“And this is supposed to connect you to your friend all the way in Shantown? Visually and everything?”
Manus smiles proudly at George as Jarl rolls his eyes: the magician never fails to bask in center stage. “Exactly!”
“But how?”
Shantown’s priest thinks this is a very fair question. The logistics of how, exactly, Manus’ anything work are still a bit unclear even to him (And he’s been living with it for years, now!); but he’d be lying if he said half of it seems like complete lunacy on a good day and the work of the devil, himself, on a bad one.
Luckily for George (and Jarl, as well, because he’d hate to be stuck explaining any of this), Manus loves to tell.
“Magic is all about energy. You know how a radio works, right?” The mage waits for George to nod before continuing: “Well, this is technically the same thing; except, instead of just sound being sent over waves, images are also being sent. So, as long as the intended recipient has the required items—the same as with a tower and a radio tuned into that tower’s frequency—they can hear and see anything being sent over!”
“But radio has a limit—a spatial one!”
Manus nods, “Sí, it does. This is why the radio frequency of, for example, 100 could be connected to one tower in Shantown but a completely different tower in, say, Dublin or Clare. And then a different one here!” The golden eyed mage grins, prideful and just a bit cocky, “But this is the difference between magic and man! Where radio waves peter out at a distance, magic waves persist—!”
“Magic waves? Really Manus…?”
Jarl is quickly shushed. “They can travel most far, Father!” George hums thoughtfully, half bemused by the thought of magical waves and half amused by Jarl’s pout. The premise makes sense, honestly, but…
It still seems farfetched.
“Perhaps a demonstration?”
~
The group clear a small desk in George’s sacristy.
It’s clearly not used for much—the larger one with several drawers against the opposite wall is favored—but it’s sturdy and just large enough for Manus to set his strange contraption up.
It isn’t the Axis Mundi (Thankfully; Jarl doesn’t like going there.).
But it’s familiar enough.
~
Manus calls it a Lay Tablet.
It’s a thick piece of flat stone with intricate carvings embedded into it.
They’re called lay lines, hence the name, and are only a bit thinner than the ones in Shantown’s clearing.
To think that scrying mission was just a few days ago…
~
The process of contacting seems to be slightly different to that of scrying.
The grooves and slots for potions, herbs, etcetera are all there—like this is a miniature version of that table—but apparently doubled. And this makes sense, Jarl figures: that table was meant to work along side the floor which held its own set of lay lines; this little portable table would, thus, need more than the one in the woods to counterbalance the lack of empowering ground work.
Or, at least, that’s what Jarl assumes.
There must be some truth to this as Manus sets about filling the lines with packed herbs, various potions, and clay nubs that are just a bit thinner than the ones used before; he then adds a small gemstone—this one blue (The one from the scrying, Jarl remembers, was yellow.).
~
“It is almost midnight, Manus…”
The magician grins as Hagen’s tired voice reaches the ears of everyone in the room. The German man’s face fizzes into view a few seconds later and blinks owlishly at all of them. It then raises an eyebrow.
“Faz'er George?”
“Hagen!” the older priest greets enthusiastically. He seems to have made full note of the doctor’s name now that he’s been given more reason to (and Jarl understands this: it’s very difficult to remember the names of those you only met once or twice a year) and seems completely taken with this new experience.
Hagen, for his part, seems very shocked that he’s been summoned in the man’s church.
Jarl, after all, would never had allowed such sacrilege.
~
“How are things in the parish?"
Hagen settles down (it seems Manus contacted his doctor half while he was tidying up for the evening) and pulls out a little notebook from his breast pocket. He flips it open and fixes his glasses before relaying: “Morning Mass vent vell; it vas primarily an addressment of z’e parish, as z’e Reverend Moz’er insisted, and held no incident. Formal days such as paydays and holidays vere listed so z’at everyone remains on schedule. You seem to have accreted a large mass of confessionors for vhen you come back.”
Jarl frowns, concerned, “Have I?”
The apothecary waves his worried look away, “I am sure it is just because z’ey are missing you.” Hagen then smiles quietly, “At least, z’is is vhat z’ey have been saying to me as I treat z’em.”
Manus giggles as Jarl relaxes, “I’m glad… So, your shop is doing well?”
Here, Hagen perks up a little. “O, ja!” He chuckles, “You two are z’e gossip of z’e town! Everyone is talking about z’e heroic priest ve never knew ve had battling daemons and devils viz’ his brave vizard sidekick! Vhy, one of mein patients is planning to write a book of you two! Doubt z’ey’d get Áesta right, z’ough…”
Jarl chokes on his own spit at the revelation, face suffusing with blood as he becomes embarrassed, and ducks his head as Manus laughs and cheers with the amused George and Hagen.
Heroic priest…???
(Such fantasy…)
~
“And you? How are you?”
Remembering the conversation he had with his fellow priest, Jarl leans closer to the Lay Tablet, concerned. The doctor half of Witch Doctor only looks confused, however, “How do you mean?”
Not entirely certain bringing up the actual issue would be wise, given the company (Manus is not quiet and surprisingly protective of others, including his other half), Jarl instead generalizes his inquiry—for now: “Well, how are you… handling… You were very tired when we left and…” (He’s so clumsy with emotions…)
Hagen, seeming well aware of this, smiles, “You must have been tired, too, ja, carrying me all z’e vay to bed? Slept like a dream z’is morning, z’ough; almost missed mein first appointment!” He laughs, “But, ja, I am vell.”
Jarl smiles, relieved, “I’m glad…”
He’ll ask about the racists next time.
~
They talk a bit more about the parish, Sophie, and how she’s taking things so far, before wrapping up.
By then, it’s well past midnight and the local parishioner is yawning.
“Looks like we should call it a night,” Manus remarks amusedly.
Jarl nods, feeling tired as well, “Let’s get back to the inn and catch a nap before leaving for Bailenac’ringy…” and make sure Áesta hasn’t burned down the rest of the village while they were gone.
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