Chapter Three #2
“I’d like to know what you thought of it.” Vesper worked to manage her rapidly dwindling patience. “What were your impressions after Mr. Gladwell’s demonstration? How do you believe his machine might benefit society?”
The sorcerer tilted his head. “Is this on the record?”
“Not if you don’t want it to be.” When Maximilian’s expression turned skeptical, Vesper straightened. “I’m a professional. If you say ‘off the record,’ I will keep my word.”
Maximilian considered her a moment. “Fine. On the record, you can say that I found Mr. Gladwell’s machine to be a ‘rousing triumph,’ or whatever else you’d like.”
Vesper jotted the quote down. “And off the record?”
Maximilian scowled. “Francis Gladwell is a grifter, and that ‘incantation’ his machine spewed during his demonstration was nothing more than a cheap imitation.”
Vesper stared. “You’re saying that what Mr. Gladwell did wasn’t real sorcery? It looked quite real to me.”
Maximilian waved a dismissive hand. “The sorcery was real enough, but the incantation that machine produced was poorly constructed. On top of that, Gladwell’s Thaumaric pronunciations were badly off. Any trained sorcerer worth his salt would be able to tell that he’s a hack.”
Vesper blinked. “That’s … quite a verdict,” she said slowly. “Most people seemed to be very impressed.”
The sorcerer rolled his eyes. “Yes, well, the road to hell is paved with easily impressed people.”
“If you don’t like Mr. Gladwell or his machine, why host this event for him?” Vesper pressed.
Maximilian pinched the bridge of his nose. “The foundation received a letter requesting funding for an exhibition at the museum. The details were vague, but I assure you, had I known what Francis was showcasing tonight, I would never have agreed to it.”
“You’re a formally trained sorcerer,” Vesper pointed out. “Does the idea of other people having the ability to use Thaumaric incantations make you uncomfortable?”
Maximilian scoffed. “Of course it does.”
“Why?” Vesper challenged. “Why wouldn’t you want more people to have access to something that could help them?”
The sorcerer’s eyes narrowed. “Because Thaumaric is a deeply complex language that requires years of intense study to master,” he said.
“Simply saying a Thaumaric incantation without understanding its ramifications is irresponsible. You’re talking about truly extraordinary power.
” He looked down his long nose. “And I don’t trust ordinary people with extraordinary power. ”
Vesper stiffened. “That’s a rather elitist attitude.”
Maximilian snorted and shook his head. “I don’t know why I even bothered. Someone like you wouldn’t understand.”
Vesper bit the inside of her cheek. Maximilian’s words had cut more deeply than she cared to admit.
Maybe it was because she was tired, hungry, and cold.
Maybe it was because of the dismissive tone he’d used when he’d said someone like you.
But no, the thing that had bothered her most was the look on the sorcerer’s face.
It was familiar. She’d seen it on countless men’s faces in this city, every time she dared to take up space in a room they thought she didn’t belong in.
“Thank you.” Vesper didn’t bother to hide the new frost in her voice. “I’ll be on my way now.”
Maximilian looked up. “Where are you going?”
“I have what I need for my piece,” she said. “So, our business is concluded.” She snapped her notebook shut and stowed it in her bag. “Take care, Mr. Kite.”
She turned her back and started purposefully down the leafy corridor.
Maximilian didn’t call after her or follow, and she was grateful for it.
The more she reflected on their conversation, the more frustrated she became.
Of course Mr. Kite hadn’t liked the Gladwell Machine.
It had embarrassed him during the exhibition, and proven definitively that sorcerers were no better than anyone else.
People like him were more than happy to stop technological advancements, so long as it allowed them to hold on to their power.
She resented him for that most of all.
A frigid gust of wind ripped Vesper back to the present, and a shiver ran the length of her body.
She stopped. Anger had powered her footsteps for the last few minutes, but now her head was clearer.
She should have made it back to the maze’s entrance by now.
A troubling thought crossed her mind. She’d taken her hand off the wall during her interview with Maximilian.
What if she’d accidentally gone deeper into the maze instead of toward its exit?
Her steps quickened. It had to be nearly nine o’clock, and she had no desire to spend the night in here.
She turned another corner, and the tension in her muscles eased.
Up ahead, she could make out a light, another way out.
She gathered her skirts and picked up her pace.
The cold was settling into her fingertips, stinging her nostrils every time she inhaled.
If she had time, she might be able to return to the museum and ask Francis Gladwell the rest of her questions before she headed home.
She reached the opening, then stopped.
The grassy courtyard before her was small, furnished only with a large stone fountain at its center. There were three other arched entrances, one placed on each side of the courtyard. Something clicked in Vesper’s mind.
This was the center of the maze.
A piercing shriek shattered the quiet, and she looked up, alarmed. Above, a ribbon of bright light was streaking across the night sky like a comet. She tracked its progress as it soared higher and higher, then exploded into fizzling pink and green pellets.
Fireworks.
That must have been the special surprise Maximilian had alluded to before. Vesper watched as the fireworks exploded in a brilliant ensemble, one after another.
A movement in her periphery caught her attention.
Vesper glanced right, then frowned. On the other side of the fountain, something was moving across the grass, large and low to the ground.
She inched around it, wishing again that she had something other than a satchel and a notebook with her.
Another massive firework suddenly detonated overhead, casting the entire courtyard in eerie red light. That was when Vesper saw it, saw him.
Francis Gladwell was on all fours, his eyes glassy and bloodshot. His mouth was open in a long scream, though no sound left him. He lifted his hand as though reaching for something, then began to violently seize. Vesper tensed.
“Help!” she shouted. “Someone help!”
Time slowed as she closed the gap between them, but she wasn’t fast enough. Vesper watched in horror as the inventor convulsed a final time, then collapsed in a heap on the grass.