T. Church - Return to Canifis

Castimir stood and did as the old man asked. He did so until he had gone red in the face and sweat dripped from his brow.

“That is quite enough. Now, you have just pumped out the air that was inside this hollow globe, creating a vacuum. I believe that not even two horses could pull the two halves of this globe apart.” He peered at them, amusement in his eyes. “Try it.”

Ebenezer watched as Doric and Castimir did so. Once, when Doric spied a small plug, Albertus interrupted. “Not yet, master dwarf. Try using strength alone.”

Sally shook her head.

“It is impossible, Albertus. Show them how it’s done.”

The white haired old man bent over the copper globe and gripped the plug.

“Listen” he said as he pulled it aside. The sound of air passing through the gap filled the silence. Then, with a slight twist of his hand, he pulled the globe apart, and it fell into two neat halves.

“And what does that mean?” Castimir asked.

Albertus frowned.

“It means that the atmosphere that we breathe exerts a pressure.” He peered upward and waved a hand toward the ceiling. “It means we live at the bottom of an ocean of air and gasses. You see, the weight of the atmosphere presses the two halves together when there is a vacuum inside. However, when I remove the plug, as demonstrated, the air inside becomes the same as the air outside, the pressure is balanced, and it becomes extremely easy to separate them. I plan to show it to the King this very afternoon.”

Ebenezer caught sight of Castimir’s bewilderment.

“Well, perhaps you can show us something a little more practical,” he proposed. “Something that my sorcerer friend will appreciate. How about this phosphorous?”

“Yes. More practical and more fun,” Albertus said excitedly. “Come along!”

The small party followed Sally to the door that led to the wine cellar, where she made a great show of fiddling with her keys while the grandfather clock announced midday. Finally the lock parted and they descended into a stone room with arched ceilings, where tables, barrels, and all manner of glass-shaped beakers and tubes were arrayed. To one side was a furnace, and to another was a separate chimney.

Albertus opened another cupboard while Ebenezer looked on with great interest.

This is home to me. I recognise these smells and instruments.

“Here it is,” Albertus announced. “Just a small sample of phosphorus the light-giver. Stand back.” He held out a small stoppered tube containing a white powder. He approached a table, first filling a jug of water from a barrel nearby. Then he spilled the powder onto a dry cloth.

In seconds a pale smoke rose. It was followed by a flash of light as the cloth caught fire.

Ebenezer saw Castimir’s eyebrow rise in interest.

“That could be magic,” the wizard said. “Truly.”

“But it isn’t.” Albertus smiled as he doused the cloth in water. “It’s science. Now, is there anything else you would like to see?”

“Sally said you had experimented with black powder taken from the Kinshra weapons,” Ebenezer said. “Can we see those?”

Albertus smiled even more broadly as he returned to the cupboard.

“Here.” He held a metal tube up for their inspection. A fuse protruded from its top, and Ebenezer heard Castimir breath in sharply.

“But I don’t think we will do a demonstration down here,” Albertus warned, returning the explosive to its proper place in the cupboard. “For obvious reasons.”

When they finished training, as they did every morning, the twelve recruits made certain their equipment was cleaned and maintained. This was the part of the daily ritual Theodore’s men hated most of all, for there was no glory or excitement to be had in such a menial job.

But Theodore ignored their complaints as he too removed and cleaned his armour. The hard work and the duties of his mission helped to distract him from the nagging worry over Kara and her continued absence.

These men hope to become squires, and then maybe knights. And if a knight can’t look after his blade or check the rings of his mail, then he won’t be a knight for long.

However, he could see that the recruits were making a special effort today, for the Midsummer Festival was an opportunity for them to show off in a punishing melee fought against Varrock’s finest knights. The reputation of the order of Falador was at stake, and it lent new vigour to their efforts.

“Hamel, make certain the men drink enough water before we drill,” Theodore instructed a young man who stood nearby. “We might be standing under the sun for some time, and I would hate for any of them to lose consciousness.”

Hamel, a boy of sixteen, nodded enthusiastically. When he had first come to Varrock, Theodore’s biggest problem had been the sheer number of young men who wanted to become knights. Very quickly he had learned that he could not do everything himself, and so he had appointed Hamel as his aide. The boy could never be a knight, for his foot was clubbed. It had been ridiculous for him even to attempt to become one, and yet his dedication and his intelligence had impressed the squire.

After he had told the boy that his dream was impossible, Hamel had sat down and wept. But then Theodore had told him the story of Bhuler, who had also been denied his dream of knighthood, yet he had served Saradomin better than any knight in living memory. More so even than Sir Amik Varze himself.

When offered the opportunity to serve in his own way, Hamel had thrown himself into the task, and had never again questioned his fate. Since then, he had proved invaluable to Theodore.

They know now, these boys , he thought, watching his charges. They know that what goes on behind the armour, the organisation and the discipline, are a thousandfold more important than the strength of the steel or the sharpness of a blade.

“Squire Theodore,” Hamel said in his thick country accent. He nodded to the gymnasium’s entrance, where Theodore caught sight of William.

“Thank you, Hamel. Dismiss the men-though make sure they know that we are to meet here at two o’clock.”

William advanced with a faint smile on his lips, as though trying to appear natural.

He’s up to something.

“I know that look, William,” Theodore said guardedly. “You’ve some mischief afoot.”

“Oh, come, Theodore,” his friend protested. “That’s too cruel. Although Lady Anne was most distressed at your treatment of her in the throne room this morning.”

Ah-hah!

“She’ll live,” Theodore countered. “Somehow I suspect that if I hurled her into a pit full of vipers, it would be they who would crawl out first.”

“Now that really is cruel! But just so long as you didn’t throw Lady Caroline in with her, then I wouldn’t raise a hand to stop you.”

So that’s it.

“What is your plan this time?” he asked with a hint of amusement.

“Not mine, this time, Theodore. It’s Lady Anne who has a plan.” He paused, and looked uncomfortable. “She is waiting for you, right now. She wants you to partner with her tonight at the King’s dance.”

Not again. How obvious must I really make it to her?

“Very well,” he said. “Where is she?” A look of relief swept across William’s face.

“She’s waiting near the main staircase. Come, if we go via the galleries we will avoid her.”

“Thank you, William,” he said. “That would save me an uncomfortable moment. Lead on.”

“Don’t worry Theodore,” William said, flashing a smile. “What ever are friends for?”

The galleries of King Roald’s palace housed dozens of tapestries and paintings from many eras of Varrock’s history. They occupied the floor above King Roald’s throne room, and were scattered in numerous alcoves in the warren of passages.