Chapter 5 #2
“I realize my jaunt to the village today pulled you away from your studies,” Mercury said as he sat. “I hope you are not too frustrated with me over that.”
The Scholar shook his head. “The local vicar has an impressive collection of antique books. He gave me leave years ago to look in on them whenever I happened to be in the village. I pay for that privilege, though, by listening to an endless stream of questions about whose ghost I might be and where it is I have lived before and where it is I live now. He’s not sorted it out yet, which is entertaining, but he’s also not given up, which is a little exhausting. ”
Mercury hadn’t told the Scholar how crucial it was for people to not know very much about him, but the ghost’s own desire for solitude and isolation naturally lent itself to a close-lipped approach to interactions. It was convenient for both of them.
“The last time I was up here,” Mercury said, “we talked about Phantomic memories.” He opted for a very direct introduction of the topic. The Scholar preferred that to tiptoeing and rambling. “It’s such an interesting topic, and I’ve found myself pondering it ever since.”
“And I have continued reading about Phantomic memories.” The Scholar looked at him over his ghostly glasses. “I’ve found nothing definitive, but there has been some information that has led to a few theories I’m currently entertaining.”
“Do any of those theories account for a ghost one has never met before recognizing a person on sight in an instant?”
The Scholar leaned back in his chair, his familiar expression of pondering tugging at his phantom features. “We’ve always enjoyed intellectual discussions and pondering on probable possibilities. But this feels like something more than that. What is your actual interest in the topic?”
Mercury resisted the very strong urge to squirm. “Why do you seem to doubt this is a purely intellectual interest?”
“You might be able to convince a less keen ghost than I of such a thing, but I know you too well. ’Tis clear to me that you are, in fact, encountering Phantomic memories, not merely pondering them.
You cannot persuade me to believe that there is not a ghost—or ghosts—you are encountering who ‘remember’ things about you that they shouldn’t know. ”
Mercury sensed there was no point denying it. The Scholar knew it was true.
“While in the village, a ghost I’ve never crossed paths with—the ghost has confirmed it, in fact—knew me the moment he saw me.
He called me by name. We hadn’t been introduced.
I hadn’t said my name in the entire time I was in the public room.
The ghost shouldn’t know me, but it’s clear that he does. ”
Throughout the explanation, the Scholar simply nodded, slowly and ponderously. “It concerns you that he knows who you are. Yet, I’d point out, you’ve made yourself famous.”
“Many people know my name,” Mercury acknowledged.
“But I have intentionally never had a portrait commissioned. I avoid London. I don’t join the social whirl anywhere.
” He rubbed at his temples. “People know my name, but they do not know my face.” Mercury pushed out a tense breath. “This ghost instantly knew both.”
“You seem to think that is dangerous,” the Scholar said.
“It potentially is.” The confession emerged as little more than a whisper.
“Dangerous to you? Or dangerous to all the Aventine ghosts?"
Mercury couldn’t bring himself to answer. But he watched understanding dawn on the Scholar’s face. Mercury’s secrets endangered them all, and the Scholar now knew that.
“Why is it dangerous?” the ghost asked.
Mercury shook his head.
With a flick of his hand, the Scholar closed the book in front of him. He then leaned his ghostly elbows on the desk and inched forward, holding Mercury’s gaze with one that pulled at him in an almost physical way.
“You won’t share these worries because you think I won’t help you? Or that I don’t care about the impact of this on this house and those who reside here?” The Scholar’s gaze grew more focused. “Or is it that you think I can’t be trusted?”
Mercury stood. He paced a little but not just to expend energy. He needed to break the tug of the Scholar’s searching gaze. “This is not your burden to bear. I will not require that of you. Any of you.”
“You are protecting us then?”
“Yes.” Mercury glanced back. He could see in an instant that his explanation was not entirely believed.
“Though you’ve shared almost nothing, I’m absolutely convinced whatever this is, ’tis significant.”
He set his hands in the pockets of his dressing gown. “‘Significant’ is not a strong enough word.”
“One bit of advice I can offer,” the Scholar said, “is to get some sleep. Potentially crushing situations are only made worse by exhaustion.”
Mercury pushed out a breath and made his way toward the door. “That is good advice.” But before he could open it, the Scholar spoke again.
“At some point, Mercury Raine, you will have to trust someone, be it ghost or human. As enormous and dangerous as this clearly is, if you try to carry it entirely alone, I fear it will eventually destroy us all.”
As Mercury dragged himself back toward his bedchamber, the Scholar’s words echoing in his mind, he found himself grappling with something new.
He wasn’t merely worried about his secrets, confused about the ghost that clearly knew at least one of those secrets.
His feelings of anxiety were now joined by the weight of guilt.
More than his well-being was on the line. In the morning, he needed to dedicate himself to finding a means of keeping the Violet Giant at Aventine.