He regarded his sketch. Many of the core components were not, in and of themselves, especially exotic. But the machine was ingenious… no, it was more than that. It was… well, easy, that was the only word to describe it. He considered himself an inventor and an engineer, but what he did was hard work. He slaved over his devices. But the work was worth it.
Sokolov’s machine, however? It had an elegance that could only come from years of experience, knowledge so finely honed as to become pure intuition.
Of course, the machine was only part of it. Now, those crystals—what had he called them? Sokolites? Ha, of course he had. Now, they were interesting. A natural mineral formation that was able not just to conduct power but also transform it, without any apparent loss of energy.He knew a great deal about crystallography, but the properties of the minerals from Pandyssia were unique.
The results were intriguing, certainly. But inconclusive. The hall was hardly a controlled environment, and while Sokolov had spoken with authority and confidence, the man knew—from attending Sokolov’s past lectures—that this was merely his natural demeanor. Ten years of work on the machine and there was a flaw to the design, a mere fraction of the unimaginable power of the crystals tapped to enact a simple parlor trick.
Now, what if that power could be amplified? What if you could not just see what someone else saw—what if you could see and hear? What if you could do that not just across a room but across a country? Could the transmitter be in Tyvia and the receiver in Karnaca?
And… what if you could reverse the process? Rather than merely observe through the senses of another, what if you could project your own thoughts into the mind of another.
What if you could do it without the recipient even being aware of it?
Now there was an interesting theory. The applications were limitless. It would herald a new era of natural philosophy, giving rise to a new age of espionage.
Perhaps even a new generation of warfare.
The man could see that there was work to be done. The machine was adequate, but Sokolov treated his crystals with kid gloves, afraid to tap their potential. Cutting them into polyhedra was a good first step, but the effect could be amplified—could be focused—if the minerals were sectioned, those sections then polished into lenses.
Yes, lenses. That was good. That was interesting.
He needed to speak to Sokolov about it. Fortunately, they were acquainted, despite the matter of their pastdisagreements. The man had once been Sokolov’s student at the academy in Dunwall—that is, until he was thrown out after that little accident. But that was history. Even if Sokolov remained the bad-tempered buffoon the man remembered him as, he also knew that the natural philosopher wouldn’t be able to resist discussing his research with someone who actually knew what he was talking about.
As the Grand Guard moved around the stage, the red-jacketed officers having a heated conversation with Aramis Stilton on stage left, Kirin Jindosh lifted his feet from the chair and, gathering his fur shawl around his shoulders, made his exit.
PART THREE
THE HOMECOMING
22
THE BEAR OF TAMARAK, SAILING FROM POTTERSTEAD TO KARNACA
5th to 22nd Day, Month of Harvest, 1852
“Whale oil. Liquid power! How astonishing that within those beasts, inside the oil harvested along with their flesh, was enough power to see the Isles through these tumultuous years! And it all seemed limitless, but now the lights begin to dim. Our fisher folk say the great beasts are increasingly rare!
Not all places will suffer this loss equally, fellow natural philosophers! Karnaca has a unique feature—the cleft in Shindaerey Peak, through which the winds are channeled and amplified.
As whale oil begins to run short, with the cost of finding the remaining leviathans escalating beyond the worth of the oil itself, Karnaca will find itself ascendant among the Isles.”
—THE SHINDAEREY GIFT
A Study, by Emora Clipswitch
The journey from southwestern Gristol to Serkonos aboard the Tyvian whaler Bear of Tamarak took eighteen days, and it was time Daud relished.
Before leaving Morgengaard Castle in flames, he had searched Norcross’s private chambers and taken a set of maps. The moorland in which Morgengaard Castle was situated was many miles southeast of the port city of Potterstead. Daud knew that was his best bet—Dunwall was too far to travel, and the ports there were likely in lockdown thanks to the coup. If he was to get to Karnaca he needed fast transport. Potterstead was a good gamble, being a waypoint for Tyvian ships taking advantage of the favorable ocean currents down the western coast of the Isles. It was certainly a better option than returning to Porterfell. From Potterstead he wouldn’t have much trouble getting passage south.
The journey to Potterstead had been long, as Daud was forced to make his way on foot, the two electric road coaches that had been parked in the courtyard of Norcross’s castle absent, perhaps stolen by the strange intruders to prevent any fast pursuit. Daud had traveled by both day and night, taking as direct a route as possible across the desolate, scrubby landscape, avoiding the roads and always ready to take cover in the rich purple heather should he need to hide quickly.
He needn’t have worried. He didn’t see anyone on his entire journey.
Along the way, he thought back to the events at Norcross’s castle, his mind racing as he tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Who were the intruders? How had they known the Twin-bladed Knife was there? And why did they even want it? Did they know—as Daud did—what the Knife was capable of, the powers the artifact possessed?
Questions without answers. They continued to plague Daud as, finally, he sought shelter the second night
