In the Shadow of Lightning

37

Thessa spent the morning prepping her workshop to produce resonance-enhancing omniglass, then the early afternoon in meetings at a corner table in the Hyacinth restaurant. It was a process that felt familiar – not much different from sitting at a café near the Grent Glassworks, processing through all the administration that Kastora didn’t have time for, except that instead of buying a cup of tea for local merchants as she reviewed their accounts, she was meeting with Demir’s craftsmen.

She had technical drawings for each of them; straightforward pages that she explained in detail, each one outlined with everything she needed from that particular craftsman and nothing more. She ordered a double compartment for the phoenix channel from the tinsmith. From the blacksmith, an internal iron frame to hold the weight. The carpenter would create the external frame, as well as cut thick sheets of cork to her specifications. The mason would provide rolls of asbestos.

The carpenter was the last of her meetings; a middle-aged man who blinked at her drawings and turned them this way and that, clearly trying to figure out what exactly the frame was for. She did not enlighten him. “Two days?” he asked.

“Two days,” Thessa confirmed.

“I’ll have an apprentice on this,” he grumbled.

“Do it yourself,” Thessa replied. “I don’t want a single delay.” She looked up to see Breenen approach from the lobby, his hands clasped behind him. When the carpenter scowled and looked toward him, he only nodded.

“I’ll get right on it, ma’am,” the carpenter said, excusing himself.

Thessa waited until he was gone to press her fingers against her eyes. “That’s the last of my meetings,” she told Breenen. “Thank you for setting them up. Every step I don’t have to oversee is more attention I can give to the crux of the project.”

“My pleasure, Lady Foleer.” Breenen bowed his head. “Two days? Is speed such a necessity?”

Thessa looked down at some of the notes she’d been writing between meetings. She shuffled the papers around absently, then turned them all upside down so no passing waiters could read the contents. Was speed a necessity? Kastora always told her that rushing a project only led to mistakes, paradoxically causing the project to take longer than it would have otherwise. And yet since the moment she awoke this morning she had felt a burning in her chest – a pressure to see the phoenix channel through with utmost haste.

Part of it was petty – she wanted to impress Demir next time he returned from the war – but the heart of the matter was more immediate. The riot yesterday had spooked her deeply. Every day that passed without a working phoenix channel was another day full of potential violence as godglass grew more difficult to obtain for the common people.

“Yes,” she finally answered Breenen. “Speed is necessary. This project has far more variables than normal godglass. Even once it has been built it may require months of testing and experimentation. I can’t afford to waste any time.”

“Very well. I’ll make sure the craftsmen stay on top of their work.” Breenen nodded and turned away.

“Do you ever think about your legacy?” she asked, the words coming out impulsively.

The concierge paused, looking over his shoulder at her. After a moment he turned back. “I’m the majordomo for a guild-family and a hotel concierge,” he said with half a smile. “Whatever legacy I leave behind will be a small one, quickly forgotten.”

Thessa laid her hand flat on her notes. She searched for the right words, digging into that pressure in her chest, knowing there was more to it than wanting to avoid violence. “This thing is all that I have left of Kastora. It’s his greatest work, and he didn’t even get the opportunity to perfect it or to share it with the world. That responsibility now lies on my shoulders. It is exciting and frightening all at once.”

Breenen was silent for several moments. “Acting in a master’s stead is a daunting task. More so when they are gone for good.” He lowered his eyes, and Thessa realized that Breenen’s loss of Adriana was only a week or two more removed than her own loss of Kastora. “Yet,” he continued, “ensuring a legacy is a legacy in and of itself. One that you or I or anyone who has lived in the shadow of greatness should take pride in. I know that will be my own legacy as a client of the Grappo.”

“What specific legacy do you wish to ensure?” Thessa asked.

“This is Ossa, and we are a small guild-family,” Breenen replied, cocking an eyebrow. “I only wish to ensure survival.”

“Is survival good enough? Shouldn’t we want to leave more to the world than that?”

“Sometimes survival is all we can handle. Is there anything else you need today, Lady Foleer?”

Thessa stared at nothing, contemplating Breenen’s words for some time before realizing he’d asked her a question. “I need to go shopping. Could I have a carriage in twenty minutes?”

“Of course.”

Thessa arrived at the Lampshade Boardwalk less than an hour later. It was a place she knew well from her forays into Ossa, either on her own or shopping on behalf of Kastora. It was also one of the few places she felt safe – too public for any mischief during the day, and well-patrolled by the Ossan National Guard. She directed her driver to drop her at one end and be prepared to pick her up from the other end in an hour. The war had started only eight days ago and yet she felt a massive sense of freedom – and of recklessness – walking out in the open, bumping shoulders with strangers as she browsed the merchandise of the glassworks suppliers.

She found better tools than those Demir provided almost immediately. Refined cindersand – the ingredient needed for omniglass – was much more difficult. It took her most of her hour to locate just a single pound of the stuff, and when she did the vendor refused to so much as pretend to haggle. Thessa paid what was asked. She knew that the prices were rising quickly, and she knew why.

Her final trip was into a bookstore, where she waited until the clerk had an open moment and came over to her, a salesman’s smile fixed on his mousy face. “Good afternoon, ma’am. Can I help you find something?”

“I’m looking for a scientific treatise,” she told him.

“Ah, a gentlewoman scholar?”

“Of a sort. A few months ago I read an article from a Marnish engineer on the potentials of petroleum as a heat source. Perhaps you read it?”

“Professor Volos, I believe?” the little clerk asked.

“That’s the one. I’d like to see whatever you have along those lines.”

“Yes, she’s rather brilliant. Especially popular with that new lightning rod of hers.”

“I haven’t heard of it.”

“Oh, you will!” The clerk went behind his counter and rummaged around beneath it. He began stacking books on the counter, speaking as he worked. “She’s figured out a very simple device for directing lightning from the top of a building, down through a … what did she call it … a grounding wire, and into the dirt. Absolutely ingenious. Architects all over the Empire have already started incorporating it into their designs. Her new book sells out as fast as I can stock it, but I think I have a couple copies left in the back. Would you like one?”

Thessa glanced at the titles he’d fetched for her. The Age of Coal. One Thousand Uses for Whale Oil. Lighting a City: The History of Gas in Ossa. There were thirteen books. She sifted through them judiciously, setting aside the histories and keeping anything that looked to run on the more technical side. “Sure.”

“I’ll go fetch you one.”

Thessa picked up one of the books she’d chosen and flipped through it. She wasn’t entirely certain she knew what she was looking for. Inspiration, perhaps? Hard data? The energy source would be her biggest challenge, and approaching it from several directions seemed like the best place to start. From there she could focus in on the most promising ideas. As she’d already told Breenen, the phoenix channel might require months of experimentation before it worked properly.

“Just the one copy left!” the clerk said, emerging from the back. “You’ll have all of these here, then?”

“I will, thank you.” Thessa paid the clerk and checked her pocket watch. Ten more minutes until her driver expected her. “Do you mind if I read here for a few minutes? I’m just waiting for my driver.”

“Be my guest, ma’am.”

Thessa took herself to a corner of the shop and grabbed the top one from her stack of books. Taming Nature: The Future of Modern Architecture. It was the book on lightning rods. She flipped it open, half expecting to return it before she left the shop.

The very first page was a technical blueprint of a lightning rod and an explanation for how it worked. It was not, the author claimed, her intention to get rich from her new invention. It was her intent to better civilization. Thessa stared at the device. It was so … simple. A crown, and a thick cable, and a grounding rod. The device was meant to intercept lightning that would otherwise strike the top of a building, and direct it through the cable and harmlessly into the ground.

Thessa’s mouth hung open. She’d witnessed a lightning strike once, when she was a girl. It had blown the entire steeple and a whole wall off a church and set fire to four surrounding buildings. All that power. Could it really be harnessed so simply? It was a thought that begat another: Could she harness it? She borrowed a pencil from the clerk and scribbled in the margins, going so far as to balance on one leg and press the book against her thigh as she drew a diagram.

The next time she checked her pocket watch, nearly a half hour had passed. She was late to meet her driver. She shook her thoughts clear, putting them in order for when she returned to the hotel, then thanked the clerk. She had a promising thread working its way through the back of her head now. Her mind raced at the possibilities – the simple elegance – the madness – of directing lightning through the center of her phoenix channel.

She was nearly to the end of the boardwalk, the crowds thinning out, when she felt someone grab her arm. “Ow! What the pissing–”

“Keep walking. If you scream, I stab.”

Thessa inhaled sharply, looking down to see a knife held in her assailant’s hand, pressed gently against her side just above her hip. Visions of newspaper articles about murdered siliceers floated across her thoughts, and the idea of being slit from crotch to throat almost did cause her to scream. Before she had a chance, however, he directed her sharply into an alley.

“What do you want?” she demanded, trying to get a good look at his face. He was a young man – no one she recognized – wearing a laborer’s tunic and boots. Probably no more than a common thief. “Is it money? Take it.”

“Not from you I don’t,” he said, continuing to prod her along. They took another turn and Thessa realized to her horror that they were quite alone. The street was close by, and people would hear if she screamed, but nobody could see what was going on in this little alley. Her confidence in the safety of the Lampshade Boardwalk was shattered.

She turned to face him, leaping away, trying to wrench her arm from his grasp.

“Oh no you don’t,” he said, tightening his grip. He waved the knife underneath her nose until she stopped struggling. She focused on the blade, wondering if her stack of books was heavy enough to knock it out of his hand. Could she risk it? If he tried anything, she damn well would. “I know you,” he declared.

“You don’t know me,” she spat back. Her immediate fear deepened.

“Yes I do. You’re the girl from the Ivory Forest Glassworks. The prisoner who went missing – Teala.”

“I’ve never heard that name before in my life.” Thessa’s mouth went dry. What were the glassdamned chances of being recognized here of all places?

“Oh yeah?” He suddenly jerked up the sleeve of her jacket to reveal her furnace-scarred arms. “A siliceer, eh? One with a light Grent accent, who looks just like a missing prisoner? Was it the Grappo bastard who got you out? Piss! I don’t even care. You’re going to fetch a good price from Supi Magna.” Thessa moved to pull away again, but when she did he thrust the knife up under her throat.

“If it’s money you want I can pay,” Thessa said quietly.

“Maybe. Maybe not. I’m not going to risk it. I know that Supi Magna has money. Now come on, we’re going…”

Thessa heard a light footstep, then saw a shadow move around the corner of the next alley over. A face appeared over the young man’s shoulder, and then a length of cord dropped around his neck and tightened. His eyes widened, and he turned the knife to lash out at the person behind him. Thessa, suddenly free from his grip, grabbed his wrist to keep him from doing so.

The woman behind him, Thessa realized in shock, was Pari – the very same whose hand she’d helped free, and who’d told her about Filur Magna’s safe. Thessa tossed her books aside, using both hands to keep the young man from fighting back while slowly, surely, Pari strangled him. He clawed at the air, thumped at her face, trying to pull his knife hand out of her grip. She refused to let go. It felt like ages before his struggles flagged and then ceased altogether. Pari kept her cord around his neck for long after he seemed to be unconscious, then dropped him to the ground.

Thessa stared down at him, her heart pounding, her head light and confused as if in a dream. “Is he dead?”

“Sure is,” Pari answered.

“That’s the second time in a week someone has had to kill to protect me.” Thessa’s gaze snapped back up to Pari. The young woman stared back at her coolly, as if the man she’d just murdered was beneath her in every way. “Why … how are you here? Why did you do that?”

“Later,” Pari hissed. “We need to go before someone stumbles on us.”

Thessa nodded quickly and found her books before hurrying out into the street. Pari followed close behind. The two of them wound through the thinning crowd, heading to the edge of the boardwalk, where Thessa spotted her carriage with its purple drapes stitched with the Grappo silic sigil. The driver greeted her politely, opening the door, and Thessa gestured for him to allow Pari to follow.

The two sat in the cool darkness of the carriage for several minutes of silence. The tension in Thessa’s belly was terrible, and she stared across at the laborer.

If Pari understood just how frightened Thessa was at the moment, she did not show it. Pari used one finger to move the drape slightly, watching. “They’ve found the body already,” she said. “They’ll summon the National Guard, but no one is gonna look inside a guild-family carriage.” She let go of the curtain and leaned back, closing her eyes.

Thessa kept her own eyes on the woman. Tall, lanky, with sun-darkened pale skin covered in the rough scars of someone who worked with their back. She was, in this very moment, the scariest person Thessa had ever seen. “What do you want from me?”

Pari opened her eyes, looking genuinely surprised. “Me? Nothing.”

“Then why’d you help me? How’d you even know I was in trouble?”

“The Ivory Forest Glassworks burned down,” Pari said, as if that explained everything. When Thessa didn’t respond to that, she elaborated, “Every laborer that used to work there is down here now, trying to find a job. The Lampshade is one of the best places to get good work, and you got real damn unlucky. Temmen back there spotted you about the same time I did. Figured I knew what was in his head, so I followed.”

Thessa let out a long, shaky breath that she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding in. “But you don’t want anything?”

“Not me.” Pari averted her eyes. “Look, somehow you got out of the prison glassworks. Made friends with the Grappo it seems, and between Glassdancer Demir and Baby Montego, you have some powerful protectors. I know what it’s like to be on that side of a labor camp, and glassdamn me if I was going to let Temmen send you back. He was a piece of shit, and you were kind to me. So that’s it. I’m not going to shake you down. We’re both going to forget this ever happened.” With that, she reached for the door latch.

“Wait!” Thessa’s eyes fell to Pari’s hand. It was still wrapped up with a proper splint, the skin red and swollen. The nails of her pinkies, Thessa noted once more, were not painted with a client’s color. Thessa’s heart continued to pound but she no longer felt fear. She was safe, and would continue to be so as long as she remained cautious. “You won’t let me repay you? You just killed a man for me.”

“I grew up in the Slag, my little jailbird. I’ve done worse for less.” She lifted her injured hand. “If you want to pay me back, give me enough money for a day in a healinghouse. Nobody will pissing hire me while I’m like this.”

“I’ll do more than that,” Thessa said on an impulse. It was a wild, perhaps reckless thing to do, but she needed people she could trust. She didn’t actually know any of the Grappo staff. She didn’t know Pari either, but a woman who would kill for her kindness could be useful.

“What do you mean?” Pari asked.

“Hold out your hands.” Pari did as she was told, clearly taken aback. Her hands were steady and, despite the injury, callused and strong. Thessa asked, “How long have you worked in glassworks?”

“Since I was old enough to cart firewood, I suppose.”

“Have you ever been an assistant?”

“Me?” Pari snorted. “Like I said, I’m from the Slag. Nobody from the Slag ever makes anything of themselves.”

“Then be the first,” Thessa said. She didn’t have time for this. Now that the danger was past, she needed to get back to the hotel with that book. She needed to finish her designs. “You want to make something of yourself? Come work for me. I need an assistant. Someone I can trust, who can keep their mouth shut and work hard.”

“I can do that,” Pari said hesitantly. “But I don’t have any experience.”

“Piss on that. I can train an intelligent person to be an assistant in a few hours. Do you want the job or not?”

“I suppose I do.”

“Good.” Thessa pulled out a wad of banknotes and peeled off several of them. “I don’t have time to waste. Take yourself to a healinghouse, then meet me at the Hyacinth Hotel. I’ll have errands for you as soon as you are able.”

Pari took the money, looking both intrigued and uncomfortable, and Thessa knew for a certainty that she wouldn’t betray her. “I’ll be there tomorrow,” Pari promised, and got out of the carriage.

Thessa didn’t even bother to watch her go. “Back to the hotel!” she shouted at the driver, then flipped open the book on lightning rods and, careful of the jostling of the carriage, began to sketch.