Conquest of Avalon

Florette VI: The Researcher

“I come as an emissary of my ancestor, Queen Glaciel, here to repay you in her name for all that you have done.” The boy’s voice was deep, with none of the ethereal lightness that filled the words of so many of Glaciel’s children, nor did it really match his lithe appearance.

“If you want a fight…” Florette tapped the ring on her finger — not actually the Ring of Glaciel, but hopefully evocative enough to serve as an implicit threat. “Remember that I bested your ancestor and Flammare both. I dispatched Valoises and Capets and scions of every ancient family Glaciel gave rise to. Perhaps you think yourself better than—”

“I’m not looking for a fight,” the boy said, his tone clearly confused. “I just told you. I’m here to repay you on Glaciel’s behalf for all that you’ve done for her. If you hadn’t killed Flammare, we’d be fighting a losing war right now, on the brink of annihilation. The First Consort saw a vision of you here in Cambria, and so he wanted to send you some help.”

Florette relaxed her stance somewhat, still eyeing the boy suspiciously. “The first consort?”

“The most prized and honored of Queen Glaciel’s lovers. A most coveted position, held by a scarce few across the centuries, each the founder of a mighty dynasty. The current holder of the position earned her respect when he bested her in combat, a near-peerless feat. You did as well, Florette of Enquin, then earned it anew one thousandfold when you killed the very sun to help protect us.”

Ok, but—“Why would one of Glaciel’s consorts care about me? Do they know me somehow?”

“His name is Corro of the Wastes,” the boy replied, as if what he was saying made any sense. “He fought on your side in the White Night, then he honored his pact with Queen Glaciel and followed her to Hiverre. Did you not know this already? I thought—”

“No, I knew that. But…” Consort? With her? Nothing about this made any sense at all. “Wow,” Florette sighed, pressing her hands against her face. “Sorry for the misunderstanding. I’ve met quite a few of your kin, and they introduced themselves in a pretty similar way, right before trying to kill me.”

“I understand, you and my family didn’t get off on the best foot. It’s still an honor to be able to meet you.” He held out a thin golden bracelet, a circular bead in the center with an abstract illustration of an L shape, with regular tick marks around the side. “The First Consort bid me give this gift to you, an Avaline accessory of great value.”

“Huh, tell him I said thank you,” Florette said as she latched the bracelet around her right wrist, something looking strangely familiar about it.

“He hoped it would help you better avoid suspicion. What exactly is it that you’re doing here?”

Florette glanced around the empty street, savoring the feeling of relief. “Follow me. I’d rather explain it somewhere private.” She let her voice fall to a whisper. “From now on, call me Sabine. And don’t let on that I’m not from Avalon. I’m infiltrating their most secure facilities.”

“Oh, brilliant!” The boy’s face lit up. “Corro suspected as much, that’s why Queen Glaciel chose me. I’m here to offer support on their behalf with whatever your mission might be.” He tapped his face. “She blessed me with this amazing looking mask from Lamante, which is why I get to look this great. And I already speak Avaline, which I learned from Queen Glaciel, so you don’t have to worry about me on that score either. I blend in perfectly. Just listen!” He held his arm up to his chest, proudly strutting forward. “How weel I spak Avaline, ful faire and fetisly, after the scole of Queen Glaciel, whoso kan tech lik noon oother. Though late dide I y-come, I am able for to helpen as ye desire. Ye may clepe me Christophe of Hiverre, of the Thirteenth Ring.”

Florette buried her head in her hands. She probably learned it six hundred years ago and never bothered to give it a second look. “Let’s just talk in private, Christophe. I’ll explain everything.”

≋

The statue in front of the Tancredi Museum bore a bizarre likeness, for all the detail in its features. It looked like a man in his twenties, wearing small circlets of metal over his eyes, not dissimilar to the twin crescents that had perched atop the spirit Lunette’s face. The coiffure, too, was strange, with the sides shaved and a flat platform of hair smoothed backwards on top. At least, that was the way it looked. Maybe the sculptor had just been stylizing it, the way heraldry flattened the features of animals to better express the symbol.

The words engraved beneath the figure offered little in the way of clarification. This Museum is dedicated to Edward Tancredi, who blazed a trail so bright through this new frontier that he burned out long before his time. Gone but not forgotten. He learned more in three months than most of us can in a lifetime.

Florette felt like her last three months had been similar, though hopefully they wouldn’t end with the same grisly death the plaque implied. Most recently, that meant spending two hundred fifty mandala on a week’s room and board at a worn-out inn in Westfall to give Christophe somewhere to stay that wouldn’t ask too many questions.

He was here to help, and it was touching that Corro was still looking out for her even from the other side of the world, but it was hard enough to convincingly pass as Avaline on her own, and a spirit-touched kid with an Avaline vocabulary half a millennium out of date wasn’t helping.

She’d have to figure it later, though, because right now she had a research paper to write. She’d bought herself some time to look at the problem without too much risk.

“Oh, you’re actually here on time,” Rebecca greeted Florette, emerging from the museum’s front door into the busy plaza beyond. She had her hair up again, earrings shaped like honeybees dangling from her ears. In lieu of the red sweater was a burgundy jacket that fit her form far more closely. “Already doing better than anyone from my last four group projects.”

Hopefully not in a suspicious way. It fit Srin Sabine’s cover to be studious, though, and since Florette needed to succeed regardless, there wasn’t much benefit to pretending to be less invested than she was.“High praise.” Florette nodded to her, then looked back at the statue. “Know what the deal with this guy is?”

Rebecca shrugged. “Fashions of the time, I guess? This museum’s a century old, and the guy it’s named after is probably even older. People used to have weird taste, unlike you apparently. Look at that watch!”

“Oh this?” Florette traced her fingers around the bracelet. “Just a gift from a friend.”

“That’s some friend. I think there’s less than fifty of those in the world. I’ve only seen them before on royalty.”

Florette smiled, remembering everything Corro had done to help her. “He is.” Even if he’s doing something unspeakably wrong right now in Hiverre. As for the ‘watch’, if it were that rare, it’d probably be best to minimize how often she wore it, lest she be asked for a more detailed explanation of how she got it. Nothing that makes me stand out.

“Anyway, let’s get inside. I want to get this done.” She held out her hand, and without thinking much about it, Florette grabbed it and followed her inside.

The entrance hall was crowded with families and children, small paper bills littering the ground.

A quick look at it showed a price of twenty-eight mandala to enter, seemingly for a single person. Florette genuinely was curious to come here, even beyond the help it would provide her in class, since a look at the history and technology Avalon wanted to brag about could help her choose what to prioritize, and filter out what was already common knowledge.

Even then, the way she was stretching her budget, it would mean skipping her next few lunches, which wasn’t a particularly inviting prospect.

I really need to find a source of money here, or I'm not going to make it much longer. Malin had used mandala too, mostly, and from experience there, Florette had expected what she had to last her a good few months. But everything here cost twice as much as a starting point, including, apparently, entering a room. Christophe’s inn stay alone had cost her almost a third of what she’d brought, and if she couldn’t figure out somewhere else to put him by the end of the week, she’d need to pay it again.

This is ridiculous. I’ve organized robberies for goods worth hundreds of thousands, and somehow a single ticket is a struggle.

“You alright?” Rebecca tapped her on the shoulder. “The main exhibition area is this way.”

“Don’t I need to buy my way in?”

“Already bought yours,” Rebecca said with a smile. “My idea, seemed fair. And I was here early anyway.”

“Thanks.” Florette blinked. “Wait, you expected me to be late, and you came early?”

Mouth open, Rebecca flipped her hands up, seemingly at a loss. “Have to be prepared. And honestly, even after the way you showed off in class, I expected to have to do all the work. That’s usually the way it goes. Nothing personal.”

Florette didn’t respond, taking in the high-ceilinged chamber they were entering, lighting low enough to make everything mounted to the wall look like it was popping out. They were moving through too fast to get much detail from the placards, but the objects themselves were interesting in their own right.

At the back of the room in a small case was what looked like a white brick, cracks running across its face, with a circle inset into the bottom and a square towards the top, where the cracks were most severe. Another case, larger, had some kind of loom apparatus that was moving even within the barrier. Past that was an enormous metal drum with bits of brass tubing poking out, apparently somehow related to brandy, unless she was reading the inscription wrong. Inset in the wall near the front of the room was a large brass lever that looked like it was related to their trains in some fashion, though Florette didn’t get the chance to see how before they were already in the next room.

“Any ideas on our topic?” Rebecca asked as they entered, the emptier space more conducive to conversation than the buzzing exhibitions in earlier rooms. “You seemed to know your stuff, so you’re welcome to take the lead if you want.”

In here, the main attraction was an apparently still functional printing press, one of the earliest models, a massive dull grey contraption with a typeface larger than any book Florette had ever seen. Various early books were set atop podiums encased in glass, turned to pages midway through with impressive monochrome illustrations, some of the first of their kind. The largest had pages nearly two feet wide, showing a heraldic panther, claws outstretched. Pantera the Undying, though it seems strange they still call her that given her current condition.

“Nothing in particular.” Don’t want to pick something strange or questionable, or accidentally contradict any of the lies your people might hold sacred. Knowing Imperial history had impressed Professor Alcock, but knowing too much, and too little of Avalon’s, would not be a good look. “What are you interested in? Sounded like we could basically pick anything we want.”

“You really want to know?” Rebecca exhaled through her nose. “Well, I’m more of an engineer than a scientist, philosophically. That feeling of slotting everything just so into place, making something so much more than the sum of its parts, the rush of wind when it goes off, leaving this earth for oblivion…”

Rush of wind, leaving this earth… “Did you work on those airships?” If so, maybe I can get something useful to pass on, maybe even learn where they’re going. Too much to hope for, probably, but it would be nice to learn something useful for her mission beyond the abstraction of succeeding in class.

“Airships? No, my specialty is more on combustion and explosives. Packing the largest impact into the smallest payload, new techniques, that sort of thing. I was supposed to be working for the Tower already, was promised by Prince Harold himself, but now I have to finish this last round of classes.” She shook her head with a look of disgust on her face, and Florette felt the urge to do the same, though certainly not for the same reason. “Still, I love the work. It’s such a pure expression of science.”

The carnage from the harbor bombing in Malin had still been visible even months later: smashed piers, endless flotsam, blood in the sand. Children had died, according to that investigator, Charlotte, and several bodies had never even been identified, left buried nameless on a slab in Fuite Gardens, unacknowledged and unmourned.

“Pure? What about when it ends up on the front lines?” Florette strove to keep the judgment out of her tone, to avoid drawing suspicion. It would have been better not to say anything at all, but she couldn’t help it. I don’t know why I’m even disappointed.

“That’s not going to be my department, really. The Great Council decides what to do with the weapons the Tower develops, people like my father, or the king.”

“And you’re alright with that?”

Rebecca shrugged again, though the carefree attitude was far less cute this time. “I don’t love it, but I’m not really all that political. This is just a way to get ahead. Five years at the Tower and you can work anywhere, they’ll be begging you for it. Even if I have any moral objections, it’s a way to secure my future.”

“And right now?

“Well, it’s not like anything I build right now is going towards the war effort. Just projects for school…” She winked. “Well, and maybe a few for parties. If you get the mixture right, you can send colored lights streaking through the sky, it’s amazing.” She paused, tapping her chin with her finger. “You know, my friend Toby’s having a little get-together next week; I was planning to bring a few party tricks out. You should come, if you want to see it.”

This is what I signed up for, going into the panther’s den. I have to remember that. Rebecca could be nice, but that didn’t make her good. It didn’t even make her any less than reprehensible, for the wanton destruction and pain she was so eager to contribute to. Worse, the ringing was coming back, a high pitched painful tone in the background of everything else. “I’ll have to think about it,” Florette said diplomatically, trying not to crawl out of her skin as they walked into the final room, the largest of all of them, containing a truly stupendous variety of weapons.

And Rebecca seemed just fascinated by these engines of war.

“Did you hear about the harbor bombing in Malin?” Florette asked, trying to sound as neutral as possible through the ringing in her ears. This is just referencing an event, nothing suspicious. Even Perimont was open about how destructive it was. “The bodycount was in the dozens, including children.”

“Of course, that was front page news for weeks.”

“And you don’t see a connection between what you’re doing and—” Just shut up, Florette. No good could come of this.

“Of course I do, and I resent the implication that I’m some witless fool who couldn’t. But that bomb was stolen from us, used against us. The ship that carried it came from Guerron. Probably Robin Verrou, if I had to guess. You’re not responsible for what someone does with something they stole from you, and it could happen to anyone. I mean, even Toby, he said he found a picture of his pulsebox in a journal from Malin of all places. When they captured the king, they seized his stuff and handed it to some singer to replicate. Suddenly his patents are worthless because unofficial reproductions are all over the Erstwhile Empire. I mean, who would even steal something like that? A box that makes cool futuristic music? It’s so petty.”

Florette clenched her fists, trying not to claw at her ears. “It doesn’t really matter. We need a topic, and I don’t think bombs are historical enough for Professor Alcock. Let’s just look around and see if anything jumps out at us.” She barely finished getting the words out before the painful ringing erupted, even louder, and Florette was forced to smash her hands futilely against her ears.

“Are you alright?” Rebecca asked.

“Not really,” Florette answered, trying to think of a convincing lie through the pain. I can’t say that Whitbey shot my ear and ripped a piece out, which has to be connected to all of this. Florette pulled her hands away and saw Rebecca’s eyes widen at the sight of the triangular divot in the top of her ear. “Yeah. It’ll pass, I think. It has before. Though I wouldn’t have thought a gash like that would conjure phantom sounds like an icicle through my skull, so who knows?”

Rebecca’s hand went to her chin, considering the problem. “Is this phantom sound a high-pitched tone that you can’t block out?”

What? How did you know? “Yes.”

“I don’t think that has anything to do with the gash, Sabine. It just sounds like a case of the bells.”

“The bells?”

“Yeah.” Rebecca nodded. “I get it too, sometimes. If you expose yourself to loud noises too often, or just too loud, you get that recurring ringing. I couldn’t tell you why, but I can say I wish I’d started using earplugs sooner on the testing range.”

“Loud noises? Really?” After everything I’ve been through, that’s what does the lasting damage? It made sense though, thinking back to all the pistols she’d been close to when they fired, especially when fighting Glaciel. Collapsing the tunnel in the train job hadn’t exactly been quiet, either.

“No guarantees, but I’ve got a trick that works for me. Put the palms of your hands against your ears then tap the back of your head with your fingers.” She demonstrated, looking halfway between a scared child and an idle beachgoer, but Florette copied the gesture.

Moments after tapping her head, the ringing was gone. “Shit, you’re magical,” Florette told Rebecca, reveling in the newfound quiet of the museum chamber. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure. Wish someone had told me sooner.” She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of yellow pillows about the size of a finger digit, which flexed when she squeezed them. “Here, for next time. They can plug your ears and muffle what you hear. You don’t want it getting worse. Some people hear it all the time.”

“Thank you,” Florette repeated, pocketing the ear plugs.

“Don’t mention it. Feeling alright now?”

“Yeah.”

“Good! We should probably figure out our topic, then.”

“Right,” Florette agreed, looking around the room with fresh eyes.

In the largest case was an enormous metal cylinder whose plaque labeled it as “the first cannon”, the thunderous weapon that had shattered the Empire and torn through the walls of Malin in the Foxtrap. What killed my parents, probably, though no one ever bothered to note how they died. “What about that? Ties into your explosives thing, still a project about history, and we can get a bunch of information here.”

Rebecca’s freckled face lit up. “Are you sure? This is more my thing than yours, and I know you seemed more into that Erstwhile Imperial history stuff.”

“Absolutely,” Florette answered. I just have to do this paper, then the next one, and the next one after that. I need to learn everything I can, hold my tongue, and pay off everything Captain Verrou put into this.

Then I’ll be able to strike a stronger blow than anything I could manage from without.

They spent a few more hours in the museum, taking down information on the cannon construction process, though much of it was censored or obscured. Sensible enough for a public display like this, but it still gave Florette plenty to work with, both for the paper and as a starting point for intelligence to send south.

And I didn’t even have to poke my head up to do it, she thought as she waved goodbye to Rebecca, matching her smile strictly to better conform to her role.

She even felt confident enough to walk back to Mourningside, rather than take the train again, cutting a path through the older neighborhoods before passing by the Production District, where even on a rare beautiful day like today, thousands of people were hard at work building the engines of Avalon’s wars of conquest.

Home was near as Florette rounded Peige Boulevard and entered Mourningside proper, but her path was blocked by a muscular man in a deep blue tunic, a whip coiled in one hand with a pistol clutched in the other.

“Excuse me,” Florette said, trying to slide past him as she did what must be several dozen times a day in this immensely crowded city.

But the man turned to follow her, snapping his whip menacingly in her direction.

I don’t suppose you’re here to thank me, too.

He pointed back towards the street and began walking in that direction, the threat implicit if Florette didn’t follow.

And I really don’t want to. It doesn’t seem like anything good could come of this. But neither could anything good come from fighting him in the street. Even if she won, it would be such a public spectacle that she’d never escape scrutiny again. At least if he were leading her into a trap, he wouldn’t be able to hide it on a public street like this.

And despite what he surely thought, Florette wasn’t alone.

She caught Christophe’s eye from down the street when she emerged, rubbing her temple to signal potential trouble. He’d been so excited to learn it, even though half the reason was so she could be sure he kept a safe distance when following her, and the other half was so he didn’t have to speak. Never thought it’d be this useful, let alone this soon.

The menacing figure led her to a blue carriage stopped at the side of the street, in plain view of everyone walking by. He pointed again, obviously instructing her to get in, but following someone through a busy street was very different from entering a coach that could go anywhere, and Florette couldn’t even be sure she’d be able to bail out safely, especially with the heavy volume of horses on Peige.

“I assure you, Miss Sabine, waiting will not make this encounter easier,” a reedy voice erupted from within the coach. Sabine, that’s good. At least I haven’t been found out. “A few minutes of your time is all I ask, for the moment.”

Sure, that’s why you sent this golem to crack his whip in my face. “Who are you?”

A laugh escaped the carriage. “Your father never told you about me? Lord Ernest Monfroy?”

Florette remained silent, trying to place the name.

“I’m distraught. And here I thought we were friends. He certainly said as much, the many times he came to me for money.”

Florette tried not to breathe too hard a sigh of relief. It’s just one of Srin Savian’s creditors. His debts were well known; that had been what gave Captain Verrou the leverage to get his help in the first place.

“Do join me for a moment, please, then I would be happy to drop you off wherever you place.”

Still… She eyed the man with the whip.

“Richard,” Monfroy began, following a faint sigh. “Would you take a walk? It seems you’re making my guest uncomfortable.” He poked his head out of the carriage, revealing sunken cheeks and hollow yellow eyes, though he didn’t look older than thirty. “Do join me, Miss Sabine. I would like to extend my preemptive condolences for your father, whom I’ve been told will not see the year 119. However, as his scion and heir, you shall inherit from him certain obligations. Obligations I would like you to be well-informed of in advance of his death.” Despite the carriage curtain no longer muffling it, something about his voice felt like it was missing something, almost the opposite of the way magic slightly altered Glaciel’s children’s words.

Even if he doesn’t want to kill me, it looks like my job here is about to get a lot harder. Florette signaled to Christophe, then entered the carriage.