Luce I: The Overseer

“Tell me about yourself,” Luce began, suppressing a yawn. This was the fourth interview today, and they seemed to be getting longer and duller every time. Many past Overseers of the Tower had delegated staffing to underlings, but it was important to take on only people he could trust.

Especially in the wake of those plans being stolen from Crescent Isle. If any of the fragments of the Erstwhile Empire on the other continents got their hands on working airships, Cambria would no longer be nearly so insulated and safe. It was alarming enough as it was that Robin Verrou––or some other pirate or traitor––had managed to infiltrate such an isolated and well guarded facility.

But that was a headache for later. Now, he had a promising, intelligent crop of weapons manufacturers and war machinists to find a polite way to reject. Ideally without causing a diplomatic incident. Perhaps it had been unfair to schedule everyone specializing in those areas for the same day, but his time was valuable, and sorting things into the appropriate groups made them more efficient.

That was the key, really: organization. With that came punctuality, poise, and everything one might need in their life. Without it, dreadful disorder.

“You certainly ought to know me, Luce. Is this meant to be some sort of joke?” The girl in front of him was only a few years younger, set to graduate from the Cambrian College at the end of the fall term. Her short light brown hair, usually a mangy tumble, had been smoothed down, probably with some kind of oil, framing a face that was fittingly noble, save the slight hook to her nose.

Luce sighed. “It’s a standard question, Olivia. What you choose to present tells me what you think is important about your education and experience. It tells me how you think you’ll be an asset to the research team here.” It was a wonder no one had told her that, but perhaps it hadn’t been thought necessary, given her noble upbringing. Growing up that way tended to ruin people.

He could certainly understand it, but that did little to address the real issue. “Let’s move on. What can you tell me about your capstone project?”

Olivia nodded. “For the moment, I’m calling it the charged ion device. The intent is that it can collect and harness ions in the air and direct them forward in a stream. It’s like a bolt of lightning, only directed at a place of our choosing. A single firing could eliminate an enemy warship, and strike fear into their hearts. Once it’s complete, it will be second to none in keeping Avalon safe.”

Keeping it safe by annihilating everyone else, maybe. “I see. And what challenges have you encountered in the course of designing it?”

She blinked. “I can’t tell you that! If word gets out, the other students will eat me alive. They’re already so jealous of my success, hearing of any issues I’ve had to overcome will only make it worse.”

“You have my word that it won’t leave this room.” Luce rolled his eyes. “If you want to be a Tower scientist, I need to know how you approach problems and overcome them. The sort of work we do here is full of false starts and misguided ideas that need to be identified and rectified promptly.”

“Fine.” She stuck out her lip as she said it. “But it’s your head if word gets out.”

Luce snorted. “Good luck with that.”

“A figure of speech, Luce. I’m trying to impress the severity of this before I begin.”

“I went to the college too. I remember how cutthroat it gets. Don’t worry.” He leaned back in his chair, an overstuffed indulgence that helped him work late in his office without twisting his spine. The throne of Avalon itself wasn’t half as comfortable. “But please, try to be brief. I’ve asked three questions so far and you’ve only answered one.”

Olivia glared at him. “Power is, as ever, an issue. I’ve experimented with hand cranks and coal engines wired to generators, but the cost in energy and size is far more than the intended scope of the project. Not to mention access to my reference material.”

“The Gauntlet of Eulus?” Luce asked. “I seem to remember a story about some distant Williams ancestor killing the evil spirit and harvesting a glove that could do much as you describe.”

“Exactly. But Father says that Baron Williams needs it most of the time for his duties as Binder Dominant, and he’s never been keen on any of this in the first place. In his eyes, it’s enough that he sent me to the college at all.” She took a deep breath. “In any case, I worked around those limitations, got myself a few hours to draw detailed schematics and perform all of the tests I could manage. As for power, I’m still working through that, but I have the better part of a year to do so. Although… I heard that people here are working on a way to store charge, so that the engine doesn’t always have to be built into the generator for power. If I were to work here, I’m sure I could incorporate the technology into my designs. Some sort of voltaic cell design?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that.” He had a few more questions, but honestly, they seemed fairly unnecessary at this point. Better to jump to the end, more efficient that way. “My final question, then, is this: what motivates you?”

“What motivates me? What kind of––” She sighed, massaging her temples. “The good of Avalon, of course. You ought to know that feeling better than anyone. It was through invention that Harold I unified us, through our superiority that Harold II drove back the Lyrion barbarians, and Harold III broke the last vestiges of the Erstwhile Empire in the War of the Foxtrap. Our intelligence, our rationality, it makes us leaders to the rest of the world, ready to usher it into the modern age.” She paused, looking out the window at the zeppelin docked a few floors below. “But it makes us vulnerable too, in a way. There will always be those resistant to progress, or covetous of our success. They fight us, and we must defend ourselves in turn. That’s what motivates me, Luce. A better world.”

I’m sure everyone in the territories is grateful for the cannonballs shot through their cities, he almost spat back. But it would do no good to antagonize her. This whole thing had been a formality anyway, though a very necessary one given her father’s close relationship with Baron Williams. Rejecting her would be a delicate affair, but he had some time to think about that, at least. None of the students needed to hear from him for a matter of weeks.

“Thank you,” he said instead. “We will let you know.”

“Of course.” She stood, smoothing out her skirt and gathering her notebooks.

“Be careful with those,” Luce called out as she opened the door, gesturing at her bag. “There’s been some thefts of research materials recently. Everyone ought to be on the lookout.”

Olivia nodded, walking out of the office.

That’s the last one! Luce pulled out the bottle of aged brandy he kept under his desk and poured himself a small glass. Tomorrow, once he was done with the affairs he needed to settle at the palace, he would be able to interview the promising candidates. The builders, the engineers, the inventors, rather than the destroyers he had saddled himself with today.

He had perhaps five minutes of reprieve before Sir Julius Arion knocked on his door. As a Tower Administrator and a second-in-command, he was second to none. He also knew better than to bother Luce in a moment such as this unless it were important, however much they might normally dispense with formality.

“What is it, Julius?”

His second opened the door, a concerned look on his wrinkled face. “Prince Harold has summoned you to the palace immediately. He’s returned from his trip to the territories and wishes for a debrief of what has transpired here.”

Luce sighed. That’s sure to be a joy. “I’ll be right there.”

“Shall I prepare the litter, then?”

“I’ll walk. He can wait that long, I’m sure.” Luce gathered a few of his notebooks and pulled his coat from the back of his chair. “I don’t think I’ll be back until tomorrow.”

Julius nodded. “Certainly. I’ll supervise the nightly lockdown, then.”

“Very good.” Luce stepped out into the central hub of the Tower, a circular path with entrances to each of the rooms like spokes on a wheel. It all wrapped around a central shaft, with a metal cage for the cargo lift supported by metal beams at each floor. Coiled around the center was a single set of stairs, arranged to avoid all of the structural supports, and wide enough to safely fit three people abreast.

It was still far too little for how many people the Tower housed on a given day, everyone funneled through them at the start and end of work in a painfully slow march to actually get to their offices. All in the name of security.

Walking up them every day as a show of solidarity with the scientists had started as a trying task, with many breaks along the way, but now it was easy enough, physically. And of course, heading down was trivial.

Each floor had an area of specialty, in ascending order of required secrecy. Only himself and two handpicked scientists were allowed onto the roof to study the Nocturne Gate there directly, but things opened up greatly as he descended.

On the ground floor were agricultural and chemical treatments spilling out into the walled gardens beyond, even viewable by the public on occasion. That had been partly out of necessity, since growing things on the balconies of the upper floors would have seen them stripped to nothing by the wind in a heartbeat. Well, other than the plants cultivated specifically for their resiliency, but that was only a small side project for the botany researchers.

He felt the frigid air of early spring blow across his face as he exited the walled compound and made his way out onto the street. His father had called Ortus Tower “The Monster” for the way it loomed over the city, visible even at the northern ends, a column of dark concrete with rings at every floor where the balconies let out. The gate at the top only completed the picture.

Once he was far enough out from under its shadow, the glossy black circle atop it became visible. It was one of many Nocturne Gates, with three in Cambria alone, but this had been the only one hovering hundreds of feet in the air. Until Harold I had ordered the construction of the Tower to reach it, anyway.

This whole part of the city, the Mourningside neighborhood in particular, had really sprung up around then, less haphazard than the entirely unplanned oldtown, but nonetheless disorganized and dense. Notably too dense for a rail line through it, which hampered Luce’s traversal a fair bit.

We need a way to fit stations into neighborhoods like this. Then I wouldn’t be freezing right now. Perhaps some sort of elevated aerial track… Luce made a note in his notebook and then put it back in his coat pocket.

Despite the cold, it was still a beautiful day, sunny as it could only be before summer began in earnest and the fog rolled in from dawn to dusk. And he needed a moment of peace before facing Prince Harold.

I was supposed to have another month. What had sent him back so early?

But then, the purpose of that trip had never been terribly clear to him anyway. If the day were fair, Harold would explain everything himself. But knowing him, there wasn’t much chance of that.

The sun was beginning to dip over the horizon by the time Luce reached the palace grounds, giving Sunset Heights its signature glow.

The guards at the first gate parted to allow him through with a bow of their heads, the ones at the doors to the palace following once he reached them.

Mercifully, Harold was alone when Luce reached him, slouching lazily on the throne of Avalon with a glass of red wine in his hand. With his high cheekbones and dark brown hair, he was the spitting image of his forefather Harold I, whose portrait behind him only emphasized the resemblance. “Luce!” he called out, waving his arm. “What took you so long?”

“I was interviewing next year’s graduates from the college for positions in the Tower. Your arrival caught me quite unexpectedly, I’m afraid.”

“Hmm.” Harold shrugged. “I would have thought you had people for that, but I suppose it’s yours to run as you choose.”

“I like to be sure I can trust people I need to work with.”

“Ha! Good thing you don’t have to work with the Grand Council then.”

Luce nodded. “I was never much one for politics.”

“And yet you’ve kept things running here smoothly while Father and I were away. At least, I assume so. Nothing’s burned down, has it?” Harold took a sip of his wine.

“For the most part.” With a scowl, Luce removed his planner and flipped back to the day of the theft. “Plans for our airships went missing from the assembly facility on Crescent Isle. We suspect Robin Verrou was responsible, although that has yet to be verified.”

“So?” Raising an eyebrow, Harold waved his hands up in the air, somehow managing to avoid spilling any wine in the process. “Weren’t you the one who told me that all the factories only keep plans for what they need to manufacture? The complete diagrams and principles and such are all kept in Ortus Tower, aren’t they?”

“And at the assembly facility. Otherwise it would be impossible to put all of the parts together.” Luce sighed. “It’s not the full specifications, certainly not as good as anything kept in the Tower, but if it’s sold to the Arboreum or Guerron, it could mean trouble. I take full responsibility.”

Harold stared at him. “You’re ruling wrong if you do. Luce, this is exactly the time to get rid of the Facility Director. It was his responsibility, not yours.” He flicked his finger against the palm of his other hand. “If they’d been stolen from the Tower, maybe we’d be having a different conversation, but this? It’s fine. Nothing you could do.”

Luce clenched his fists. “You and Father left me in charge for your trip to the Territories. The Director was still under my command.”

“And Verrou was under Grandfather’s command in the Foxtrap. You didn’t see him blaming himself for that, did you?” He rolled his eyes. “Father says you’re to be my right hand once I take the throne, as Aunt Elizabeth has been for him. I won’t have you taking the blame for your lessers.”

“If you insist.” The point wasn’t one worth arguing, not with Harold. He always managed to get everything he wanted. “And how were the Territories? I assume something must have brought you back early. Is Father with you?”

“He’s not.” Harold shook his head. “He wanted to check in with Governor Perimont and help show Malin our might. Even this far out from the Foxtrap, there are those who would defy us. The plan hasn’t changed. If things go poorly with Guerron, his proximity will be all the more necessary to help keep order. That’s much of why he remains on that continent. That, and he trusts his sons to handle things here, of course.”

“Of course. But does he really expect things to get that bad?”

After setting his glass of wine down on the side table next to him, Harold clasped his hands together. “There was an explosion in the harbor. One of the boats was carrying some sort of gunpowder device that wiped out almost every ship there. It’s heating up.”

“What do we know?” If it really were an attack on Avalon, things could spiral out of control too rapidly to deal with.

“Only a few things, as of now, none of them damning on their own. But I dispatched Sir Gerald to investigate, and I’m quite confident in his ability.”

His loyalty, more like. The man was certainly predictable. Luce could say that much, if little else in his favor. That, and that he had found a calling suited to him in his role as an investigator. “We can’t let the Harpies find out about this. Imagine what a frenzy Baron Williams could stir them into if he hears! They’re already itching for another conquest.”

“Word always gets out eventually, Luce. I don’t plan to go around spreading the news myself, but between this and Verrou stealing those plans? Make sure that you’re ready.” He gripped the arm of the throne tightly.

“What of Guerron, then?” The remnants of the Fox Empire had fled there, including their young King. If trouble really were brewing, that would be the place it started. “What have you heard?”

“I spoke with a spy called Jethro who managed to make contact with one of the nobles there. Apparently they’re quite divided and disordered, something about their barbaric sacrifices. He didn’t seem to think we had much to worry about, but he’s also had to go to ground in the weeks since.”

Luce blinked. “And ‘Magnifico’? Sending him out with such a light guard already seemed like such a pointless risk. If things are truly heating up, it seems all the stupider. I understand why he feels he needs to stay, but surely his time is better spent in the safety of Malin.”

“You know him. He thinks he’s invincible.” Harold shrugged. “Obviously, he can’t do too much snooping since he’s there in such a public capacity, but he wanted to negotiate with Duke Fouchand in person.”

“Negotiate?” That didn’t sound much like him, at least not when he pulled out his bard disguise.

“As a starting point,” Harold clarified. “He’ll see where things go, of course. No matter what, I’m confident that he’ll advance Avalon’s interests.”

“Well obviously.” Luce rolled his eyes. “Still, the last thing we want to do is blunder into a war we could avoid.”

“It may not be an option.” Taking a long sip of wine, Harold leaned back on the throne. “The ship that exploded? Its last port of call before Malin was Guerron.”