An Explosion At First Light - Chapter 3

The light was blinding. It was as if a thousand suns were blazing in front of his eyes. Scorching them. Melting them. He felt his eyes pour out of the sockets. And with his eye sockets now bare, the light poured into his brain. The pain rocked through his head and started to shatter his mind.

“Son of a whore!” he roared, awakened from his deep slumber. “Who the fuck is that?!”

Then he propped himself up on his elbow. He let a little of his maya start flowing out of him, and into the transmission crystal on his bedside table, that was shining and melting his brain.

And before the person on the other side could speak, his voice rang out, “You little bastard whoever the fuck you are you better have a good fucking reason to call me! Or I’m going to rip your throat out!”

“Will you now, Ardant?” the voice on the other side asked, more amused than annoyed.

“D-Detective?” The light was gone. The suns were gone. Ardant’s eyes were back in his socket, no longer melted. But the headache was still there.

“Yes,” Detective Abbott asked, sounding resigned. “Did you drink the bloody city dry? You don’t know which crystal you have beside your bed?”

“No. No,” he laid back down and massaged his temples with his left hand while he took the crystal with his right and laid it on his chest.

“No. It was... fuck...” he winced and continued “it was a celebration. Job well done. On the banks. Just outside town. Outta maya by the end. We were Weaving shit.”

“So you’re hungover and maya deficient. Nicely done.” Ardant could almost see him shaking his head, wherever he was. “Vikriti business?”

“Yeah yeah. Nothing major. Labourers were being shorted in Rantahl. We took a quick look. Backed ‘em up. Nobles backed off pretty quick after the whole show off.”

“No fighting?”

“Maybe a little fighting?”

Abbott chuckled. “Well done, Ardant.” This time though, it wasn’t sarcastic. Ardant heard the praise in his voice and smiled.

“Well, I doubt you woke me up so early in the morning just for that.”

“It’s almost noon. And no. I have a job for you.”

“Me or the crew?”

“Just you. And anyone else you might need. I need you to be discrete.”

“Oh. That kinda job. But I gotta warn you. I’m pretty tired. And I’m not all recharged.”

“That’s fine. You can do it however you want, just be discrete.”

“Mmm. So?”

“Genevieve Franko and Matthew Hamilton. I want you on them.”

Ardant’s eyes snapped open and he sat up with a jolt. “Are you serious?”

“Mmhm.” hummed Abbott.

“Okay, first, that will cost you. Big time. Second, what the hell are you doing going after two of the richest kids in the whole fucking city?”

“Kids? They’re older than you.”

“That’s not the bloody point! What the hell is going on?!”

“Trust you to sleep through an explosion.” Abbott sighed. “One of the factories on the industrial strip exploded. Not an accident. Explosion spell. Terrible mage. There was a lot of force maya left over. Far more than fire maya. Too much residue to be an amateur. Even a prodigy can’t produce that much maya without training. Had to have trained reserves. The factory belonged to Eleazar Franko. Given to Fernando Gonzalez as a... marriage gift, I suppose.”

“Right right.” Ardant nodded. “Genevieve Franko was married to that scum. She was engaged to... ,” and then the realisation hit him. “That’s why you want someone on Hamilton?!”

“Yes. Generational force mage. The houses don’t diversify much. They stick to their affinities. So Hamilton fits the profile surprisingly well. Kid’s got to have huge reserves. That’s what they train first, the nobles. But he’s probably never Weaved a fire spell in his life. Probably never Weaved anything but force. And the Cold Crystals had to have been interfering when he tried to Weave Flame. Never done it before, so he didn’t know how to bypass them.”

“Were the crystals shattered?”

“Yeah. Had force on them and the mounts. He must’ve shattered each one after he failed to Weave the spell a couple of times.”

“Oh damn. You think he got miffed?”

Abbott chuckled, “Miffed? I don’t understand high society all that much. But breaking off an engagement with a nobleman and marrying your daughter to a deckhand? That’s got to hurt.”

Ardant massaged his temples once again. The hangover was still here. “You think Genevieve was complicit?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. She’s had contact with Matthew recently, I think. Said she didn’t love him. I believe her. But never hurts to check. That’s why I want you on them.”

He leaned back against the headboard, “Huh. Okay... but I don’t get something. Where the hell would Hamilton get an explosion spell? A mage trained in Weaving both could have maybe put together a bare-bones spell. But like you said, the kid’s never Weaved fire in his life probably.”

“Docks, I’m guessing. But an explosion spell could not have come cheap at all. Matthias made port a few days ago. He might know something.”

“Okay! Things are getting interesting. I’ll do it.” he swung his legs off the bed, smiling. “It’s gonna cost you though.”

“That’s alright. You can collect it from Mary. I don’t know when I’ll be home. But watch your mouth if the kids are there.”

Ardant laughed as he slowly tried to stand up. “Don’t worry. I wanna get paid. Where’s Gonzalez?”

“They brought him in. I’m stewing him. I have a few other people to question plus the docks. After that, I’ll try to crack him.”

“Fair warning. He’s a disgusting man.”

“Still keeping your ear to the ground, I see.”

“Oh yeah. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Be careful.” And with that, Ardant cut off the stream of maya to the crystal.

When he tried to take a step, a wave of vertigo hit him. And he clutched the nightstand hard.

“Fuck... ” he groaned out.

XXXX

Clanstine Park, in the heart of West Gallahart, was built around Lake Clanstine. The lake was quite big and home to all sorts of creatures, whether it be ducks, humongous Koi Fish or mystical birds, that visited during migration season. Genevieve Franko spent her evenings in this park. Gazing out over the lake. Watching the beasts.

When she set out for the park in her carriage today neither she nor the coachman, noticed a figure atop the Franko Residence. Draped in a cloak and disappearing into the darkening sky, the figure was staring at her as she boarded the carriage. A figure that, when the carriage began to move, leapt off the mansion and floated over to the next one, following the carriage.

The roads were congested in the evenings with people travelling to different establishments to spend the rest of their day – Theatres, Opera Houses, Gentlemen’s Clubs and Grand Hotel Restaurants. So Genevieve Franko’s carriage had to stall multiple times throughout the journey, at different Crystal Semaphores.

And each time it did, the figure stopped too, on whatever rooftop they were on. They leaned over the parapet, and extended their hand out of the cloak and released a minuscule amount of maya. Just enough to keep it hidden among all the different crystals that littered the streets of West Gallahart. Then they wove the maya into electricity right before it struck the horses’ forelegs. And the horses kept getting more and more unruly.

“Sorry for the trouble, girls.” the man whispered this time, before jumping off the rooftop. “I’ll make it up to you beauties.”

The carriage had started to move again, and the man Pulled on the air around him, spreading his hands and heaving them upwards. The air responded and surged him up with violent force. Then he thrust his arms forwards, as if hurling the air itself. And once more the air responded. It propelled him forwards and the man soared onto the next rooftop, cloak billowing in the wind. All the while, he kept Pulling on the air, coalescing it around him to soften his landing.

And so the man flew after the carriage, while Shaping the Air. His reserves weren’t completely full, but they were steadily holding on, even through the journey.

As the carriage neared Clanstine Park, it made its final stop at the Crystal Semaphore right before the entrance. This time, the figure did not rile up the horses. Instead he jumped past the Semaphore Junction, crossing the street-wide gap, onto the rooftop on the other side.

Then the figure jumped off the building into the well-lit alley, assured that no one in West Gallahart would lurk in an alley. As he descended, he Pulled the air to tightly coalesce around him and provide an up-draft, reducing his velocity and softening the impact. He landed gracefully and in one sweeping motion pulled off his cloak and flung it onto the ground.

And Ardant stood dressed in a striking white tailcoat, equally striking and white trousers, white boots polished to a shine, a gray shirt, white gloves and a black bow tie. To top it all off, he had a pink ivory wood evening cane that he swung about as he walked out of the alley.

XXXX

Genevieve’s carriage came to a stop a little distance past the Park’s entrance, where the carriages were supposed to park. The coachman dismounted and opened the carriage door for her. She daintily stepped down from the carriage, still a little distracted and annoyed from everything that had happened today. And now even her prized horses were getting unruly, huffing and neighing.

What pulled her out of her thoughts, as she made ready to proceed towards the entrance, was a ridiculously dressed man in almost complete white, swinging his pink cane, walking towards her.

Before she could dismiss the coachman standing beside her, or before she could tear her eyes off the absurd man, the horses reared up, shrieking loudly.

All three of their gazes, even the absurd man’s, snapped to the horses. The coachman was as stunned as she was. Her eyes flicked to the absurd man, and he seemed as surprised as them, even fearful. He stood there, in a comical wide legged stance, frozen.

Once again the horses reared up, shrieked even louder. Genevieve wanted to intervene but it was as if the sheer incredulity of the situation had stolen her voice.

The horses were clearly looking at the man now. In response, the man slowly started to back away, still maintaining that ridiculous wide legged stance.

And then the unthinkable happened. The horses charged at the man. The man stood there, distraught as death, in it’s form as a carriage from hell, rapidly approached him.

“Move!” the shout came unbidden from Genevieve.

As if commanded by her voice, the man jumped aside at the very last moment, falling on the filthy street and she heard the high pitched scream of, “Oh Mon Dieu!” in a thick Montclarian accent.

The man had just narrowly dodged the carriage and was lying in the street perhaps injured. Genevieve ran to the man to check on him and the coachman ran to the carriage to calm the horses.

When Genevieve got close to the man’s prone figure, she saw his impeccable attire completely soiled, covered in mud and grime. She knew it was deeply improper, but it was getting more and more difficult to hold in her laughter the longer this went on.

The man turned over on his back, still lying in the street, to look at her, “This is what is wrong with you Eridanians,” he began in that thick Montclarian accent and high pitched voice, “you–you–you use those beasts, those canassons, as transportations! And–”

Before he could continue any further, Genevieve interjected, “Sir! Good Sir! I apologise! I am–” she desperately suppressed a laugh that almost escaped her.

And the Montclarian gentleman took that opportunity, “Yes! Yes! My–my détresse, my plight, is–is funny to you! La comédie! Mon Dieu you people are heartless! Monstrueux!”

“No! No, good sir!” Genevieve tried to save face, “I did not mean to laugh at all. Please. Please, get up. I can fix your clothes, sir. It requires but one Weave. I implore you – get up. It’s just that your choice of attire, it–it momentarily made me lose my good sense. It will not happen again.”

As the man started to get up, Genevieve motioned for the coachman to park the carriage.

“Oh! Now you attack my fashion! Why mademoiselle?! Why?!” the man looked at her as if she’d gravely wounded him, as he was patting his clothes down.

“I assure you, sir. That is not what I meant. Just–Just hold on for a moment.” she tried to steady him, but decided she’d rather not touch his muddied form.

When he stood steady at last, he asked, “Well? What Weave?”

Instead of responding, Genevieve raised her right hand and Pulled on the Earth in his attire. The grime, the soil, the mud and who knows what else that had permeated his suit, responded – Like an avalanche they came pouring out.

The result was obviously not what she’d hoped. He was still wet. And no matter what she Weaved, she had never formally learnt to Shape Earth. So a white tailcoat like that would not be clean until it had been thoroughly laundered. The lustre was no longer there. And it still held little specks of... something.

She wondered if she should try to Weave a little Heat to dry his clothes.

“Hmph!” the man scoffed. “So much for your talk of Weaving, mademoiselle!”

Then in a flourish, after swinging his cane once, he Pulled on the Earth in his clothes. And to Genevieve’s shock, it regained its former shine – even his white boots.

Her mouth was about to hang open when she regained her composure and uneasily offered, “It’s still wet. Would you like me to... ?”

“No, mademoiselle. I thank you, but that would be dangerous. I am hardy.” he straightened up suddenly, puffing himself up, and Genevieve wanted to laugh once again. “I can handle a few wet clothes without falling ill! And if I don’t I simply wasn’t strong enough.” he finished gravely.

“Bonsoir, mademoiselle!” he declared and walked off towards the entrance to Clanstine Park with pomp in his step. Wildly swinging his cane.

Genevieve had no choice but to follow him, as they were both probably going to the Park. But once he was far enough away, a sound bubbled out of her. A sound she had forgotten she could make.

Genevieve Franko giggled.