Chapter 4
Upon further inspection, Roy couldn’t help but notice the Governor had a most peculiar face, his features conspicuous, giving Roy the same feeling one might get from staring into a pitch-dark room: It took some time to find the eccentricities, but once you did, they were almost impossible to forget.
The moment Dimestra and Evan left the room, the Governor’s thin smile broadened, and his expression shifted into one of keen readiness .
. . and avarice. Roy didn’t like that look; it reminded him of his brother.
“Well, Roy,” the Governor said, “does it live up to your standards? Is your imagination sated?”
Roy considered the question. If he were in a mood for honesty, he would tell the Governor that his imagination had never ventured farther than the doors of Dawnseve Manor, that the few books lining the shelves in his home, rescued from the wreckage of immolated bookshops, were just enough to escape the clouds of gunpowder and the cries of children.
But admittedly, Roy was still so awestruck by the magnitude of the Orphic Basilica and its surreal possessions that he confessed, “It’s outstanding.
I’ve never seen, nor even thought to imagine that there could be, so many books contained in one space. ”
“The prospect isn’t quite as plausible as it might have been in the Age of Scribes,” the Governor agreed, a slight tinge of amusement to his voice. He pursed his lips, musing. “You must have quite the collection, given the intensity of your . . . enthusiasm.”
Roy shifted in his seat, discomforted by the reminder of the Governor’s awareness of his crime. “I’ve read them all six times or so,” he said. “There wasn’t anything of much import except a few anthologies and journals. Some were . . . bland, though.”
“Oh?” the Governor said. He steepled his fingers together beneath his chin, then insisted, “Tell me more.”
Frowning, Roy scratched his wrist, nonplussed by the Governor’s inquiry. “Why? What could you gain from that information?”
The Governor straightened, giving Roy a puzzled look. “Ah well, I’m not exactly an adept reader, you see. I thought it might help me better sympathize with your situation if you could impart upon me the good and the bad of philosophy, its workings and its flaws.”
Roy was assaulted by a thousand thoughts, none of them particularly reassuring.
It’s impossible to teach within minutes what scholars have been trying to discover for millennia.
In fact, if you could teach me, Governor, that would be wonderful, because sometimes I haven’t the slightest clue what I’m doing.
But it was this that baffled Roy: Why are you, someone who has single-mindedly fought for decades to erase knowledge, suddenly interested in it? What sort of trap is this?
What do you truly want from me? From all this?
These thoughts continued to revolve through Roy’s mind until he stumbled upon a goal.
If the Governor’s interests were somehow entangled with his own, then maybe by expressing his exclusive devotion to philosophy, Roy could persuade the Governor to withdraw his proposition, thereby preventing Roy from being embroiled in the war.
After a silent moment, during which he hoped his convictions were strong enough to coax the Governor, Roy said, “Think of philosophy as a quest, an exploration for suitability. A philosopher tests their limits, guides their mind into subjects both daring and trivial. One way of thinking may enable one scholar to access a plethora of information, while on the other hand, their colleague might find the same work drab and uninspiring. You aren’t asking the wrong question, as it is undeniable there are good and bad approaches to philosophy, but as far as choosing what is most appropriate for oneself, the question becomes a matter of the senses, of human instincts. ”
“And what have your instincts told you over the course of your studies?” the Governor asked.
“Many things,” Roy said, “though I doubt these have all been correct. I would hope they weren’t, anyway.
A great amount of exploration is involved, is necessary, before a revelation can be yielded.
Some philosophers have gone their entire lives without such a revelation.
Of course, that isn’t to suggest their efforts should go unmentioned by future scholars.
After all, unlike most circles of influence, the academic community has a unique, indomitable sense of universal acceptance.
” He belatedly added, “The community as it once was, of course,” and hoped that the Governor didn’t notice his slipup.
The Governor, however, simply smiled.
By the Scribes, he knows about the scholars in hiding, Roy thought, adopting an impassive expression.
But of course he knows. How else could those scholars I saw on the way here have been bookmarked?
How else could I have been exposed? Neither the Matron nor Gabriel would have said anything; harboring a criminal is as much a crime as anything I’ve done.
He wondered who among his few correspondents had been colluding with the Governor all along, who had decided that Roy’s fascination with literature had gone too far, that enough was enough, and turned him in.
“And where among this community do your interests lie?” the Governor asked, still smiling. “Surely not all philosophers fight the same battles.”
“Sometimes, we may come to similar conclusions,” Roy said.
“And sometimes, our findings may intersect with one another, like threads overlapping, becoming a string and, if you’re fortunate, a pattern of congruencies and theories.
But usually, the exploratory process of philosophical discovery is a personal affair.
I’ve made it my own goal to understand the psychological framework of human existence, behavior, and thought within a philosophical context. ”
He stopped himself there. The explanation was broad, but it was also as detailed as he would allow.
He could not afford to go on, to articulate the true depth of his love for philosophy, how its abstract concepts had imbued his life with purpose, if only momentarily, before the reality of his torment and sorrow crept back in.
He could not expose his deepest wounds to the Governor, who was already capitalizing on Roy’s bibliomania to drive out the Old Ones and turn them from Northgard’s shores.
All, no doubt, to further his own ambitions, which had nothing to do with Roy’s . . . let alone the city’s.
And so Roy hated himself when the words came pouring out of his mouth, but he could not hold them back. “Some philosophers may even go so far as to demonstrate their theories on a colleague. I haven’t conducted such experiments yet, though.”
The Governor leaned forward, raising a brow. “If given the chance to collaborate with a partner, would you prefer them to have a similar mindset?”
“Oh yes, certainly,” Roy said, nodding. He blamed the promptness of his replies on his excitement; discussing the possibility of a collaborative research project was gratifying beyond measure.
Such a thing would mean he wasn’t alone.
Somewhere in this city, in the streets he’d looked out over in Dawnseve Manor only hours before, there were still people like him, their heads bent over stolen books, their hands stained with ink.
“It would be useful for my exploration of human thought, too, to work with a colleague.”
The Governor nodded, then pressed a hand against his brow with a wince that drew lines across his forehead. “Do you think you would benefit more from having a partner, as opposed to working alone?”
Another silence passed between them, one weighted with meaning that Roy could not decipher.
The Governor didn’t appear to possess any vindictive qualities, nothing that stood out to Roy.
But then again, deceit was not always immediately visible to the naked eye, and he would be naive to think the Governor had gotten where he was through pure honesty.
Roy swallowed, frustrated. He cursed his struggle with interpreting the emotions of people he wasn’t familiar with, because while he plainly understood Briar’s and the Matron’s feelings through their facial expressions, the Governor was a virtual stranger to Roy. He felt lost, uncertain how to proceed.
“‘Silence is the maker of small reminders: your breath, your heart, your reason to be,’ ” Roy said after a moment.
“That was Polisworth, a famed philosopher. In his thesis, Ambrosia for Curses, he explored remedies for times of mental duress, silence being an utmost priority. I entered philosophy through Polisworth’s findings and subscribed to his Silent Song Theory, which encouraged me to work in solitude.
The practice is blissful, for the most part.
” He shrugged. “I’m not able to conduct discussions, though, which I would prefer, but there are downsides to every principle. ”
“Which, I presume, comes back to the question of educational suitability. An approach to philosophy might not apply to all philosophers, but there is an approach available for all philosophers.”
Roy begrudgingly agreed with the Governor. “Not every style of research, nor every subject of discussion, should cater toward one individual.”
“But if philosophy is considered among the academic community to be a place of universal acceptance, why stop there? Why not evolve into a place of universal understanding while you’re at it? Why help one person when you can help them all?”
“Philosophy heals the consciousness through mental expansion, which is anything but selective, this is true. It is a collective process. Excepting his thesis, even Polisworth worked with other philosophers.”
“And you?”
Roy hesitated, a thought hitting him hard just then. If the Governor did know of the others, then it came back to the idea of Why me? Surely there are others more accomplished?