Recently I was contacted by a publisher who is interested in the book. Consequently, I am undertaking a major rewrite of Tail of the Dragon. This involves incorporating a new storyline of about 10,000 words, while simultaneously cutting about 30,000 words from the current edition. (note-anyone who purchased the first edition can email me to receive a free copy of the new book after publication)
I've decided to give a sample of some of the new story line (Quemel's rebellion). Your feedback is welcome-
Chapter 5
Nuriel’s Fractal stood at the heart
of the academy campus, it’s position and size indicative of the
importance of the work done at the facility. Inside this spectacular
structure, researchers wrestled with the language of the Kings,
mathematics. The monolithic edifice was a functioning example of the
quest to decipher its intricacies. The slowly rotating stack of
ellipses was the physical manifestation of a logarithmic formula
developed by an ancient mathematician named Nuriel. His famous
solution resulted from his work attempting an explanation of the
presence of fractal geometry in the shell of mollusks. The building
was a massive model of the infinitesimally minute layering of calcium
that served as home to the King Snail, one of the little ironies that
its inhabitants found so endearing about the place.
During
construction of the enormous fractal, its namesake perpetually
patrolled the site, causing numerous delays. A story from that period
claimed that Nuriel personally tore down three stories of the
incomplete research center because the rotation was off by a few
nanometers. He told the project manager that any variations from the
formula, no matter how minute, made the structure a farce and a
degradation of the perfection of fractals.
The inscription
above the massive curving entry read “slow the course-bright the
path.” This was rumored by students to be a subtle joke on the
trail left by snails, but Barmen believed it to be a critique of the
well publicized delays that had plagued its creation.
Penemue’s office
was located on the ground floor, appropriate given how important his
work had been to the development of this department. His old friend
was considered by many to be the foremost scholar in several branches
of mathematics. His research in the area of harmonics helped quantify
the way that music worked to alter physical states. His book,
“Harmonic Healing,” was still used by the health sciences school
nearly a millennium after its publication. But it was his expertise
in encryption that Barman was hoping to use.
“Oh, Barman,
good,” Penemue exclaimed as he walked through the door. The frantic
looking angel guided him to a wooden chair, depositing with a soft
shove. “Look up there and let your vision relax.”
Barman’s eyes
moved to the swirling mass of images that swirled just beyond his
friend's outstretched finger. At first he could detect nothing but
streaks of colored light moving in a haphazard motion.
“What am I
supposed to be seeing?” He began.
“Shh. Just
relax. Don’t look at anything. Just try to take in the whole field
at once. If you focus on any one thing, you won’t see it. Oh, I
should write poetry,” his friend muttered, chuckling to himself.
Barman tried to do
as directed. He stared at the roiling mass of colors, observing the
whole mass, but kept picking out particular streaks, involuntarily
following their arc until he lost them in the tangle. He closed his
eyes and opened them again, conscious to avoid being drawn to the
movement. But there was still nothing there.
“Anything now?”
Penemue asked.
“Nothing,”
Barman answered, attempting to keep the irritation from reaching his
voice.
“Try this,” he
said, rubbing something dark on the end of Barman’s nose.
“What did you
put on me?” he asked, bunching his lips and trying to extend his
nose to see. Then he saw it. Just beyond the black smear at its tip
he could clearly see the image of a black swan flying gracefully
before the backdrop of an immense waterfall. The sun glinted on the
regal bird’s ebony wings and offered a startling contrast with the
ebbing blues and whites of the crashing water.
“It’s a black
swan,” he said, amazed that he hadn’t seen any of this.
A light lit up the
room and the image disappeared. Penemue took some antiseptic smelling
towelette and rubbed it across his face, causing him to sputter and
swat his friend’s arm.
“Welcome Barman.
It has been a while. Can I get you something to drink?” he muttered
sarcastically.
“Don’t be such
a baby, Barman. I am trying to help you.”
“And how are you
doing that?” he asked.
“By showing what
we need to decipher the message,” Penemue answered.
Barman thought
back to his request to see his friend. He had made no mention of the
letter and certainly hadn’t indicated that he needed help decoding
it.
“My job is to
weigh probabilities. Your word choice, time frame, and vagueness led
me to deduce that you have some sort of communique that needs to be
deciphered as part of your work.”
“I asked for an
appointment at your earliest convenience,” Barman replied.
“Exactly. So I
was right,” he said and nodded before continuing. “The image of
the swan was visually encrypted. I ran it through a filter that
disrupts the visual spectrum. By refocusing your attention you were
able to see it.”
“I have
absolutely no idea what you did or how that relates to my letter,”
Barman said, retrieving the prisoner’s correspondence from his
satchel.
“With codes, the
message is right there. The secret is discovering the key that
reveals it. The key for my little demonstration was the angle of the
eyes. With encryption the solution usually depends on two separate
keys, one private and one public. Both are needed to decode what is
hidden. Often decryption involves mathematics, but not always.”
Penemue picked up the letter and studied it intently. Barman related
the story of its origin as he did.
“So he wasn’t
able to touch the parchment at all?”
Barman shook his
head, relating the guard’s story about the meetings.
“Well, the good
news is that the cipher can’t be that complicated. The bad news is
it's very well constructed. He avoids much repetition, so finding
patterns will be difficult. I’m going to need as much information
as I can get on this prisoner in order to have a chance of figuring
this out.”
Barman dropped a
thick folder on the desk and turned to leave.
“We are running
out of time on this. You know how to reach me when you have
something,” Barman said as he strode into the hallway.
