of her hand to her forehead.
Her skin was still warm. She noticed that one of the chandeliers above the stage now bore unmistakable black scorch marks.
“That was only a taste of the Gladwell Machine’s potential, a parlor trick,” said Mr. Gladwell.
“But make no mistake: It has the ability to do far more. Think of it! This machine can produce incantations that allow us to manipulate the natural elements and energy around us! We could modernize society, inspire advancements in every industry. It could truly change the world.”
An unexpected tide of emotion swelled in Vesper’s chest. The clapping around her began slowly, but in a matter of seconds, the entire atrium had broken into thunderous applause.
She joined in. What if Mr. Gladwell was right?
If what he was saying was true, his machine would give everyone access to sorcery and the limitless power that came with it.
It could be the great equalizer, the thing that finally leveled the playing field between sorcerers and common folk.
This was more than a history-defining moment; it was just the sort of splashy, front-page story that would get readers clamoring for copies of the Globe’s Sunday paper.
She could already see the headline: Gladwell Unveils Groundbreaking Machine.
She pulled out her notebook and began to write feverishly.
“The device before you is only a rudimentary prototype,” Mr. Gladwell went on.
“But my company, Gladwell Enterprises, has already secured a patent for its design. My plan is to begin mass production at the top of the new year. I hope to count some of you as early investors, and of course many more of you as future buyers.” The inventor grinned.
“With that, I thank you all for your time!”
Another boisterous round of applause filled the atrium as Mr. Gladwell took several deep bows.
Vesper’s gaze inadvertently shot to Maximilian Kite.
He was still onstage beside the inventor, clapping like everyone else, but Vesper thought his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
The sorcerer looked strained, even uncomfortable.
Abruptly, he smoothed his expression and patted Mr. Gladwell on the back.
Then he stepped forward to address the crowd.
“On behalf of the Basalton Coal Foundation, I’d like to thank Francis for joining us, and for that impressive demonstration,” he said. “And now, to conclude our evening, I would ask everyone to convene on the north terrace for a special surprise.”
Vesper moved with the crowd as everyone made their way toward the set of double doors at the back of the atrium. As she walked, she continued looking over her shoulder, trying to keep her eyes on Maximilian Kite. Now that the demonstration was over, she felt a renewed pinch of irritation.
The sorcerer had tricked her.
She replayed their exchange at the dessert table with new understanding.
Clearly, he’d known exactly who she was, and decided to play a game with her.
She couldn’t decide which part was more embarrassing: knowing that he’d pulled the wool over her eyes so easily, or acknowledging that her skill in deductive reasoning had failed her.
A breeze brushed her skin as she stepped onto the tiled north terrace.
Suddenly, she wished she’d remembered a coat.
She rose to stand on the tips of her toes, searching.
Maximilian Kite was now on the terrace too, several feet away and speaking with Mrs. Lara Oelrich.
Vesper started toward him with new determination.
Distantly, someone made an announcement—something about a slight delay due to technical difficulties—but she kept her eyes trained on the sorcerer.
She was nearly upon him when suddenly he turned toward her.
Vesper stopped short, confused. Maximilian Kite gave her a long, steady look, then made a beeline for a set of stairs off to the side.
In an instant, he was gone. Vesper blinked.
This had to be another game.
Mr. Kite was toying with her. He wanted her to give up and go home. Vesper slipped the strap of her satchel over her head, her mind made up.
If Maximilian Kite wanted to play another game, this time she intended to win.
She steeled herself, then charged down the stairs after the sorcerer.