Bothany

Chapter 108: Franklin Manning

The sun hung low over Doras Dagda, casting long, uneven shadows across its walls and the sprawling arcoplex outside the city gates. The arcoplex, a haven for refugees, housed everyone who had sought safety near the settlement. The air was thick with tension, as access to the city's food stores had been cut off during the investigation into the Gardens' sabotage.

The gates of Doras Dagda stood sealed, reinforced with enchanted iron and towering over the gathered crowd. A line of Kobrutes, their stone and crystal forms immovable, flanked the entryway. The massive creatures stood like statues, their rough surfaces catching glints of fading sunlight. Kobold riders sat atop their broad shoulders, sharp eyes scanning the crowd for trouble.

A kobold rider announced, his voice cutting through the murmurs below, "By order of Lord Robert, the gates of Doras Dagda are closed until further notice. No access to the town or markets will be granted until the investigation into the sabotage of the Gardens is complete."

Uneasy murmurs and frustrated muttering rose from the crowd. Families huddled, faces drawn with worry. Some shouted protests, anger breaking through their fear, but the Kobrutes stood unyielding, their presence discouraging escalation.

Robert leaned against the cold stone parapet of the inner wall, watching the scene unfold. His jaw tightened, his mind heavy with the decision to close the gates. It was necessary, he knew, but the fear and frustration below gnawed at him.

He turned his gaze to the Gardens, the Ambrosial Tree shedding golden leaves like faint sparks. This whole situation didn't set right with him. He couldn't understand why someone would harm so many people.

Robert paced along the walls, ignoring the crowd's calls, waiting for Young Toby and his friends to scour the arcoplex. Hours had passed, understandable given the structure's size—a shopping mall above ground, extending deep into the bedrock. "I'll need to reward those kids when they return," he thought.

Toby's voice broke through the crowd's noise. "We found him! We found hiiim! Robert!!"

Robert turned, spotting Toby and an old man toddling behind. The crowd parted slightly, letting the small group approach the gates. Franklin Manning, stooped with weathered hands, followed Toby, clutching a satchel. Murmurs grew louder, sensing the arrival's importance but unsure of its meaning.

The kobold rider atop the nearest Kobrute raised a hand. "Halt. No one enters. Even children and the elderly, the city is closed to everyone."

Toby glared up, defiant. "He's here to help! We need to see Lord Robert!"

The kobold shook his head. "Orders are orders. No exceptions."

Robert leaned over the parapet, his voice carrying. "Let them in, Sergeant. Open the gates!"

The kobold looked up, eyes narrowing. "If we open the gates, my lord, the crowd will push through. They'll stampede to the food stores. There could be injuries, or worse."

Robert's mouth tightened. The kobold was right. He turned to a nearby archer. "Prepare the ramp."

The archer nodded, rushing to release a mechanism. With creaks and groans, a wide ramp extended from the parapet, descending to the lead Kobrute's shoulders, connecting with a thud.

Robert called down, "Extend the Kobrute's arms to the ramp. Franklin Manning needs to climb. Ensure his safety."

The Kobrute sergeant barked a command, and the stone creature shifted, raising its arms to form a platform against the ramp. Franklin hesitated, eyeing the crystalline beast nervously.

"Go on," Toby urged, pushing Franklin forward. "They won't let anything happen to you."

Toby and the children climbed the ramp with agility, scrambling up the Kobrute's arms without hesitation. Franklin paused at the base, tightening his grip on his satchel.

The sergeant barked another command, and a second Kobrute positioned its crystalline hands to form a cradle below Franklin. The rider motioned. "Step forward. It'll lift you."

Franklin nodded cautiously, stepping into the Kobrute's palm. The creature lifted him gently, raising him to the ramp. The crowd murmured in awe at the coordination.

Franklin steadied himself on the ramp's railing and reached the top, where Robert helped him onto the wall. The old man gripped Robert's arm, his face determined.

"Franklin Manning?" Robert asked.

"Yesh, dats me," Franklin replied, his toothless lisp clear.

Robert smiled. "Thank you for coming. We need your expertise now more than ever."

Franklin adjusted his satchel, eyes narrowing at the city. "Let'th not washte time. Show me what I'm workin' with."

Robert led Franklin down stone-paved paths to the Gardens of the Dagda. The air grew colder, a spreading blight clinging to the once-thriving sanctuary. Golden leaves lay scattered, their glow dim under the decay.

Robert explained as they walked. "We've tried everything—magic, soil treatments, purifying spells. Nothing works. Whatever's happening, it's beyond what we've seen. We don't know the cause."

Franklin shuffled beside him, eyes scanning with intensity, clutching his satchel. They reached a makeshift table near the garden's edge, holding soil samples, withered plants, and a bowl of fungus. Franklin sighed, lips curling in disapproval. "Ahhh, thith ith a tragedy," he muttered, shaking his head. He leaned closer, clucking in pity. "Poor thingth... poor garden... it'th like watchin' a life get drained right outta 'em."

Franklin unpacked his satchel—vials, a magnifying lens, tweezers—and inspected the fungus, plucking a sample into a vial. "It'th definitely a fungus," he said, his lisp soft. "Thpreadin' like it'th been designed to leech everythin' around it."

He examined a tomato plant, lifting it under the lens. His expression darkened. "Thith ain't right," he muttered, pointing to withered roots. "The rootth are workin' backwardth. Inthtead of drawin' nutrientth up, they're pushin' it back down. The den-thity of the funguth around the rootth ith takin' everythin'. No wonder the plantth are dyin'."

Robert crossed his arms, concerned. "Can it be stopped?"

Franklin stayed focused. "Hard to thay. We need more thampleth. Thith ain't natural. Thomebody put thith here." He straightened, wincing. "Firtht, we gotta figure out how it reactth to magic."

Snow stepped forward, her blue cloak fluttering. "I'm Snow, a mage specializing in water and ice magic, but also chief alchemist. I can make things if I know the ingredients. I've been working with the druids to understand this."

Franklin looked up, interested. "Go on, girl."

Snow explained, "The druids' healing spells aren't helping. They're feeding the fungus. The more magic we pour into the soil, the faster it grows. It's designed to absorb magical energy."

Franklin sighed, his expression darkening. "Hmm... That'th bad. Real bad. Thpreadin' and growin' fat on magic, huh? Like fuel for a fire. Poor garden never had a chanth."

Franklin stared at the Ambrosial Tree, its leaves falling like fading glints. "Thith tree... ith too proud to die quietly, but it'th dyin' all the thame."

He turned to Snow. "Snow, girl, can we uthe your lab? I need to get thith funguth under a proper lenth. I have... ideath."

Snow nodded eagerly. "Of course, follow me. My alchemy lab is in the Arcane Crafting Tower, second floor. It's well-equipped."

They trekked to Snow's lab, Robert watching Franklin's expression. Snow led briskly, her cloak swishing. Franklin's pace was deliberate, his mind churning.

The lab was lined with herb-filled shelves, the air thick with the earthy scent of dried plants. Franklin's eyes widened. "By the Dagda... look at thith," he muttered, reaching for rare herbs. "Bearberry. Tormentil. Cloudberry. You've been thcoutin' the Highlandth for yearth, haven't you?"

Snow smiled proudly. "I collect what I can. The countryside's full of treasures. Everything here has a purpose."

Franklin chuckled. "Good girl. A proper alchemitth ith only as good as their thupplies. Let'th get to work. Hand me that magnifier and a flame thtone." He added, chuckling, "If I were young, I don't know if I'd keep from athkin' you on a date, mith Thnow. You're lovely, and judgin' by thith equipment, you have a brain too. That'th the motht attractive thing about a woman!"

Snow blinked, laughing softly. "Thank you, Mr. Manning. That's kind. Your work ethic's the most attractive thing about you."

Franklin wheezed a chuckle. "Ah, you're thweet, girl. Let'th thtick to the funguth. It'th thtealin' all the attention, not in a good way."

Snow squinted. "Wait, did you say 'stealing' or sealing something?"

Franklin laughed. "Thtealin', girl. Thtealin'. Like a thief! Goodneth, my lisp'th workin' harder than I am today."

Snow smiled, cheeks flushing. "Got it. Sorry, Mr. Manning!"

Franklin waved her off. "Don't fret, girl. I'll try not to trip over my wordth. You better keep up—you're thmarter than you look."

Snow laughed, growing fond of his quirks, and passed him the tools. Franklin set the fungus vials on the table. "Let'th thee what maketh thith nasty thing tick."

He positioned the microscope, hands steady, humming a tuneless melody. Snow watched, notebook ready.

"Now," Franklin began, "firht thing—alwayth check the texture and fiberth. That'll tell uth about itth growth patternth."

He spread a fungal sample on a slide, adding distilled water and a cover slip. He adjusted the magnification and peered through the eyepiece.

Franklin squinted. "Mm-hmm. There it ith," he murmured. "Thethe hyphae threadth—thith ith where itth drawin' nutrientth. Look at 'em—tight-knit and greedy ath hell."

Snow tilted her head. "Hyphae threads? Like the roots of the fungus?"

"Thort of," Franklin said, not looking up. "They're the structure it utheth to thpread. The more threadth, the more it conthume. Thith one ith packed full." He gestured for her to look. "Thee how it lookth twithed? That'th why the rootth are dyin'. It'th stealin' everythin' they need."

Snow peered into the microscope, lips parting. "It's like a web. Almost alive."

Franklin hurmed, reaching for a tool. "Thath becauthe it ith alive. Let'th thee how it reactth to chemicalth. Hand me that dropper."

Snow passed it, and Franklin applied alchemical fluid to another sample. The tendrils recoiled, then unfurled through the liquid. Franklin frowned. "Ooh, well. Thith ith bad. Quick, girl, prepare another thlide. Grab that vial of thtain—I need to thtain the cellth for a close look."

Franklin stained another sample, whistling cheerfully. He adjusted the microscope to high magnification.

"Now, let'th take a proper look," he murmured. Snow stood attentive, notebook ready.

The stained sample showed crystalline cell walls. Franklin muttered, "Look at that. Thethe wallth... thicker than any natural funguth. Built for rethilience. Probably why it'th thpreadin' tho fatht."

He jotted notes, sketching hyphae and cells, labeling them neatly. At the page's top, he wrote: Fusarium oxysporum.

Snow peered over. "Is that what it's called? Fusarium?"

"Yeth," Franklin said, tapping his pencil. "Thith strain lookth modified. Natural Fusarium wouldn't act thith way—thith ith engineered. The den-thity, the hyphae... all wrong. It'th meant to thurvive magic and conthume whatever it can get itth threadth on."

Snow paled. "Engineered? Someone made this?"

Franklin nodded, whistling fading. "Yeth, and they knew what they were doin'. Thith ithn't a normal infethstation..."

"It'th a weapon."