what we know about the connection,” Aelia said. “At least, not without all of you attaining a somewhat advanced understanding of magic.”
“Well,” Matt said with a smile, “I suggest you figure something out.”
Aelia shot a look at Nero. He cleared his throat.
“I will commit myself to it,” Nero said. “In the meantime, perhaps you would still be amenable to learning a few siphon skills so that you can move more freely through the building?”
“How about outside this building?” Sloane said. “Or does our leash not extend that far?”
Aelia was not provoked. “At this time, we don’t think it would be safe for you to leave the building,” she said. “You don’t know anything about our world, and you don’t know how to use siphons—”
“But after we learn more,” Matt said, “surely your policy will change.”
Sloane covered her mouth to hide a grin. Aelia reminded her of a wind-up toy; each demand they made twisted her up a little more.
“We will evaluate it as the situation develops,” Aelia replied. “I will leave you in Nero’s and Cyrielle’s capable hands.”
Aelia rearranged the fabric of her stiff cowl, smiled with pursed lips, and walked out of the Hall of Summons, her shoes snapping all the way down the hall. As the sound faded away, Cyrielle approached the box that was on the stone table and started laying out its contents: a line of handheld devices that resembled recorders, the kind that Sloane had seen reporters use during interviews. Cyrielle placed one next to each siphon and switched each one on. A small screen lit up green at the top of the device, right below what appeared to be a microphone.
“Well, shall we begin?” Nero said, bringing his hands together in front of him. “The purpose of today’s lesson will be to master something very simple, something we teach children on Genetrix—we call it a magical breath. But in order to do that, you need to know the basics of what makes a working, which is what we call any act of magic, no matter how small.”
“Like . . . a spell?” Esther said.
“No incantations are involved, so I think that was deemed inaccurate,” Nero said. “What is involved is sound. If magical energy is like water, then certain frequencies are like channels in stone that provide pathways for particular workings. And we help you to find the right frequencies with one of these.” He picked up one of the devices from the table. “It’s formally known in the magical community as a praecontograph, but it’s just a modified oscilloscope—it measures frequencies with the attached microphone. A sophisticated praecontograph can be set to tell you what category of working your frequency falls in.”
“Does that mean . . . men and women do different kinds of workings, usually?” Matt said. “Because men’s voices are usually lower?”
“Yes—when the sound comes from the voice,” Nero said, smiling. “There are an array of small instruments that can be used to produce a wide range of frequencies. And though some people do make their workings quite musical, even someone with a horrible ear for music—or someone who can’t hear at all—can still make sound at the correct frequency.”
“That’s a relief,” Esther said, “because I’ve been told that when I sing, I sound like a drowning cat.”
“The range of workings possible with the human voice are quite limited anyway,” Nero said. “But the magical breath is one of them, which makes it ideal for children. Unfortunately for male adults”—here he looked at Matt—“the frequency is somewhat high. One hundred seventy megahertz. I have a whistle if you can’t quite manage it.”
“My falsetto isn’t bad,” Matt said.
“Excellent. Well, first, everyone take an oscilloscope, and we’ll all try to find the right frequency.”
Sloane went up to the table with the others to pick up one of the devices. While she was there, she looked over the siphons. They were simple, made of a black, grainy metal, with a plate for the back of the hand and one for the palm, like a glove without fingertips. A standard-issue siphon, Sloane guessed, whereas Nero’s and Cyrielle’s were for the wealthy. A logo was stamped on the back: a beast with a bird’s head, a man’s torso, and a serpent’s tail instead of legs. The tail was curled around a large A.
“Abraxas,” Nero said when he saw her staring at it. “They make the highest quality siphons.”
Sloane stepped back, an oscilloscope in hand, into the line with the others. Cyrielle then sang a note. Her