July 20 / Hierschtan 28
Elspith and Dobsen were silent after watching the video Alboim had shown them on his ‘micro comp’. The foreign words felt odd in her mind as Elspith considered the implications. “So you claim to understand and can manipulate lightning.” She said dubiously.
They were in his day room, a concession to his sprained ankle, currently propped up on a footstool before him. The hand hurt like a sonofabitch, but the healing circles worked. Two days later, it looked like the lightning burn had happened two weeks ago. Alboim devoutly hoped he could go without the cane by tomorrow or the day after.
“That is beyond anything magic can do.” Dobsen added. “Lightning is God’s wrath, and many will object to trying to prevent it.”
Alboim shook his head, no. “If you were to look at the data, you would see exactly what I told you. Lightning most often hits tall, pointed buildings, not ones lower down. They hit metal structures like bridges more often than stone, stone more often than wood, or sod. Do you have sod buildings here?” he asked. “Never mind. It's not important to the conversation.” He leaned back in his chair, sipping his switchel.
“Metal bridges? Preposterous!” Dobsen scoffed. “It would take years to make that much iron, and it would rust immediately.”
“If this works, I can research the Bessemer process and stainless steel. Something about adding… nickel, was it? I dunno, but I am sure it is on the data cube. I swear, Mom and Dad packed the Library of Congress on that thing.”
“And there is the cost of what you are proposing. Yes, I can get the metal, have the spikes and chains made, but this is a lot of money we’re talking about. Hundreds of gold marks at least.”
“And how much will what you spend on the repairs cost you? What about the loss of lives, the injuries? Seventeen people were badly injured two days ago, and one of them died! How much is the lives of your subjects worth?” Alboim countered.
“Death is the only certainty in life. We can rebuild and replace those lost. We will mourn them, but life must go on.” Dobsen pushed back.
“A fatalistic response if I have ever heard one.”
“The Lady will look like a fool if she expends this amount of labor and treasure and it fails. Her position is stable right now, but a major loss or two could undermine half a decade of progress.”
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“Then put the blame on me. It is my idea, and my aunt is merely humoring the foolish whims of her other-worlder nephew.” Alboim offered. “The people already know how well the horse collars work, and they accepted the four-crop system without opposition. Sure, that hasn’t had definitive results yet, but it was accepted without question.”
“If the lightning rods work, I am the savior once again, if it fails, I am the fool who wasted five hundred marks on a whim.”
Elspith closed her eyes as the debate went on. The expense against the cost of future repairs. The potential profits, versus the other uses all that metal could go to. In the end, what decided it for her was a simple realization. Alboim cares about the people in this world, and genuinely wants to make their lives better. The horse collars, the four-crop rotation, these lightning rods. All of these are tiny little threads holding him to Barugala and Brantle. Unlike before, he cares enough about our world to put effort into helping us.
None, by themselves, could possibly hold him here, but enough connections to this world could convince him to return here to guide her people into a new golden age founded on his technology. The few things he’d shared already promised a technological revolution. Why not encourage it, ride the dragon, and hope for the best?
“Very well, Alboim. I will instruct my blacksmiths to make the spikes and chains. If it prevents another disaster, it will be worth it.” And another thread tying you to this world is even better.
~*** *** ***~
July 21 / Hierschtan 29
“There is one last thing to consider, Granduncle. Thiago, Count of Balu, said. “A report from Countess Elspith of Brantle. And an ally of the queen. If I can knock her down a peg, I tie myself that much closer to the king and the crown, once he passes. The king had no male heir of his loins. Only his young daughter stood in his way. But Tasia was a formidable foe and worked for her daughter’s future.
“What does that damned woman want this time?” he snapped, already tired of this overlong meeting. The summer breeze did little to cool the room, or King Elaboim’s temper. “I never should have let you talk me into letting her search for her brother.” This last to Tasia, the queen consort. Other than slaves, the three were alone.
“She was, and is, the best we have, Majesty.” she replied cooly. That and the withering glance she shot at Thiago were the only cold things in the room.
“She claims that Arnulf and Brigid are dead, one and two years ago, respectively. She has, however, discovered their son, whom she wishes to adopt as her heir.”
“No. Brantle must pay. He is a traitor.” Spittle flew from the enraged king's mouth.
“Arnulf is with the Light, husband,” Tasia gently reminded him, “and is beyond our reach.”
“His son will answer. The crimes of Arnulf will not go unpunished.” he pronounced.
“Then, Granduncle, I will summon Elspith and this…” he checked his notes, “Alboim to Rolnburg to answer to you.” And yet another ally of the queen will fall; I will have the throne.
