
ACT I
FINRAD'S MAGNIFICENT TOWER
I DON’T COMMIT MURDER WITHOUT REASON or cause. It’s never about personal grudges or slights, either. There’s a code to these sorts of things. An Assassin’s Code, one might call it, though assassins simply call it the Code the same way knights refer to theirs. But our code is not a chivalric one. The Assassin’s Code is much more practical, with basic tenets like ‘Never let a job become personal,’ ‘Never have regrets,’ ‘Never work for free,’ and ‘Never leave a job unfinished.’ Regarding the first two, I’ve found that by never letting a job become personal, one doesn’t have regrets . . . most of the time. If everyone followed the Code, the world—or at least my life—would be much simpler. But few do. Take Gwendolyn Goddard, for example. The woman has the exact sociopathic tendencies needed for my trade, but everything about her is an antithesis to the Code. For one, she makes everything personal, starting with when she set me up for murdering her brother. One might consider that business since she gained majority control of the Society as a result, but then she had to go and send her mercenary police force after me when the authorities failed to do the job. Then, despite knowing of my relationship with Atticus Drake, she tried to hire me to assassinate him. Throw in a plan to undermine my alliances and a harrowing escapade with automated carriages speeding across the city, and I couldn’t guess what came next. I was confident Gwendolyn already had something in mind, though. So, as I waded through the night’s chill air, wondering if we might get our first snow this very evening, I approached Atticus Drake’s manse with the beginnings of a plan to remove Gwendolyn Goddard from my life for good.
No dark armor or masks this evening, I stepped onto Atticus’s porch sporting a casual ensemble of a jacket lined with lamb’s wool, vest, trousers, and sturdy boots. I left my Steel Islands sword and long knives at home, preferring to carry more inconspicuous weapons like a small dagger at my side and numerous throwing knives secreted away elsewhere. Though Atticus expected my arrival, I was caught off guard when the door flung open with dramatic flair before I even raised my hand to knock. Even more surprising was the sight of Atticus himself, flanked by his right-hand man, Samuel, storming from the house with such urgency I had to leap aside to avoid being bowled over.
“Thomas!” Atticus said, an unusually dark expression creasing his older but still handsome features. He gesticulated with hands nestled inside a pair of leather gloves. Heavy coats meant they were on their way out. “You’re here! Excellent. There isn’t a moment to lose. Come with us.”
I followed the pair to a clarence parked along the drive with a draft already harnessed. While Atticus and I ensconced ourselves inside the cab opposite one another, Samuel took his usual place in the driver’s seat. Wasting no time, Samuel had the carriage’s wooden wheels rattling over the main boulevard’s cobbles in no time. The perceived urgency of the situation was so great that only after we had established a steady rhythm did I feel at ease enough to ask about our destination.
Fuming, Atticus exhaled sharply, his expression darker than I had ever seen. “Do you remember the Cranes?”
“Of course,” I said. “Professors Remy and Ruby, as I recall.” Father and daughter scientists, each as odd as one might expect for such scholarly intellects. I frowned. “Did something happen to them?”
“No,” Atticus said, thrumming his fingers on his knee as he gauged our progress via the view through the window. “But something will once we arrive at their laboratory.”
I raised a brow, expecting—and receiving—a more detailed explanation.
“I expressly forbid them from building the Tillwood Device, yet that is exactly what they have done.”
“Tillwood Device?” I recognized the artificer’s name but not much else.
“That’s what the Cranes are calling it. After you and Elizabeth delivered the sheaf key, they extracted and successfully deciphered the remaining parchments. Our initial supposition that Mr. Tillwood had designed a power amplifier proved true. However, as they worked through the numerous schematics and other information, the Cranes discovered much more. So much more that I asked them to hold off on any plans to take the next step by building the device until we had time to adequately study and understand the ramifications of such a powerful piece of machinery.”
I remembered the scientists’ excitement when we delivered the key to unlock the sheaf parchment’s secrets, so it didn’t surprise me to learn they’d moved ahead with the next logical step. Scientists will do what scientists do, after all. But clearly, Atticus had assumed they would not defy his request to wait. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be lurching down the street in the dead of night on our way to see them. But one man’s setback is often another’s gain, so with Gwendolyn Goddard still on my mind, talk of the Tillwood Device sparked an idea.
“Is the Tillwood Device dangerous?”
Atticus shook his head lightly. “The device itself? Maybe. But the greater danger lies in those who wish to possess it. I need not remind you of the various organizations that tried to possess the artificer’s schematics after you stole them. If those organizations learn we built a working prototype, they will no doubt seek to take it instead. Not to mention Ms. Goddard. As I’m sure you recall, the artificer worked from her designs. Underhanded actions notwithstanding, she has a legal claim to any inventions created from the schematics. She could show up at the Cranes’ doorstep with a host of city officers, demand they turn over the device, and I can do little to stop her.” Atticus shook his head in disapproval. “The Cranes have exposed all of us to unnecessary danger.”
No one understood the organizations Atticus mentioned better than me. First were the Warders, operating in the shadows on a mysterious project that reeked of something sinister. Then, the Jakaree, zealous priests hell-bent on constructing a dark machine designed to tear open a chasm into a chilling realm of despair. And last, the Progressive Society, whose mission seemed benign until one considered the two-edged nature of technology. Atticus belonged to the Society and, in fact, called himself a founding member. But the Society was fractured, with Atticus’s tenuous hold threatened by Gwendolyn’s firmer hand. That Gwen was a bigger thorn in Atticus’s side than in mine was an understatement. But I wondered how deep that thorn went and how far Atticus might go to see it removed.
I steepled my hands. “I have an idea, Atticus. One I think you’ll like.”
Atticus raised a brow and regarded me with curiosity.
I leaned closer. “I know how we can ensure those organizations never come looking for the device or anything else ever again.”
Atticus narrowed his gaze. “I’m listening.”
Meaning he wanted to know the catch.
“I need to borrow the Tillwood Device.”
Atticus raised a brow but said nothing. I was ready to provide more details to win him over, but Samuel interrupted with a signal that we approached the secret laboratory. So, as he guided the carriage around back, I held onto those details until the soonest opportunity presented itself.
The laboratory’s interior was as much a haphazard array of machinery and spare parts as the last time I’d visited, as were the two professors, who greeted us with nary a nod since their full attention was on a machine—the Tillwood Device, I presumed—resting by itself on top of a solitary table. The device stood a modest three feet tall. At its base, dark, polished wood adorned with intricate carvings of swirling vines and arcane symbols shimmered in the light as if infused with a subtle, living essence. Upon the base rested a multifaceted, crystalline orb that glowed in various hues, shifting colors like a wizard’s pyrotechnic display, its streams of ethereal, pulsing light illuminating the carvings below and creating an enchanting dance of shadows. A latticework of brass—an excellent conductor of alchemical power—surrounded the orb. These thin metal filaments absorbed energy radiating from the crystal, transferring that power as spirals of silver energy to slender metallic arms stretching upward like the branches of a tree seeking the sun. The arms, forged from an unidentifiable alloy, ended in intricate geometric shapes that hummed with latent intensity. Besides the illuminating display, the device emitted a soft hum that sent vibrations across the room.
Both scientists wore dark goggles, and with good reason, given the bright, pulsating light. Professor Crane—Ruby, that is—took fastidious notes using quill and ink, recording measurements from a handheld device on a piece of parchment. More parchments, already covered with data, were stacked next to her. At the same time, her father made adjustments to the machine using levers in a small control panel at the machine’s base.
Shielding his eyes with a raised arm, Atticus swept into their midst. “By the Old Gods! You not only built it, but you’re testing it, too. Turn it off. Now!”
Professor Crane—Remy—could scarce ignore Atticus’s tone, let alone his command. “But we just started calibrating the harmonization of the—”
Atticus slammed his fist onto the table. “I don’t care. Shut it down before it’s too late.”
Startled by the sudden outburst, Ruby’s attention snapped up from her note-taking. She and her father exchanged a startled glance, and with her dark goggles still resting on her face, Ruby blurted, “Too late for what?”
“Just do it!” Atticus barked, stepping toward the machine as if he meant to turn it off himself if they wouldn’t.
Remy grumbled something under his breath, but he flipped a switch on the device, extinguishing the pulsating light and silencing the machine’s hum so the laboratory settled into an eerie silence. Remy spun on his stool to address Atticus while Ruby looked on.
Professor Crane—the elder one—lifted his goggles to his forehead, revealing a pointed stare and narrowed wrinkles across his brow. He folded hands bearing the cuts and nicks of a seasoned craftsman in his lap and asked in a tight voice laced with irritation, “Care to explain why you barged into my laboratory and interrupted our experiment?”
That did not seem the best way to cool Atticus’s anger, but then I wasn’t sure what this was all about, so I crossed my arms and, remaining at the periphery, leaned against the nearest wall to watch the confrontation unfold.
“Your laboratory?” Atticus asked.
I half expected steam to explode from his ears.
“Need I remind you who pays for all this?” Atticus waved a hand, not waiting for an answer. “I most certainly did not barge in here. However, if I had, it was only because the situation's urgency dictated I do so. I asked you weeks ago not to proceed with the device's construction. Yet, despite the danger, you did so anyway.”
Ruby ducked her head and returned to her note-taking.
Professor Crane’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Danger? What danger?” His voice rose with each word. “I told you we took all necessary precautions, and we did. As long as the power levels remain nominal, the danger is minimal.”
Atticus stamped his foot. “I am not as concerned with the device as I am with those who wish to possess it. As you know, certain others have gone to extraordinary lengths to take back the sheaf parchment. Since Elizabeth retrieved the key, they must assume we’ve made some progress in revealing the secrets of the various schematics. But have they guessed we’ve gone further and built the artificer’s device?”
Ruby gathered her stack of parchments with her head ducked, slid from her stool, and slowly extricated herself from the melee.
“I’ve kept the location of this laboratory secret so far,” Atticus said. “But how long before the likes of Ms. Goddard, the Warders, or even the Jakaree death priests detect the energy emanating from the device? From studying the designs, we know it gives off a power signature unlike any we’ve ever seen. We also know the Warders are monitoring the purchase of rare earth materials via their contacts in the marketplace. If they don’t already know you’ve built the device, they probably do now and, thanks to the two of you, might even know precisely where to find it!”
Remy shot up. “Do you, sir, take me for a complete idiot?”
“Do you really want me to answer that?”
I wondered if steam might come from the professor’s ears first.
“Why, you, sir, are a horse’s arse if you think I’m stupid enough to—”
“Gentlemen!” I said, abandoning my place of safety to step between the combatants before the argument progressed any further. “What’s done is done. The professors built the device, and since that fact won’t change, we should figure out how best to use it.” I paused to let my words sink in and the temperature of the room to abate. “Fortunately for all of us, I have already deliberated over the situation, and I think I have just the thing.”
The two scientists continued glaring at one another, but at least my intervention had introduced a momentary cessation of their verbal hostilities. Finally, Atticus took the high road and looked away. Remy followed suit, tossing his goggles onto the table before he crossed his arms and settled into a dark silence.
“Surely someone wants to hear my idea,” I stated.
Ruby, who had found safe harbor behind a desk in the room’s corner, raised a pudgy-fingered hand. “I’d like to hear it.”
“As would I,” Atticus grumbled, “but not until after I’m sure this location remains secure. You are far from an idiot, Professor Crane, so can I assume you have the device, if not the entire building, shielded?”
Remy appeared no less irritated, but he accepted the olive branch. “You can.”
“Not the entire building,” Ruby said from her corner. “But a sufficient area around the device to ensure no exo-energy can escape. I assure you, Mr. Drake, we've taken every precaution to ensure the laboratory’s location and our work remain a secret.”
Remy jutted his chin at Atticus in a gesture clearly meaning, “I told you so.”
Atticus, who noted the gesture, chewed his lip while he contemplated Ruby’s words. Finally, Atticus nodded, accepting the younger scientist’s explanation, though he did ask, “Did you confirm the efficacy of the shielding by monitoring the energy emanations?”
Ruby held up her stack of parchment. “Measured and recorded.”
Atticus exhaled deeply, the last bit of tension melting from him. “Very well. Professor Crane, I apologize for my overreaction. However, I do not apologize for barging into my laboratory.”
Remy shrugged. “Apology accepted.”
With the confrontation settled, I intended to outline the details of my plan. However, a tangle of laundry lines sprawling across the back half of the laboratory distracted my attention. Dozens of parchments fluttered from each line. “Did all those come from the original sheaf parchment?”
Ruby came around the desk, smiling at my astonishment. The young woman had a roundish figure beneath her laboratory coat and a plain face framed beneath short brownish hair she kept simple and tied into a short ponytail. She removed her glasses, cleaning the lenses with the tails of her shirt. “Even more. We ran out of places to hang the others.”
“They all detail some part of the device?”
“Most. Some have more to do with the underlying processes, but they all correlate with the machine in one way or another.”
Still astonished, I asked, “What does the device do? Atticus mentioned power amplification on the way over.”
“That’s right,” Ruby said. “The Tillwood Device—we’re calling it that out of respect for its designer—is, more precisely, an energy multiplier.”
That told me little beyond the obvious. Ruby saw my blank expression and launched into a more detailed explanation.
“The Tillwood Device uses an asymptotic duclidean process to generate a small amount of energy by agitating minuscule power rivulets into a hyperactive state. After a multitude of iterations—”
Ruby’s father cleared his throat. “Perhaps a high-level explanation will suffice, especially since Mr. . . . ?”
“Thornton,” I said by rote. “Though Thomas will do.” Present company knew me best as Thomas Thornton, so while the identity bordered on overuse, I required its service a little longer.
“Especially since Thomas is not a scientist.”
“A high-level explanation will suffice,” I said.
Ruby frowned, a flicker of disappointment crossing her features. “Very well. The Tillwood Device operates on a transformative principle: given even the most modest energy input, it can amplify that energy output by a factor of a thousand. Advanced energy convergence mechanisms and resonant amplification processes make this possible. The gains in efficiency are nothing short of revolutionary. This device represents a paradigm shift in energy generation—one the world has never seen before.”
“Interesting,” I said. “About the energy input. I assume you mean an external generator?”
“Exactly,” Ruby answered.
“Does any type of generator work?”
“Some better than others,” she said. “But assuming the correct calibration and alignment, most will do the job.”
Ruby’s father stepped in. “In our case, we’re using a typical, low-output alchemical generator. Nothing special. But then, the device doesn’t require anything special. That’s the beauty of the multiplication process. There is a small issue with energy leakage, but we’re confident we’ll have that figured out soon.”
“So, Aravar was a genius?” I asked.
“Perhaps,” Atticus said, whose flat tone and lack of astonishment told me he already knew all this about the machine. “But Ms. Goddard also had a hand in its design, so some—perhaps most—of the credit must go to her.”
“Speaking of Gwendolyn,” I said, thinking to bring the conversation back to my plan. “Ever since Liz stole the sheaf key from Ms. Goddard some weeks ago, Gwendolyn has been trying her damnest to get the schematic back, right?”
Elizabeth had pulled off a fine operation, infiltrating Gwendolyn’s inner circle and stealing the key right from under her nose. Still, it hadn’t taken Gwen long to deduce where the key had gone, though she’d gotten no further than accosting Atticus at every opportunity about it. Atticus, for his part, had become an expert at denial. ‘I know nothing about a key,’ ‘I know less about its whereabouts,’ and ‘How would I know anything about the thief who stole it from you if I know nothing about what you claim was stolen?’ Eventually, Gwendolyn grew weary of asking him and finally gave up.
Meanwhile, Gwendolyn had her new mercenary force, the Black Blades, scouring the city for the key and the thief who had taken it from her. So far, their search yielded few results. But what Gwendolyn lacked in patience, she more than made up for with intelligence, so I knew she’d eventually find the secret laboratory and perhaps even learn Liz’s identity. Both outcomes were another reason to move forward with my plan. Better to strike first—and rid ourselves of Gwendolyn Goddard for good—than wait for either to happen.
“Indeed,” Atticus said to my question. “The Tillwood Device represents a gigantic leap forward in energy production with near limitless applications. It’s worth a great deal to Ms. Goddard and the Society in terms of reputation and financial gain.”
I strolled about, thinking. “If I understand the writs governing the Society’s presence in Alchester, such a significant invention must benefit Kallendor and no other, correct?”
Atticus folded his hands before him. “That’s correct. The crown is one of our most generous patrons. As part of our agreement to operate within the city, the Society shares our most important findings with Kallendor alone. Some of our inventions have specific military applications, so this only makes sense. But others, like the Tillwood Device with its broader reach across multiple industries, must also remain close to home, so to speak, to maintain a superior technological advantage over the other fiefdoms.”
I crossed my arms and lifted a hand to my chin. “What happens if word got out that the Society intended to sell the Tillwood Device to the highest bidder?”
Atticus’s face took on a pinched look. “That will never happen as long as I sit on the Primary Council.”
“Humor me,” I said.
“Such an act is considered treason. As such, the Ministry of Justice would cancel our operating agreements, seize our assets, and arrest and imprison the Society's members. As a founder, I would face execution or imprisonment, along with the others on the council, including Ms. Goddard.”
“Including Ms. Goddard,” I said, tapping my chin with my forefinger. “Interesting.”
Atticus lifted a brow in curiosity. “I suppose this has something to do with the idea you tried to tell me about earlier?”
“What idea?” Professor Crane asked. Even Ruby, who had returned to her desk, looked interested.
“You’re all concerned about Ms. Goddard finding the Tillwood Device. Not to mention the Warders and the Jakaree. This laboratory is safe for now, but for how long? You can always move the device, but how much time does that buy you before they find you again?”
Atticus crossed his arms. “So, what are you proposing?”
“That we take the fight to them. The best defense is a good offense and all that. What I’m proposing is simple. We set a trap for Gwendolyn, the Warders, and maybe even the Jakaree using the Tillwood Device as bait. Now, I don’t have all the details worked out, and I’ll need to bring in some others to legitimize the charade, but if we play our cards right, we might rid ourselves of the opposition in one fell swoop.”
I quieted, waiting to field the barrage of expected questions. But everyone remained silent. “I’d be happy to answer any questions you have,” I said, wondering if the prompting might help.
That at least got Atticus to clear his throat.
“I do have questions,” he said. “Concerns, as well. You could not have chosen a better lure, though I am curious about the details. You may intend to ensnare certain individuals and parties, but as I said, my involvement with the Society may pull me into your scheme as well, and not in a good way. Also, once you’ve lured everyone into your trap, how do you intend to catch them, so to speak?”
I suppressed a smug smile because that was the brilliant part. But like a magician clinging to his secrets, I felt the need to keep such details to myself for now. So, I said only, “We’ll need to get the word out that we have the device and intend to sell it. But that information will have to come from the right person. No offense, but that person can’t be you, Atticus. No one will believe someone of your standing and reputation is capable of doing such a thing.”
Atticus tugged at his jacket. “I will take that as a compliment.”
“Fortunately, I know someone.”
Atticus nodded, understanding the less he knew, the better. “How do you intend to keep the Society from getting dragged into this? Also, once the respective parties have fallen into your trap, what do you intend to do with them? You have a reputation as well, Mr. Thornton, and so I feel compelled to inform you I will not be a party to murder.”
Remy frowned, and his daughter, who had no trouble meeting my gaze earlier, found her tabulated data much more fascinating now.
Murder.
For some, it was a taboo word, disgusting even. For others, it represented a means to an end, a calculated risk in a game where stakes were measured in power and survival. To many in Alchester, it represented an irrevocable choice. To others, it became a necessary evil, a tool wielded in the shadows of ambition, stirring a complex mixture of fear, thrill, or even admiration. Regardless, it always revealed the darkest corners of human nature, its moral dilemmas too terrible for most to consider. Even the few who embraced it, like me, had to reconcile its ghastly nature from time to time. But that’s where the Code came in, providing guidance and, I daresay, a rationale for it all. But no one else present knew about the Code. To them, I was a killer without principle. An executioner of a sort. A murderer without remorse or pity.
“You can stop now,” I remember Olivia telling me once.
But my sister didn’t understand. She didn’t recognize the danger still lurking so close. Yes, I had avenged my parents’ murders. But Olivia didn’t know our family’s enemies like I did. For now, they lingered in the shadows, waiting, watching perhaps, but always ready to take advantage of weakness. I may have ended the worst of them those many years ago, but someday they’d tire of the shadows and come into the light once more. Unlike my father, I refused to allow them to find me unprepared. If people like the professors, Atticus, and so many others saw me as something to disdain and fear, I could accept that. One thing I could not accept was becoming a victim again.
Such ruminations remained my own, so, affecting my best smile, I said to Atticus, “Nothing like that this time. But I can’t say anything more right now. Keep the device safe. If all goes well, I’ll have the pieces in place by the end of the week. I’ll provide more details then.”
“See that you do,” Atticus said. “My approval of the device for this scheme of yours hinges on those details. Make no mistake, Thomas. I would like nothing more than to see Gwendolyn and those others removed from the list of participants in this game of ours, but not if there’s even the slightest chance the schematics or the device fall into the wrong hands. You and I have seen enough regarding the intentions of the Warders and Jakaree, so even though their end goals remain elusive, handing over the device to either is entirely unacceptable.”
“Agreed,” I said, leaving it at that.
It seemed an opportune time to leave, so as Atticus settled into a conversation with the professors over their latest data, I slipped from the laboratory and back into the night. I exchanged nods with Samuel as I strolled past him, and then I was alone. Thinking of giving my legs a rest, I hailed the nearest coach—conventional, as chance had it, and not one of the newer automated ones—gave the driver some quick instructions regarding my destination, and, with a snap of the reins, off we went. For some time, I watched street lanterns pass through the window before we came to a final lurching stop. The carriage swayed as the driver stepped down, and the door opened. I paid and thanked him, then waited in front of The Jaded Peacock while horse and wagon clopped away.
Meanwhile, the tavern door swung open, releasing a symphony of delightful sounds into the night. The lively notes of pipes filled the air, mingling with the soft murmur of friendly conversation and the occasional burst of cheerful laughter from patrons savoring delicious food and fine wine. I caught the barest sight of flickering flames dancing in the hearth, its warm glow inviting all who passed by to step inside and share in the joy and comfort of the bustling atmosphere. While I longed to heed its call, I told Atticus I had a plan in mind, one I meant to put in motion tonight. So, pulling my jacket tighter against the brisk air, I blended into the sparse crowd of night revelers on their way to warmer places and set my sights on Beggar’s Quarter.
Indulge in fantastic tales of sword, sorcery, and alchemy today by joining thousands of readers like yourself who can't get enough of Scott Marlowe's
"intense" storytelling and "skillfully written" adventures. You'll get two free stories, The Hall of Riddles and The Assassin's Dilemma, plus an original short story set in my world delivered to you each and every month.