Book II. Chapter 113 - Daughter

Chapter 113

Ardi nudged the cog on the flame intensity regulator and waited until the thermometer settled at its new mark. After he transferred the reading to the formula, he walked over to the distillation apparatus.

A stout, vertical metal cylinder made the tubing of the soft feedline start shaking where it was joined to its little brother. The pressure gauge was still within the required range, so Ardan dismissed it as a possible source of errors in his calculations.

The extract he’d distilled from the Oak Trefoil, if the scales were to be believed, had almost reached the required weight, so Ardi added two hundred grams of silver to the crucible.

Leaving his station to finish the preparations for the final stage of the alchemical process, Ardan returned to his notes. The formula for preparing Silver Pollen wasn’t particularly complex. But this was his first time using the alchemy of “solid materials.” That was what the branch of Star Alchemy in which metals and complex chemical compounds were utilized—rather than just flora and fauna—was called.

“Watch the silver carefully for oxidation after immersing it in the Oak Trefoil concoction.” Professor Kovertsky, who was, as always, a touch disheveled, with his glasses a touch too dirty, was walking between the rows of workstations. “If the silver, while converting to its solid state, does not granulate into dark spheres, turn off your burners and add a neutralizer to the reaction. Otherwise, you will poison yourselves with the vapors.”

If everything had been done correctly, the molten silver, when poured from the crucible into an Ertalain-reinforced chalice containing the aforementioned Ley-plant concoction, would take the form of miniature, dark spheres. From a mere two grams of silver, one could obtain about a dozen miniature granules. Some would get fewer, and some would get more—it all depended on how skillfully the Star Mage could sustain the effects of the Ley on the process.

At its core, this was no different from keeping a spell going. However, the energy of the Star Mage was being directed not into their staff, but into the objects they touched and worked with during the process.

“Miss Tetrov!” Kovertsky exclaimed, addressing the flushed and slightly flustered daughter of the owner of several bakeries in Baliero. “Use the neutralizer at once! You might flood the whole room with lethal smoke otherwise!”

“Yes, Professor,” the girl with the funny freckles muttered, dismayed, and snapped the vial containing the reaction-dampening solution over her chalice.

From the second year onward, at every practical laboratory session, such a vial was part of every student’s workstation. That was because they were now preparing substances that were far from harmless. Any errors in calculation, in following safety procedures, or even just an improper handling of various elements, could lead to very regrettable consequences.

“Miss Riitov, brilliant work,” the professor praised when he stopped next to Ella.

This was a somewhat awkward, but cute girl. Even her relatively thin hair didn’t detract from that. Ella always arranged her hair in a way that hid her slightly protruding ears, and only wore clothes that flattered her body and overall looks.

She would often invite Boris and Elena, and Ardi as well, to parties. Sometimes, she only invited him, which would cause him discomfort when he was forced to say no.

It wasn’t as though he had a great deal of free time. And when he did have a bit of it, he preferred to spend it with Tess.

Ardi, who was now sure that the needles of all the gauges were within the necessary ranges and in full agreement with the formulae, reached for the tongs. Then, cursing at the mutant mole inwardly, he put on some gloves. After that, he grasped the crucible in the tongs, held a funnel reinforced with Ertalain against it, and began to decant the molten silver. It ran slowly down into the chalice, where the Oak Trefoil concoction was bubbling and producing lilac vapor.

The silver, upon sinking into it, immediately turned into all but ideal spheres and divided itself into hundreds of granules.

“This goes beyond all praise, Mr. Egobar,” Professor Kovertsky nodded from where he had been standing next to him. “I’m glad to see that your absence of almost a month wasn’t for nothing. I can tell that you’ve decided that my area of Star Magic is also worth dedicating oneself to.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Ardan said, choosing not to answer the indirect question.

The truth was that he hadn’t really tried to practice his alchemy, and wasn’t all that better when it came to the practical application of formulae. It was simply that the tasks tied to the pharmacy he ran with Bazhen and Boris had made it so Ardan was forced to use the skills he had learned from the she-wolf fairly often. And out of natural curiosity, he sometimes turned not to Fae alchemy, but instead explored what one might do with Star Alchemy.

So, in a sense, Professor Kovertsky was right. A portion of the time Ardi devoted to his research was now dedicated to alchemy as well. To say nothing of the fact that, on his desk in the “Stables,” there were copies of the Puppeteers’ research that they’d intercepted. And in order to make sense of any of it, he’d need a lot more knowledge than he currently possessed.

“Well then…” Kovertsky adjusted his grubby professor’s cloak and returned to his lectern. “All of you who’ve managed to make some Silver Pollen, present it for inspection.”

After the substance in the chalice had cooled off, the students armed themselves with special strainers and removed the concoction. Dropping a few granules into envelopes, they came up one by one to the liter-sized barrels of cloudy water waiting near the lectern.

Silver Pollen was often used by the Anomaly Hunters for its exceedingly useful properties. One gram of its granules made it possible to purify a hundred milliliters of water.

Ardan dropped exactly ten grams into the barrel. It looked like someone had thrown the contents of the nearest ditch into it beforehand. Something brown was floating in the water, and at the bottom and along the sides, there was something that looked almost alive.

The moment the granules sank into the water, their dark shells burst and dozens of bright, silvery rays of light whirled in a shimmering vortex. The outline of a trefoil appeared for a second. The glowing threads, imitating fishing nets, raced through the body of water, then drew back into themselves.

A few moments later, there were ten swollen, dark granules at the bottom of the barrel, which was now full of crystal-clear water. Before, they’d been no larger than a bead, and now they could easily have passed for a ball bearing.

“And with that, we shall begin our acquaintance with the Alchemy of Solid Materials,” Kovertsky was already buried in his own papers and paying little attention to what was happening around him. “For our next lecture, I would recommend reading the introductory chapter of the relevant treatise I’ve already mentioned. That is all.”

Ten minutes still remained until the end of the lecture, but students were often dismissed early from practical lessons. Ardan, returning to his station, took off the gloves and gathered up his notes and writing implements.

Sleeping Spirits…

He’d managed to forget how soothing the Grand was. Lectures, practical assignments, clear goals and tasks—all of it looked far simpler than the life that awaited Ardan outside the walls of the Imperial Magical University.

After finishing up, Ardan noticed that Ella Riitov had left her book of basic formulae on the desk. Picking it up, he exchanged polite nods with Professor Kovertsky and headed for the exit. With a few quick strides, he crossed the lecture room and stepped out into the corridor.

Because of safety measures, the laboratories in the Faculty of Star Alchemy and Biology building had no windows. And even with the excellent ventilation (these were part of those same safety concerns), Ardan nonetheless felt uncomfortable. It might’ve had something to do with his fear of enclosed spaces, but Ardi didn’t have the strength nor the desire to dwell on it.

He simply knew that he had to bear an hour and a half in that lab, and that was that.

He barely managed to catch up with Ella and her friends—the Nelvir twins, Ishka and Veshka, as well as Tatyana Tetrov— near the arch of the covered walkway that led to the main building.

“Ella!” Ardan called out.

The girls stopped near the stairs and turned in unison toward Ardi, who was still limping a little and leaning heavily on his staff. By the Sleeping Spirits, how did humans live with their weak blood?

“Ella,” Ardan said again and held out the formula book in his right hand. “You forgot this in the laboratory.”

As she always did, the girl gave him a smile at first, and then her gaze slid across Ardi’s hand and stopped at the ring on his ring finger. It looked plain and it would’ve been hard to guess that it had been forged out of a starry sky and her own grief by Allane’Eari, the Princess of Winter.

Ella suddenly pressed her lips together, snatched her book of formulae out of Ardi’s hand, and, turning sharply and tapping her staff against the floor, set off toward the stairs. She didn’t even thank him. For someone who had always treated Ardan so openly and so cordially, this was somewhat strange behavior.

It was so odd that Ardi involuntarily blurted out:

“What is the matter with her?”

The Nelvir twins exchanged a glance and, turning toward Ardan, said in unison:

“Mr. Egobar, you are an idiot.”

And, with synchronized, slightly contemptuous scoffs, they walked away swiftly, like Ella had. Tanya Tetrov, smiling awkwardly, hurried after her friends. Ardan blinked in sheer confusion for several moments. Had he perhaps done something wrong?

Could it be that Ella hadn’t simply forgotten her formula book in the laboratory? The next group there would be the graduating class of the Faculty of Star Alchemy and Biology.

Was it possible that, at one of the parties, Ella had taken note of someone from that year, and had left her book in the spot where her “chosen one” would sit? Ardi remembered his great-grandfather telling him stories about highborn ladies of the past who would leave behind some object to give a man a “legitimate” excuse to seek them out.

And Ardi had apparently spoiled such a romantic—if a touch convoluted—plan.

Ardi massaged his temples. In his mind, Tess’ voice spoke up:

“But for all your perceptiveness as an investigator, Ardi, you are astonishingly blind to other people’s souls and emotions.”

Damn it… He should’ve just left the book of formulae behind so that Ella could meet the lucky guy.

“Humans,” Ardi drawled and looked out the window, beyond which Star Avenue was gradually coming to life and, as always, Star Square was teeming with mages and passersby. “Why is it always so hard with them…”

Trying not to dwell on the fact that he had spoiled someone else’s romance, Ardan climbed the steps, passed through a small vestibule, and emerged into the atrium. It was boiling and seething with students, professors and the various staff of the university.

Some of them had crowded around the information desk, where the incessant sounds of departing and arriving pneumatic mail were always present. Others had gathered in a fairly large crowd around the monument and were discussing something quite passionately. The luckiest had found themselves a spot on the couches and benches. Lost in lively conversations, or in the reading of textbooks, treatises, or their own grimoires, they did not notice the stony stares of the gargoyles. Seated on their broad pedestals, they maintained their silent watch as always and ensured the safety of the atrium.

This chaos was due to the cancellation of their winter exams and the new proposal from the Lower Chamber of Parliament.

“And how do they even imagine this going?” A girl from the third year of the Faculty of History of Magic was indignant.

“We didn’t vote for those people from the lower estates so that they could use us as toys!” Her friend chimed in.

“It’s just an outrageous violation of our rights! I came here to study history, not run around the whole Empire with a staff and grimoire in hand!” A first-year boy from that same faculty cried out from off to the side.

“If the proposal goes through the Central and Upper Chambers, and the Emperor signs it, it will be the second coming of the Emergolds!” The first girl added.

“You’re right. Only this time, the stakes are far higher than not being forced to wear these silly cloaks!”

Ardi remembered Mart Borskov’s story about Tea Emergold’s protest. She was related to Velena Emergold, the mage of six Stars, head librarian of the Grand and, in addition, one of the surviving students of Aror. Her grand-niece, after an incident at a formal reception, had staged a protest during which, because of Gleb Davos, a servant had been killed.

Whether it was because of the spilled blood, or simply because someone had openly disagreed with national policy, the protest of Tea Emergold was considered to be far from an ordinary event. Mages defying state authority was no joke. But back then, the only issue had been their obligation to wear regalia, not…

“…a group of representatives from the Lower Chamber have put forth a legislative initiative that will make it so every student of higher educational institutions, in faculties directly or indirectly tied to Star Magic, will be required to participate in fieldwork beginning with their third year.

This will include working alongside the Anomaly Hunters’ Guild, the Mages’ Guild, and also familiarizing oneself with serving in the Army.

This initiative, according to the representatives’ statements, is meant to improve the qualifications of the future Star Mages and broaden the horizons of their subsequent choice of profession.

This initiative applies to all students of Star Magic, regardless of whether they study at the expense of the Crown or not.

The initiative also includes punitive sanctions against those who refuse to take part in fieldwork. The sanctions will vary depending on the mage’s specific circumstances and field of study. All students, however, if they refuse to participate, will be expelled at once. They will also be banned from studying and using Star Magic for a period of ten years…”

Ardi turned away from the newspaper clipping pinned to one of the many bulletin boards. This initiative was why the students were so riled up.

“Broaden our horizons? What nonsense is that!” Someone from the group next to Ardi said. “After the recent reforms, I must already serve the Crown for eight years! They’ll choose where I go! They can shove their horizons up their-”

“Quite so,” Judging by the badge on his lapel, a future alchemist cut him off. “It sounds like utter idiocy for those of us studying at the Crown’s expense.”

“Yes. They’re acting as if the last reform, which extended the term of our compulsory service to the Crown, wasn’t enough,” his classmate supported him. “Now they want to catch those who pay their own way in their nets as well.”

“Lucky us. First they make sure we’re indebted to the banks, and now this fieldwork nonsense… Do they think we bleed free time? I have a part-time job, my work in the laboratory, an internship at a Ley-wiring company… What fieldwork, by all the demons!”

“Come now…” A fourth-year student from the Jurisprudence Faculty let out a slightly resigned sigh. “At a glance, one can easily see that this initiative isn’t coming from below at all. It has only been dressed up so that the reform looks like the work of the elected representatives of the people. I would not be surprised if it was drawn up in the Second Chancery and sent down. Mark my words, gentlemen, the initiative will pass through both the Central and the Upper Chambers, and the Emperor will sign it the very same day.”

“And lose our support!” The students bellowed.

“Yes!”

“To the demons with all his social reforms! We are free citizens in a free country, not slaves of some kind!”

“It looks as though, in a few more years, we’ll be the most disenfranchised class!”

“Aye! First it was that reform that makes it so we practically have to fight bloody duels at the end of every year! Then came those eight years of compulsory service! Never mind how much they pay us! And now they want fucking more from us?!”

“Mind your tongue! There are ladies present!”

Ardan left the babbling, indignant students behind. If there was anyone Ardi agreed with, it was that law student. This initiative would surely be approved very soon.

It would be approved for the same reason that had created a Combined Command Staff of the Imperial Army and the Fleet of the Island Union. What an insanely long name for a most prosaic consequence of the Congress…

And, if one thought about it, in the event of a Great War, all mages, regardless of what precisely they had studied and which branch of Star Magic they had devoted their lives to, would be summoned to the front at once. After remembering everything that Ardan had lived through over the last two years… He would’ve welcomed the fieldwork instead.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Ardan himself could not imagine, and had no desire to imagine, what it was like to find oneself at the front. But even to him, it was clear that it was one thing to fall into the endless labyrinth of trenches and dugouts with at least some practical experience and skill going into it, and quite another to be dumped there straight from a laboratory.

And so, the initiative, like any effective remedy, although it might’ve looked like a most bitter pill, was a necessary one.

But what troubled Ardan far more was that, if the Emperor, the Prime Minister, and the Parliament were ready to risk a wave of indignation among the mages, then…

Ardan sighed and opened the door of Professor an Manish’s lecture hall.

…war was already knocking at the door.

***

The lecture room was already full. There were two groups there: students from the second group of the Faculty of General Knowledge’s second year, where Ardi was still the only man, and the first group from the Military Faculty’s second year. Ardan glanced at them, paying no attention to Iolai Agrov and his retinue, and didn’t find Boris among them.

He was still spending his days and nights at the Tears of the Martyrs Hospital. Elena was due to give birth any day now. After the birth of his child, if his friend was right about his suspicions concerning his stepmother, he would have even more problems than before. Legal ones. This was because Elena wasn’t a noble, while Boris possessed not only the blood of Duke Fahtov, but was also the heir of the Malesh family, which gave him the right to claim a seat in the Upper Chamber of Parliament.

Or rather, it would have given him the right if Boris hadn’t been ostracized by his own father. And with the birth of an heir or heiress, Boris received the legal right to dispute Duke Fahtov’s decision in court. He didn’t even need to wait to graduate from the Grand.

But the issue there was that the court would have to acknowledge the child of Elena and Boris, and the legitimacy of their marriage as well.

In other words, the life of the aristocracy looked like a vast, bubbling cauldron of venom. And it was one that Ardi had been obliged to join. While he tried to stay out of the way by sitting in the back, using his keen eyes and ears to follow the lecture, it wasn’t like he could avoid every noble…

Usually, Elena sat next to him when she wasn’t in the front row. And now, none other than Lady Polina Erkerovsky had taken her spot next to him. Her place in the retinue of the fifth-millionth-in-line-to-the-throne, Iolai Agrov, had been taken by… an elven girl by the name of Tina Eveless.

Ardan, still limping and leaning on his staff, lowered himself carefully into his “lawful” seat. Polina had already laid out her diagrams, reference works, and books of formulae. She’d done so because the bright idea of arranging practical exercises instead of examinations hadn’t just entered the disheveled head of Professor Kovertsky.

Ardi hastened to do the same, with the exception of the reference books. He worked so often with formulae and basic calculations that, even in a concussed state, he could probably still manage to recall most of them.

“Where does such a valiant servant of the Second Chancery find time for research?” Polina asked very quietly, but with her usual cold haughtiness.

Ardan was bad at understanding human souls, but it seemed to him like her perpetual aloofness and unfriendliness, which bordered on excessive harshness, was a way for Polina to protect herself. She was protecting her peace of mind and way of life, which defied not only convention, but also the laws of the Empire.

Ardi himself, as the she-wolf had taught him, did not judge her. He was totally indifferent to whom Polina Erkerovsky spent her intimate hours with.

“What do you want?” Ardan asked in return.

Despite the fact that Polina Erkerovsky had broken up with Iolai… Or rather, she had ceased to lead him along, which had given her a place in his retinue and an aura of unattainability when it came to all others. Despite this, Polina remained just as dismissive of Boris and Ardan. And the fact that she’d been present, along with her father, Duke Erkerovsky, at his and Tess’ wedding, changed nothing. This was especially true because they had ended up there only because, before long, the marriage ceremony between that same Duke Erkerovsky and Tess’ younger sister was to take place. It had had to be moved from its original date to the end of summer. All of it, naturally, was due to the Congress…

And yes, a big difference in age wasn’t really an issue for the aristocracy.

Then again, in this particular instance, all parties involved, including Tess’ sister, were entirely “in favor” of the arrangement. Furthermore, the Governor-General of Shamtur would not have approved such a marriage if he’d had so much as a shred of doubt.

And so, as always, Ardi didn’t judge. He didn’t live in aristocratic circles, after all, so he didn’t understand their rules. Therefore, there was no sense in even trying to judge them.

“I’m here to speak with a future relative,” Polina opened her notebook and then her inkpot.

It was made of crystal, with a gold rim and a platinum clasp.

“We shall not become relatives, Polina.”

“Really? Truly? Oh, that’s a relief, Ard. I thought that I, too, was about to start running naked through the forests and howling at the moon.”

“I do not howl at the moon,” Ardan sighed heavily.

“Not even once, ever?”

In all honesty, Ardi had, in his childhood, mimicked wolves a few times. But only because he’d lost a bet with Skusty, who, of course, had set the whole thing up from the start!

“Well, there you have it,” her scarlet-painted lips stretched into a victorious smile.

Ardi looked at the ceiling, but the plaster and the ribbed casing that was hiding the Ley-wiring did not share their secret knowledge with him.

“What do you want?” Ardan repeated his question.

“To remind you that, this summer, you and Mrs. Tess Egobar must appear at my father’s wedding in Shamtur.”

“I know,” Ardan nodded.

“And to remind you that there, unlike at your cozy celebration, the press will be present.”

Ardan opened his mouth, then just shut it again.

“So, if you don’t want your Orders becoming common knowledge thanks to the blabbering of the newspapers, I’d recommend leaving them at home.”

Ardi grimaced. Tess would’ve surely warned him about that. But he had to thank her all the same.

“Thank you.”

Polina nodded, tucked a strand of her thick hair behind her ear, and made several notes in her notebook. With that, their conversation was apparently over. And the lady didn’t seem inclined to move. Nor was Ardan.

Given the way she was being looked at, and not only by the members of the Great Prince’s retinue, including the man himself, but also by the other noble and not-so-noble gentlemen from the Military Faculty… Polina Erkerovsky had found a new way to fend off the attention of others. Admittedly, the company of one Ard Egobar was a great deterrent. After all the events he’d been involved in within the walls of the Grand, he wasn’t so much avoided as carefully held at arm’s length.

“I am glad to see you all after our drawn-out rest, my dear pillars of future scientific progress. You are most pleasing to my eye, gentlemen and lovely young ladies.” Speaking ornately, very smoothly and softly, as was his way, Professor an Manish emerged from his laboratory and entered the lecture room.

He looked as colorful as always, with rings upon his fingers—ones that didn’t even have accumulators in them. He was wearing a kaftan over a very expensive suit, a costly fragrance, and his skin was glossy. And despite all of this, he didn’t come off as vulgar or too gaudy. Professor Talis an Manish, a native of the sands, possessed the particular skill of not merely “looking” a certain way. He was outright capable of “wearing his outward appearance” the way others wore their clothes.

Perhaps it was thanks to that very same charm that, in spite of his… many years of experience… Professor an Manish always came to each of Tess’ concerts in the company of a new companion half—and sometimes a third—his age. And maybe a bank account that was as hefty as its owner didn’t hurt his chances.

“Oh, I see that the heaven-scraping, living kinsman of the hulks of the New City is also with us today,” the professor gave a small nod upon meeting Ardi’s eye.

After everything that had happened at an Manish’s company and the factory, the two of them hadn’t spoken beyond a brief exchange of greetings in the corridor. This wasn’t because an Manish bore a grudge, but simply because Ardan had barely crossed paths with the man for the past couple of months.

“What I wish to say to you, the brightest of minds of the younger generation, is that today, we have a most curious task, one worthy of the trials of your understanding.” The professor placed on the long table of the lectern… a toy.

It was a mechanical frog. It had cogs, a clockwork mechanism, and a key on its back. That, along with a multitude of other small details, when put together, made up a wondrous creation of the human engineering mind. One only needed to wind up the mechanism and release the small lever for the frog to begin to hop. It did so without expending any diesel, without the aid of gas pistons, and without a Ley-generator. It was all thanks to mechanics.

“As you and I can both see, we have here an object that is at rest currently—as are your bright, interest-filled eyes.” Professor an Manish came up to the black graphite board and, arming himself with chalk, started writing. “This object can, wishes to, and, with the permission of the Angels and my no longer quite so steady hand, will produce motion. Your task, oh ones blessed by the Angels with wisdom and knowledge, is to defend this object from external kinetic force.”

The professor set the chalk down and, after wiping his hands with a rag, returned to the lectern, where a soft swivel chair was waiting for him.

The hand of one of the students of the General Faculty rose into the air. Ardan, of course, did not remember her name.

“Yes, oh dearest of the dear?” Coming from the lips of Professor an Manish, such epithets did not sound at all vulgar.

“Professor, from what direction and at what speed will the force be applied?” The girl wearing a severe dress and corset asked. “To say nothing of the mass of the object.”

Professor an Manish smiled broadly and simply said:

“And that, oh perceptive one, is unknown.”

Silence settled over the room. They were supposed to cover the object with a shield while knowing none of the input data? That is, not only was the frog moving through space, but its characteristics were unknown, as were the characteristics of the force?

The number of free parameters in this little task was all but infinite! What ended up coming at the frog could be anything ranging from a small pebble to an artillery shell!

A moment later, the lecture room erupted with the feverish rustling of reference book pages, the clicking of arithmometer keys (only three people even had these: Polina, Iolai and Eveless), and the soft scratching of pens on paper. Bewilderment and incomprehension was evident on most faces, and a few people even reeked of fear.

Ardan, on the other hand…

Sleeping Spirits, how good it is here…

There were no chases, no shootouts, no magical duels, no chimeras, mutants, Homeless Fae, demons, foreign ambassadors, Puppeteers—none of the things that usually made his life hell. There was only Star Magic, some paper, and his pencil.

He would’ve loved for time to stop. That way, he could’ve spent several weeks enjoying this additional rest. There were still several months before the race, which meant that, if nothing extraordinary occurred, he could devote all this time to Star Magic. To Tess. To the pharmacy. Oh, and, in a couple of weeks, he was going to participate in his penultimate bout of the season in the Magical Boxing Arena.

Smiling more happily than a child who has been given the tastiest sweet in the world, Ardan started on his calculations.

The task was actually simpler than it might appear. Why? Well, they hadn’t been forbidden from using a generator, at least in theory.

And so, within just a few minutes, Ardi finished creating a seal that would calculate the parameters of the frog. After all, conjuring the shield didn’t require too much. You just needed mass, volume and density to ensure that, if the shield were made to be elastic, it would not destroy the integrity of the mechanical frog.

Ardi noted the resources he’d already spent in the margin: 2R, 3G. This translated to two Red Star and three Green Star rays.

After that, he would merge this seal with a second one that would take another four Green rays.

And the second seal, thanks to some reversible runic links, would receive the parameters transmitted by the analyzer seal into the function of its workings. These could then be used as the basis of the shield itself.

Which type should he use?

Ardan briefly bit the tip of his tongue and scratched the back of his head with the wrong end of his pencil. Ideally, of course, it would be an absorbing shield. The dissipating type, just like the redirecting one, could create a problem in the event that the incoming object shattered and produced splinters.

But how much should he spend on the absorbing one?

Ardan noted a further 26B in the margin. That would be quite enough to stop even the maximum caliber of light field guns, which was eighty-one millimeters. As for howitzers, which ranged from one hundred and sixty to two hundred and twenty millimeters, and superheavy ordnance, which used shells of over three hundred and thirty millimeters… That would require truly powerful generators. So, one would have to assume that nothing heavier than the eighty-one-caliber would be coming toward the frog.

Now all that remained was to put the shield together, which wasn’t all that hard. Far more troublesome was passing the parameters of motion into it. In an active shield, that would be impossible—but an Manish hadn’t said that there would be more than one projectile. And so, he made one more assumption, taking advantage of the gap in the conditions of the problem itself: he assumed that the shot would be a singular attack.

Which meant that the shield was a stationary one. That simplified the task. Thanks to this, only one additional seal needed to be attached, one that could analyze not the frog’s basic characteristics, but its position in space.

That wasn’t complicated, either.

Such seals were used in practically the whole arsenal of military magic from the Blue Star onward. Otherwise, their complex, autonomous constructions would simply not work.

The problem lay in the need to join three seals, each of which possessed a set of three to five runic arrays and oppositely-directed vectors. And what did that mean?

The mathematics began.

There were thirteen runic arrays, with forty-five runic links and variants between them. To say nothing of the adaptations of vectors to one another. Before—even just six months earlier—Ardan would’ve taken a few days to calculate and check everything.

But after going through the reading list recommended to him by Grand Magister Krayt, after working on his own research, and thanks to the time he’d spent at an Manish’s company, Ardan could build his own diagrams directly. In the end, he didn’t need to calculate every possible combination, as he had done before. The simple method of going through all the variations was simple precisely because it suited basic seals with a low load comprised of a couple of rays of the first two Stars.

Biting his tongue from time to time, Ardan went on scribbling feverishly with his pencil, cutting away all the unnecessary parts and leaving only those calculations that converged into the singular shape of the future seal.

“Ard…”

Ardi, whose pencil had broken, had had to take out a small knife to sharpen it again. Polina Erkerovsky distracted him from that task. Her eyebrows had risen slightly, and from her pen, ink had been dripping onto her notebook for some time now, spreading across it in fat blots.

“Should I give you an arithmometer?” The lady displayed unexpected generosity.

Ardi was so absorbed in his excitement that he answered her a bit too honestly:

“No, thank you, there is nothing complicated here,” he waved her off and shook the shavings out into a small box. “And besides, you only have the student model. One cannot calculate matrices on it.”

“Calculate… what?”

But Ardi was no longer listening to Polina. Armed with the stub of his pencil (Sleeping Spirits, how quickly they wore down!), the young man returned to his calculations.

Pretty soon, everything was ready. Ardan tapped his staff against the ground, cast a lighter version of the shield, and then, spending a little more of his rays, attached the Misty Helper to it. Not the old one, but a very new and modern version of the fourth generation. Ardi had advanced his research into transmutational runic links, and this version showed it.

Beside his palm, a miniature hand woven from fog and armed with a copy of Ardi’s pencil appeared. Illusory, ciphered notes appeared on his paper. Ardan immediately understood that he’d made several mistakes.

The first and most important was that he’d forgotten about potential side effects. Apart from the projectile, the shield, or rather, its surroundings, would be affected by the disturbed air as well. What if the attack kicked up a great a wave of dust and created small shards that ended up damaging the frog after the projectile had already been absorbed?

He had to add several supplements to the seal, and also one more runic array.

And he’d also forgotten to connect his spell to the generator. He would need a standard industrial model rated for a stable load of thirty-six Blue Star rays.

So, after finishing the calculations of the connecting seal, Ardan quickly added it to the general structure. Luckily, no calculation was needed here, because all the connecting seals had long since been standardized, and the formulae of their pairing readily adjusted themselves to the task at hand.

Once he was done with the calculations, Ardan plucked two clean, white sheets from the pile. One was for the diagram itself, and the other was for the main calculations upon which the whole construction rested. This meant that the seal appraiser— that is, the professor—wouldn’t have to wade through the entire process. In other words, Ardi wrote out a brief accompanying note.

After checking his work one final time, Ardan nodded with satisfaction. A fine seal had come of it. It could, of course, have been improved, and had he had a few more days, he could’ve probably found ways to lighten the construction and be more frugal with the Ley, but…

Ardi looked at his watch.

Only fifteen minutes remained until the end of the exercise.

Out of habit he’d picked up from Edward, Ardi tucked his pencil behind his ear and, leaning on his staff, came down from his seat toward the lectern.

“Mr. Egobar, whom the dawn meets earlier than most others, you have taken a while today,” Professor an Manish said with unexpected surprise, looking up from the magazine he had been reading. It covered the musical scene of the Metropolis.

Ardi faltered a little. He’d tried, in spite of everything, to not fall behind the other students, but evidently, he had fallen behind all the same. And this was despite the fact that Warding Magic and Ley Engineering were related fields of study that had been divided into two branches just seventy years before.

“Well, let us see what you have created today.”

“Yes, Professor.”

Ardan held out the papers with the diagram and the notes. An Manish put on his half-frame glasses, and the moment he beheld Ardi’s work, he froze. For a few seconds, he resembled the gargoyles seated upon their parapets in the atrium. Then the professor placed the sheet of calculations down in front of him, armed himself with a pencil as well, and went over all the data. He was only a little slower than Mr. Krayt would’ve been.

“Ard.”

“Yes, Professor?”

“Look with your own eyes, which are a color hotter than flame, at the table.”

“I am looking, Professor.”

“Not at my table, he who spies upon the birds, but at the table where our precious froglet is at rest—may his mechanical days be without number.”

Ardan turned to the lectern. He was supposed to have accounted for the fact that the frog was standing on the table, and that the table itself could shatter because of the pressure of the shield? Well, that was beyond all reason! That would need a Yellow Star!

“The table will end, Ard.”

Ardi slowly turned to the professor.

“The froglet will fall,” the professor went on, looking somewhat… odd. “He will fall and break. Because of his own kinetic energy.”

“Right,” Ardi murmured. “But in the problem-”

“That, oh great mind of greatest minds, is self-evident. The question is only how quickly the froglet will fall—whether his leap will have to go upward, or whether he will push off the edge and fall on a tangent downward,” the professor set his notes aside. “And more generally, it remains to be seen from which side he will decide to jump, because the lectern, may its makers be blessed, has a sill. And if he jumps over the sill, then his flight becomes fifteen centimeters longer.”

“Professor, from what direction and at what speed will the force be applied?”

Ahgrat…

For some reason, Ardan could hear Skusty’s sly, ringing laughter.

“I can redo it.” With a sad look in his eyes, Ardi reached for his notes. “It will take me… maybe three minutes.”

For such an interpretation of the problem, he didn’t even need to return to his desk. The seal wasn’t even a multicomponent one, and was thus trivial. Catching a mere frog. What could be easier…

“I am certain of it, oh knower of the paths of the clouds,” an Manish went on regarding him like he was some strange curiosity. “I could say that you have just completed the final assignment of the fourth year of my faculty, but I’m not sure that’s enough. I might’ve even given someone an internship at my company for this.”

“The connections are weak there,” Ardan hurried to make excuses… for what, exactly, was unclear. “The load is excessive. And besides, the conflict between vectors will lead to a cascade of errors at modifications further than ten to the power of-”

“Beyond that, oh brightest I have ever seen, you should accept the praise and go on to perform your great deeds,” an Manish nodded lightly toward the door.

“Yes…” Ardan said, feeling lost for a second, and then immediately gathered himself. “Thank you, Professor. Have a good day, Professor.”

“And a good day to you as well, Mr. Egobar.”

Ardi was startled by this. To his knowledge, an Manish rarely called anyone that. Usually, he used the word in two instances: if he was being condescending toward someone… and if, on the contrary, he was expressing a high degree of respect and recognition.

Ardan left to go change in the temporary cloakroom of the atrium. He grabbed his coat, fastened his cloak over it again, changed his shoes, and went out into the street. The fresh air brushed his face, and Ardi suddenly understood that he didn’t really know what he was supposed to do now.

There was nowhere he had to run to, and no harried, chain-smoking Milar was waiting for him outside.

Tess would be away until late in the evening because of her rehearsals, so… He could go to the “Stables,” but today, his soul was not particularly inclined toward working on transmutational runic links. It would lead to nothing in his current mood. Skusty and Atta’nha had always taught him that if one had no will to solve a problem, one should let it go for a while. Otherwise, one might lose one’s way among the paths. Whatever that meant…

He could go to the pharmacy. He wanted to finish building an additional alchemy station so that Bazhen could hire some student to prepare baseline solutions for future concoctions, mixtures and salves. No particular skill was needed for such auxiliary work. And after that, he could, for instance, drop in at “Bruce’s” and, over a cup of cocoa, or tea if Arkar had also run out of the Lintelarian powder, catch up a little with his ever-growing reading list.

Sleeping Spirits!

It was only three in the afternoon and he had the whole day ahead of him! A day of freedom!

“Student Egobar! Student Egobar!”

Ardi mentally reprimanded himself for his premature delight. Turning toward the entrance of the infinitely tall and pompous central building, Ardan was surprised to see that one of the university staff was running toward him through the snow. The man, by the look of him, worked at the information desk.

“You ran off so quickly that I didn’t have time to give this to you,” the middle-aged man was panting as he held out a scrap of rolled-up paper. “A messenger left a note for you.”

“Thank you,” Ardi said and unrolled the message.

His lips curved into a smile of their own accord, and his plans for the day were settled in an instant.

Forgetting to bid the kindly worker farewell, Ardan hobbled as fast as he could to the avenue, where he caught the very first cab.

“Where to, mister student?” The driver asked.

“To the Tears of the Martyrs Hospital.”

“Alright.”

The automobile pulled away.

The short note had been written in Boris’ handwriting and contained just nine letters:

“A daughter!”