Luce II: The Alumnus

The Cambrian College was much as Luce remembered it, with massive arms of brick extended out to frame a courtyard, a fountain in the center. Back when Harold I had founded it, the moving water had been a technical marvel, but now every noble of any import had multiple in their private gardens, with another at their residence in Cambria.

Still, it had been nice to look at. Luce had passed many hours sitting on a bench in front of it with his sketchbook; the inspiration for his capstone project had even come to him on the very bench he was sitting on now, as the wind whistled by.

Better not to romanticize it too much.

More often than not, the work had been nigh-unbearable, fueled purely by coffee and determination. But the rigor was by design, encouraging only the best to ascend the ranks of the scientific body, and weed out any incapable of it.

Unless you were a prince, anyway. Luce had only been able to accomplish anything without the stink of nepotism clouding his every achievement after chasing away all the ‘tutors’ who had offered to complete his assignments for him. His brother Harold was technically a graduate, too, though he’d never once attended class, nor completed any of the work. It was a shame. He didn’t understand the possibilities, the limitless applications of the world’s foremost technologies and innovations.

All he saw were the battles won, the nations conquered.

If it had simply been Harold’s misunderstanding though, that would still be a marked improvement. The paradigm of the war machine infused every aspect of the College system, usually subtly, with Palace grants finding their way to specific projects, or the comparative prestige of scientists in the field of naval engineering versus those in botany. The previous Tower hiring practices had been a rather less subtle application.

Everyone wants to be the inventor of the next cannon, the next airship. That, or the one who funds it. They’d forgotten that Harold I’s invention of the printing press had been just as key to the unification of Avalon as his longbows and revolutionary tactics, that the western isles had been brought into the fold with diplomacy as well as demonstrations of Avalon’s might.

11:26, the hands of his wristwatch read, which meant it was time to go in.

The trickle of students leaving class slightly early was already beginning to fill the halls, but none of them paid him any mind. “Security through obscurity,” Father called it. Without regalia, retinue, or royal purple coloring on his clothes, Luce was simply another student. A circle of guards could try to keep him safe, but they would also make him stand out, turn him into a target. And they would turn simple trips like this into exhausting productions, with bells sounding and the announcement of his full name and official title every time he entered the room. Even the thought of it was enough to make him cringe.

Still, it helped that Luce made few appearances in public. The only people who would recognize him here, mostly professors and perhaps a few of the oldest students, would know not to make a scene. If Harold tried this though, his face plastered as it was across newspapers and journals, it would never work. He’d be mobbed before he even made it into the courtyard.

The halls were much as he remembered them, glistening hardwood reflecting light from the window at the end, with thick oak doors inset with stained glass transoms color coded to their respective professor’s whims. Apparently, decades ago Headmaster Templeton had tried to reform the scheduling by untethering instructors from their rooms and forcing them to move around as students did, for efficiency.

It hadn’t lasted long. Upon his unrelated and tragic death in a lab accident days after instituting the policy, his successor had repealed it.

But that was the sort of rumor students loved to spread. Who really knew the truth of it? Time inevitably distorted things. The whisperings that the same architect that had designed the college also provided the master plan for Cambria’s dungeons, for example, were verifiably false, although admittedly the designer had been consulted for safety protocols.

Through the back window, the Lyrion Sea was visible, disappearing into the fog a few meters from the coast. On clear days, one could even see the ships being built at Crescent Isle across the water, but clear days were hard to come by, this time of year.

At least the fog was thin enough that Luce could still see his capstone project, the two massive wind turbines affixed to the seaward towers of the college. Attached to a generator, they would heat copper pads immersed in water, sending steam through pipes in the walls and heating the building during the windiest days, when it tended to need it the most.

If the battery projects paid off, it could mean an entirely new source of accessible power, free of the limits of coal combustion engines and the infrastructure to support them. Father had never been prouder than the day Luce had unveiled it, though the praise had sat oddly with him. Almost uncomfortable, though he still appreciated the recognition. Less so from Headmaster Jamison, with whom Luce had needed to argue for hours to convince him not to rename the towers after him.

“Admiring your handiwork?” The voice behind him made him jump. When he turned, Professor Thorburton was leaning against the wall with an amiable smile. Broad shouldered and tall, with a barrel chest, and wearing his black apron and work gloves, he looked even less scholarly than usual.

“I was just waiting, so I didn’t interrupt your class.” Luce gestured to the professor’s ensemble. “I see you were doing another practical demonstration.”

He wiped a streak of coal dust from his brow with the back of his hand. “Easier for them to learn when they can do it themselves, rather than reading from a book. Not that everyone agrees, but it’s my class. And after the success of your capstone, I’ve got a pretty free hand when it comes to thermodynamic engineering.”

“Of course.” Luce looked over the man’s shoulder at the stream of students squirting out the door like an oil leak. “Any promising contenders?”

Thorburton grinned, clasping his hands together. “A lot of talent in the upper years. You know Olivia Esterton, right? With the lightning gauntlet. I’m serving as her faculty advisor. And Rebecca Williams, the Baron’s daughter, has an unparalleled understanding of explosives. It’s not my department, but I also hear that Ernest Porterfield is trying to adapt the ironclad designs into full-on submersibles.”

“What about…” How to phrase it? “Anyone working on things more related to… civilian applications?”

The professor blinked, his bushy eyebrows furrowing. “A few, though mostly not in my department. Kelsey Thorley’s trying to underground the urban railways for shorter-distance travel, and Albert Ingles is trying to revolutionize the printing press. Said something about people pushing on the letters like a harpsichord keyboard, and miniaturizing it to fit on a desk.”

Not as many as he might have hoped for, but that was a starting point. And with support from Ortus Tower and the royal family, hopefully more would follow them.

Thorburton scratched his chin. “You would already know about Tobias Folsom’s pulsebox, of course.”

Who? “Why? And what is that, for that matter?”

“It’s a music box, I think. Not all that familiar with the particulars.” Thorburton folded his arms. “But His Majesty requested a prototype personally, to send with an envoy to the Erstwhile Empire. There’s a few more kicking around at some of the clubs in Mourningside, but it’s already outdated; Folsom found a way to include higher quality sound samples in a new iteration of the device.”

Not terribly useful then, although interesting. Father had probably wanted a way for ‘Magnifico’ to prove his bona fides as an emissary of Avalon without risking anything too valuable. Student projects would be sufficient to impress on such a technologically backward continent. “Could you arrange a meeting for me with Ingles and Thorley? I’d like to see about giving them Tower support and funding, once they graduate.”

“Huh. I suppose I can,” Thorburton said with a raised eyebrow. “If they even can graduate with projects like that. I wouldn’t be too sure, Luce. Your—” He cut himself off.

“My projects got all the funding I needed because I’m a prince, even though they never would have normally. You don’t need to be afraid to say it.” Luce patted him on the shoulder. “Now that I’m the Overseer, I can extend the same generosity. There’s no harm in diversifying Avalon’s technology base, is there?”

“I suppose not. I’ll talk to them the next time I see them in class.”

“And I’ll let the Tower Guards know I’m expecting them. Thank you, Professor.”

“No problem at all, Luce. It’s good to see you here again.”

Luce smiled. “Expect to see a lot more of it. I’ve got a few new programs I’d like to get off the ground, further collaboration between Ortus Tower and the College.” From what Harold had said about the state of Malin and Guerron, it was more vital now than ever.

Taking on new initiatives was stretching him thin, admittedly, with more and more of the day to day operations of the Tower being left under Sir Julius’s command, but Luce could only be in so many places at once. Advancing beneficial sciences had to take priority, with the Great Council on the brink of sending a war declaration to the Palace for the king’s signature. Or Prince Regent, in this case.

Harold might be able to avoid signing it, but it would cost them. With Father on another continent, losing respect and influence there could be disastrous.

His business done for the moment, Luce made his way back outside, only to find Sir Julius waiting in the courtyard, tapping his foot impatiently.

“What are you doing here?” Luce hissed. “I left you in command of the Tower.”

“Apologies, my prince. But I come bearing urgent news.” Shit.

Luce clenched his fists. “It’s Guerron, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so, your highness. Lord Lumière has challenged Lady Leclaire to a duel to the death.”

He massaged his temples. “Forgive me; I haven’t studied their polity very closely. What’s the significance of that, exactly?”

Julius nodded. “The city’s two spirit temples are on the verge of open war. By the time the news arrived here, things may have gotten even worse than that. If the Great Council wished to take advantage of Guerron’s weakness, in conjunction with the harbor bombing you mentioned to me…”

“Shit. Shit!” Luce slammed his hands to his face. “When did word of this arrive?”

“The Palace already knows, and the Great Council as well. The Prince Regent read Magnifico’s report before them. As we speak, their vote may already be concluded.”

“Khali’s curse!” This could ruin everything. “I need to get to the palace right away.”

“I thought as much, and took the liberty of preparing your coach, your highness. It’s waiting for you at the entrance.”

“Thank you!” Luce yelled over his shoulder as he took off towards the coach. The driver didn’t blink as he dove into the cab, calling for him to go to the palace.

They were halfway down Peige Boulevard by the time Luce regained his composure and caught his breath.

Why, why, why did Harold read the report to the council? If he’d kept it private, that would at least allow them to delay. They could have gotten out ahead of it, like they had with the bombing, framing it as an accident and leaving out the ship’s last port of call. That had been Harold’s idea, even. Why?

Luce didn’t even look up at the palace guards as he shouldered his way past, moving as fast as he could while technically walking.

“Why hello, Luce. The Baron and I were just talking about you.” Harold was standing in front of the throne, a circle of lords and ladies around him. Without following politics more, it was a bit difficult to tell, but all of them seemed to be members of the Harpy faction in the Great Council.

Certainly Baron Williams was, and probably the strongest voice among them, at that. “Greetings, your highness.” He bowed at the waist, the other courtiers following him. “I trust you have heard Magnifico’s news.”

“Sir Julius informed me of the basics. Something about a duel.” As he spoke, Luce glared at Harold. What are you doing?

“Gentlemen, I think it would be best if my brother and I had a moment alone. Please excuse us.” Harold put his arm around Luce’s shoulder and led him out to a side chamber behind the throne room, away from prying eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Luce spat out the moment they were in private. “Meeting with the Harpies, reading them reports about Guerron’s divided weakness—”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” Harold interrupted. “The full truth of the harbor bombing got out, as well as Robin Verrou’s theft. By the time I read the report, the Harpies were already drafting an edict to triple war production and drive recruitment up in the military. This way, I maintain influence with the faction while Aunt Elizabeth keeps an eye on the Owls.”

“Uh…” Luce furrowed his brows.

“I know you’re not one for politics, brother, but if you wish to be indignant about my plays, you would do well to learn a bit more.” Harold leaned lazily against the wall. “The point, Luce, is that by having a hand in both parties, and in the crafting of the edict, we can ensure that it never passes. Thus sparing me the need to refuse signing it.”

“Really? Because I don’t see why you need to meet with Willaims if our aunt is simply going to crush the edict either way.”

“Trust me.” Harold winked. “You handle the technology, and I’ll handle the Council. That’s what’s always worked out.”

Luce took a deep breath, weighing whether to continue pushing back against this. Harold’s reasoning really didn’t seem sound, at least not if preventing war were actually his goal. But he did know the council better, and his general friendliness had allowed him to cultivate a neutral position between the parties. Still…

Harold snapped his fingers. “Oh! While I have you, I promised Rebecca Williams that you would hire her once she graduated. Make sure she gets a plum position in the Tower.”

“I’m sorry?” Luce’s eyebrows shot up. “Tower personnel is my domain. And I had no intention of—”

He sucked in air through his teeth. “I’m sorry, Luce. She provided essential services to the Crown. I really didn’t think it would be an issue. You hired your friends when you graduated, right? I figured this would be more of the same.”

My friends didn’t build bombs, and they earned their place when I recused myself. But Luce bit his tongue. “What ‘essential services’, exactly?”

“I’m not allowed to say. Father wanted—” He slapped his hand to his face. “I really do apologize. But I promised her, and I can’t go back on my word now.”

“Then you shouldn’t have promised it!” Luce pounded his fist against the wall. His posture softened as he saw Harold flinch back. “Ugh, look, just… Maybe I can assign her to a different department. She can work somewhere else with her specialty or change it to get the promised position in the Tower. Does that work?”

“I think so,” he responded through a grimace. “But Father was pretty specific in his instructions, and this authority ultimately lies with him. I don’t think that’s what he wanted.”

“He left us in charge. Left you in charge, while he’s away. If you approve it, it ought to be fine.”

“I don’t know…” Harold snapped his fingers again, jerking his head up in realization. “You can ask him about it yourself, when you head down there.”

What? “Wait, you think I should go to Malin?”

He shook his head. “Father requested it himself. I certainly found my time there educational.”

“When? You last saw him months ago. Why didn’t you mention it earlier?”

“He asked in a message. Word just arrived today.”

“I can’t leave now. The Tower—”

“Can certainly handle things without you for a few months. You run such a tight ship; I’m sure that won’t be an issue.”

“I can’t.”

“I don’t think Father was asking. He needs you there, just as he needs me here. With the situation in Guerron poised to boil over, maintaining order in Malin is all the more important. Sir Gerald will be able to fill you in once you arrive, so that you don’t need to meet Governor Perimont unapprised of the situation. He’s been conducting the investigation himself, so there’s no risk of leaking information.

“With everything going on, I’d do anything to keep you. But Father ordered it, and if he says he needs the help, I’m sure he’s right. We need someone we can trust absolutely in Malin, not only in loyalty but in ability. Perimont’s proven a bit less than reliable, of late.”

Luce raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Harold nodded, smiling slightly. “His penchant for keeping order through rebel hunts and executions has only inflamed the unrest, if anything. I think Father is hoping you’ll be a moderating influence, though of course you’d need to ask him yourself.”

“Ugh.” Luce clenched his fist. “This is the last thing I need right now. Sir Julius can run the Tower for a time, sure, but—” But how much can he really do to slow the war machine, without the cachet of a prince, or my relationship with the College?

“You’ll just have to return as quickly as you can. If the issues with Guerron are dealt with decisively enough, you might even be back by the end of summer.”

Not bloody likely. But Luce saw no way out of this. “I’ll prepare to leave within the fortnight then. I need to brief my administrators and scientists before my absence.”

“See if you can manage it in a week. Father’s note made the situation sound rather desperate.”

“Could I see that note?”

“I memorized it and then burned it. You can never be too careful.”

“Brilliant.” Luce slumped over, defeated. What could he even do, at this point? Winning over Father in person was probably the best he could hope for, convincing him of the importance of his work in Cambria.

But if Father really were that desperate, what did that say about Malin? How close were they to open rebellion, if Father needed him there urgently enough to pull him away so abruptly?

“Do try to enjoy Malin.” Harold shifted his grimace to a smile as he began to walk out of the room, ready to face the courtiers. “Its summers are actually sunny, unlike Cambria. It might do you some good to get some fresh air.”

“I can’t wait,” Luce lied.