Chapter 18
18
I asked Hypatia to come with me for my first visit to the Alchemist Guild Testament, and she scheduled us a time slot in the Ark for today.
As I approach the winding staircase that leads up to the Ark, I’m surprised to see that next to the ever-present stone-faced Guard stands Simon, wearing a matching black uniform. His shiny silver buttons are smudged.
“What are you doing here?” I ask him.
“My family doesn’t want me to fall behind in my Guard training while I’m away from Avant, so I’m doing some basic training here. Congratulations on joining the Alchemists, by the way.”
I have to blink away a vivid image of him flying over a field of flowers—Why am I still getting flashbacks from that annoying dream?—before I respond with, “Thanks. I really liked your hurdy-gurdy performance and your boat.”
He lights up. “Thank you! Are you here to see your guild’s testament?”
“Yeah, I’m just waiting for Hypatia.”
“I’m here!” Hypatia sings, coming up behind me. The other Guard grunts, wanting us to move things along.
They search us—Simon’s cheeks pinkening as he pats Hypatia’s pockets— and take everything we have, including both our spoons. Once cleared, we make our way up the twisty staircase.
At the top of the landing, there’s a large circular desk. The pregnant steward I’ve been befriending, Xander, is on duty.
“Ada! Hypatia!” she greets us. “Congratulations to you both for becoming journeys.”
At the sight of Xander’s warm smile, an icy shard of guilt spears through me. Hypatia, Simon, Xander—they all trust me, and I’m planning to use that trust to steal from them.
But I know it’s the right thing to do.
Xander escorts us into the sealed glass room of the Ark and carefully retrieves the Alchemist Testament. She removes the emerald-green velvet cover embroidered with the Alchemist emblem of a mortar and pestle in front of the Tree of Life, and she shows us how to unroll the scrolls and use the index system to find what we need. We wear protective gloves so as not to damage the parchment with the oils on our hands and use a pointer to direct our eyes over the cramped calligraphy. Touching the Testaments feels… important. It’s just a scroll written by humans, yet it feels holy. I know some Makers would say it is holy. That human innovation is divine, the continuation of the work of the Conductor. It’s easy to believe that sentiment when surrounded by the evolution of human advancement so carefully collected and treasured here inside the Ark.
Thinking of it as sacred certainly doesn’t help me alleviate my guilt over appropriating it.
“What do you want to look at first?” Hypatia asks once Xander has left the room.
“Medicines,” I say resolutely.
While I see absolutely nothing about giving Sire abilities to non-Sires, no conversation with Kor or online forums could have prepared for what we do find. The breadth of information in the index alone is overwhelming. I’ve only looked at one section in the actual scrolls, and already my mind is reeling. The recipes, trials, experiments, and results. The magnitude of how much the Makers have solved, how much they can prevent, how much they can cure.
Unrolled beneath my gloved hands are cures for genetic diseases, infections, cancers; references to Bioscience surgical procedures utilizing Sire healing. I don’t know how I’m going to manage to get my phone in here, but I’m going to have to find a way. This information must be shared.
The words before me blur together as I think of packed children’s wards, overflowing intensive care units, of global pandemics that have killed so many. The Makers could stop it all. I guess I’ve kind of known all along. But now I know for sure . And that makes it so much worse.
My anger grows until my hands tremble so hard that Hypatia takes the pointer from me before I accidentally gouge the sensitive parchment.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“I’m fine,” I snap. “Actually, no.” I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “I’m not feeling too well. I think I should go.”
“Of course,” she says. “We’ll come back another time. I’ll get Xander to help me put everything away. You go lie down. You look pale.”
I stand frozen for a minute. Then stalk out of the glass room.
I need to talk to someone about this.
We’re slaves to viruses and disease.
Kor warned me that the Makers were hoarding more than I could fathom, but even being here for months, I didn’t understand how right he was. I’ve been wasting valuable time. I remove my gloves and leave them on the desk, ignoring a startled Xander. I hurry down the stairs past Simon, who chases after me and returns my things, but I don’t even thank him as I storm directly to the Spring wing.
I bang on Michael’s office door, my eyes burning from unshed tears. Not everyone here knows about the rest of the world, but he does. Plus, he’s a master and close to Headmaster Bloche; he has the influence to make change.
Michael opens the door. “Ada? What are you doing here?”
Kaylie is there too. “Are you okay?” she asks, rising from the ridiculously colored sofa. “Come sit. You don’t look well.”
I make direct eye contact with Michael and, without masking the accusation in my tone, I say, “I looked at the Alchemy testament.”
“And?” Kaylie’s expression is open and concerned, but Michael looks down. He knows why I’m upset.
“How can you let so many people suffer when you have the means to help them?”
“Help who, Ada?” Kaylie puts a calming hand on my shoulder.
I turn to her, softening my tone. “The world,” I say. “Everyone else. There’s so much wrong with the provincial world that could be solved with Maker knowledge. But you just stay in your bubble, helping only yourselves.”
Kaylie looks at me with pity. “It’s not so simple—” she says.
“That’s not how it works—” Michael starts at the same time.
I throw up my hands in exasperation, glaring at Michael. “We’re talking about an entire world of suffering!”
I brace myself for indifference or more excuses, but instead he says, “You’re right. I wish it could be different.” He turns away, slamming his hands onto his desk. “You think it doesn’t pain me, too? My grandmother only escaped genocide because it was a time that the Makers deemed it acceptable to interfere. But these days we’re not doing enough. I worry about it constantly.” He pushes off from the desk, drags both hands through his hair, and starts to pace.
Kaylie seems taken aback by his outburst, and Michael tries to explain to her. “You don’t understand; you haven’t seen it. Their world… There are so many things we could make better—” He gives up and turns to me with a hopeless look. “But you don’t understand either. You think if we just ship off boxes of medicine, everything would be solved? The Sophists have debated this for years. I’ve petitioned the Council myself. But the risks aren’t worth the little we can do.”
Kaylie adds, “Our advancements involve extremely sensitive knowledge that is bound to be misused. Every innovation that lands in provincial hands is eventually used for violence and war. They can’t be trusted—”
I know that Kaylie has grown up brainwashed by these ideas, but it’s still hard for me to keep the outrage out of my voice as I say, “You don’t know them. How do you know you’re more trustworthy than them?”
“It doesn’t matter, Ada,” Michael says, resigned. “Their world has plenty of solutions already, and it’s not enough to truly fix things.”
It’s my world, not their world. I want to shout it, remind him that this is personal for me. But I hold it in. I just joined a guild, made an unspoken commitment that I’m on my way to accepting this society as my own. I can’t let anyone, even Michael, doubt my allegiance. I need my cover to remain flawless because, ultimately, if I can’t convince the Makers to share their knowledge willingly, I’ll have to steal it. And I’ll need to be trusted to pull that off.
Michael continues. “Anytime we’ve tried, they find ways to hoard the knowledge, create scarcity, drive up prices, and make a profit.”
“As opposed to hoarding it for one tiny, insular society?” I challenge.
Michael’s brown eyes flash defensively as he steps closer, his tall frame towering over me. “You know hardly anything about us, Ada. We have expanded beyond our insular society many times in history. We shared everything with the Matriarchy of the Isles and the Prophets of Naiot. We share with those who place the needs of humankind above their own wants. With those who actually make an effort to tap into their creative potential and contribute to the advancement of the world.”
The absolute nerve of him. “Newsflash, Sophist master.” I jab my finger at his chest and am met with the solid resistance of stubborn man. “Most people can’t use all their creative potential because they’re too busy devoting their energy to daily survival . It’s easy for you to celebrate yourself for advancing society when all your basic needs are met for free . When you don’t have to devote the majority of your time to whatever soulless job will pay the rent.”
“It’s a broken system. I don’t disagree.”
“A broken system you have the power to help! And it should be your top priority. Never mind individual suffering. Think of the planet. I saw those scrolls, Michael. That information could be used to battle pollution, global pandemics, climate change.” I think of all the information that Grandfather forced me to read up on, the suffering of our planet that I didn’t want to face when I was powerless to prevent it.
But I’m not powerless anymore.
“If the provincial world starts crumbling to the ground, you think your hidden communities will remain safe? If you ignore their problems, they’ll become your problems.”
“You think we don’t know that?” Michael responds, his voice rising. “You think more knowledgeable minds than yours haven’t been debating these very issues for decades? You think we haven’t tried sharing information about sustainability, medication, vaccinations? It doesn’t make anything better. Giving the provincial world quick fixes won’t change anything until they deal with inequality and corruption.”
“You have solutions for that, too!” I shout at him.
“Not ones they are willing to implement!” he shouts back.
Kaylie puts up her hands and tries to interject. “Why don’t we relax—” But we both ignore her. I’d practically forgotten she was here, my entire world shrinking down to just Michael and me, standing too close together. Yet there is a chasm between us that may be too wide to ever bridge.
Michael tries a little more calmly. “If you would let me explain—”
“There’s no explanation for selfishness.” I turn away from him. Before I had doubts that maybe the Makers didn’t actually know how bad it was. But they’ve known all along, and they’re still not willing to help.
Kaylie says to Michael, “Maybe she should meet Hilde.”
“I guess, maybe,” he says, exasperated.
She looks to me. “Hilde is a friend of ours who… feels similarly to you. She’s devoted her life to helping those suffering in the provincial world. Last I heard, she was at a refugee camp with an outbreak of—” She turns to Michael and asks, “Malaria?”
“Cholera, I think,” he says with a sigh.
“Why aren’t more Makers doing what she’s doing?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.
“Well, her methods aren’t very practical—” Kaylie starts.
“She’s foolish and reckless,” Michael interjects.
“That’s not how I would put it,” Kaylie says.
“She was perfectly fine, then one day went completely out of tune.” He shakes his head. “But I do think it could be good for you to meet her, to help you understand.” He looks pained. “I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”
“I’ll gather some supplies to send with you,” Kaylie says, heading toward the door.
When the door closes behind her, Michael says, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have raised my voice.” When I say nothing, he steps closer. “Ada, I don’t want to fight with you.”
I don’t want to fight with him either, with this man who has always felt like an ally, who had faith in me even when I didn’t have faith in myself. But I’ve built him up in my head as something he’s not. He may be handsome and generous and kind, but he’s no paradigm of idealism. He’s just as hypocritical as everyone else here. And he’s definitely not on my side.
I meet his eyes. “This is not a fight, Michael. This is me getting a reality check. You’ve spent so much time trying to prove to me how special, how superior the Makers are for their dedication to making a difference. But that idealism is nothing if it ignores the majority of the world.”
“Ada, my entire job as liaison is to make inroads to eventual change in our relationship with the provincial world. I’m not ignoring anyone. Improving this situation is what I’ve dedicated my life to.”
“Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better,” I respond. Michael flinches. I shouldn’t let my true feelings show like this. I need him to trust me. But as usual, Michael draws the raw truth from me, even as I lie my ass off to everyone else. “You may have a little more respect for my people than other Makers. You may be more willing to bring in strays to join you in keeping your secrets. But that’s not real change.”
“It’s not up to me, Ada.” He sounds tired, resigned. “I’m limited by the permission of the Council—”
“No. Don’t shift the blame. I don’t care about the Council. They’re just waiting for some prophesied baby to be born instead of making anything happen themselves.” I walk over to his shelf of provincial records and run my hands along the sleeves. Elvis, the Beatles, Nirvana. In Florence, Michael had confessed to being scared of letting people down by questioning what he’d been taught is right. The memory pricks at me now, surprisingly painful.
“You’re not like them,” I say. Unsure if it’s a statement or a plea. “Corrupted by Maker propaganda, fearing an overblown enemy. You know that most provincial people aren’t a threat.” He’s followed me, and when I turn, he’s so close that I have to look up to meet his gaze. “You say you’ve tried? What have you actually done?” His jaw is clenched, hands balled into fists by his sides. “Or do you just bite your nails and then keep playing the role of the headmaster’s perfect poster boy until the next time you’re inconveniently reminded that you should feel guilty?” He swallows, his eyes blazing.
Maybe it’s not fair of me to say these things to him. After all, I’m just as experienced at ignoring the pain of the world to assuage my own guilt. But I’m ready to wake up.
We stare at each other in silence. We’re standing too close. He parts his lips as if there’s something he wants to say. I feel the huff of his frustrated breath, but he swallows his words down. I watch his Adam’s apple travel the column of his throat, and even now a part of me wants to touch it. My eyes flick to his lips, and the way his teeth sink into his bottom lip makes me think he wants to touch me, too. But when I slip past him and stalk to the door, he doesn’t stop me.
I’ll meet this Hilde, but I don’t think she’ll change my mind. The Families had the right idea in sending me here, in wanting a share of the Makers’ knowledge. And I’m over my apprehension about deceiving them. They don’t deserve my guilt.