The Maelstrom

“And how are the Mystics in your battalion?” inquired David, casually examining his fingernails. “I’d imagine they must have done some good things.”

“Lucia and Cynthia have been fantastic. During tonight’s simulation, Lucia created an entire troop of deathknights that were so realistic you’d have sworn we were hiding back in the woods near Broadbrim Mountain. Amazing detail!”

“Hmmm,” said David, frowning. “Lucia’s got undeniable talent, but I find her magic—ooh—a little temperamental. Cynthia’s work might be a little less flashy, but every outcome is rock solid and reliable. Utterly dependable in a pinch. There’s real bottom there.”

Max gave him a sidelong glance. “I’ll take your word.”

“It’s just refreshing to know someone like that,” David continued dreamily, swinging his legs up onto the ottoman. “Someone who’s always cheerful, always willing to laugh or listen.”

“She’s a good friend,” Max agreed, thumping his armrest. “A real steady item.”

It was David’s turn to blush. Blinking rapidly, he opened his mouth, but evidently words failed him and he merely stared at the fire in mortified silence.

“We agreed to keep it a secret,” he finally whispered.

“But why?” said Max gleefully. “Love should be shouted from the rooftops! I think it’s great that Toby helped you sort through your special feelings.…”

David moaned, slouching ever lower until his eyes were level with his knees. “Who else knows?”

“Just Sarah and Lucia,” replied Max. “And the Tattler gossip columnist …”

“You are a very witty person.”

“I am very witty,” Max agreed, rising from his chair to stretch. “Not everyone can come up with these little gems and also make a battalion work. It’s not enough to focus on each platoon or even a whole company; all the pieces have to fit together perfectly. If they don’t, you’ll have a weakness, and if you have a weakness—”

“Shhh!”

“You’re much too sensitive.”

“No,” said David, waving him off. “Be quiet—I need to think.”

And think he did, curling into a ball and staring ahead with a preoccupied air that Max knew all too well. The sorcerer glanced occasionally at the pinlegs and then back at the fire, as though they were two separate equations he was trying to reconcile. At length, he got up and began to pace. Max knew he would be late for Bob’s supper, but he could not leave. David seemed poised on the cusp of something truly momentous. Twenty minutes passed before he finally stopped and stared at Max with an expression of profound wonder.

“You’re a genius.”

“I could have told you that in half the time.”

“No,” said David, pacing again. “It’s what you said about all the pieces having to fit together perfectly.” He absently made to knit his fingers together, recalled that he had but one hand, and abandoned the demonstration. It did not diminish his enthusiasm. “The Workshop has somehow split the soul of an imp and embedded one half in a pinlegs and the other in a dreadnought. That’s what allows the pinlegs to instantly summon its other half.”

“Okay,” said Max, trying to follow where David was going.

“We’ve been totally focused on trying to identify the pinlegs’ vulnerabilities so we can prevent it from summoning its dreadnought. But as we’re learning—and as Dr. Bechel confirmed—there are a million safeguards to prevent anyone from sabotaging it. As an individual component, it’s almost impossible to crack. But what happens after it’s summoned its dreadnought and the pieces are put together?”

“Everything gets destroyed,” said Max.

“True,” David allowed. “And it’s a terrifying prospect, but I wonder if the dreadnought is actually more vulnerable than the pinlegs. Not physically, of course, but … Well, how does a soul function once it’s been split in half and is then reunited? Is it really whole and seamless, or is it compromised in some way?”

“I have no idea.”

“Neither do I,” said David excitedly, grabbing the startled pinlegs from its apparent slumber. “But it’s promising. Come with me to Founder’s Hall. I have to speak with Ms. Richter!”

“But Bob’s making dinner—”

“Leftovers are delicious!” cried David, hurrying up the steps. Flinging open the door, he rushed out, clutching the hideous pinlegs to his chest as though it were his firstborn.

David was wheezing by the time they reached Founder’s Hall. It was as crowded as ever and David was half stumbling as he wove through the many analysts and scholars and domovoi. A shriek went up as someone spotted the pinlegs and a path soon opened. Barging through the crowds clustered around the Director, David plopped the pinlegs right on her table.

“I need to borrow all the Promethean Scholars,” he gasped. “Right away!”

Ms. Richter merely stared at the revolting creature splayed before her. She had not flinched or even blinked at its sudden appearance, but when its long antennae brushed her chin, she spoke with unnerving calm.

“David Menlo, be so good as to explain why I should not have you pilloried.”

“Can we speak in private?”

“Will this thing be joining us?”

David nodded, coughing hoarsely as he scooped the pinlegs up. The Director rose, muttered an apology to the rest, and stepped into the adjoining conference room. She glanced up at Max as he followed them inside and shut the door.

“McDaniels,” she observed. “I believe we already had your review. I hope you rewarded your battalion for a job well done.”

“They have the next two days off,” he replied. “They need it.”

“Good,” she said. “Hard work should be rewarded. Now, what has David Menlo in such a state of excitement that he’s determined to startle me into cardiac arrest?”

Catching his breath, David summarized their difficulties with the pinlegs and his theory that the dreadnoughts might present a different sort of opportunity.

“The dreadnoughts are huge,” he said. “But it’s just an imp’s mind and soul that’s controlling it. I’m sure they’d rather use a more powerful demon, but it’s probably much more difficult to split their soul in two. I think—and it’s just a theory at this stage—that it might be possible for us to take control of a dreadnought by possessing the imp inside it.”

“You’d need the imp’s truename,” reflected Ms. Richter.

“You would if its spirit is intact,” replied David. “But these spirits have been damaged; they’ve been torn in two and the halves reunited. Perhaps they’re weaker in some way.”

Glancing at the pinlegs, Ms. Richter considered David’s words.

“So what is it that you need from me?” she said. “And be very specific. I have no uncommitted resources. Anything you request must be taken from something else.”

“I understand,” said David. “I’m asking for all the Promethean Scholars for the next two weeks.”

Ms. Richter shook her head. “David,” she replied. “The latest intelligence estimates that Prusias’s main fleet will be here in two weeks. Meanwhile, the Promethean Scholars are working on a dozen initiatives that I know have value. Your pinlegs project is the most critical, but there’s been no real progress in over a month. I realize that you’re excited about this new theory, but it’s still in its infancy and may well come up empty. I simply cannot redirect all of Rowan’s best minds to help you research your hypothesis at the expense of everything else they’re doing. It’s too big a gamble at the eleventh hour unless you can prove to me that Prusias’s force is more than two weeks away. Have you been able to use your observatory for scrying?”

“No,” David admitted, pacing once again and looking irritated. “Scrying hasn’t worked at all since the demons went to war with one another. I think the Book of Thoth is behind it; otherwise I might be able to break the spell.”

“So you think Astaroth is causing it?” asked Max.

“No,” replied David. “I think Prusias is causing it—creating his own fog of war to blind his enemies. Don’t forget that Prusias has a page from the Book embedded in his cane. I think that would be enough.”

“So you can’t tell me when Prusias’s armada will arrive,” said Ms. Richter pointedly.