The Hand We're Dealt - Chapter 4 (Patreon)

Hanover, New Hampshire was what the future might generously call a 'village.' In the current period, it was a town. To put that into perspective, I would be incredibly surprised if more than a thousand people lived in the actual settlement itself. If you counted all of the surrounding homes, farmsteads, and mills, you might get another thousand people in the area. And that included the college of Dartmouth and all those who worked and lived in it as well.

Other than the college itself, though, there's not much notable about the town. It's located along the Connecticut river and, evidently, was part of an odd little secession dispute several years prior when it had joined the short-lived Vermont Republic. In fact, local town lore is rather proud of the fact that it took none other than George-Motherfucking-Washington to tell the little towns that played at seceding to stay in their lane. A byproduct of that incident is the close connection between Hanover, New Hampshire and Norwich, Vermont. The latter of which resides just across the Connecticut river and is even tinier than its sibling town.

Besides that and a few interesting pieces of trivia regarding the Revolutionary War, Hanover was a small New England town in the back-end of nowhere. It came complete with roads of packed earth, a few cramped streets with townhouses possessed of sharply-pointed roofs sharing walls with each other, and so many horses.

That part was still strange, even after several years of being out and about in Hudson, New York.

I know it sounds a little weird to get hung up on, but the sheer number of horses was... bizarre to my sensibilities. Even if I'd interacted with the animals occasionally before, they were an extreme rarity in my past life. Here, you couldn't throw a stone without hitting one, it seemed. Which, of course, I wouldn't do. Both because of animal cruelty and I'd likely get fined for damaging someone's property in this day and age.

The other thing I'd had to get used to was the sheer smell of it all.

Even if this wasn't the somewhat-fictional age of the 'dirt-farming medieval peasant,' it was always a bit daunting to remember that life hadn't changed all that much since the middle ages when looking at the early nineteenth century. Cleaning things was difficult and time-consuming. Doing the laundry in particular was brutal work that involved hauling water around or dragging baskets of clothing to and from a water source, harsh and caustic detergents when any soap at all could be had, and usually involved the literal beating of clothing to knock material loose after soaking.

Bathing was similarly difficult, for that matter. I don't think anyone in a 'modern' nation from my previous life actually understands just how much water weighs or how much work it is moving it around. The simple math of that equation really explained why human civilization absolutely required a nearby source of potable water for almost all of its history.

The past sucks ass. It is known.

“This is my home,” Professor Marteen van Beek stated, some kind of energy at the edge of my senses fading-no, rippling as something shifted. “Hold out your hand, Bell.”

I hesitated for a bare moment, but then compiled. What choice did I have, anyway? Extending my hand, I allowed the Professor to press it against the large timbers that made up the vertical parts of the threshold. A moment later, there was a flux of something and a few motes of light.

“There, 'tis done,” the Professor grunted, throwing the door open. “You will be allowed inside on your own, now. It will not do to have my new apprentice be struck dead should he open my door without me there to hold his hand.”

That was... rather extreme, but probably not something anyone of the time would flinch at. Thieves were not well looked-upon in this day and age.

“Thank you, sir.” I nodded to him, looking around the house.

From the outside, it had been a simple structure, if somewhat higher quality than most buildings of the time period. The wood was ancient, thick timbers wider on each side than the length of my hand. The walls were smooth facades of dried plaster which had been painted a honey-yellow. Actual glass windows brought in a great deal of the mid-afternoon sun, lighting up the insides of the building even as the Professor began waving his hand at hanging lanterns which erupted with softly-glowing light at his motions.

The furniture was similarly simple. There were few cushions or pillows, but there was an obvious sitting area positioned to one side of the large open-concept living room and dining room, with only a few wooden pillars to break up the space and hold up the ceiling. In the rear, I could see a sectioned-off kitchen through a large doorway, while a hallway looked as though it led to a series of other rooms off to the side.

“Disappointed? No captured fairies, bound spirits, bubbling cauldrons, or sigils painted in the blood of unbaptized children,” the Professor stated, moving about the large center room with his cane thumping as he did so.

“I doubt you’d have all of that out where guests could see, sir,” I replied as politely as I could, still familiarizing myself with the space as I walked about.

The man barked a harsh and unexpected laugh as he turned to me, his brown eyes assessing me again. I'd lost count of the number of measuring looks he'd directed my way during the journey, but it seemed he still wasn't satisfied. “I'd thought I'd have to make do with a mixed-race dullard of a child, yet you continue to be unexpectedly sharp, Bell. Come.”

I silently nodded, taking quick steps to make up for my small stride as I followed him into the kitchen. By the time I'd reached him, he was near a well-concealed trap door in the floor. Slamming his cane down on it, there was another frisson of sensation against my senses as the trap door snapped up. I followed him down the short staircase, only to be surrounded by various jars, cans, and other more perishable foodstuffs. Focusing on a particular bunch of out-of-season fruit, I felt the telltale signs of magic once again.

“This is my larder,” Professor van Beek stated gruffly, waving his cane around in the light provided by yet another enchanted lantern. “You're welcome to it, just as you have the run of the house save for my room. You may also use your Sacred Gear within the confines of these walls, I have workings set up to hide the property from those who are sensitive to such things. But as you deduced, I do not keep the tools of my true trade where a visiting friend or student could stumble upon them and cause problems. That is down here.”

Using his cane, he tapped one of the wooden walls around us and, with a soft click, the entire panel which held the shelves opened outward to display...

I felt my breath catch in my throat, even knowing what I'd likely see.

The floor was hard stone blocks, laid side by side without mortar, stretching from walls of similar construction that seemed to match the overall layout of the ground floor. More heavy timbers were set against the stone, but instead of free-standing wooden pillars supporting the floor above, they'd been formed into great wooden arches which turned the basement into one giant room more than twelve feet tall. Against one wall, a series of bookshelves was set which held all manner of interesting tomes that faintly buzzed with magic to my burgeoning senses.

Spread around the remainder of the room and its other walls were various other things, some of which I recognized and some of which found even my anachronistic knowledge wanting. A large brass orrery was set up near a desk with overflowing papers, the shining globes of the various planets reflecting the lights of the enchanted lantern above. A large silver circle was set into the stone floor itself, taking up the bare center of the room. A very real cauldron, empty and not bubbling, was set aside in another corner. What I thought to be a large star chart took up another wall, while the opposite bore a series of shelves which held numerous elaborate tools of various metallic compositions.

I made to take a step inside.

Professor van Beek's cane snapped up to bar my way. “Hand.”

I immediately offered my right hand again, the ritual repeating itself. This time, the motes of light were much brighter and the sensation of power flowing over me much sharper.

Regardless of killing an idiot thief who accidentally stumbled into your home, it was only common sense to have a much more serious layer of protection around your laboratory. Anyone... or anything that got this far would know what they were looking for.

“Touch nothing!” The Professor barked as he finally lowered his cane. “Even with that book, much in my workshop is worth more than your life. Know that I won't spare your hide should you disobey me on this.”

I took a deep breath and briefly met the old man's eyes. “Of course sir. I wouldn't tamper with the rigging of a ship or the cooking of a dinner. I shan't play about here.”

Marteen snorted, taking hobbling steps past me to the large chair next to the desk. “Those would only earn you a beating from a captain or matron. Flailing about here will see you punished much more harshly... should you survive your blundering.”

“Yes sir,” I affirmed again with a nod.

The Professor settled into his seat to watch me as I wandered about, his keen gaze following my every motion, the only hint of emotion I detected being the vague approval when I failed to cross the inlaid silver circle in the floor. Sure, there probably wasn't some spirit or demon lurking invisibly within its confines, but 'probably' is an easy way to commit suicide when dealing with magic. That much had been easy to gather even during the short lessons I'd had over the carriage ride here.

“You'll not enter this room without my permission,” the Professor said, drawing my attention back to him as he clapped his cane against the stone again, the noise punctuating his statement. “I will know if you try.”

“Yes sir, of course sir.” I had my reply ready. The only one there was, truthfully, and a set of words I imagined I'd get very familiar with over the next several years.

“Sit.” Professor van Beek stated, waving his walking instrument at a stool and then to an empty spot on the floor in front of him.

I hastened to obey, then looked up at the man attentively.

“This will be your first real lesson,” Marteen began, clearing his throat and rubbing at the mostly-silver beard on his chin as he looked at me speculatively. “Firstly, I will inform you that I have never wished for an apprentice. I do not enjoy the idea of a child mucking about in my affairs. You are here because it is the final duty of any learned man to pass on their knowledge and ensure it is not lost. That duty is doubly important for those studied in the field of sorcery.”

“As you say, sir,” I stated, the man only giving me a brief look of irritation for actually replying to what was clearly a monologue before continuing.

“I am dying.” His blunt statement made me stiffen in surprise as I looked him over, the man himself rolling his eyes at the action. “It is nothing you can see, boy, and none of your business besides. All you need to know is that, when ten years pass, I will be a moldering corpse and you will inherit all of my knowledge and worldly possessions to do with as you will.”

I nodded wordlessly.

The man took a breath, seeming at a loss for where to go next, but quickly seizing upon some thought. “Now, magic. There are a number of schools of magic throughout the lands. The most prevalent is that of the Magician Association. It was founded by a magician named Faust and is currently run by a Devil, Mephisto. They use a system of magic codified by Merlin.”

Even though I wanted to ask a few dozen questions with those simple statements, I resolved to keep my mouth shut given his reaction to my previous statement. For now, at least.

“This,” the Professor stated, opening his hand with a blossoming magic circle appearing in a burst of light atop his palm, a further red flame flickering into existence above that. “Is their magic. It is simple, easy to understand, and excellent in the field of combat. This makes it useful and desirable for brutes and laggards who wish for nothing more exacting and precise than a hammer.”

I nodded again, allowing the man to go on... with what was quickly turning from an instructional lecture into a rant.

“In opposition to the Magician's style are three broadly-grouped traditions which offer more versatility to the effects of magic. The first is my own, that being 'sorcery.' While it is acceptable to use the magician's magic, sorcery is a more subtle and powerful art that takes time and attention making it unsuitable for most battlefields. Thus, while I will teach you the fundamentals of the magician's system in order for you to defend yourself, if you wish to delve deeper into that art you will need to waste your own time upon it.”

I decided to dare a question. “What are the other two traditions, Master?”

A flash of irritation swept over his face before it cleared. “The second is alchemy. It is a tradition focused on the creation and trasmutation of various substances and the production of magical effects through secondary channels, such as enchanted items and potions. I know the basics of this school as well, if you wish to learn them at some later date. The third school is not a singular organized set of traditions, truthfully, but rather a catch-all of 'other' magical knowledge, and is usually referred to as either 'witchcraft' or 'wizardry.' This can be seen when even the Magician's Association refers to the founder of their tradition as the 'Wizard Merlin.'”

“I see, thank you, Master.”

The older man grunted, rubbing at his beard again before continuing. “Witchcraft is usually passed down family lines and uses a variety of magic to accomplish practical tasks. Some of what they do is sorcery, some is alchemy, and some crosses into the invocation of the pagan gods or lesser spirits. I am told that they have much in common with eastern practitioners, though I have not verified this for myself.”

Given I hadn't been punished yet, I decided to push my luck. “That's very informative Master, but could you give me an example of sorcery? I'd just like to understand the difference between it and the magician's magic better.”

Professor van Beek gave me another look and thoughtfully rubbed the metal grip of his cane. “If a magician desired to bring rain to a land stricken with drought, they would devise a spell and pour magic into it. Clouds would manifest and it would begin to rain. The application of the spell and the effect of it are a simple cause and effect, like the striking of a hammer onto a nail. However, the limitation of the magician is that, when one stops powering the spell, it diffuses itself. In order to keep such an effect running, the magician would need to power the spell continuously for however long they desired to create rain.”

“A sorcerer, on the other hand, is able to devise a method to create a self-sustaining magical effect which he can modify the intensity of without requiring him to continuously power the spell matrix.” Marteen smirked in a superior fashion, and I made sure to look suitably impressed. “However, it requires study of the Dragon Lines within the earth, the tapestry of the constellations above us in the heavens, and the planning of rituals to provoke the initial effect into motion. All of these things take time, effort, and resources far beyond the casting of a simple spell.”

I nodded, my thoughts turning inward as more explanation followed.

I could see the benefit of both schools, looking at them much like the prepared and spontaneous casters of a certain tabletop RPG I'd played a great deal of. Magicians had the advantage of selecting their spells on the fly, being able to solve any problem they came across as long as they had the answer and the power to project it. However, their shortfall came in the fact that they had fewer answers overall, since each spell had to be laboriously created and refined before being put into circulation for the greater body of practitioners. It was akin to creating a new wrench every time you encountered a new size of nut.

Sorcerers were the flip side of the equation. If I was understanding what van Beek was saying, they could do a much wider variety of things and produce more esoteric effects, but they had to create a ritual to evoke whatever they desired. So long as you had the materials and the knowledge, though, it was likely you could build the ritual fairly quickly. A sorcerer would also have to reconstruct or alter a ritual every time they wanted to cast the spell again, though, and doing so would still take days. Even if that was 'fast' as opposed to the plodding weeks of a magician's spell-construction.

Marteen van Beek was intelligent enough to see that there were tradeoffs. When the vampires had attacked, he'd stooped to using magic like a magician instead of dying on the purity of his ideology. Still, there were some very obvious grudges the old man had against the Magicians, from the way he spoke. Even if I didn't know if this was 'canon' or not, the obvious lack of a 'Sorcerer's Association' or guild or something meant that one of the two was more popular and widespread.

The conclusion, after a moment's thought, was obvious.

Going back to my analogy of wrenches and nuts, once a magician had created the tool in question, it could be easily proliferated through the community. If you had enough people making tools and trading the designs, eventually you'd saturate the market such that all of the more common problems would have ready-made solutions you could carry around. If Merlin had been the progenitor of their tradition and the Arthurian Tradition was usually dated to around the seventh to the ninth century, then the magicians had been running around making a catalog of tools for well over a thousand years at this point.

In the face of that, it'd be easy to see why someone would be resentful.

If you were studying magic, it would only be common sense to pick the easier discipline that came preloaded with a library of spells for every occasion instead of the one that required you to build a new workshop to produce a very specific item every time you wanted something different made.

I'm going to be deeply surprised if sorcery isn't a dying art at this point.

As for which I was going to learn?

Well, that was obvious.

Why not both?

~~~

Ah, that's the stuff. Having fun with this one, though I'm not sure if it'll get another chapter this month. I have more Winning Peace on the way soon, though, to make up for that.

I also plan to get some Industrious out next week, so look forward to it.

Otherwise, I hope you enjoy Henry Bell's continuing adventures in early America.