Chương 23: Roots

"Let's do some acid," I said, thumping two clay jars down on the table.

"Oh?" said Professor Quethron, who had no idea how funny that line was.

"We've been generating electricity from movement for a while, let's start generating more passively," I said.

"Chemicals."

"Chemicals," he said, returning my smile. His looked creepy.

"The right combination of acids, water, and metals in clay jars will generate a current," I said.

"Even if there's no wind or water to move a wheel, even if there's no way to turn a magnet inside a coil. Any place that is not appropriate for generators could hold one of these batteries to supply electricity."

"But who needs that?" he asked.

"If you've got room for a table full of acid and clay jugs, you could also find a hand-crank generator." I conjured up colored glass to show him the diagram in parts.

"The jugs are for prototyping. In practice, two jugs and metal flanges could look like this," and I showed him a two-compartment canister with metal inserts and terminals to join the current.

"The current connects here," I pointed out.

"Put a piece of metal there and it becomes electrified." He nodded and I could see the excitement coming to him.

"Very useful, good utility! Any practice you would put for levin energy, this would make it contained and compact and portable!" He's been experimenting for months. I showed him how to make a simple generator, he's already worked out a motor. It's interesting, and in some years it's going to be important but right now it's all very slow-moving. We're doing interesting work, but not important work. Nothing to get rich off of. See, electricity in this world is a solution that doesn't have a problem.

There's already lights at night that are safe, cheap and reliable. And the motor that Quethron made can accomplish with lots of labor, fine engineering and rare materials what a bad scrivener can do in five minutes with a chisel and a block of wood. There's no way for telegraph to revolutionize communication until there's a way to keep people from stealing copper. I can't even begin to invent radio, or any kind of electronic circuit board.

We did make and deliver a wind-turned generator to Coltorn for Filly's birthday, I understand she's using it for experiments, and sometimes connects a Tesla coil up as a conversation piece or an art installation. Quethron's motors are impressive for this era, but they won't be replacing scrivener work until we've established an entire industrial base. And why would we do that? It's very expensive and would not generate profit for decades.

And even then, the question that we're anticipating is "why would I replace magic with this lesser force that requires more work, replacement parts, and also might shock someone?" Well, we're gonna market the shock. Today, Quethron begins a line of investigation that is going to bring us to stun-guns and tasers.

"Can you give me hints?" he was asking.

"Insulators," I said, setting down the clay cups.

"Different materials in each. At least one is caustic. Metal dippers in each of them. Different metals. And connecting them generates a current. That's the hint." He started sketching out what materials he would need, quantities and all. He was not planning on making one version of each and testing them each, he was going to build batches, and then trade out liquids to test them all more efficiently. I sketched out a crude meter, just two clips and a tiny light bulb.

It's easy to make light bulbs when your sorcerer has an air affinity.

"I have a theory," Quethron blurted out.

"About you. I would like your help testing it." He did not look up from his diagrams. Looked like a long rack of tiny spoons that would be lifted together and lowered together. I smirked. Quethron had already had many theories about me. He was usually very mad that I would not just tell him which god or demon had granted me such knowledge of natural philosophy. But this time he had a theory he wanted my help testing?

"What would that be, Professor?"

"I hope that tonight you could contrive to use your unique properties, the Untethered Essence, to sample an affinity for sheep."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because I have a theory."

"What is the theory?"

"I call it the Unified Field Theory of Ask Me No Questions I'll Tell You No Lies," he quipped, reciting back a deflection I've used more than a couple times. Nobody really questioned why I took my bedroll and a candle down to the sheep paddocks. I just told them it was sorcery practice and my brother, governess, parents, attendants and maid all just shrugged and let that go. Father left word for Wrybin to make sure nobody stepped on me in the dark.

I walked down there after dark, and conjured a soft mattress, silken sheets, a feather-stuffed pillow, a silk tent with oak tentpoles, and a lot of hydrangeas to cover the smell of a whole lot of sheep just ten feet away from me in their pens. I lay down, meditated, and let the inner peace turn into sleep, and I slipped the bonds of the flesh, expanding my soul's volume to overlap my surroundings.

When I woke, I had no mana to spare because I had been maintaining my conjurations all night, and I dispelled those creations and hiked up the hill back to the manor house. I joined Nathan for a swim, joined the family for breakfast, cleaned up and joined Magister Nukhail for another session trying to increase my affinities. Every day he brings a selection of materials together for me to try to absorb. After that was lunch, and after that was Lady Puckree's course on civics and history.

after that was an afternoon tea, through which I practically vibrated with anticipation and impatience. Then Quethron.

"How did you know?" I blurted out before I was even all the way through the door. He cackled in delight.

"Hah! I took the facts at hand, and I extrapolated the conclusion! The answer was obvious!"

"No, it's been ages since I was able to fix an affinity to a new Essence that easily," I said.

"Over a year. How did you know that I'd be able to get sheep so easily?!"

"No," he said.

"What?"

"I know you're holding back secrets," he said.

"Vast ones. Much greater than these levin-paths and glass lights, these formulas and diagrams of chemicals. Many times, I've seen you start to say something and stop yourself. Steam. Atoms. Gravity. There are things about those that you have refused to share. Dangerous knowledge. Weapons. Vast advances that you will not share. Those secrets are worth much. I will tell you what you need to fix your sorcery. I know that this knowledge also is worth much to you. Give me secrets that are worth my help.

Hold nothing back. We will each make the other greater." I went to my parents and told them we will have to let Professor Quethron go. A tutor that will hold knowledge hostage is dangerous. He sought leverage over me. And that was more dangerous than the secrets he wanted from me. Steam engines. Atomic weapons. Rocketry. Gunpowder. I know that he wanted to take those sciences and make himself rich and famous, mostly rich. And do you know what?

I don't want the invention of bombs and machine guns to trace back to me. I'm not sure I'd even want the steam engine and the industrial revolution to be attributed to me. Great progress, but also mass layoffs, epic poverty, breathtaking abuses of human rights, pestilence, wars... I think that modernization and industrialization are great things, but someone else can be responsible for it. I got enough. All the way out the door, he was ranting about how knowledge was meant to be free.

Now I just need to figure out why I can claim sheep in a single session but three weeks couldn't get me the affinity for horse essence. I won't lie, I'd prefer the other way around. Still, setting a running battery charge next to my bed at night was able to get my levin affinity up to 11%. I still haven't been able to get simple roses up higher than that.

"Please give your parents my deepest thanks for having a baby right now," I said to Taeril, leaning back against a banister. The rail pressed against my lower back where the corset laces always left just a bit of an itch. The day was sharp and bright, high summer. It was Yheta's birthday. But it was also young Halser's birthday party. So while Yheta was compelled to attend his own celebration at Snairlin Castle, everyone else had the option to hang with him or hang with Taeril.

And for once, now that I don't have to obsessively agonize and worry about what fucking Yheta's going to do or say next, I can just sit back and relax with friends.

"I have to admire your restraint," Papholy said, polishing his cufflinks with a spare handkerchief.

"I would have incinerated him the minute I had magic spells to cast."

"I can't seem to learn any fire spells," I sighed.

"Also, I think if I committed manslaughter in the heat of the moment, my father would be very disappointed in me and would make very sad eyes at me."

"Have you considered coldly-calculated premeditated murder instead of hot-blooded manslaughter?" Taeril asked. She held a glass of wine in one hand, mostly just to look at. I sighed.

"If I did that, my mother would be very disappointed in me and would make very sad eyes at me." Nathan nodded.

"So until she invents a medium-style homicide, Yheta remains safe." He was a little subdued because Filly was made to support her brother's birthday instead of Halser, so he would not see her again for a couple of months.

"Just one more year," Papholy said.

"Then he goes to Academy, out of your hair."

"For a couple years," I sighed.

"Then when we get to the Academy, he'll be a third-year when we're first-years." Taeril reached over and pushed at me, I rocked in place.

"You are very negative, you know that?" she said. Papholy looked up, surprised. He had surprisingly long, thick eyelashes and they made his eyes much more expressive than should have been possible.

"I always thought that was one of Natalie's most endearing qualities. Her world-weary pessimism is like finding a sourball in a dish of sweets." I was pretty sure he was teasing me, but I actually kinda liked the compliment.

"Why don't you just visit the temple or whatever it's called?" Taeril asked.

"The way that everyone else learns the sorcery of fire?" That made me groan in disgruntle disappointment, so Nathan replied in my place.

"She's waitlisted. It's a high-demand venue, and the queue to meditate there is years long. She's got her name in the list, but it's not doing her any good for a long while."

"Waitlisted?" Taeril gaped.

"That's ridiculous!"

"Yes it is," I sighed.

"But the limited opportunities for powerful essence affinities is one of the reasons sorcerers are considered to be the weakest brand of mage." The chamber music began to swell, and I was nodding along to the music when I recognized it. Papholy looked over at me.

"Isn't that one of your songs?" He asked as if he were concerned I might react badly, a cautious tone.

"Yes, it is," I shrugged.

"But, it turns out that it doesn't matter. Learning how to compose music is hard. Learning how to get paid for composing music is harder. Especially if you're already rich. Nobody wants to pay royalties if you're almost royalty yourself." All four of us made the same sour face, lips pressed, noses scrunched. We were all children of great wealth, and with the exception of Taeril we were all penniless. Taeril had an allowance for her expenses while she was at school, but not much.

There is a vast difference between "I have lots of money" and "my parents can buy me something expensive if I ask and they decide to agree". That difference is autonomy. If the groups around Hearstwhile that were playing my songs had kicked back the author's percentage, I'd have enough money to buy my own things. Autonomy. And I had it best: I could just conjure most of the things I might need or want, for a while. Ten years ago at a party just like this, I'd first met these two.

Papholy had been a clumsy mess, and Taeril was only showing the beginnings of the bright social butterfly she was growing into. Right now, in a side room, were a collection of small children, probably one-through-five, who were gathered together to learn baby's first high-society networking. Hopefully they didn't have a Yheta of their own. Ah, that reminds me.

"To Hanser and his auspicious birth!" I said, raising a glass of fruit juice.

"Hear hear!" was the response, and we clinked glasses. Sometimes there's just a normal party with no drama. After Quethron left, he was not replaced. It was increasingly obvious that bringing natural philosophy tutors to me was going to cause problems. So now I was left with three hours in the afternoons with no scholastic expectations. But Harigold children do not waste time that could be spent productively!

I would check in with my parents during afternoon tea, after Lady Puckree's challenges, and they would let me know what I ought to do with my late afternoon until dinner. Sometimes it was to sit with my father and learn the family's business empire and accounts. Unlike most dukes, my family did not hold a separate station for the working side of the family and the noble side of the family- we did not have a separate merchant branch. My father was in with his hands dirty (ink, chipped bits of quill, paper dust).

Sometimes, I would be with my mother whose largest occupation of the day was usually acting as steward and majordomo to the manor, hand-in-hand with the butler. Sometimes they'd turn me loose to putter around the library and satisfy my own hunger for education, grazing free-range. It was a world-class library, so I could learn amazing things there. Those days did not come often. And periodically I would be asked to go attend to some work detail out about Meadowtam.

My parents would learn about a spot of difficulty that fell into my wheelhouse, and would send me out. Clearing up landslides and shoring up banks, or helping with a major construction project that is underbudgeted, under-scheduled, or just under-lucky. I could alleviate flooding in an hour, or assist with a difficult logging job. Even built a dam, after my parents carefully vetted the project and its outcomes.

The places I had already been to once were the most likely to request me again, which could be interpreted as a compliment. But it did mean that certain small hamlets out in the middle of nowhere, prone to disasters or major setbacks, got to see more of the duke's daughter than any of the rest of my family. There were familiar faces out there, and I even started remembering some names.

"Afternoon Cosher," I called out, stepping out of my portal.

"Afternoon your Grace," he said, and gave a bow.

"We really appreciate your help last time, and appreciate you giving us some of your time today." Cosher was about as poor as you could get, and happy every day. His flyspeck village was on the far end of nowhere, and they had to send letters by foot to the nearest trading post, who would send it on the next horse headed to town, who could give it to a merchant headed to the baron's castle, who was on my mail-stop list in the evenings.

If it were not for me, they'd get whatever help their baron saw fit to send them, and that looked to be none at all. Three weeks ago I had come to deal with an infestation of crocodiles that had suddenly gone man-eater, crawling up onto people's porches to attack them when they stepped outside. The crocodiles were hungry because Cosher's people were fishing the water out and there was not enough fish for their nets and the crocodiles.

I gathered up a magical wave of water that grabbed the crocodiles two at a time and moved them from this oxbow lake over to the main body of the river. Flitting back and forth, I was able to move the predators to land safer for them and the villagers. Ten days later, they sheepishly asked my help building a smokehouse to preserve their catch for lean months or shipment. And now ten days after that, Cosher had asked my help again.

"The house of Harigold serves at the needs of Meadowtam," I replied, and dropped a curtsy.

"So, pilings, was it?"

"Yes, m'lady. We'd get better fishing if we could get out to deeper waters. But our shallow-bottom boats are no good in that chop. So if we had a proper pier and dock to tie up to, we'd be able to build some keelboats and take bigger catches. But, to drive pilings in this ground? It would take a frame, and block and tackle, and all of it would need to be brought in. Months of work, and we need that deep-water fishing soon."

"You should plant some fruiting trees and bushes too," I said.

"Not cranberries, but something like it. I've got some ideas but I need to double-check. I'll bring seed out next time I head this direction. You can't eat nothing but fish, and if you just trade fish for everything else, you'll get taken advantage of. Do you have some logs picked out?" They knew that I worked in oak mostly, and they had traveled uphill to cut down some straight oaks, prepared them with pitch, and shaved off the larger branches. I curved the oak and brought them down to the water.

It was slow going, I could only move one at a time. Large logs like this were hard, and if I had not upgraded my Strength they would have been impossible. Curving them with magic was not just some telekinetic force or, I dunno, oak-o-mancy. It was about bridging between me and the logs, finding the nature of oak inside them, and inside me. And those two would speak to each other on their own level. The oak bent and rolled, moving itself along the ground.

The motion was very much like when I'd been an infant, curling one way then the other to log-roll across the floor. Teaching Nathan to do the same, now I taught this oak. And with my help it could use that lesson. It brought itself down to the water, and waited for me. I showed it how to stand upright, and it did, I formed connection to the earth under the log, and moved it away. It only took a little bit of effort to scoot the mud out from under, much less than to join my thoughts to the oak and drive it downward.

Down, down, like we are taking root once more. Deep and deeper, stable, secure, lodged so far that flood cannot budge us, man cannot move us. Another log next, rolling itself. I used my human eyes to make sure nobody was in the way, and moved it to the place I remembered it needed to go. A little mud, a lot of oak, I drove it in. The rings inside spoke of good summers and stubborn winters. I knew of them, remembered them. There was so much wood to move, it took effort.

I needed to lend a lot of myself to the oak to do the job. I lined them up, an orchard. They stood in formation, and they let themselves sleep here. The wood became quiet, stood vertically deep in the mud, ready to lash planks and form a dock. I sighed, and started pulling myself back, letting my human body become my only body again. I was knee-deep in mud and earth.

"Heh," I laughed, exhausted.

"Guess I got too immersed in my work." Cosher looked a little nervous.

"Uh, while you were... working.. you started to sink down. We were going to grab your ladyship, pull you up, but... we couldn't. And, also, didn't seem proper. Grabbing a young lady." Bonding nature with the oak while I was planting it, I must have forced the earth to pull me down some as well. It was dangerous for a sorcerer to push too hard when curving mana. You could lose yourself, become too much of what you were doing. With a heave, I ripped one leg up out of the ground, and gasped in pain.

My boot was punctured in dozens of places, and blood oozed from those holes. I stared, frightened. The holes in my boots were pushed outwards. I braced my bleeding foot, and ripped the other up, gritting my teeth against pain as my roots broke off.