The Young Lady is a Reborn Assassin

Charlie Sloan was taking his job of guarding Genta extremely seriously. It was almost uncanny having a pale teenager watching over him. Genta could hardly focus on his ‘work’ with him hovering over his shoulder or standing in the doorway. It had only been one and a half days since his arrival.

He’d staked his claim on a small research room away from where Landon could be located. The more distance between them the better, though the feeling was probably mutual. Landon didn’t respect Genta or his work one bit. He found the sight of him detestable.

The walls were already covered with pieces of paper from his experiments – although Genta had zero intent of delivering anything usable for as long as he could get away with it. He was sure that Welt and Sloan would have no issue in using human sacrifices to get Cath with the appropriate levels of aggression and magical power.

Weaker Cath, who were less aggressive and easier to butcher, could be summoned by using the flesh of animals. They weren’t going to contain a high concentration of magical energy in their blood like Sloan wanted.

“Why can’t you summon whatever and shoot it?” Charlie wondered.

“A lot of the Cath have skin and muscle so thick that they can absorb the impact of a gunshot. You would need a better way to kill them than that. I already said how problematic this entire scheme is – but they won’t listen to me.”

“Lock them in a room and shoot through the door.”

“There’s no guarantee that the Cath can be contained by something as simple as a locked room. Some have the ability to modify the nature of what surrounds them, like that horrible beast at the fort that turned what it saw into gold...”

Charlie leaned against the wall and continued to observe while Genta worked at the bench to create some summoning circles to tide over his captors. He would occasionally look over at the young man and be shocked all over again about how pale and squalid he looked. Was he on the doorstep of death? It looked that way.

The curiosity became too much for Genta to endure. He wanted to ask questions about what was going on, and why Sloan poisoned his own son with the demon’s blood given how dangerous it was. Genta would have never risked allowing the human body to come into contact with it.

“Why did your Father agree to do this?” Genta asked.

“What makes that your business?” he replied snidely.

“Because I find it odd that he’s willing to risk the life of his own son.”

“He said it didn’t matter either way. I was already in and out of the hospital all the time – and I’ve never felt better than I do right now.”

Genta brushed the sleep from the corners of his eyes, “If you were in such a poor condition I can understand it, but if he’s so concerned about your health and wellbeing, why did he send you out to do such horrible things? You could easily die out there instead.”

Charlie laughed like it wasn’t even worthy of being discussed.

“Die? I’m invincible! He used the best batch of that stuff on me and me alone. I’m not like those other walking corpses he uses. I’ve got to keep all of my brains, and he told me that it’s my duty to go out and make a difference while I have the chance. I finally get to see the outside world and do what I like.”

“How many people have you killed?”

Charlie shrugged, “A couple dozen, I think.”

Genta shivered and turned back to the desk. It was similar to Maria in a sense, but there was no weight behind the admission he made. Again – it was entirely beneath his notice. Killing people to him was a chore assigned to him by his Father and nothing else.

When Maria got involved with the cultist situation, he never once got the impression that she found anything amusing about what was going on, or that she thought any less of the weight of what she did. The fact remained that she shot and killed more than a few of them...

Charlie watched in silence for the next hour while Genta tried to come up with something to show Welt that wouldn’t help him in any way whilst sparing his wrath. Welt wanted to meet with him every day that he was present at the sanitorium for some unknown purpose. Genta could think of better matters to spend his time on.

“It’s four. You need to go and see Welt.”

Genta shuffled his notes into a pile and sighed, tucking them under his arm and following the young boy through the squalid underground levels that the building sat upon. Welt was upstairs, so they had to go through the arduous process of climbing several flights of steps to reach where he was staying.

In typical fashion – he’d claimed the nicest and most liveable room in the property as his personal office. Charlie remained by the door.

“You wanted to speak with me?”

Welt tried to offer a disarming smile even when the contours of his face made that impossible.

“Mister Cambry. I’d like to have a discussion with you about what we’re trying to do here. I’ve found that hostile relationships are not productive in both business and personal matters.”

Genta shook his head, “Kidnapping me was a poor start in that case.”

“First impressions are important but they are not the sum total of what our relationship can be. I hope that you will come to understand the wisdom of what we are hoping to achieve here. Despite what you may think, I am a cautious man. I prefer to cause as little noise as possible.”

Genta walked deeper into the room and sat down on the chair that was placed in front of his desk; “You and I will not be able to see eye-to-eye. Those who believe that they can harness the power of the Cath are common – and their failures numerous.”

“Then we simply have to excise the uncontrollable from our plan. If we are speaking of humans rather than monsters, then the matter becomes simpler in nature. Between you and Sloan, I feel that I have more in common with you. Sloan is always so eager to break boundaries and rush ahead with no regard for what may arise.”

“I’m opposed to your methodology, your lack of morals, and the goals that you seek to attain. I see no common ground for us to speak on. I would prefer that we cease playing silly games. You want me to help you overthrow the government.”

Welt clicked his tongue, “No, no. Not overthrow. That’s the talk of trade unionists and self-styled revolutionaries, who can’t accept what the common people desire. There will always be a ‘government’ in Walser. They ensure that everything is running correctly, like a well-crafted train schedule.”

A nervous jitter started to emerge in Genta’s voice, “M-Most would disagree with those semantics. Vesting ultimate power in the royal family is overthrowing the government, whether you agree to that description or not.”

“Mister Cambry – don’t you feel a strong sense of shame when you look at the state our of nation? The abject humiliation of our destitute streets, districts like Church Walk, allowed to rot and fester in our once great cities? This has only been allowed to occur because there are now a thousand voices arguing for every decision.”

The change in approach was so sudden that it almost knocked him out of the chair. Welt was speaking with venom in his tone and daggers in his eyes. He could not conceal the outrage that simmered beneath his façade even when he was trying to be earnest with a potential collaborator.

“Leadership should be decisive. Not only is it a great shame for our nation’s reputation, but it is also a failing that impacts those who are forced to live there. Imagine if the royal family decreed that Church Walk be cleaned up! We wouldn’t have to rely on men like Cedric Roderro to handle it, and even he couldn’t surmount the meddling fingers of corrupt city councillors and unemployed busybodies.”

His rant paused. Genta took a deep breath and pushed his glasses up onto his nose.

“A man who truly cares for Walser would not risk plunging it back into a civil war. You lived through it. Why do you wish for those nightmarish times again?”

Welt stood from his seat and intended to continue his fiery tirade. He thought better of it given the sullen tone that Genta was using. He was not a man who would be convinced through inflammatory rhetoric. He was concerned about what may happen should he agree to help.

“I am not trying to create another civil war. Too many of our brothers and sisters were killed, but do you really believe that they all felt so strongly about who should lead them? The sad truth is that most were not so invested in the outcome. They wanted to exact revenge on the people who harmed them. It became violence for violence’s sake, and nobody was willing to lay down arms and be the first to call for discussion.”

“You forget your history. History you lived. The consequence of failure here is to spark a second period of turmoil. Is that a risk you are willing to shoulder?”

“We will not.”

“There is no such certainty!”

Genta stood to match his height, his face twisted into a furious scowl.

“No matter the means you use to achieve this lofty goal, there will be those who choose to resist it. It only takes a small number of them to begin the cycle all over again, but you are too submerged in your own reality to see it!”

He threw the papers down onto his desk and held up his hands.

“There are my thoughts. I will not assist you in this mad endeavour any further. I entertained pretending to agree with you out of fear, but I am done with that. I’d rather preserve my Goddess-given soul than spend any more time listening to your inane drivel!”

“Mister Cambry...”

This was not what Welt expected from the meek and neurotic man he met on the first day. His patience had snapped clean in two, partly driven by previous events with the cult which originally stole his work. He was taking his stand here and now.

“You are on a very treacherous path – Mister Welt. I often observe that the means men use have a profound impact on the outcome they seek, so do not deceive yourself with assurances of how you will be vindicated in the end, of how those ends justify whatever blood stains your palms.”

Welt stood and watched while Genta bowed his head and left the room in a hurry.

“I suppose you do have a spine after all...”

---

I arranged a surprise visit to the museum the following day before the term started. I rode the carriage all the way back into the city just so that I could needle the curator for answers about how the Etherscope worked. I marched through the front door and headed into the large lobby area that was dedicated to it.

He was somewhere in the building, but unlike our previous meeting, there was no letter from Mister Snow to direct him to see me. I was left to my own devices, so I took the time to get a closer look at the Etherscope and catalyst chamber that he had constructed years before my ‘birth’ and Durandia’s behest.

Xenia having no issue with speaking to me without this chamber suggested that there were rules and limitations I hadn’t been privy to. Durandia may have used up a lot of her power in summoning me and arranging all of the pieces into their correct placement. The Etherscope was her fall-back plan. She could use it to thin the ‘membrane’ between us and the Veil.

Somehow!

I wanted to find out how it worked. There must have been a principle that Snow applied to its construction that amplified the outgoing magical signal. The machine looked outwardly complex but I had a good feeling that at least one part of how it operated would be helpful to me.

It wasn’t long before the Curator spotted me. It was only then and there that I recalled that the Curator never gave us his real name.

“Miss Walston-Cater, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit today?”

“I was hoping to visit and ask you some questions. Apologies for the rudeness, but I never got your name before.”

“I’m Mister Gladly. It slipped my mind during our first meeting. I was so excited to finally fulfil a long-held promise to Sir Snow that I forgot to say!”

He tilted his head towards the Etherscope.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“I am interested in the way that the Etherscope operates.”

“I’m not at liberty to interfere with the exhibits, aside from that one special exception. Sir Snow never asked me or the previous Curators to dismantle his work to assist you. Apologies. He was very clear about what needed to be done.”

“I understand. My curiosity is about the mechanism behind the Etherscope. If there are any other records that could assist me in my search I would love to see them.”

He murmured under his breath and looked up, “There is one other way I could let you explore the Etherscope. I suppose it wouldn’t be a horrible idea, given the level of trust that Sir Snow seemed to have in you...”

“And that is?”

“The archive room. We have copies of almost every blueprint and thesis he ever wrote, including detailed plans and thoughts for the Etherscope project. It’s a closely guarded collection.”

“It would be an honour to see it,” I said.

Now that he was talking about it, he was somewhat forced to continue his train of thought and entertain me. He escorted me up the stairs and into the back corridors where our gunfight happened. There were still signs of damage and bullet holes in one of the marble walls. Behind an unassuming blue door was the archive he spoke of.

It wasn’t as big as I expected. It was a medium-sized, rectangular room rammed to the gills with two dozen bookshelves and filing cabinets. The stale smell of old books was overpowering. There was a table and set of chairs in the middle of the main aisle for the curators to use while conducting research.

He rifled through the various books within the cabinet and returned a moment later with a thick red tome. It was entitled ‘Henry Snow – Design and Notes Vol. 3.’ He blew the dust away and handed it to me.

“Very few people have the privilege of seeing his notes. This is the book that contains the design process behind the Etherscope.”

I flipped it open carefully but discovered that these weren’t the original papers that Henry Snow used. They had been carefully recreated and typed out before being reprinted into a compiled format using modern techniques.

“Oh, the original papers are in glass cases and kept very well protected. For preservation’s sake, the Henry Snow Society recreated most of his writings and printed them anew for study and appreciation. Some of his earliest works were on paper that has sadly not stood the test of time, and a flood thirty years ago caused a lot of damage. We moved it all up here to keep it dry!”

I checked the index and found where the Etherscope was documented. It dominated a large portion of the book, covered in over a hundred pages of excruciating detail. I would be in the museum all day if I read the whole section. Instead, I moved to the back and searched through the glossary for any mention of a catalyst.

“I’m looking for information about the catalyst he used,” I explained, “For a personal project of mine.”

Mister Gladly was seemingly relieved that I was not trying to build my own recreation of the Etherscope. I could only imagine how dangerous that entire process would be for an uninformed fool like myself. He was more than happy to share what he knew given that revelation.

“The catalyst? It should be there under the name ‘Kursiela.’ It’s a fairly rare mineral that can mainly be found overseas. It has a series of fascinating qualities that make it highly coveted by foreign magicians. Us here in Walser, and our neighbours, never quite caught on to that little secret.”

In the K section was exactly what he attested to. Kursiela, noted down as an important component of the Etherscope and a powerful magical catalyst. I travelled to the page where the full explanation awaited. It was tucked into the guts of a long passage about how the Etherscope worked to thin the barrier between ‘our’ world and the ‘next’ one.

Snow knew a lot. He was even starting to theorize about the existence of the Veil. No doubt he was spurred on by his interactions with Durandia to explore that idea in greater detail and ambition. A large quantity of Kursiela was used in the construction of the Etherscope chamber. The walls were lined with the stuff, and a loop system pushed energy through filters, lines of thin sheets arranged in a particular manner, to further enhance the effect.

“Sir Snow believed that magical energy was like air. Many of his most innovative creations focused on creating channels through which that energy could flow. When magic was pushed into Kursiela alloy – it was discovered to catalyse the reaction and generate more energy-rich air in response. This made casting spells easier and more efficient.”

“If it was so effective, why was it not widely adopted?”

“It was expensive to build and rather clumsy in implementation, and by that point, modern machinery was both cheaper and more exciting for investors. Sir Snow almost went bankrupt from the amount of Kursiela he imported to construct it! It speaks to his love of the sciences in my opinion.”

“But it sounds almost as if it can generate infinite energy.”

Gladly stroked his beard, “That is possible. The limitation comes from the Kursiela itself. There is only so much of it available, and each ‘fin’ generates a fixed amount of energy-rich air when infused.”

The process went like this: magical energy would react with the Kursiela, thinning the barrier between this world and the veil and allowing energy-dense matter to flow through the cracks, this would make spellcasting easier for the mages situated in proximity. That was why it was described as a catalyst.

I double-checked my thinking by reading through what Snow concluded. He was less candid with the facts than I expected, perhaps out of fear that his discoveries could be taken and used for the wrong purposes. You give a man knowledge and he’ll try to find a way to kill someone with it.

Snow was a lively orator and his enthusiasm got the better of him from time to time. It was clear he was trying to avoid giving away the details that would be of interest to military types, but some hints still got through when he got too excited.

He was hopeful that his new Etherscope project could be for more than allowing me to speak with Durandia. His notes spoke extensively on potential applications like healing, where a talented restorative mage could use the chamber like an operating theatre, or for magical craftsmen to more easily create works of significance.

The expense was high – but in his eyes, it was like all of the other modern machines that were being iterated on during his time. It would only get cheaper and easier to build in time with new versions, but he never got around to doing it. The Etherscope in the museum remained the one and only example ever built.

If I could make some bracers out of that metal and wear it, casting spells would cause them to react and weaken the fabric between our reality and the Veil. In essence, it would make every spell I cast more efficient by a significant factor. Snow estimated it to be in the region of five to seven times more efficient than normal. This was how mages used Kursiela. They’d create jewellery or wands and staffs from it – places where they channelled magic while casting their spells.

 The problem was finding some.

Walser was behind the curve. It didn’t occur naturally in this part of the world, and importing it from overseas was too expensive now that the magical industries were being pummelled financially by machines that anyone could use. I didn’t have time to go rifling through antique stores hoping to stumble across it either. The new academy term was about to begin.

I was frustrated. The answer was right there in front of my nose – but I couldn’t reach out and take it. I scanned the rest of the page for more information before closing it again and handing it back to the Curator.

“Thank you. I have the answer I was looking for. I don’t suppose you would know where to find any Kursiela?”

“I’m afraid not.”

He placed the book back into its rightful place. I stewed silently and tried to come up with an elegant solution for this fresh dilemma. Money was no object, but what I wanted to purchase was more elusive in nature. I couldn’t boot up a computer and search two dozen different auction sites to find what I wanted.

Gladly had one more piece of advice for me before I left.

“Now that I think again – I believe that some of my peers who are interested in historic items have spoken highly of the ‘Brady Antiquity Collection’ on the corner of Fourth and Gutterage. There’s no guarantee that you’ll find Kursiela there, but it would be as good a place as any to try.”

This was starting to sound like a stupid ass McGuffin chase again.

I smiled pithily, “I’ll keep that in mind.”