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While Charlie and Ozzy were loaded into an extremely short steam engine and forced to shovel coal to power their own way back to Precipice, a tall, hunched man with an uneven gait was limping his way to the King’s prison. He was thinking, as he often was when he made this walk, about the nature of magic.
Most people spoke about Magic in the same breath as they spoke about ascending, about escaping from the world of the living and passing on into the next realm. They thought it was a mystery how a little donated blood painted in the right shapes could make a weight lighter, or metal more durable, or chalk as hard as steel. That wasn’t true. Magic wasn’t a mystery: it was predictable. Once you understood how it worked, it was as mundane as walking or eating. Just a part of life.
Just like walking or eating, all that magic required was control of your body and intention to complete the action. It was just that most people didn’t have conscious control over how they used their souls. They ended up using what little magic they could wield in mundane ways: to always get the floor spotless when they swept, or to prevent themselves from tripping, or to tell when someone was lying to them. A thousand little magics were going unnoticed every day until you learned to look for them.
The man sneered to himself. All that energy wasted. It could be put to better use in a factory or on a construction site if only they could properly harness it. That was what he had devoted his lives to, and he had been handsomely rewarded.
He pushed open the door to the King’s Prison. For all it was called a prison, the room was beautiful. It was perpetually flooded with sunlight, and the flowers were replaced with fresh buds from the manor gardens daily. Today, the musician in attendance was a pianist, playing slow warm music to fill the room with sound.
In the center of all that splendor and wealth, on a plinth of polished bronze and steel, sat the gilded prison cell.
“Gardener,” The King’s voice was slightly muffled by the glass panels set in the latticework of bars, but his tone was triumphant as ever. “The best royal mage in the world. Come in, come in.”
Gardener obeyed, fixing a smile on his face, but he wondered how the King could so easily spout sweet lies when he was sitting inside a prison that proved he was lying.
Even after two lifetimes serving King Regalton II, spending his days picking apart the little mysteries of magic, Gardener was still confounded by the king’s prison, the so-called Machinus Diplomatica. He had spent 20 years trying to understand its magic, but he could not.
The King stood laboriously. He had grown fat in his cell, and now his stomach hung heavy over his belt. He took the knob of the cell door in his hand and opened it graciously, like a host welcoming guests. It was not the physical barrier that kept the king inside the prison but the magical one.
Gardener stepped up onto the platform and into the room. He shivered as he felt the magic of the prison close around him: heavy and still.
“Now,” the King sat again heavily. His thick-fingered hand found the bowl of fried pork skins on the table and closed around a fistful of them, “Tell me how my plan develops.”
Gardener was still adjusting to the thick stench of cologne, sweat, and fat inside the prison. He swallowed before speaking, keeping his eyes carefully downcast. “Your Majesty” he said, “The—”
“Gardener,” The King’s voice contained a note of humor, but condescension as well, “We have talked about how you address me. Please. We are a modern nation.”
Gardener began again, “Mr. Regalton,” he said. “The suspected vessels for the Traitor are being gathered. Tomorrow, they will begin the journey to the manor for the Celebration of Remembrance. The trains are being prepared as we speak to make the journey with minimal stops.”
“Good,” The King said, “have there been any issues?”
“No, Sir,” Gardener said. “We’ve been able to confirm the location of every individual and provide their summons—”
“Invites, Gardener. It’s a party I’m throwing, not a court trial.” The king put three pork skins into his mouth at once.
“Their invites,” Gardener said, “were all delivered, and it was… Made clear that their attendance was mandatory.” Almost 90 people had been branded with tracking runes because they had shown some hesitation over accepting the invitation, but the rest had agreed or had indeed taken the invitation as exactly what it appeared to be and excitedly began planning for the party. Ah, the ignorance of youth.
“Excellent. We will have a full house then,” the King beamed, “and has the housing been arranged for them?”
“Yes, sir,” 1100 bedrolls ready for the guests to be packed into their holding chambers while Gardener, the royal guards, and his men all examined them according to the King’s instruction.
“Very good,” The King’s expression changed at last, the thin layer of graciousness slipping away. “Did any of them try to escape?”
“Yes, sir. Only 5, and we caught all of them before they crossed the border.”
“Good. Pay special attention to them. We both know how much the traitor likes to flee.” His eyes glittered with hatred at the thought of the traitor mage. “We will bring him to heel again, Gardener. Then I will be free, and we will finally continue our work.”
Gardener only had to force his smile a little. The King being out of his prison would be welcome. They had been forced to cease their expansion of Regalis while he was locked away, but when he was free again, they could begin, once again, to expand East and capture the last cities between Regalis and the sea. And with that expansion, Regalis would finally be the size that King Regalton I, the first King’s father, had originally laid out in his plans.
More importantly to Gardener’s mind, the King being free meant the Steam-Powered Mage would be back under the King’s control, and this time, Gardener would make sure that all of the Mage’s secrets would be passed on to him. He would learn how to build the Machinus Diplomatica, and he would create magical prisons for all of the King’s enemies, and his own. Then he would imprison the Steam-Powered Mage and force them to teach him how to build the most innovative arcane technology ever conceived: the Eternity Engine.
The King was thinking along the same lines. “You and I, Gardener,” he said wistfully, “we are going to live forever.”
“Yes, sir,” Gardener said. “We are.”
