Of course it was. He’d been right. So, they’d scoffed at him, like they scoffed at everything he did. A lecture? An evening of soporific discussion of Natural Philosophy? Pah. They’d thought it was nonsense about newfangled mining equipment and that nobody would come. That he would be a laughing stock. Aramis Stilton and his high ideas would be even further alienated from Karnacan society.
He rubbed his hands and retreated to the wings. Oh, how wrong they are. All of them.
He was sure of it.
The curtain rose to reveal two reclining chairs. The chairs stood on chrome pedestals, and were spaced to the left and right of the stage, angled at around forty-five degrees so the headrests were pointing to the stage center and the tall device that stood between them.
It was a machine of some kind. A construction of brass and copper and wood, set into an octagonal base in which, facing the audience, a glowing whale oil tank buzzed. Seated above the base was a series of angled panels, covered in switches and levers and dials, and rising from the controls were three metal columns—one brass, one copper, one silver—which rose nearly two yards into the air before disappearing into the base of a large silver sphere. Halfway up the columns, attached by sliding clamps, one to the brass rod and one to the copper rod, were two articulated metal arms, joined in three places and ending in a three-fingered clamp.
As the machine was revealed, the crowd gasped in appreciation, and there was another smattering of applause. Coiffured heads turned to each other, the audience murmuring quietly. Stilton glanced over to the royal box and saw Theodanis leaning toward his son.
Then, from stage left, strode Anton Sokolov himself, resplendent in a long velvet coat, unbuttoned to show an exquisitely embroidered waistcoat. His thick mane of gray hair was slicked back and glowed in the blue light cast by the whale oil tank. As he walked to the front of the stage, he nodded in recognition of the applause, stroking his long beard and regarding the crowd from under craggy brows.
“Thank you, Aramis Stilton,” he said over the noise.Then Sokolov narrowed his eyes and regarded the audience with a cold glare. The applause quickly stopped.
“In the year eighteen hundred and eight, I set out on the Antonia Aquillo for the Pandyssian Continent, leader of an expedition of thirty-eight men, the purpose of which was to navigate to that great land and to catalogue its multitude of flora and fauna.
“As many of you will know, the expedition was not without danger, but despite losses suffered from the very first day of our landing, the knowledge we gained from our time on the continent was invaluable.
“But, when we returned to Dunwall—those of us who still remained, that is—many long months later, we brought back with us much more than just knowledge—we brought specimens. And not just of the plant and animal life we found in Pandyssia. Our expedition was also of a geographic and geologic nature.”
Sokolov turned to the couches and the machine in the center of the stage. He walked toward it, gesturing with one arm, the other tucked into the small of his back.
“Until now, certain aspects of my analysis of the particular geology of the Pandyssian Continent has not been published, nor even discussed outside the walls of the Academy of Natural Philosophy itself. What I am about to demonstrate to you this evening is the culmination of many years of research, but only represents a fraction of the knowledge and potential of what I have thus far discovered.”
Sokolov clicked his fingers, and two stage hands appeared from the wings, carrying between them a rectangular wooden packing crate. They placed it beside the machine, handed Sokolov a small crowbar, then retreated silently.
Sokolov hefted the crowbar, then used it to point at the audience.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “You are among a privileged few to bear witness to my research first hand. And I must admit, I had to consider the invitation to come here quite carefully for many weeks before I finally agreed that the time was right for a demonstration. The public have a right to know what kind of work goes on in the Academy, and while the work is incomplete, I must admit a certain eagerness to show the world the potential of my discoveries.”
With that he knelt by the box and levered the lid off, then placed the crowbar carefully on the stage and reached inside. He stood, then turned and held up his hands. In each he clutched a roughly spherical object, about the size of a large apple. Sokolov paced the front of stage as he spoke, holding the objects out so the audience could get a clear look at them shining in the footlights.
They were crystals, cut with mathematical precision into multifaceted polyhedra and polished until they glowed. From the wings, Aramis Stilton squinted, peering as he tried to get a better look—Sokolov had refused to show him the stones when he had asked that afternoon. Stilton frowned. They looked interesting, and now that everyone had seen the things, surely he could persuade the natural philosopher to give him a private showing.
He wondered how much the stones might be worth. You could cut a great many individual gems from them.
As Stilton watched on, Sokolov stopped in the center of the stage.
“These are two of the largest, finest mineral samples collected during our expedition. I will not bore you with their chemical composition, but it is safe to say that their analysis took many of my finest academicians many months, and their results were still inconclusive. We spent five entire years just planning the very first cut and polish—the slightest mistake, and they would be ruined, and our chance to investigate their amazing properties would be gone, if not forever, then certainly for my own lifetime.”
Sokolov walked back
