Author's Nightmare: Chapter 162 (Patreon)

Shango POV: Day 152

Current Wealth: 164 gold 15 silver 29 copper

It was just chemistry. Chemistry and engineering. And I wasn’t even sure if it was advanced.

Solitaire was the cleverest man I’d ever met, seen or even heard about, but he wasn’t a god and he had his limits. The difference between us was that of a modestly smart man and an average one, not a genius and a simpleton. If he could do it, so could I.

Yeah. A few problems with that line of thought. 

The first was that Solitaire and I had different strengths. My mind was narrower than his, more focused. I excelled in the things I did well, even he would, while puking in his mouth mind you, admit that he couldn’t balance deception, advantages and counter-moves in his head the way I did as a matter of course in negotiations. But that specialization was biting me here. There were just too many things that needed juggling, too many skills to lean on. I was good at all of them, brilliant at a lot.

But not all. And that was my main concern, I wasn’t sure I’d ever understand everything here the way Solitaire did. Which meant, given that this was a work station, that I may never replicate his technology. He’d explained black powder’s creation so we wouldn’t be deprived of that. Otherwise though?

Our advantage as technological pioneers in Redacle might have been dead in the water.

So came my second problem; I didn’t know what Solitaire did. For all his brilliance Solitaire was only intuiting, at most, maybe half of what he did. All his work was built around a reinforced spine of tangible knowledge. Knowledge gained from his lunatic mother, sure, but still practical experience that didn’t exist in this world. I couldn’t compensate for lacking an entire childhood of having bomb-making techniques instilled in me, even if I were twice his intelligence. 

I could tell that I was fighting an uphill battle, but I kept going. The frustration which had gnawed at me early on was gone, drained away like pus from a boil. All that was left was the knowledge of what needed doing and the will to do it.

The air was acrid, smelling of imperfect combustion and Solitaire’s typical brand of near-suicidal chemistry. Reactants and products tinged my nostrils with every inhalation, and the inside was cramped. Musky. I pushed through it, making notes of what chemicals did, trying to compare my deductions with the remembered details of my youthful chemistry lessons.

I was actually good at chemistry, maybe as good at Solitaire. I didn’t have an issue piecing together what would do what based on atomic composition at least. It just made sense to me. That was a far cry from success though, and my efforts were interrupted by a knocking on the door.

“I’m busy.” I called out, then another knock rang and I realized ignoring it wouldn’t make it go away. I paused my work, turned and made for the door. Opening and making way for Phelia to step in.

She looked concerned, I thought. Face taut and worn, eyes sunken slightly with worry. As usual she didn’t waste time- at least no more time than she already had- mincing words.

“I’m worried about you.” Phelia told me, meeting my eye as she said it and moving further into the room.

“Not there.” I told her abruptly, gesturing to where she was about to step. “That’s one of Solitaire’s traps, you’ll be instantly killed if you stand on it.”

Phelia didn’t scream, but she was barely short of it. “And your answer?”

Of course she hadn’t let me distract her, it would’ve been uncharacteristic if that had worked, but I’d given it a try anyway. Might’ve gotten lucky.

“Solitaire’s gone.” I shrugged. “We need someone to pick up the slack, our entire model of growth was built on the premise of both further technological discovery or, at worst, maintaining the technologies we already had.”

It had been pure idiocy not to have him take exhaustive notes on it all, we had the paper and ink now. I supposed none of us believed any of us could truly be killed. We’d gotten through so many scrapes that it had turned to delusion.

When I next glanced over at Phelia, she was staring at me. But not just with concern anymore.

“Your brother has been captured.” She whispered. “Captured by…Savages, animals. Orcs. Your other brother is an emotional wreck with guilt, how can you be focusing on lapses in production now of all times?”

I didn’t bother pausing or pretending to think about it, there was no time to feign the usual emotions.

“Because that’s what’s most important.” I told her. “That’s what we need to focus on long-term to maximize our odds of success here. Everything else is a distraction. I’m doing the only practical thing.”

“Beam needs you.” Phelia shot back, making an accusation of the statement.

“The world needs me.” I told her. “And they outnumber Beam billions to one.”

Phelia took a step back, staring at me with…Yes, disgust. Horror, betrayal, and disgust. I might have given some thought as to why under different circumstances, but I had no time to play petty gardener for the emotions of those around me. There were things that needed doing and only I could do them. Maybe not even I. 

She left me soon after that, heading out of the room in a storm of rage that, thankfully, took her too far away to be a continued distraction. I focused on my work, though the conversation had left me with a few idle thoughts.

Solitaire was, in all likelihood, still alive. This wasn’t hope talking, just the basic facts of his capture. That he’d been taken at all, while posing such an obvious threat in battle, was evidence that he was recognised by the enemy as a potentially valuable asset. I doubted they’d go to all that trouble just to kill him in captivity- it made no sense at all. So Solitaire was alive.

And probably being either persuaded or, soon enough, forced to work on improving their technology too.

Something struck me, then. A foreboding- or as close to one as my psychopathically calm mind could register. Solitaire had been making progress. Slow, steady. But progress. He’d been getting better. Healing.

This might set all of that back, might turn him back into the feral monster I’d arrived with. 

I thought about that, and waited for the rush of emotion to hit. It didn’t, so instead I turned the idea over in my head. There were problems with a violent insane man being on your side, obviously, especially one with his creative intellect. But there were advantages too. 

How many times had we cowed someone with the threat of Solitaire’s violence? How many more times could I use that as a redirection? And then there was the simple fact of his effectiveness as a killer. Solitaire had a way of understanding people- of truly getting inside their heads- that I could never replicate. A technique of emotion and intuition relying on equipment my brain didn’t seem to have come with. The ways he used human fear were almost arcane.

But no, Solitaire was more useful to me sane, he was more useful to the world while in control of himself.

And I couldn’t deny that I preferred to see my friend healthy and happy.

[Appraisal]

• Class: Emperor

• Level: 22

• Condition: Fine

• Modifiers: +11 Toughness, +9 Strength, +8 Speed, +6 Alertness

• Statistics: Strength 15, Speed 15, Dexterity 6, Stamina 5, Toughness 15, Alertness 14, Charisma 9, Intelligence 9

• Inventory: Local wear, plate armour, repeater, shortspear

• Class abilities: Appraisal III

• Current Experience Points: 143/660

• Unspent Skillpoints: 0

Combat was marginally less of a concern now, my statblock had gotten a nice boost from my recent successes in Elswick and, last I’d checked, Beam’s had been upped by his time in Swanhen too. Between the two of us we’d probably gained more power than we’d lost by seeing Solitaire taken and several of our men killed. Direct power, at least, not counting his inventions. 

Which meant expansionism was our best move, to leverage the temporary surge before we could feel the lack of our long-term growth. Time was against us, now, not for us, and if we didn’t adjust strategies it’d eat us alive like it did everyone else.