Meister of the Secret
The Tijervyn Chronicles: Volume Two
Chapter Eleven

story by
Richard Fife

art by
April Herron

Chapter Eleven: “The Secret”

Jasyn walked out onto the catwalk and into the millhouse proper, pausing to adjust the satchel he wore over his shoulder. The giant waterwheels churned the river far below into a white and brown froth, and the great turbines attached to them hummed with such intensity that he could not even hear what must be a cacophony below.

Pride swelled in his chest at the sight of the turbines and the various meisters that worked around them, as well it should. He was the Master of the Millhouse, equal to a master meister in station if not technical rank. Not that he ever aspired to a master meister anyway. No, a master meister would never be allowed to be the Master of the Millhouse. It was a lowly job meant for a Meister First Class, despite the authority it bore, and he could not stand to be parted from the waterwheels and turbines.

One might think that Jasyn had actually designed the machinery, but that was actually far from the truth. Never in his dreams had he even thought of such a colossal undertaking, a machine larger than an entire factory. No, that had been Tesma’s dream, along with the entire complex. He must have drawn up the designs even before he was elected High Meister, for it was not even a week after his raising that he unveiled the plans for the new Meisters’ Guild. And it had fallen by happenstance to Jasyn to build the millhouse.

He had relished the task. It was the reason he had never sought higher office, despite being older and more skilled than many who had continued up the ranks. If he let them put a master’s bracer on him, he would be expected to design the machinery, and perhaps even oversee the manufacture or maintenance, but he would not be able to put his hands on it directly ever again. Such work was below a master.

He paused and rubbed a hand across one of the control consoles much as a parent might caress their child’s cheek. He then glanced back and noticed he had gathered a small following. As he walked along the catwalk, novices, juniors, and meisters alike had conveniently found a place to set aside their work and walk along behind him. He looked further down the catwalk, and more were walking towards him. No, not towards him, but towards where he walked.

Near the center of the millhouse, on a platform situated between two turbines, a scrawny junior meister was working on a console, so absorbed in his task that he did not see the several dozen people converging on him. Jasyn reached the platform first and waited patiently while the others filed in silently behind him to form a rough semicircle around the console.

“Junior Meister Torbit Cennet,” Jasyn said. “You are called forth.”

Torbit slowly pulled himself out from under the console and stood up. He looked at the crowd then stepped forward. “I come, Master Meister.”

Jasyn smiled slightly. It amused him that he was technically entitled to that appellation despite his actual rank. He walked forward and stood next to Torbit, facing him.

“Your bracer, Junior Meister.”

Torbit licked his lips and quickly undid the buckles that held is bracer in place on his left forearm. He handed the bracer over, and Jasyn took it.

“A junior meister is barely more than a novice,” Jasyn said. “They are given only the slightest of leeway to pursue their own designs, and are expected to still study under the masters and obey the meisters. They are not trusted to even instruct novices except in the most rudimentary of fields. You, Torbit Cennet, are a junior meister.”

“Yes I am,” he said.

“Have you pursued your own designs?”

“Yes, Master Meister.”

“Have you learned from your masters?”

He swallowed hard. “Yes, Master Meister.”

“Have you obeyed your meisters?”

“Yes, Master Meister.”

“And have you instructed our novices, so that our knowledge may pass on to future generations?”

“Yes, Master Meister.”

Jasyn nodded then reached into his satchel and pulled out another bracer. To call it new would be a lie. It was old and broken in, although the embossed sigil of rank was still as clear as if it had been tooled yesterday. It had been Jasyn’s own bracer, once, long ago. He had spent half the night looking for it amongst his old things.

“A full meister has come into his own,” he said. “He may teach novices unaided, and he will have time for his own projects. He will have command over junior meisters, and the masters will respect his opinion. Do you accept this responsibility, Torbit Cennet?”

Torbit took a deep breath. “Yes, Master Meister.”

“How do you accept it?”

“With honor and humility.”

“Why do you accept it?”

“To support the guild and strive towards knowledge.”

“Where do you accept it?”

“Here and now, in the presence of meisters.”

“Then Junior Meister you are no longer.” Jasyn affixed the bracer on Torbit’s arm and turned towards the crowd. “All assembled, hear my words. I am Meister First Class Jasyn Hares, Master of the Millhouse, and under the authority granted unto me by High Meister Tesma Barak, I hereby raise Torbit Cennet to Meister Third Class and confer unto him all the rights, privileges, and responsibilities therein pertained.” He turned back to Torbit and offered his hand. “Well met, Meister Cennet.”

Torbit shook it then hugged Jasyn besides. Once Jasyn managed to pull away, it was Torbit’s turn to be overwhelmed as the gathered meisters crowded him to offer their congratulations. The sight was bitter sweet, for Jasyn remembered another time he had performed this ceremony. That time, nearly ten years ago, was for Qristina. He idly wondered if Torbit would rise as far as she had one day.

The celebration and cheering suddenly was cut short as an explosion rocked the catwalk. Jasyn held onto a railing to keep his feet and looked down the line, back towards the offices on the far wall. The orange flicker of fire competed with the yellow-white glow of the lights, although those were now suddenly flickering.

“Explosion on the number four turbine,” someone shouted.

“Pull the drive shafts!” Jasyn ran over to a console as he noticed the noise in the Millhouse had changed. He could hear a new strain on all the turbines, and sure enough, he saw the gauges showing the others were nearly ready to explode as well. “Hard stop, all turbines!”

Meisters ran to carry out the orders, and Jasyn watched as the gauges continued to peek into the red until, with a shuttering sigh, the turbines began to spin down and the needles dropped. The larger disaster averted, he ran down to the number four turbine.

The lights above failed as he ran, and backup systems lit emergency gas lamps using small reserves of stored charge. Those had actually been one of the few designs of Jasyn’s own innovation. He remembered Tesma scoffing the need for an emergency system, but Jasyn had argued vehemently for them, and the man had finally acquiesced, if for no reason than to quiet Jasyn.

At the turbine, several meisters were pointing the nozzles of fire extinguishers at the flaming turbine. Jasyn motioned for more meisters to come down and bring their own extinguishers from the other turbines, and in a matter of moments, the fire was under control, although it took a full two minutes before they had it fully died.

“Troena above,” he said.

The turbine was blackened from the fire, and metal twisted away from a large whole in the side of the enclosure where one of the couplings had fed up to the wiring above them. He stroked his goatee as he looked at it, then glanced over his shoulder when he heard several of the men around him politely coughing.

Qristina stormed down the catwalk and marched right up to him.

“Jasyn,” she said. “What happened? Why are the turbines down?”

“Looks like a coupling failed in a rather spectacular way,” he said. “Blew number four, and the feedback nearly blew the other three. Had to hard kill them all.”

“Well, turn them back on,” she said.

He shrugged. “Can’t.”

“And why not?”

He smiled and looked at Torbit. “Meister Cennet, can you tell me why we cannot simply turn the other three turbines back on?”

Torbit blanched when Qristina’s gaze fell on him, and again when her eyes flicked to his new bracer, but he managed to answer. “If we did that, Master Meister, we might risk blowing them again. The feedback might be off the wires, but it could have caused damage in the turbines. We’ll need to thoroughly check them before we can re-engage their drive shafts.”

Qristina narrowed her eyes. “And how long will that take?”

“Several hours at the least,” Jasyn said. “Of course, if you want to risk blowing them all, we can go ahead and turn them on. But, a word of warning, it’s going to be weeks before number four here is back up and running. Do you want to risk having two turbines, let alone all four, down for that long? Surely your father understands and can wait a few hours.”

She frowned. “Do not forget that the city also is without power, but very well. Verify the other turbines, and make it quick. I will go inform the High Meister.” She turned to leave then paused as her eyes fell on Torbit again. “Congratulations Meister. It seems your first day will allow you to truly prove that you deserve to wear that bracer.”

She left, and Jasyn sighed and turned to his crew. “Okay, people, you heard the lady. The city is counting on us. Let’s get these turbines back up and running.”

He started to count them off into teams and assign them tasks, but he continued to steal glances at the damaged turbine right in front of him. He longed to start digging into it himself, to find exactly what was damaged so he could begin fabricating replacement parts, but no. Even though he was only a Meister First Class, he was the Master of the Millhouse, and his job now was to get the other three turbines back up. It felt like leaving an open wound in his own body, but Number Four would have to just wait.

* * *

Qristina thumbed through the report Jasyn had given her. She could not say she liked what it said, but at least the lights were back on. It had taken four hours, during which she had written by gaslight nearly a dozen letters to people that would be looking for a reason that their supposedly uninterrupted power had faltered. She was glad she kept the explanation vague, because Jasyn had barely given anything better, even after having hours to study the wrecked turbine.

“A failed and worn coupling,” Jesie said. “Due to an inadequate maintenance schedule and not enough cycled downtime.”

“Sounds like he’s trying to blame us,” Qristina said. “Saying we’re making him run the turbines too much.”

“Lesser meisters always seek to blame their betters,” he said. “Although, one can hardly argue with that.”

She frowned and looked up from the report to the table. They were in her father’s office, where he had summoned both her and Jesie to give their opinions of Jasyn’s report. In addition to the report, Jasyn had also sent up the ruined remains of the failed coupling, or so he claimed. Now it looked like nothing more than a melted lump of copper.

“And what do you mean you cannot argue with it?” Qristina said. “Yes, the coupling failed, but this slag does not impart the why of it. Those knuckle-draggers down in the millhouse were likely just derelict in the required maintenance or perhaps too incompetent to perform it in the downtime they were given.”

“As I said, lesser meisters do love to blame their betters for their own inadequacies.”

His tone and knowing look made Qristina want to find the nearest shockrod and use it on him. Why had her father insisted on Jesie being present? She knew the answer; he was coming to depend on him as much as her.

Tesma had been sitting quietly in his chair, slowly spinning a copper spike around in his hands. He stood now and walked over to the table, where he put the spike down and laid a hand on the blackened metal lump.

“You believe the report, Master Smyth?” Tesma said.

“I believe Jasyn thinks it is true,” he said. “Although I am, strangely, apt to believe Qristina, not that I am an expert on turbines. They have been running fine for years on their maintenance schedule. There was a dereliction of some sort, I’d wager.”

“Whether dereliction or a fault of the system,” Tesma said. “Either is what we are meant to believe. The truth, I’m afraid, is neither.”

Qristina looked at the metal thoughtfully. “If it wasn’t neglect or an inadequate schedule, then . . . .”

“Sabotage?” Jesie said. “High Meister, are you implying someone meant for the turbine to explode?”

“At the time of the explosion, I was in the middle of a delicate and power intensive operation,” Tesma said. “The power fluctuation not only interrupted my work, but destroyed much of what I had spent the last months constructing.”

Tesma glanced over to his workbench, where Qristina now noticed several devices with long copper wires sprouting out and connecting into the wiring along the wall. He then looked back to the ruined coupling in front of him, put his other hand on it, and closed his eyes.

“Father?”

“Be quite, daughter,” he said.

They all stood in awkward silence for several minutes as Tesma titled his head, as if listening to something. He then pulled his hands away from the metal and opened his eyes.

“Yes, sabotage,” he said. “Fairly simple, at that. Someone washed the coupling in acid, corroding its integrity and setting the stage for the explosion. Now, the question is, who?”

“Torbit,” Jesie said. “I never did agree with him being allowed to stay in the guild, not after that business with his brother, Lector.”

“The explosion happened during Torbit’s raising ceremony to full meister,” Qristina said.

“No doubt timed that way,” Jesie said. “Who would suspect a man who was being promoted to commit such malfeasance?”

“You give the boy too much credit,” Qristina said. “I could see him being competent enough to use the acid, but not to time it to overload during his ceremony. I say Jasyn did it.”

“That is a serious charge against the Master of the Millhouse,” Tesma said. “Especially since Jasyn views those turbines as his children. No, he would not harm one, especially when he does not even have a connection with the rebels. Remember, daughter, he supported my rise to High Meister.”

“Interpreting the bylaws to mean you were eligible for election, which they clearly statef, and supporting you are two different things,” she said. “I don’t trust him, father.”

“I do,” Tesma said. “Cennet, on the other hand, I do not. Jesie, search Torbit’s quarters. See if there is anything to link him to this. If there is, ensure our young saboteur cannot further harm the guild.”

Jesie smiled. “By your leave, High Meister.”

He left, and Tesma turned back to his workbench, dismissing Qristina with his body language if not words. She waited for the door to close behind Jesie then took several steps towards the workbench.

“Father, I hoped I might speak with you on a different topic.”

“I am rather busy, daughter,” he said.

“As often you are,” she said. “So much so that most of the administration of the Guild has fallen to me, and still I barely see you. Please, grant me some few moments.”

He looked back at her with pursed lips, but nodded. “What is it you wish to speak of, daughter?”

“How did you know the coupling was sabotaged with acid?”

He smiled slightly. “It told me.”

“You mean the Secret?” she said. “What is it, father? What is the Secret?”

He shook his head. “Either you know the Secret or you do not, daughter. It cannot be told.”

She took a breath and licked her lips. She was about to enter dangerous territory, and she honestly had no clue what to expect.

“Quintin teaches the Secret of Silver in Adervyn.”

Tesma’s eyes hardened, and he turned away from her. “You may leave, daughter.”

“And those he teaches can teach others,” she said. “Dozens if not hundreds of meisters have been taught the Secret of Silver.”

Tesma spun back around with a strange fire in his eyes. “Liars and pretenders! They have been taught one aspect of the Secret. An application at best. Quintin, the fool that he was, thought he could teach the Secret, and all he managed to do was create an army of monstrosities.”

“Then what is the Secret?” she said. “If it isn’t the ability to create revenants, what is it?”

“The Secret of Silver is for Quintin,” Tesma said. “Yet, he has squandered it, refusing to embrace the full power in some foolish attempt to guide it. And he has the audacity, the impudence to accuse me of such hubris! He did not understand what it even was to guide the Secret. It is not to release it, but to hold it close.”

Qristina took a step back. She had never seen her father in such a rage. “But the Secret is just a technique. A clever man, once he finds something that uses it, would be able to figure it out for himself, would he not?”

Tesma sighed and shook his head. “Are you not listening to me, daughter? One either knows it or they do not.”

“You mean one can either hear it or they can not,” she said.

He hesitated and looked down at his hands. “You could say that.”

“Isam Netin did,” she said.

He snapped his eyes back up to her. “What?”

“Isam Netin,” she said. “I remember him, from when I was little. I found him not even a week ago. He said he could hear the Secret.”

Tesma took a slow step towards her. “Netin was here? In Tijervyn?”

“He has been for some time, I suspect,” she said. “He occupies a cell in the criminal wing of Hordin House, and he does seem to be quite raving mad. He thought I was you.”

“Hordin House?” Tesma said. “What were you doing there?”

“Guild business, such as it were,” she said.

Oddly, Tesma let that slide, and he walked back over to the table with the melted coupling. “Netin, you fool. We told you not to strive for too much, too soon.”

Qristina kept the table between them. “What Secret was his?”

“He sought a greater Secret than metal,” Tesma said. “He thought he could be as Ticho Brae, and he strived to know the Secret of the heavens themselves. I told him he was a fool, but he never did listen, even back then . . . .”

Back then. For her father, it meant only one thing: when she had been a child, and he had still been friends with Quintin. She swallowed and decided to try her luck once more.

“What really happened back then, father?”

He looked up, and calm came over his face much like a cloud covering the sun. “You asked after the nature of the Secret because of Netin, is that it? You are scared the same fate awaits me? Worry not, daughter. Netin was a fool, and he has reaped the fate reserved for such. His is not my lot.”

“Father—”

“I am sure you have more guild business to see to,” he said. “Good day, Master Meister.”

The formality stung more than the dismissal.

“Good day, High Meister.”

He already had his back to her before she had a chance to speak, and she let herself out, but not before she discreetly picked up the forgotten copper spike he had been idly playing with earlier and slipped it up her sleeve.

She paused at the door and curtseyed to him, even though his back was turned, and let herself out, careful not to slam the door and disturb him.

* * *

Tesma did not even notice Qristina’s departure, but when he looked up from his workbench she was gone. He nodded and looked back down at the equipment. The sabotage had truly set him back months on this particular project. He was not even entirely sure what he had been making, but such was the way of the Secret. You listened and tried to understand, but it was like trying to appreciate a fine painting through a soot-covered window at times.

He suspected the devices, small wire-wrapped rings, would have been useable in any number of applications, including perhaps weaponry, or at least defensive measures. Now they were fused pieces of slag, not entirely unlike the ruined coupler on the desk.

“Ruined,” he said. “Well enough, they were a dead end anyway. They aren’t the true Secret.”

He picked one up in distain, wondering if there were any salvageable parts, and a wave of nostalgia washed over him. Over twenty-five years ago, he had been in a room much like this, wondering the exact same thing. But not his lab, and not his Secret.

“So, he’s gone?” Netin said. “Just like that?”

“He was never known to stay in one place long,” Quintin said. “That he was here as long as he was is a near miracle, I suppose.”

Tesma put down the part he was holding, a complex spindle of gears and springs. He turned around and faced the four other men that were around a central table. Netin was a young man, not even in his mid twenties, and he looked all the younger standing next to Quintin, whose hair was already starting to show gray.

Next to Quintin, Charl, a man in a suit and stylish bowler cap, looked down at the table where four ingots of metal sat. “He was good to his word, though. He left us the final choice.”

“Some choice.” The fourth man, Faradi, crossed his arms. “Four Secrets for five meisters? What, are we supposed to draw straws?”

“The number is right,” Netin said. “You can have the metals. My Secret is not on this table.”

“You aren’t him, Netin,” Quintin said. “You could never hope to be.”

“Don’t patronize me, Quintin,” Netin said. “I know my destiny.”

Quintin looked at Netin and shook his head. “As you will.”

“Then I guess we should choose.” Charl reached forward and picked up an ingot. “For me, I think gold.”

“You’ll only pawn the ingot off to fund lesser projects,” Tesma said. “Don’t pretend you won’t.”

“What, you wanted gold, Tesma?” Faradi said.

“Hardly,” Tesma replied. “Did you?”

“Too soft,” Faradi said. “I think it’s the iron road for me.”

Faradi took the iron ingot, ignoring Tesma’s scoff. They both turned to Quintin, who was in turn looking at Tesma.

“Two left, old friend,” Quintin said. “What will it be?”

“We already know,” Tesma said. “The old man did not pick us by accident, nor did he leave these ingots by happenstance.”

They both reached out at the same time, Quintin for the bar of silver, Tesma for the copper. All five men stood silently for a moment, and then Netin coughed.

“So, what now?” he said.

“Now we go our separate ways,” Faradi said. “As he wanted us to.”

“But, what are we supposed to do?” Netin said. “With our Secret?”

“Release it,” Quintin said.

“Use it,” Tesma said at the same time. He then looked at Quintin. “Release it? Do you still really think that is what he wanted?”

“Of course,” Quintin said. “Why else teach us? He wants the Secret to find its destiny.”

“He taught us so we could find our destiny.” Tesma frowned. This was an old argument, one he had hoped was settled but knew, deep down, that it was not. “The Secret is only available to us select few for a reason! The rest of the world would destroy itself with this power.”

“The world is more capable than you give it credit for,” Quintin said. “And they will at least have the Secret of Silver.”

“Quintin, listen to yourself.” Tesma gestured vaguely towards a window. Outside, a bustling metropolis was completely unaware of what transpired in the old, run down building. “Given the power we have, the nations would destroy themselves. It would be a war untold that would make the fall of Gorlido look like a trifle. We don’t even fully know the Secret yet. Once we do, it will be our position to guide the people, not blithely give them what it has taken us decades to understand.”

Quintin looked at him with pain in his eyes. “You mean to rule them, Tesma? You are no king. We are meisters, servants.”

“We are Meisters of the Secret!” Tesma said. “We are above kings, Quintin. Only we can hear the Secret. That is no accident. That is fate.”

“It is temptation,” Quintin said. “And one I will avoid. We are to go our separate ways, and I can now see why. Good bye, brother.”

He stepped towards the door, and Tesma reached into his coat and pulled out a small, single-shot pistol he carried in his breast pocket. As he pulled the hammer back, Quintin stopped.

“Whoa,” Netin said. “Tesma, calm down.”

“What’re you doing?” Faradi said.

“I am protecting the Secret,” Tesma said. “It is our charge. Perhaps it was no mistake that there were five us, but only four ingots. The old man knew our hearts. His last words to me were to be strong. I didn’t understand then, but I do now.”

Quintin slowly turned around. “Do you? He never set himself up as a king, and he did not keep the Secret to himself. Do you truly think you understand him, brother?”

Tesma licked his lips and raised the pistol a little more, sighting it at Quintin’s heart. He was doing the right thing. He knew he was. He had loved Quintin like a brother, but he knew, even on the way here today, that he could not allow him to destroy the world with his foolishness. The door opened, and Tesma’s eyes tore away from Quintin to the woman walking in.

“I just heard—” She stopped and looked at the scene. “Tesma, what’s going on?”

He put his eyes back on Quintin. “Maari, where’s Qristina?”

“At school,” she said. “What’re you doing with that gun?”

“A difficult task,” he said. “But a necessary one.”

“Tesma,” Faradi said. “I don’t think—”

“Why don’t you go ask a priest, Faradi?” Tesma said. “I’m sure he’ll tell you what to think, for as much time as you spend in the church. And don’t even open your mouth, Charl. Your ego has no place in this. This is about the world, plain and simple. We are supposed to save it.”

“And I will,” Quintin said. “Just as he wanted us to.”

Maari licked her lips. “Tesma. Please. Put down the gun.”

“Maari, you don’t need to see this,” he said. “Go.”

Instead of leaving, she stepped in between Quintin and Tesma. “Tesma, husband, listen to me. Quintin is your friend. Put down the gun.”

Tesma let out a shuttering breath, but then lowered the pistol. Quintin nodded slowly then stepped towards the door, and Tesma screamed and brought the pistol back up. He pulled the trigger before he could think. It was a clear shot. That was all he had seen.

But, somehow, it was Maari who screamed and fell to the floor. The gun fell from Tesma’s hand, and he followed it, down next to Maari. A red stain was spreading across the front of her dress, and her sightless eyes looked up to the heavens.

He looked up, filled with rage, but Quintin was gone. The coward ran. He would have ran after, but Charl and Faradi held him back. That night, when Qristina, a child of only eight, asked where her mother was, Tesma did not know what to say beyond that she was dead. He never did tell her the truth, that he had shot her. Instead, he had blamed Quintin.

He was sitting on his throne. The ruined coils of wire were forgotten on his workbench, not that he cared. Instead, he looked out the large window on the other side of the room and tried to forget. No matter what he did, though, he could still feel the blood on his hands.

* * *

Jasyn stopped pulling at the twisted metal of the number four turbine and looked down the catwalk. Jesie was marching down it like an executioner to a beheading, and four guards trailed in his wake. They marched up to Jasyn, and he wiped his hands on a rag and met them.

“What’s this about, Jesie?”

Jesie smiled. “We are here to apprehend a saboteur and traitor to the guild.”

Jasyn did not let any emotion show on his face. He was too good for that, and Jesie would only enjoy it besides. “And who might that be?”

“Oh, I think you know who it is,” Jesie said. “And don’t try and make excuses.”

“Now, you listen here—”

“No, you listen,” Jesie said. “Your report may have said blameless negligence destroyed that coupling, but Tesma knows it was acid. Now bring Torbit out here, now.”

“I—wait, Torbit?”

“Yes Torbit,” Jesie said. “And don’t pretend you don’t know. If I had may way, I’d lock you up, too, but Tesma seems to think you had nothing to do with it.”

Jasyn wanted to say something, knew he had to say anything, but he could not put his thoughts in order. Torbit? Why did they ever think Torbit had done it? Before Jasyn could reason it out, Jesie pushed passed him.

“There he is,” Jesie said. “Guards!”

The guards rushed passed, and Jasyn turned around to see them seizing a very surprised Torbit, who had just pulled himself out from under the turbine. They dragged him back to Jesie, who pulled out several folios from his satchel.

“Torbit Cennet, are these folios yours?”

Torbit looked at the folios in confusion. “Where’d you get those?”

“From your room,” Jessie said. “And, inside these folios are detailed schematics of the turbines, including notes on the stress levels on the coupling. Cennet, did you know about the weakened state of the coupling?”

“Well, I, um, noticed that, well—”

“Noticed that your sabotage was progressing as you wished it?” Jesie said. “That the explosion would happen during your raising ceremony, throwing initial suspicion off you? After all, who would rig a catastrophe to happen during their own moment of glory, yes?”

“What?” Torbit struggled a bit against the guards, but they were rather larger than him. “No!”

“Jesie, this is circumstantial evidence,” Jasyn said. “You can’t do this, not in my millhouse!”

“Tesma’s millhouse,” Jesie said. “The Guild’s millhouse. And it is Tesma and the Guild that wills this.”

He gestured to the guards, and they pulled Torbit’s bracer off and threw it to the ground. They then bound his hands behind his back. Torbit continued to try and struggle, but it did no good.

Jesie looked Torbit in the eye with a smile. “Torbit Cennet, you are hereby charged with sabotage and treachery under the Meisters’ Guild Bylaws. You are stripped of rank and sentenced to three months in the cells, after which you will be expelled from the guild and put on a ship away from Sentat.” He turned to the guards. “Bring him.”

Jasyn wanted to scream. He wanted to prove Jesie wrong, but he did not. What good would admitting it was him that had put acid on the coupling do? What good to admit that he had known of Tesma’s project because he had been spying on the High Meister? Nothing. That was all the good it would do.

He picked up the discarded bracer. Once his, now his again. He wanted to scream over the injustice, but instead he put the bracer in his satchel and turned to his crew, who were all starting, slack jawed.

“Get back to work,” he said. “This turbine won’t fix itself.”

* * *

Qristina tried to concentrate on the report in front of her, but her mind continued to wonder. She looked up at the clock and realized it had been nearly a half hour since she had made a notation. At least it was finally sufficiently late that she could stop trying. She stood up and went out into the antechamber, where a novice was sitting at a desk, studying a book on mathematics.

“That will be all, today,” Qristina said. “I think you’ll find you can study better down in the library or your own quarters.”

The novice blushed and stood up. “I’m sorry, Master Meister. I didn’t mean—”

“You aren’t in trouble, novice,” she said. “You are simply excused for the day.”

The novice looked up, confused. “Ah, shall I send someone else up, Master Meister?”

“No, I can make due, thank you.”

The novice bowed and hurried out of the chamber, and Qristina walked back into her office, locking the door on her way. She stared at her desk for a moment, then took a deep breath and sat back down. From a drawer, she pulled out the stolen copper spike.

It was about the length of her hand, sharp on one end and not much thicker round that her thumb at the other. She had seen her father touching its like often these past few months. Could he really . . . ?

She picked up the spike, tip in one hand and base in the other, and closed her eyes. She felt foolish, like she was trying to be some street magician who might actually believe in his own charlatanry. The Secret was simply hard to understand science. That was it. Quintin had taught silver, and once her father discovered the true Secret of Copper, he would be able to teach the other meisters.

Then she heard something. It was like a murmur in the distance, as if someone was whispering outside her door. But, it did not come from the door. It did not come from anywhere. Truth told, she was not even sure she actually heard it. As the murmur continued, she came to understand the copper in her hand. It was becoming a part of her. And, all its secrets could be hers, its Secret could be hers, if she would only—

She dropped the spike and opened her eyes. The moment the metal left her hands, the murmur stopped. She licked her lips and swallowed.

“I can hear the Secret.”

She had suspected, she realized, for some time. This was not the first time she had touched copper and seemed to just know how to use it. When she had completed the shockshield after her father had forsaken it as a doomed project, she had heard it then, too. But now, saying it aloud somehow made it all the more real.

“I can hear the Secret.” She felt tears roll down her face. “Troena help me, I’m a Meister of the Secret.”