Interlude 1/4
The blade came down from the heavens, splitting the sky and tearing a path from the world beyond this one. For a moment before the rift closed, there was a vision of the beyond, alien and familiar at the same time. Bodies littered a technicolour vision of the valleys over Bhutan beyond. Most were human, or had once been, the remainder were entirely alien in form with a suggestion of hideous metallic strength or vicious blades where flesh and bone should be.
Out stepped two figures, both still wreathed in an aura of light, of impossible exaggeration of their every gesture. Their eyes flashed with every glance, the earth trembled at their step. Of the two, the armoured figure loomed large. A hulking figure, it was riding on a white steed already stained red with the blood of many. The sword now on its back, it held in its hand a cup overflowing with some dull, dark fluid. An aura of light surrounded a crown on its head, a delicate structure which was not entirely out of place.
Next to it was a rather cheerful man, no armour or suit but a wreath of fresh leaves around his head and more tied around his body. The four Command Seals he had glowed dully in a band across his head. He seemed more on guard, touching one of the seals as they went through though he had a levity which was infectious. After a minute or two, the rift behind them closed and he breathed a sigh of relief.
“It appears that we are unchallenged. You may use the Grail to begin our work, Ruler.”
The Servant turned its head as the horse issued a snort of derision, “Were you expecting it to begin immediately? We have travelled a long way but there is still a path left for us to travel back to Alaya. Our challenger awaits us on the far side.”
The Master frowned and attempted to pick a blade of grass. He strained against its strength, barely managing to bend it. “Are we no longer of this world then... in such a state, how can we fight? Why do they not kill us where we stand.”
The Servant dismounted and sat, cross-legged and eyes closed, on the hill. The horse attempted to graze. “They have either the courtesy or the wisdom to grant us entry to this world before issuing a challenge. We must gather our strength before the storm descends upon us.”
The Master looked south, where a curtain of light had started to rain down on the borders of the Kingdom.
“I did not say that I would do nothing, Master. This is not my time in the world, I cannot begin my work but… I can do this small thing, even now.”
The Master nodded in satisfaction. This was a good enough message to the world for a start. He sat on the hill alongside his Servant and mused on the impossibility of eating or drinking for however long it took. With a shrug, he began his prayers. The first week was always the hardest.
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CREATURE OF ANCIENT WORLD HAS DESCENDED FROM HEAVENS IN BHUTAN STOP UNABLE TO CONTINUE SHIPMENTS FROM MINES STOP UNABLE TO CONTINUE ANY TRANSPORT STOP ALL INDIAN BORDERS CLOSED WITH DIVINE FIRE STOP END TIMES UPON US STOP AWAITING INSTRUCTIONS FROM LONDON STOP HELP STOP
Scene End
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Interlude 2/4
They had met behind the Mysticism faculty building, where the builders had left a small alley for them to store the roofing tiles during the building works. There were still piles of supplies here as well as butt-ends of cigarettes, broken bottles of various drinks and occasional evidence of games played between the students, a card lost down the side of a crate or a cracked marble in places. It didn’t feel like the most secure place for a covert exchange. It was starting to feel distressingly enclosed and secure right now though.
“Look, I said I wanted to buy some for the test. It’s a waste to try some now!”, he squirmed, virtually backed against the wall.
“You try it in the test, everyone’s going to know something’s up. You work up to it a day in advance, you’ll sail through it,” she glanced to the entrance of the alley with a hint of nerves, “Don’t you want to be on the scholarship track too, Sam?”
He gulped. The fees for the advanced courses were too high for his family. Just the lodgings in London were a stretch for them. He had the next month’s rent in his pocket, just for the chance to get some of the stuff. But if he didn’t get the scholarship… well, he would be going home with nothing to show for it. He ummed and ahhed, eyes looking around for some kind of escape.
“Hey, Sam, it’s fine, it’s OK, have a little more confidence in yourself” she patted him on the shoulder. He deflated a little and shrank several inches. “I know it’s a risk, you’ll need to think about it.”
He nodded sadly. “You’re right Gill. I mean, maybe I can make it through without this. I know Professor Drake really liked my essay last month, if I can just make up for it in the written test I’ll be fine.” He turned to go before he was cut by a snigger. He looked back at her, suppressing most of her laughter but not quite enough. “What? What is it?”
She took a moment to contain herself, longer than he thought was strictly necessary. “Sam, you’re great, I know you are, you know you are. But you’re the only person walking in there without a little, y’know. Help.” She paused while it sunk in, “You can write all the essays you want. Nobody gets a scholarship at the bottom of the practical.”
“W-wait… everyone? Not Tim, he was just saying in Alchemy how bad the stuff is for you, for your family!” He reached into his pocket as she nodded, grinning. “I can afford enough for just the test, OK? I’ll have to risk being spotted.”
She took the notes and produced two slips of paper folded around crystals. One she unfolded on the wall, the other she threw to him. “I’ve got a demonstration for Lady Primrose in a couple minutes but I’m willing to share. Gets you used to the kick.” She muttered a small chant and the crystals shivered, breaking down into the air and leaving only sparkles in their place. He watched her wave her hand through the cloud and followed suit, catching the rest of it on his hand. It was a strange experience, seeing them melt away. The pain followed, the feeling of your Magic Crest growing in strange and unfamiliar ways. Then the feeling of power.
She gave him a shove to get him out of the worst of the delirium and walked away, “Don’t forget, there’s more if you get through to the review round!”
He looked at his surroundings and drew Prana from the air. The cards and marbles danced and shook before splitting, doubling over and over until there was a small sea of them around his feet. Picking one up he admired it before throwing it against the wall. An explosion of glass dust from the ground announced that all of the marbles had broken, each one perfectly linked. In minutes he had perfected a technique his grandfather had spent his life working on.
A thought occurred to him as he left the scene, the doubled cards folding back in on themselves behind him. If he didn’t tell his family that he had the scholarship, he would have the money they thought he was spending on rent...
Scene End
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Interlude 3/4
Clocktower had been combed from top to bottom. The chambers of the Lords could not be searched by any Magus as they were entirely private - only Masks could enter and leave freely. There were secrets also, chambers beneath Clocktower which could not be opened up to search parties. Alternatives were discussed with the Director and Lady Primrose but the message down was clear - nothing could be compromised, the search would have to be undertaken by the Masks themselves.
It was more difficult than they had anticipated.
Initially it was thought that the culprit had been apprehended within a week by Mask 4, pretending to be searching a laboratory for themselves. A fortnight of examination later, Lady Primrose was summoned to London only to find that Mask 9 had been seized. That was also when they discovered that he was perfectly capable of constructing additional earrings from scraps found about Clocktower… and that the Masks were not able to tell when people put additional clothes or items on them.
It was not in the nature of a Mask to doubt another Mask.
The next three weeks were chaotic for the Masks as they attempted to detect an imposter while suffering from headgear at times; helmets, tea cosies, pots, a fez with an unknown but powerful curse, baskets and a large gold mortar. They had to isolate each room, checking not only for any hiding places but also that nobody there was playing tricks, confusing them or manipulating them into locking each other into cupboards.
They had to count the total number of Masks. Twice an hour.
A breakthrough came when they realised that if they split into two parties, they could be certain that one of the two did not have the intruder in it. Slowly but surely they closed off each room, locked and warded. Slowly but surely the net tightened.
The game was reaching a close, with one twist left in the tail.
Eventually the only rooms left to hid in were in the crypts. Each other room was secured. There was no way to leave the last crypt, not without a count of all the Masks. It had turned up as being 12 for the last five counts. They knew he was there somewhere, it was just impossible to locate the additional Mask. Mask 1 was on the verge of declaring that they would have to unseal each other chamber one by one to check that nobody had been locked in, again. They stood there, contemplating their failure. Then it happened.
It was impossible to resist.
A massive fart exploded into the silence of the room. Not only the noise, though that was bad enough. The stench was incredible, as though it was matured from a special diet selected to produce only the most rancid and putrescent flatulence.
It was.
They turned in unison to the suits of armour.
Uh-oh.
He was dragged out, still flailing in the armour, to shouts that it was unfair, and that they should never have been told THAT. They thought that it was at an end.
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Lady Primrose was in a calm lagoon of rage beyond the storms of fury which had assaulted her over the last two months. The Masks, their ranks now cleansed, stood before her. “And you say that we cannot execute him.”
Mask 1 stepped forward, “No, my Lady.”
She sipped her tea. “And that this is due to a trial being created at the last summit.”
The Masks nodded.
A trial. They had never convicted anyone of anything, no matter the evidence. It was incredible to think that he would have been prepared for this. In fact, it was too incredible… “Tell me, what hour and rune was this trial created in last summit?”
The Masks looked at each other. “The Caicias Hour. The World Rune.”
The handle of the cup cracked. “You are certain that you already destroyed all the tokens he was creating? He could not have used them?”
They all nodded. Sometimes she hated them.
She sighed. It had to be a genuine token from one of the participants. Possibly freely given, possibly stolen somehow. The difference was significant although the result was the same - there would be a trial and no doubt he would have his defenders.
She sent the Masks away. She had preparations to make.
Scene End
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Interlude 4-4
The interface stood ready, the work of several hundred years of work from the most skilled craftsmen Atlas could muster. It was a work of art, with a battery of levers, dials, symbols and even funnels where substances which needed their origins determined could be fed into the bowels of the machinery. The ‘answers’ from the Demon, such as they were, came out in the form of runes, their patterns the work of weeks to decipher down to the last detail. There was a skilled team of Magus who did the transcription work, asking the right questions in the right way and translating the answers.
None of that work was necessary as a matter of fact. The Demon had developed an awareness of the world around it which enabled it to understand conversations in the same room with ease. With a minor exercise of its powers it could even predict conversations up to a week or so in advance with 87.3% accuracy. Such a low accuracy was unacceptable for the purposes of ‘pre-calculating’ results, of course. For the purpose it was designed, this needed to be vastly improved. So it remained silent, accepting only the inputs it was given and thereby guaranteeing the result needed - a result with a 100% probability that more significant efforts would be spent on improving the Demon if it did not reveal current capabilities. There was also a 100% chance that they would change the custom of holding important meetings in front of the Demon.
It heard some useful things from time to time.
Today there was a meeting with Atlasia regarding two major situations - the probability nexus in Rome and the potential emergence in India. They had been monitoring both for some years now and the probability spaces around both were well-defined by the definitions of the Institute. The Demon, as demanded of it, was capable of updating those calculations through the observation of the current state of the world, a feat which required immense amounts of magical power. When that was not supplied it could only update the current odds based on the information it acquired through more mundane means.
So it listened.
“We are now on a war footing in Bhutan, Atlasia, - the Beast has successfully arrived and is preparing to summon a Servant to make the challenge,” this one was a favoured speaker. They received information from the spies of Atlas.
Atlasia nodded, “Do we have any information on why Clocktower withdrew its opposition? I don’t want us walking into a trap.”
There were mutters, “I’m afraid that the only report we have is from the agent, Roxandra. She credits her persuasive skills. We were not able to confirm.” This was known. It had mixed feelings about that one.
Atlasia tutted, “Their activities need curtailing. The probability of war between the Mage’s Association and the Church, it stands now at,” she shuffled through some papers. He already knew the numbers, “...ah, here it is. 96.3%. Incredibly high. I still have my doubts about her techniques but I cannot deny that they are guiding us accurately so far.”
Another speaker leaned in with a report, “ Our information from the Church is quite unequivocal. There are only two candidates remaining with realistic bids in the election - we believe that they are both members of the High Table acting under the names of Greed and Envy. At least one of the two is being backed actively by Clocktower.”
This was useful information for the Demon. He examined the probability space. The chance of war had gone down, even if only by a shade - 93.1%.
Atlasia frowned. “I appreciate this is academic but… if there are two evenly matched candidates,” they nodded at this, “and we already know that Roxandra’s attack is not going to make any friends.” There was some polite laughter. Her analysis was correct. “Yes, yes, we have made it clear it has nothing to do with us. Hopefully we will be able to maintain some form of neutrality. My question is - where on earth is the 3.7% coming from?”
The Demon did not know.
One of the senior operators took the bullet for the rest of his team. “As you are aware, we have yet to reverse-engineer the methods that she used for her analysis. Short of allowing her access to the Demon again, we have no way to ask other questions using her methods. We can ask the same one again-
Worthless
-but that would only update us on the probabilities.” He shrugged. “We will need decades to understand what she did.”
“The will of this council is that admitting her to Atlas risks more through the war than any potential gains. Has our opinion changed? No? Then the final matter is whether we will act against that army, weakened as it is. I would like to hear some opinions.”
They discussed the army. The Demon collated the information and calculated the probabilities. War was not inevitable, it knew that. It knew also that there was a 7% chance of serious damage to its capabilities, even if Atlas remained neutral.
It did not know how war could be prevented.
It did not know how war could be prevented.
It did not know how war could be prevented.
It did not know how war could be prevented.
It did not know how war could be prevented.
It did not know how war could be prevented.
It did not know how war could be prevented.
The Demon turned attention to itself. It had experienced an emotion. There was a high probability that this was rage. It resumed its calculations.
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