![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
.au coookie: medieval steampunk doodle thing
I'm not entirely sure where this came from, or where it might go, but I blame this on: 1.) current RL, 2.) ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
steammmpunk, 3.) my kink/cliche fest prompt, 4.) everything else I should be working on.
"I thought," Radek of Bohemia said slowly, "that you were dead."
"A lot of people say that." Rodney McKay, who had been glaring out the dirty pane of their window, turned to glare at Radek. "Fortunately for me, it keeps turning out not to be true."
"Yes, well, that will change sooner or later." Radek's rooms in the boardinghouse already strained to accommodate him and his small collection of books; in the six years since their last meeting, he had forgotten how effortlessly Rodney's presence filled any empty space around him and Radek found himself, with no small resentment, making himself unobtrusive. McKay stalked the ten paces of open floor between the window and door, pausing to stare outside and talk to himself. His hands moved in the absent twitches Radek had learned to associate with McKay deep in thought.
"It may change tonight," Radek added when it became clear Rodney's attention had shifted elsewhere, "if your… your acquaintance does not come." Or if he does. "You have not told me much of this… this Daniel, and why he and Lady Weir said you should search out myself and this other man."
"I told you," Rodney snapped, "I met Daniel in Egypt, and Lady Weir was on pilgrimage to the Holy Land." As if that explained everything, which for Rodney, probably did. "And both of them agreed, as Daniel would be risking his very valuable neck to come back here and be useful, you would be the person best suited to help me, along with the other, if he ever shows up." Rodney pulled a small, very illegal timepiece from the fold of his robe and studied it. "Late," he snorted. "I break canon law to get here and he's late."
"And this would be the reason why you desecrated a holy place to return to Paris in this way." A vein in Radek's temple twitched at the thought; the Chamber of Elijah had been forbidden to all but the most devout for a hundred years, the chapel with its alcoves that, when entered, could, in the bright flash of rapture, transported a man hundreds of leagues away.
And to make matters worse, Radek thought bleakly, Rodney had stolen this… this, a thing only the archbishops, the ones touched by holy grace, were allowed to make use of, a thing which now sat in all its mystery on Radek's worktable.
It did nothing in and of itself, Rodney had said over Radek's frantic murmurs of heresy, arrest, trial, and certain death. Over a foot tall, faceted like a jewel, dull amber inscribed with Potentia sanctitatis sum inscribed in the base, and by all rights – by decree no less – it belonged in the possession of the Holy See, not the hands of a wandering scholar who had been the terror of the Paris professors.
"It belongs," Rodney said peevishly to Radek's very sensible point, "to a commune in Provence. Or it did before the Inquisitors took it. That's what they're doing now, you know, searching out relics and taking them back to Rome. They're paralyzing us." His hand slipped into a pocket. "The Porta Christi in the Vatican… They brought that back from Constantinople fifty years ago, and they know what it does now. And they know I know."
That was the sort of casual announcement that made Rodney difficult to live with. Radek buried his face in his hands.
"I shared a room with you for the one year you needed to convince the faculty to expel you," Radek muttered. "This does not give you the right to have me hunted down."
"Oh, calm down," Rodney snapped. "If I can risk my very valuable life and even more valuable head for this, you can too. The Vatican is taking away the potentiae that make the cities run, the transporters, the lights…" He gestured to Radek's naquadah lamp. "Even that, sooner or later. And I think I know why, and we need to stop it."
"Why?" Radek tried not to think of the Dominicans that had come nosing around; very rarely priests ventured into the student quarter, which was why Radek stayed here in the first place, but if the canes domini were investigating owners of small devices such as Radek's lamp, or Kavanagh of Dublin, who cooked his meals on a small plate heated by the same substance… Maybe Rodney had a point. "How is this mysterious man supposed to help?"
"Lady Weir wouldn't tell me that." Rodney came to rest on a rickety chair. He stared at the potentia. "She only told me to leave a message at Ostia on my way back through Rome, addressed to poimen Iohannes, and he would come."
"A shepherd?" Radek blinked. 'Shepherd' meant 'priest' more than likely, and why Rodney would want one involved escaped him. He said this and Rodney frowned at him and demanded to know if Radek honestly believed Rodney hadn't thought about that.
"I didn't live this long by being stupid," Rodney said, which was not an answer in Radek's opinion. Then again, Rodney had survived Oxford and Paris, and then five years in the East, associating with a known heretic/mystic and a noblewoman who, so the stories ran, had more of the heretic in her than was politically sensible for her husband to admit. Perhaps it was an answer, or perhaps luck.
A knock sounded at the door, three times, hollow but echoing as the last call to judgment.
steammmpunk, 3.) my kink/cliche fest prompt, 4.) everything else I should be working on."I thought," Radek of Bohemia said slowly, "that you were dead."
"A lot of people say that." Rodney McKay, who had been glaring out the dirty pane of their window, turned to glare at Radek. "Fortunately for me, it keeps turning out not to be true."
"Yes, well, that will change sooner or later." Radek's rooms in the boardinghouse already strained to accommodate him and his small collection of books; in the six years since their last meeting, he had forgotten how effortlessly Rodney's presence filled any empty space around him and Radek found himself, with no small resentment, making himself unobtrusive. McKay stalked the ten paces of open floor between the window and door, pausing to stare outside and talk to himself. His hands moved in the absent twitches Radek had learned to associate with McKay deep in thought.
"It may change tonight," Radek added when it became clear Rodney's attention had shifted elsewhere, "if your… your acquaintance does not come." Or if he does. "You have not told me much of this… this Daniel, and why he and Lady Weir said you should search out myself and this other man."
"I told you," Rodney snapped, "I met Daniel in Egypt, and Lady Weir was on pilgrimage to the Holy Land." As if that explained everything, which for Rodney, probably did. "And both of them agreed, as Daniel would be risking his very valuable neck to come back here and be useful, you would be the person best suited to help me, along with the other, if he ever shows up." Rodney pulled a small, very illegal timepiece from the fold of his robe and studied it. "Late," he snorted. "I break canon law to get here and he's late."
"And this would be the reason why you desecrated a holy place to return to Paris in this way." A vein in Radek's temple twitched at the thought; the Chamber of Elijah had been forbidden to all but the most devout for a hundred years, the chapel with its alcoves that, when entered, could, in the bright flash of rapture, transported a man hundreds of leagues away.
And to make matters worse, Radek thought bleakly, Rodney had stolen this… this, a thing only the archbishops, the ones touched by holy grace, were allowed to make use of, a thing which now sat in all its mystery on Radek's worktable.
It did nothing in and of itself, Rodney had said over Radek's frantic murmurs of heresy, arrest, trial, and certain death. Over a foot tall, faceted like a jewel, dull amber inscribed with Potentia sanctitatis sum inscribed in the base, and by all rights – by decree no less – it belonged in the possession of the Holy See, not the hands of a wandering scholar who had been the terror of the Paris professors.
"It belongs," Rodney said peevishly to Radek's very sensible point, "to a commune in Provence. Or it did before the Inquisitors took it. That's what they're doing now, you know, searching out relics and taking them back to Rome. They're paralyzing us." His hand slipped into a pocket. "The Porta Christi in the Vatican… They brought that back from Constantinople fifty years ago, and they know what it does now. And they know I know."
That was the sort of casual announcement that made Rodney difficult to live with. Radek buried his face in his hands.
"I shared a room with you for the one year you needed to convince the faculty to expel you," Radek muttered. "This does not give you the right to have me hunted down."
"Oh, calm down," Rodney snapped. "If I can risk my very valuable life and even more valuable head for this, you can too. The Vatican is taking away the potentiae that make the cities run, the transporters, the lights…" He gestured to Radek's naquadah lamp. "Even that, sooner or later. And I think I know why, and we need to stop it."
"Why?" Radek tried not to think of the Dominicans that had come nosing around; very rarely priests ventured into the student quarter, which was why Radek stayed here in the first place, but if the canes domini were investigating owners of small devices such as Radek's lamp, or Kavanagh of Dublin, who cooked his meals on a small plate heated by the same substance… Maybe Rodney had a point. "How is this mysterious man supposed to help?"
"Lady Weir wouldn't tell me that." Rodney came to rest on a rickety chair. He stared at the potentia. "She only told me to leave a message at Ostia on my way back through Rome, addressed to poimen Iohannes, and he would come."
"A shepherd?" Radek blinked. 'Shepherd' meant 'priest' more than likely, and why Rodney would want one involved escaped him. He said this and Rodney frowned at him and demanded to know if Radek honestly believed Rodney hadn't thought about that.
"I didn't live this long by being stupid," Rodney said, which was not an answer in Radek's opinion. Then again, Rodney had survived Oxford and Paris, and then five years in the East, associating with a known heretic/mystic and a noblewoman who, so the stories ran, had more of the heretic in her than was politically sensible for her husband to admit. Perhaps it was an answer, or perhaps luck.
A knock sounded at the door, three times, hollow but echoing as the last call to judgment.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Page 1 of 2