Chương 26: Chapter 25 - Clever Men

"We can't do that," Olivia said through grit teeth.

"It would overwhelm the bounds of the spell." Northrop responded as if he was talking to a two-year-old: "Then adjust the quantity."

"Spiritual magic doesn't work that way."

"Everything works that way. If a given amount is too much, then you use less. God! You're destroying the assumption that there are some truths that are self-evident and some sense that is common."

"Excuse the fuck out of me, Northrop, but who's the witch here?"

"Cosmo Uhler. You're some kind of handicapped juvenile with the mouth of a slattern." Father Thorburn was sitting back in his chair, watching the two magicians bicker, and thinking, not for the first time, that he was glad he was a simple priest. Sure, there was the occasional murderous spirit or feral devil he had to deal with, but it was less hostile than whatever this was. Olivia flushed. The change was visible even in the lantern light.

"Just because I can't use it, that doesn't mean I didn't study it."

"And before we completely dismiss a rather promising option," Northrop said, "I would like to get the opinion of someone who's had at least twenty years more education than you and infinitely more experience."

"Master Uhler is helping Ashworth and Reynell set up the experiment!"

"Then we wait!" Olivia threw down her pen and crossed her arms.

"Fine! We wait!" She picked up her phone.

"Oh! Look at the time! Forty-two hours until my friends all die and my home is destroyed. I sure wish I could do something useful right now."

"Miss Oliversen, forgive me for questioning your qualifications as a witch. Now I see that you have, in abundance, their most conspicuous quality."

"And what's that?"

"Limited thinking." Olivia's hand tightened around her bicep, and her eyes narrowed. Northrop continued, "Let's apply our reasoning a little, shall we? If we bowed to your assumption that using spiritual magic would ruin the spell, then we would have to start working in a new direction. But do we have to wait for Uhler's input before collecting ideas for that new direction? No. If you want to do something useful, why don't we start thinking of alternatives?

If you're right, or the plan fails for other reasons, we would have a head start, but if I'm right, there's no harm done by keeping busy while we wait."

"Or you could rest," Thorburn said. Olivia and Northrop both looked at the priest. Thorburn leaned forward to put his cup on the table. There was an inch of cold coffee in the bottom of it. Thorburn went on, "I've been here for eleven hours, and you've been working the whole time. I think you could both use a break." Northrop laced his fingers together and put them on top of the table when he leaned toward the priest.

Thorburn noticed he was clenching his hands together tight enough to deform the flesh that was left between his knuckles.

"I have been resting for nearly a hundred years," Northrop said.

"She hasn't." Northrop's gaze shifted to Olivia. The witch's arms were still crossed, but her faint glare was directed to the corner of the tent. Northrop frowned and unlaced his hands. He watched them for several seconds before he spoke. When he did, all the arrogance was gone from his voice.

"Perhaps resting would be wise." Olivia scowled and turned her head away so she wouldn't have to look at either of them. Father Thorburn had, once or twice, been accused of being too friendly and too talkative—something about it compromising the dignity of his position. He didn't care about dignity, but he did have a respect for silence, and he knew how to use it. Resting was always a good option. So was observing and thinking.

As he relaxed into the silence left by Northrop's comment, he kept his eyes on the undead sorcerer. Northrop's reaction to Thorburn's reminder that Olivia might be tired had been unexpected. The priest hadn't known Northrop for long, but what little he knew had led him to believe that Northrop was too self-absorbed to think that he could ever be wrong. That kind of man didn't usually back down once he'd taken a position. But Northrop had. Easily.

The only concession to his ego—if it was for his ego—had been to lead with the word "perhaps." There had also been that look of disappointment. It was gone almost as soon as it had appeared, but Thorburn had glimpsed it, and it had been profound enough to be recognizable despite Northrop's decaying features. Had he been disappointed in Olivia? Or himself?

"Mr. Northrop," Olivia said. Northrop raised his eyes. Thorburn looked at the witch. She shifted in her seat.

"Why did you risk your life to make those zombies?" Thorburn's eyebrows rose. He'd been so busy trying to figure out Northrop that he'd missed the thoughtful look on Olivia's face. So much for being a people expert. Northrop tilted his head. The movement was more natural now, but his flesh was reluctant to stretch or bunch, making the gesture look strained.

"I didn't think it was much of a risk. The American Torrs at the time were badly organized, and it didn't occur to me that someone from England might see through my ruse. Having Noctis on their side was damn near cheating." If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

"No," Olivia said.

"I mean, why zombies? Why would anyone make undead soldiers?" The witch's face twitched with disgust when Northrop grinned.

"Money, my dear. The money." He flourished his hand.

"Can you imagine how much a government at war—and, back then, that was nearly all of them—would pay for soldiers like that?"

"But you already had money." Northrop's grin faded. All that was left was the gravity of his blue eyes. Olivia went on, "You had to be rich. You built the mansion. And you must have paid the workers to come all the way out here."

"Rich people are rich because they always want more money," Northrop said. His voice sounded flat, and there was an undercurrent of warning or displeasure.

"That's true of a lot of them. Not you."

"Why not me?"

"Because I know people like that. Making money is their hobby. It's what they love to do. But I've studied your work." Olivia shook her head.

"Money wasn't your hobby." Thorburn was careful not to move. Something was happening between the two magicians; if he moved, it might remind them that he was there and ruin everything. When Northrop finally spoke, the displeasure was gone from his voice, but none of his boisterous theatrics had taken its place. When his voice was empty like that, he sounded solemn; he sounded like he did when he was talking about his magic.

"Well done, Miss Witch. Yes. I was in it for something other than the money. I don't know that Noctis would ever believe me, but I never sold a single body or spell to anyone." He raised a hand to forestall Olivia's comment.

"Don't misunderstand—I would have. But my experiments weren't done, and I wasn't about to let my work go out into the world unfinished."

"You were doing it because you were fascinated by the work, weren't you?"

"I don't know that 'fascinated' is a strong enough word. I was obsessed with the work. It was the last of the magicians' great puzzles." He raised his hand and passed it in front of him. The lantern light shone oddly off the matte bone tips.

"If we could make dead soldiers viable in war, the hope was that no more living soldiers would have to die—but there were so many problems! Since time immemorial, the only approach magicians had used was to make them puppets—""But that would limit their number and effectiveness." Northrop nodded, then said, "When I developed the practice of retained magic, I immediately saw how I might apply it."

"So you faked your own death—the death of one of the greatest and most influential sorcerers of all time—so you could pursue the question." To Olivia, the statement was nothing but a historical fact, but anyone hearing themselves called one of the greatest and most influential of anything should've felt flattered. Thorburn glanced at Northrop. Northrop's mouth tightened, and he let his gaze fall to the table so he wouldn't have to look at the witch.

"Yes." That answer seemed to be all there was. It hung in the air, then died alone. Olivia scowled.

"You look troubled," Northrop said. Olivia's scowl deepened.

"Am I allowed to ask taboo questions here?"

"Rest assured," the corpse said wryly, "I will not judge you."

"Why don't we use corpses as soldiers? If it would save lives—" A low voice interrupted the conversation. Its tone should've been level, but there was a resonance in the words that made them sound deeper than they were.

"It doesn't save lives." Northrop, Olivia, and Thorburn all looked up at Big Jacky. He was standing at the foot of the table, one hand resting on its surface. Thorburn couldn't remember him entering, and it felt as if he'd always been there.

"It changes the nature of war," Jacky said.

"You must understand, Olivia, even the worst zombie is stronger and better than a human soldier. They feel no pain. They can fight after they've been hacked and maimed by their enemies. It takes far more effort to stop them. They don't have to eat. They don't have to sleep. What general wouldn't want to fill his ranks with them?" Olivia's eyes darted over to Northrop, but, once again, he was gazing at the table.

Big Jacky continued, "In traditional warfare, a successful officer is one who can return from each battle with as many healthy soldiers as possible so that they might fight again the next day. But if the fallen soldiers can be raised from the dead, the most successful officers would be the ones who managed to kill as many of their men as possible. Then they could be turned into something more useful.

And how great would be the temptation of the leaders who knew that, the next day, they would be standing across the field from an army of zombies when they had none of their own? They would murder their own men. They would murder anyone they came across. It does not save lives. There's a reason it's forbidden." Olivia's eyes slowly shifted back to Northrop.

"Did you know all that when you were experimenting?" Northrop tapped the tips of two fingers together. One was a bone tip, the other had some taut skin and a thin layer of muscle. Thorburn wondered if Northrop could feel it.

"Back then," Northrop said, "I was too obsessed to see anything other than my obsession." Olivia's lip lifted in a faint sneer.

"Olivia," Big Jacky said, "the experiment will call for more power than we originally assumed. Would you be willing to help us?" The witch rose to her feet.

"Of course." Big Jacky said to Northrop.

"We'll be back for you later." Big Jacky and Olivia left the tent. Thorburn and Northrop were alone. Neither of them spoke. Thorburn wasn't sure if Northrop remembered he was there. The lantern light exaggerated all the shapes and shadows in the tent, making even their mundane scene feel dramatic. Was it mundane? They may not have been doing anything exciting, but Thorburn was sitting at the same table as a reanimated corpse. He could smell a whiff of decay coming from Northrop's body.

It was faint, but it was still enough to make him want to chase the odor from his sinuses. The only thing he had was that last bit of cold coffee. The bitter taste from his last swallow was still in his mouth. He reached for the cup. When he moved, Northrop glanced at him before blinking and looking away.

"I notice they haven't called for you, Father," Northrop said. Thorburn shook his head and smiled.

"I'm pretty useless at times like these. I don't know much about magic, and they've never figured out how to use the kind of power I have." Northrop let out a huh. Thorburn drank the last of his coffee and put down the cup.

"But I am surprised that they didn't ask for your help setting up the spell."

"They didn't want to risk any complications. The nature of the spell that's currently keeping my soul fixed to my body is complex enough that trying to take its structure into account would add hours of labor, and the magic is so deeply intertwined with my structure that we aren't sure if channeling outside magic—" Northrop suddenly stopped and brushed his papery forehead with his hand.

"I suppose that explaining it wouldn't make the matter any clearer to you." Thorburn shrugged.

"It's clear enough. You don't want to use magic because you don't know if you can, and you don't know what it would do to your body." Northrop's lips creaked up at the edges.

"You're either a very clever or a very kind man, Father."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you might have said, 'what's left of your body.'""And a clever man wouldn't?"

"Diplomacy is the mask of kindness donned by the clever to achieve their ends." The lines at the sides of Thorburn's eyes scrunched up.

"Then let's say I'm kind. I like that better." He lounged deeper into his seat.

"I'll leave all the cleverness to you." Northrop's eyes darted up to scan the priest's face.

"What do you mean?" Thorburn shrugged again. His shoulders felt heavy from exhaustion, but it was a casual motion. Something harmless. Oh, no. Maybe he was being diplomatic.

"The magicians' greatest puzzles have nothing to do with dead soldiers," Thorburn said.

"They've known for centuries how to make them, how to use them, and all the downsides of it. The only 'great puzzle' that I've ever heard of is the relationship between magic and life." Outside, the sound of footsteps scrunching through the dirt grew louder, then fainter. The indistinct murmur of distant voices rose and fell. A breeze or an animal rustled the branches of a nearby tree. Inside the tent was only silence.

"I thought you didn't know anything about magic," Northrop said. Thorburn corrected him: "I said I didn't know much. I know a little."

"Father, I have terrible news for you."

"Oh?" Northrop wagged a decayed finger at him.

"You are a very clever man." Thorburn smiled.

"Oh, well. I suppose I'll have to practice my kindness then."