Fundamental Magics: The Ruins of Gandarah, #1

Par Alex Evans

In a world where magic is returning after centuries of absence, Professor Adrienne Imlay has been able to balance her secret shamanic abilities with her academic career. But when she becomes entangled with Philidor Magnus, a charismatic inventor with a dark secret, she is drawn into a deadly plot involving demons, rival industrialists, and shadowy magical authorities. When rifts to other dimensions threaten to tear her city apart, she must confront her own abilities and the ethical quandaries they pose.

 

A special note for readers: this book contains a lot of different characters and a lot of worldbuilding. If you prefer your settings conventional and your story focused on a few heroes and villains, you probably won't enjoy this novel.

• Langue: English
• Éditeur: Thousand Tales
• Date de sortie: 6 oct. 2024
• ISBN: 9798227499561

Aperçu du livre

FUNDAMENTAL

MAGICS

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Alex Evans

©2024 Alex Evans

Couver © Illustrious Covers

Table of Contents

The Corset Demon

The Demonist

A Laboratory Disaster

The Boulevard Incubus

The Stag Garden

Gandarah I

The Plot Thickens

Demons, Divorce, Magic and Money

Magic and Brandy

Gandarah II

Demons and Demonists

Magic for the Enlightened Amateurs

Philidor

The Manor in the Woods

Leander’s Machine

Gandarah III

The Alchemist

The Industry Baron

Evening Shadow, Misty Tiger...

Gandarah IV

A Walk in Town

The Talking Head

Epilogue

Read the next episode in the series: Experimental Magics

Thank You for Reading!

About the Author

Other Books by Alex Evans

A special note for those who have read Experimental Magics

Experimental Magics was originally the number 2 in a series. Unfortunately, when I wrote it, I did not recover the rights to the number 1 which is Fundamental Magics, the book you are reading right now.

So, in Experimental Magics, I had to include additional chapters and some passages from the first book, Fundamental Magics to explain the characters and the settings enough for the story to be clear.

Therefore, you will find some parts which will sound familiar.

Have a good reading.

Table of Content

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Table of Content

The Corset Demon

The Visiting Scientist

A Laboratory Disaster

The Boulevard Incubus

The Stag Garden

Gandarah I

Interview with a Demon

Demons, Divorce, Magic and Money

Magic and Brandy

Gandarah II

Portals and Rifts

Magic for Enlightened Amateurs

Escapade with an Inventor

The Manor in the Woods

Leander’s Machine

Gandarah III

The Alchemist

The Industry Baron

An Old Nursery Rhyme

Gandarah IV

A Walk in Town

The Talking Head

Epilogue

Read the next episode in the series: Experimental Magics

Thank You for Reading!

About the Author

Other Books by Alex Evans

The Corset Demon

People claim shamans have fancy visions of the future, or some mysterious insight of things to come. That is poppycock. As I hunched over my lab bench on that fateful morning, I had no inkling of the flood of trouble about to pour over my head. I was too busy trying to align my scaphoid prism with a pot of moonflowers, cursing inwardly at those Way zealots who had burned every magic reference book four centuries ago.

Across the old, tiled workbench, Isidore, our intern was yawning like an anemic mummy. Ferdal, our sour technician, was bent over the decrepit calculator, cursing, and coaxing the stubborn contraption back to life with well-placed thwacks. My assistant Rupert, the laziest researcher in the faculty, lounged nearby, twisting his long mustache and thumbing through the latest edition of the Thaumaturgical Review. The steady tick of the clock on the wall anchored the ambient noise of Power thrumming around, a continuous drone I had long tuned out. Magic waves flew through every corner of this part of the faculty, seeping from the artefacts and oddities kept in the labs.

As I finally nailed the position of the moonflowers, there was a polite rap on the door, then someone pushed it open with great effort. The old wood was warped and quite tough. I glanced up, expecting a colleague coming to borrow an instrument. Instead, I discovered a tall and wide middle-aged man, copper-skinned and dark-eyed like all the Deshwans. He was sporting an impressive set of black sideburns, liberally seasoned with grey. His face seemed vaguely familiar. He politely doffed his bowler hat and asked: Good morning, miss. I am looking for Professor Imlay.

I pushed my glasses up my nose. That is me.

A flash of surprise passed through his eyes, but he made no comment over my exotic auburn hair, milky skin, or even my sex. Pleased to meet you, uh... Professor. I am Inspector Pahom. I came to enquire about er... an unusual issue.

At that moment, recognition dawned on me. I had seen his portrait in the newspapers a month earlier, when he had dismantled the notorious Frog Gang. A celebrity was visiting my laboratory. However, I was in the middle of an experiment. Moreover, like anyone who grew up in the police state of Gandarah, I had an instinctive aversion to law enforcement officials.

But I managed to recall my civility, smiled and pointed at the most reliable chair in the room. Then, I introduced my team. His gaze swept over the peeling green walls, tall cracked windows, and scarred, cluttered workbench but he politely nodded to the three men, without commenting about the state of my sanctuary either.

Having completed the formalities, I turned expectantly towards him. How may I be of service, Inspector?

He scratched his sideburns. Um... I came looking for information. I would like to know if... it is technically possible to make appear... a... um... demon... in a given place.

A demon?

Yes.

I stared at him, forcing down the torrent of memories threatening to burst into my mind. Well... The beings our ancestors called demons are creatures from universes parallel to ours. To summon one, you would need to make it cross through a controlled multidimensional rift called a portal. As you have probably read in some tale, Inspector, there were once wizards capable of such feats, but we have only a very vague idea of how they proceeded. The modern science of magic is still in its infancy...

Pahom leaned forward, a deep crease between his greying brows. Mmm... And what would this vague idea be, Professor?

Despite his polished demeanor, he looked troubled. A bit of tea would not hurt, I thought. I crossed to the battered tea infuser and pressed the lever. It responded at my first attempt, making a melodic jingle. A spark ignited and lit the gas circle under its copper belly. As the first tendrils of gas began to unfurl, I continued in a measured tone. "Let us see... From what we know, they temporarily synchronized a massive amount of Power waves into a series of specific frequencies. That opened a connection between some worlds and ours. There were also some naturally occurring rifts, but not in our city."

His gaze started to glaze over. My explanations had clearly eluded his grasp. Luckily, the infuser chimed, and I busied myself with pouring the tea into mismatched mugs. This gave him a few moments to digest the heap of information.

Do you believe, he rumbled at last, that one of your colleagues could have been able to um... syno, syncho...

Synchronize. I supplied, proffering his cup. "There is ongoing research, of course. Professor Dowell, in the lab next door, is interested in the harmonics of Power, but he is far from summoning an otherworldly being. Sugar?"

No, thank you.

I let him take a few sips, still looking troubled. I realized with annoyance that I would not return to my experiments as quickly as I had hoped. But on the other hand, curiosity — my worst flaw — began to rear its pointy head. I had seen demons in my childhood, in the Ruins of weird, mystical Gandarah, but I could not imagine them in the solid, rational Riverbend.

So what? whispered a small voice in my mind. Sooner or later, this is deemed to happen.

May I know what the problem is, Inspector? I probed.

I suppose I might as well tell you, he grumbled. It will be on the front page of all the newspapers by tonight. A demon was spotted at the Ladies' Palace. In the corset fitting room, precisely.

Isidore opened his mouth. Ferdal put down his mug. Even the phlegmatic Rupert looked up from the series of equations he pretended to check.

Impossible!

It is a hoax!

Pahom smoothed his sideburns. I hope it is... Yesterday, a little before closing time, a... creature appeared in the hallway between the corset fitting rooms, then bit a salesgirl and fled through the window.

I swallowed the tea I nearly forgot in my mouth. What did it look like?

Well, like a demon... black, hairy, clawed, with a tail, horns, tentacles, and big teeth...

I am asking because, depending on their species, they could look like anything. Had you said it was shaped like a chamber pot, I would not have been otherwise surprised... A rift at the Ladies' Palace... That is fascinating! However, these phenomena do not occur at random. Have you contacted the Quorum?

Yes, but they refused to answer any of my questions without a written order from an inquest judge. You know how they are...

I made a sympathetic nod. Indeed, I knew. This institution was the modern incarnation of the ancient Mage Sisterhood. Anyone practicing our art, or science, depending on opinions, had to be registered with them. They loved secrecy. I was sure they dreamt of going back a few centuries, to walk around in long flowing robes dotted with stars.

Still, I said reassuringly, I think they will take care of this business. It is their job, after all, and...

At that moment, I perceived a slight flow of Power with familiar harmonics. The door burst open under the energetic push of a tall, lean, red-headed woman. A strong scent of tobacco filled the lab. My throat began to tickle. She slammed the door back and turned to us.

The inspector's eyes widened in surprise. Behind me, Rupert mumbled a very unscientific curse. I would have done the same, if I was not struggling with a strong urge to cough. Our visitor had the sort of silhouette that attracted male gazes. Moreover, she was wearing a man's suit, complete with trousers and a tweed jacket over a shirt with the first two buttons undone. A beret was jauntily tilted on her head and she clenched a cigar between her full lips. Around her neck, hung a large crystal pendant in the shape of a heptagon, the ancient symbol of the Mage Sisterhood. The Quorum had claimed it as its official badge. Speak of the demon...

She gave me a predatory smile and uttered around her cigar: Good morning, lady and gentlemen.

Good morning... I breathed.

I took off my glasses and slowly wiped them to give me time to compose myself. As I said, I had an instinctive aversion to law enforcement officials. Worse, magic law enforcement officials. But I quickly got a grip on my fear. The Quorum never paid me any attention. I was a bland bespectacled researcher in fundamental magics. Still, I was eager to return to my experimentation, but now, with a Quorum representative, things were likely to get protracted and complicated.

The woman turned to the police officer. Inspector Pahom, I presume?

Indeed, he replied, his eyes locked on her chest.

I put down my mug before being tempted to throw it at his head. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Mrs.... Mrs.?

She finally deigned to take the cigar out of her mouth. Her elegant hands were gloved in black leather. Watts. Artemisia Watts. The Quorum sent me to look into this demon business. I am a lictress. A demonist.

It took me all my good education not to stare open-mouthed. The lictors were the armed branch of the Quorum, tasked with enforcing regulations, undoing dangerous spells and destroying evil talismans. But a woman in their ranks was a first. And a demonist, at that! Back in legendary times, this position fell to individuals whose conscience was tormented by heavy crimes. They hoped to redeem themselves through this perilous work. Needless to say, they rarely lived long enough to provide any usable information about demons. This explained why our knowledge of these creatures remained fragmentary.

She held my gaze, as if she could read my thoughts, then asked: Do you know where Professor Dowell is?

In his lab, third door to the right...

I have just been there, and he is not in. The door is locked.

More and more curious. If all those who dabbled in magic had been eccentrics since the dawn of time, some were more so than the average. Simon Dowell was among them. He worked alone because he could not get along with any colleague. He lived only for his research and would even sometimes spend the night in his lab.

I was one of the few who managed to maintain a semblance of a relationship with him, and even then, only in brief spurts — he was even more misogynistic than he was misanthropic. Despite his character, he had a few wealthy patrons, whose identities he guarded jealously. This backing ensured he always possessed the latest equipment, some of which he shared with me in return for my assistance. The idea that he was not in his den was so incredible that my first reaction was to walk up to his door to check for myself.

Indeed, I knocked and called without any success. The others soon joined me.

He might be sick, ventured Isidore.

Ferdal ran to the caretaker and returned with the pass. We unlocked the door, even more rickety than ours. The lab was empty. However, it seemed particularly untidy. Unlike most sorcerers, Simon was a stickler for order and cleanliness. He sorted his notes every evening and checked several times a day with a ruler if his instrument boxes remained well aligned and at right angles with the walls. I shared this information with the lictress.

She frowned. Do you believe something is missing?

I surveyed the room again. The Reinhardt cylinder is no longer in its place. And I do not see the notes on flux control.

When did you see them last?

Last Firstday, I believe.

Have there been any incidents recently, even minor ones?

I exchanged a glance with my colleagues. No.

What experiments was he doing?

"Uh... he was evaluating the size of the orichalcum tuning forks directing the Power waves towards ultra-low frequencies..."

What virtual potency was he using?

I do not know, but we do not have anything above six hundred ethers, at the faculty. What is going on, Lictress Watts? You do not believe Simon has conjured up a demon, do you?

She shook the ashes from her cigar on the floor. I am not at liberty to comment on my investigation. Inspector, you would do well to check Professor Dowell's lodgings immediately. I will make my report. Lady and gentlemen...

She turned on her heels and walked away, the sound of her boots echoing on the tiled floor.

I had better go, stammered Pahom after a few seconds. L... Professor, gentlemen...

And he made his escape.

We stood there in a stunned silence for a few heartbeats, the scent of tobacco still lingering in the air like a ghost.

Well, said Ferdal, in his ominous tone, this might be the first magic crime in Deshwan. But mark my word, this will not be the last.

I was inclined to agree. For four hundred years, Power or magic had been little more than a legend. But over the last forty years, it was seeping back into our world — a steady trickle that would become a raging torrent.

During the absence of Power, our society had moved on. We had been swept up a tide of reason, mechanics, and progress. We had no use for old superstitions and hazardous spells. Now, we would study this elusive energy with calculated precision and cold scientific rigor, taming it, and shaping it to our modern needs.

Laboratories and amateur societies were mushrooming everywhere. There were places to be taken in this new discipline. Even for a woman, the daughter of a poor immigrant with no kin nor connections. Magic fascinated me since childhood. My grandmother claimed we had mages among our ancestors, those polymaths, as adept at magic as at astronomy or medicine, and composing symphonies in their spare time. She would talk about them in late at night, whispering behind closed doors, away from the Guardians' prying ears... Back in Gandarah.

As a young woman, I embarked on the study of Power with enthusiasm. I prided myself to have achieved a measure of success. I specialized in fundamental magics, a field that attracted far less publicity and funding than applied magics. Levitating a feather was much more spectacular than trying to measure a capricious wave of uncertain amplitude and frequency. Yet, I would not have traded my profession for the world. This was how, at thirty-three, I had found myself at the top of the academic pyramid.

A few centuries ago, I would have been called a witch.

A sorceress. A spellcaster.

Nowadays, I am a tenured professor of magical sciences.

The Visiting Scientist

I did not have much time to ponder on those strange events and even less to try to focus back on my experiment. News of the demon's sighting and Simon's disappearance spread like wildfire from the caretaker's booth. All my colleagues began to parade through the laboratory with the usual speculations.

The first was Nick Vatel from the Applied Magics lab across the corridor. He rarely reached the faculty before ten, his mornings being devoted to recovering from nights of carousing in some unsavory tavern, or languishing in an opium den. But here he was, dressed, groomed, and shaved.

Nick, what a surprise to see you conscious at this hour! I exclaimed.

He favoured me with a moody squint of his hazel eyes. Yes, well, duty calls sometimes, he mumbled. What happened to the old codger?

Don’t know. Must be sick.

Funny. He looked good on Washday. Told me my calculations were bullshit in his usual manner and —

The lab door burst open behind him, with Xafer leading the charge, his wild mane of grey hair even more frazzled than usual. Rohar trailed behind, lips pursed in his trademark sneer, while the timid Jun scurried in last, nervously twitching his moustache. I sighed, bracing myself for the onslaught of questions and theories that were sure to follow.

Adrienne! Xafer wheezed, What is that business? About Dowell? And the demon? He made a dramatic sweep with his hand.

Rohar snorted derisively. A demon! At the Ladies' Palace of all places! Obviously, some stupid prank.

Nick winked, leaning on the wall. Oh, why not? Sounds like the perfect locus for a demonic incursion: lacy underthings and all that.

Xafer barked out a laugh that swiftly dissolved into a hacking cough. Rohar merely scowled, his impressive brow furrowing like a tectonic ridge.

Well, I said, trying to dam the tide of speculations, I suppose we shall find out soon enough.

Unfortunately, with Ferdal nearby, I could not succeed. The policeman was the famous Inspector Pahom himself! he declared with a dramatic flair.

Really? squeaked Jun. Then, this must be serious.

All three settled around the workbench, ready to hear his tale. Isidore was staring at us from behind the diffractor, with eyes as wide as saucers. I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose.

Yes. Ferdal went on. And then, there was that lady lictor... a lictress, I suppose...

Nick frowned. A LADY lictor?

Ferdal nodded emphatically. Exactly. And a demonist, no less.

Rohar scoffed, shaking his head. Next, you will be telling us they have appointed a monkey as the head of the Quorum.

I opened my mouth, but Nick beat me to it. There used to be lictresses in the past. Actually, most of the Mage Sisterhood were women, he replied evenly.

You sound like a supporter of the Founders Party!

"Well, maybe we should return to our old traditions, when sorcerers were risking