Chapter 12
Scholar Arvist Cidnosin (Soon-to-be Cidnan, by the Grace of my Esteemed Betrothed, Seliara Gidnan)
Presents
“O, MY CRYSTAL HEART LIES BENEATH THE WAVES, FORLORN AND FORGOTTEN”
A Dramatic Art in Four Parts
Inspired by the “Elusive Cidnosin Structure”
Premiering This Evening
For the Benefit of Those Bereft of the School of Inspiration Gala by Cruel Misjudgement
At the Deep House, Boundless Campus
WHEN ENTERING THE PERFORMANCE PLACE,
PLEASE PLACE YOUR BODY IN A POSTURE OF QUIETUDE
As it’s seemingly impossible to hear anything in this dismal din, shall we try this? I wanted to say that Seliara greeted me told me where you might be. I promise I was not simply skulking about hoping I might stumble upon you! – H.
A handy solution! You put your cleverness on full display, Scholar Clel! I am impressed that you recognised me. Did Seliara furnish you with a description of my appearance? I shall have to thank her for guiding you. – E.
She only told me that if you were feeling brave you might be tucked away at the top of the staircase, or else you would be in your room ( I should not intrude!). Very relieved it was the former. She said nothing of your appearance, so that is (if I may) a most wonderful surprise. – H.
You, on the other hand, look exactly like your author portrait – which I’m grateful to have possessed, because it assisted me in imagining quite a clear mental image of my correspondent with every letter you sent. Though I will confess that you are far more vibrant in person. – E. (we needn’t keep initialling; I certainly know who you are, Henerey!)
An unfair advantage! Had you sent me a portrait in kind, I assure you that I would have done the same.
I am not in the habit of taking or keeping portraits of myself, seeing as I have no need to share my image with the world, nor any readers to impress with soulful eyes and artistically ruffled hair.
The pose styling were the publisher’s choice.
And the impressively colourful frock coat?
Perhaps I too must shoulder some blame.
I observed that the coat you wore in the portrait was the same cut as the one you have on tonight, though not the same material (and this one is much subtler in pattern, which suits you).
Your careful visual observation skills would make you a finer Scholar of Classification than I am.
I will take that as the highest compliment, coming from you. In truth, I would much rather observe sleeping Shrimp than endure the deluge of human activity invading my home tonight. Present company excluded, of course.
Likewise. I find it extremely surreal to be here. I have achieved a childhood dream by stepping inside the Deep House in the first place (I will not humiliate myself by describing in detail my emotional reaction to entering the airlock this evening), but this “gathering” seems no different than those accursed seasonal balls. From this vantage point, you can hardly even tell that we are underwater.
Shift over a little and sit here next to me (if you dare). If you can catch a glimpse of the baseboard on the westward wall, you might notice a tiny series of portholes. In the daytime with the sunlight filtering through, they rather resemble sunken stars, but at the moment, they look like midnight jewels set into the white plaster.
Phenomenal! I do wish that Schr Bardein were not standing right in the way; the beautiful design struggles to eclipse his ankles. By the way, these are for you.
Two books, not one! Such bounty! Is that the Boundless Campus library crest I spy on this second volume? My, Henerey, what a risk you’ve taken – I fear I am not worth the potential peril.
If there were any potential peril, I assure you that I’m justified in risking it. Fortunately, I have not stolen from our good Library Stewards, because this book is such a worn copy that my friend in the library, Elaxand, offered it to me on “indefinite loan”, the second is the afore-promised childhood book of Fantasies. I think you will find it enlightening.
O, yes, I had forgotten in my excitement that you did have a reason to visit me! I cannot wait to examine the book in more detail.
Had I not such an excuse, I might have contrived one. Yet I do think this will be a worthwhile volume. What a shame that this stairwell (with the raucous crowd below!) is not the best place to attempt a little reading.
Would you care to see my library? Perhaps I will attempt to talk to you there. We must be quite careful, though, when circumnavigating the anarchy downstairs. If Seliara sees me with you, she will no doubt want to introduce you to Arvist. We shall creep through the back hall, as Sophy and I did so often as children!
Anything to escape this nightmarish revel. I cannot wait to hear your voice. Surely it must be equally enchanting.
O, do be careful, Henerey. Flatter me too much and I will be too shy to speak!
Dear Sophy,
You leave me speechless (though I suppose that is a difficult reaction to convey in an epistolary fashion).
Yet as precious as this document is, I am glad it ends so that we may let E. and Henerey enjoy their time in the library without their siblings eavesdropping from the future. I do feel uncomfortable spying on them in this way. It comforts me immensely, though, to know that Henerey found some happiness, if only for a short while.
V.
P.S. I smiled at my brother’s derisive mention of the seasonal balls. I always quite enjoyed them, not knowing any better, but then when I left and attended an actual Captains’ soiree – with proper dancing and feasting instead of nothing more than Scholarly posturing – I realised what I had been missing.
P.P.S. Though Henerey attempts to employ a few stray ampersands to save time, I appreciate how both he and E. took the time to write these passed notes in full sentences.
Dear Vyerin,
It certainly is a treasure, is it not?
Every time I read this “conversation” (I am now on my ninth reread in the past twenty-four hours), I find myself reduced to tears. Not simply because of the emotional satisfaction of seeing my sister enjoy the company of someone for whom she cared so deeply, but also because it makes me miss the Deep House and my family with all my heart. It seems especially cruel to be forever bereft of my sister, my mother, my wayward father, and the only home we ever knew.
But if I lose myself in tears, I shall never be able to finish writing to you, and I did have a question about the book of Fantasies you sent to Henerey. I don’t suppose you would know where to find it? I ask because I managed to track down a copy of the other library book he lent her – Dovis Cloyd’s Size Anomalies of the Second Ocean. I assume he brought this one because it relates to the Elongated Fish! How wonderful to imagine Henerey and E. poring over the first Chapter – I’ve copied a passage for your reading pleasure.
S.
P.S. I agree wholeheartedly on the subject of Scholarly dances, balls, etc. – everyone stands about and talks over everyone else, insisting that their research is superior in methodology, etc. – and it is supposed to be “enjoyable”!
P.P.S. E. would have purposely taken the time to write those notes without any shorthand techniques to calm her nerves. Perhaps Henerey followed her lead to make her feel comfortable.
Ask any young person about the existence of beasts of monstrous proportions, and that small child will most likely take great delight in enumerating the many enormous creatures they encounter on a daily basis: including you!
Scale is, of course, all a matter of perspective, and to the Extensive Squid we are but mackerel. Yet it is my aim in this volume to consider size in an objective sense and assess those anomalous members of any given species who happen to surpass their peers in proportion.
What did the seas look like before the Dive? We can only speculate. Our Ancestors, floating above this world in their great Skyships, rarely considered the water-covered planet beneath them. Accounts from various Survivors suggest that the waters of our world used to swarm with the most sizeable of specimens – the majority of which, it appears, perished when the Clouds crashed to the bottom of the sea. (Why the Dive spelled the end for these species remains unknown, but Scholars Elvir and Ute’s promising new work on fluctuating water temperatures since the Antepelagic era suggests that the changing chemical makeup of the world might have played a deadly role.) The inscription accompanying the thousand-year-old “Pelagic Circle Map” – one of the oldest authenticated Survivor documents – suggests a few key sources to which we might turn in an attempt to legitimise the oversized monsters that swim through its hand-drawn waters:
“It has been said by Zigor that within the Second Sea were Creatures wider than a ship is long and heavier, besides. As written in Mairvhen, we see also great Knightfish with Horns fit to pierce a hull. Scholars dared not sail outside of the Boundless Meridian for fear of the Knightfish’s Interventions.”
While it is my opinion that the so-called “Knightfish” is purely fanciful, let us turn to Zigor and the Second Sea. Zigor, the Survivors’ celebrated Scholar of Memory, offered the following account (translated from Arcane Scholar shorthand by the author):
“Eventually, one island must sink while another springs from beneath the sea. Likewise, when one creature enters the world, another must leave. I have heard of many folk who witnessed the great beasts begin their departure for a place we cannot reach. One man took his washing down to the tide, and saw the water split by the side of a sunfish large enough to be seen on the horizon. Many children sing rhymes of the dolphins that could carry a vessel upon their backs and the turtles that look to be atolls. I myself have seen one starfish, with arms the size of three men together, moving slowly towards the unknown until it disappeared into the depths.”
If only Zigor remained alive today to tell us where exactly we should travel to follow these creatures.
Dear Sophy,
O, goodness. Surely I am not the only one of us who gets giddy at the mere mention of the Pelagic Circle Map. I dream of visiting the Wayfinding Museum at the Intertidal Ring to examine it in person. I once carved a Knightfish into the small wooden box in which I held my razors. (I do not know why I employed the past tense here, because it still does hold them.)
At any rate, what an enjoyable aside! I too delight in the image of E. and Henerey reading it together. The book that I sent Henerey was Sunken Splendour (plus a much longer subtitle that you might also recall from Henerey’s library request) by Scholar Jos Larnard. I believe it was an extensive anthology of Fantasies, written with the intention that the reader would use Scholarly logic to determine how the stories (each of which centred upon a discovery of some miraculous undersea object or place) could be explained with Reason. It was from Boundless Campus, of course, compiled in the hopes of encouraging critical thinking. But Larnard was a lover of Fantasies like Henerey, and though that was less acceptable in her time than ours, I believe she composed the stories with such believable detail that even the shrewdest young sceptic found disproving them an unpleasant task. The book was already rather obscure when we read it as boys. And it is nearly impossible to find a copy these days, unless you are wealthy or a time-traveller (or wish to visit the Reading Room at Boundless Campus, a place I assume is now inaccessible to an ex-Scholar such as yourself).
But I am quite convinced that Henerey left it with E., so if you have not found it in her effects, then I suppose it must be at the bottom of the ocean.
V.
Dear V.,
When you go to the Museum at Intertidal (as I’m sure you will one day, even if I must accompany you myself!), keep in mind that there are no fewer than five copies of the Pelagic Circle Map on view that one must pass before reaching the original. These are teaching facsimiles of different structures, colours, and formats, intended to help scholars explore the imagery with students without damaging the extant document itself. Yet I, like a child, assumed that the first tiny copy that I saw when I entered was the real map – and Vyerin, do not laugh at me, but I was so disappointed!
I regret to hear that it’s a rare book. I did hope to read it myself. If only there were a great library at the bottom of the sea preserving everything we’ve lost!
S.
Dear Henerey,
Though it’s been barely a few hours since you departed, I wanted to write to you immediately. After you left, I stood at the airlock, straining for a glimpse of the water’s surface – I knew I could not see your vessel, but just the thought of you floating somewhere up there brought me great comfort
Dear Henerey,
I wish that while you were here I could have had the opportunity to tell you how luminous you are. Sometimes I feel like I am adrift in the abyss like Sophy, but you brought such a light
Dear Henerey,
I fear it might be best for the both of us if we no longer continue our correspondence. I must confess that you are far superior to me in every way, and surely you do not wish to waste your time with someone who
Dear Henerey,
Why must I be so terrible at
Dear Henerey,
By the time you read this, you will be safely aboard the Sagacity, travelling onward to discover the mysteries of the sea once more – a truly noble cause. Meanwhile, I remain here as always, reviewing in my mind our conversations from this evening (or last night, as it will be by the time you open this letter!).
I hope I did not offend or utterly bore you. I must apologise, because I am often not as – forthcoming – as I was with you. I felt rather out of my depth, as you proved as charming as you appear on the page, and your presence (and mellifluous reading voice!) made every minute of what would have otherwise been a very poor evening rather splendid. From the bottom of my heart: thank you.
If you find that you would like to continue our correspondence, know that I would be most enthusiastic to write to (or even speak with!) you again. Should you decline, however, I will remain forever content to have experienced just one lovely evening in your company.
In anticipation,
E.
Dearest E.,
I’m writing this so late in the evening that it might as well be tomorrow already, but I hope it will travel speedily to you at the Deep House and reassure you that I am all right! I apologise for my lapse in correspondence, especially at a time when you have need of me. At the very least, I take comfort in the fact that our brother’s obliviousness inspired you to see your dear friend Henerey in person! I trust you will not retreat at the last minute and leave him alone in a sea of Inspiration Scholars. I know he will be delighted to meet you.
Since our return, the days seem to blur together. We met with the Chancellors on our first day back in the Spheres, and o, E., this new technology we have at our fingertips is indescribable! Have I mentioned it before? A Vocal Echolator? I do not know how our Mechanists discovered a way to project the human voice through air and water – it is like our communicators, I suppose, but on a much greater scale. And even better – Eliniea says that her colleagues on the surface hope to soon equip us with another device called “Automated Post” that essentially allows one person at a distance to type out words that then appear in that exact sequence on paper for the recipient!
It astounds me to think how much technology has blossomed within the past few years. Our Survivor ancestors could hardly imagine such machines in the aftermath of the Dive, yet even our most sophisticated technology today is probably child’s play to an inventor from the Antepelagic era! Irye boasts that one day very soon, everyone will have such Echolators and Automated Post in their private residence. How I wish you had access to them already.
At any rate, this “meeting” was a strange one indeed, because it was the first time I ever interacted with the disembodied voices of my superiors. Somehow this method of communication made Chancellor Rawsel seem all the more forbidding, grim, and disinclined to praise. No matter. I presented the data from my initial survey, and – well, you certainly do not want to hear about that – let us say simply that it was about as well received as an initial presentation of data ever is.
More intriguing news – after spending nearly an entire afternoon in additional consultations with the Chancellors, Niea appeared in our common room (where the rest of us were arrayed, as Irye had challenged me to a game of Columns with Ylaret and Vincenebras as witnesses) and quite abashedly asked us if we might be willing to submit to some tests.
“Do the Chancellors wish to test our senses of taste, per chance?” asked Vincenebras, knocking over the Columns in his eagerness to stand. (It was for the best – Irye was trouncing me thoroughly. Father would be ashamed.) “Then – I volunteer, colleagues! Please ask them to send me seasoned herring, and perhaps a flavoured trifle.”
Niea laughed in a way that I can now recognise as her “professional chortle” – it is but a shimmer of her more genuine expressions of mirth.
“Alas, it is your ability to adapt to new technology at great depths, specifically, that they hope I will assess, though I would much prefer your proposed banquet! Perhaps I will suggest it to the Chancellors. At any rate,” she continued, “there is some concern that the constant pressure might damage the efficacy of your communicators, so we want to make sure they are all functioning as intended and pose no risks to you.”
“Thank you, Scholar Forghe,” said Ylaret, rising while avoiding the scattered Columns with practised grace. “I appreciate your constant dedication to our wellbeing during this mission.”
Vincenebras, paying no heed to Ylaret’s statement, proceeded to pontificate about a full menu of flavours he wished to have sent to us from the surface. Eventually, as we all begged him to stop tantalising us (truly, our preserved rations lack variety), Vincenebras dragged a grumbling Irye off to the galley sphere to attempt some culinary experimentation. Moments later, Niea excused herself to confirm the details of the communicator assessments with the Chancellors, leaving me alone with Ylaret.
“I fear the day when the Chancellors test our basic coordination abilities,” I said, eager to cut through the silence, “for I do not wish them to discover that I cannot tell my right hand from my left without relying upon a mnemonic device.” (The fact that I willingly revealed this quality to a colleague speaks to my desperation to create conversation with Ylaret. By the way – I do not say this enough, but I am always incredibly grateful to you for teaching me, at such a young age, that the left hand can form a helpful “L” when positioned correctly!)
“Though in all seriousness,” I continued, “I wonder why the Chancellors decided to review the communicators now. Do they suspect something untoward?”
As I spoke, Ylaret seemed to stare straight through me.
“Niea wishes to investigate the communicators because I asked her to,” she said at last.
“You asked her? But why?”
In response, Ylaret peered out into the “hall”, as though to ensure our privacy.
“You’ve been so kind to me, Sophy,” she murmured. “I know I was not a particularly congenial partner on our past dives. I apologise. You see, ever since we began diving outside of the Spheres, I have experienced – how can I describe it? – let us say, ‘unexplained auditory feedback of a troubling nature’. I was too ashamed to tell anyone but our Expedition Specialist. And I hope that this test will give me some insight into my difficulties.”
Yet I did not have the opportunity to learn more about this “auditory feedback,” because Irye, as though on cue, appeared and grabbed us both by the hands.
“If I must endure proximity to Vincenebras’ culinary disasters,” Irye said, “so shall you.”
And endure we did.
Now that I have written all of this for you, E., I wonder what inspired me to share it in the first place! I suppose I should be unsettled by Ylaret’s words, but somehow – against all odds – I am not, yet. I keep thinking about our expedition, and the experience that Niea and I shared with that great creature deep in the trench. That is what I hoped to find when I came here – things utterly unknown to me. And if that includes technological oddities, I embrace them wholeheartedly! E., has it ever occurred to you that I chose a dying profession? Ever since the Dive stranded us on this watery planet, Scholars have attempted to sail every inch of our Four Oceans in search of more land that may have survived the Dive: yet as they return empty-mapped, we Scholars of Wayfinding must survey the same seas again and again, decrying our predecessors’ scales and keys. But now I – of all people! – have the opportunity to see and experience that which I never encountered before, and attempt to make sense of it.
That is all to say (in far too many words) that you should not worry about me! If you doubt our crew’s ability to take care of ourselves, please trust in Niea’s skill at doing so on our behalf.
And please send my best regards to Henerey when you see him – when he visits our home!
Yours SAFELY,
Sophy
Dear Sophy,
Is this the third letter I’ve sent to you in the past few days? I feel such desperate need of you lately. Currently, it is nearly dawn and I find myself fuelled with that unique blend of anxiety, over-stimulation, and cautious excitement that is not particularly conducive to rest! While the language that follows may seem jumbled due to my weariness, I hope this serves as a useful conclusion to the suspense generated by my previous note.
As I’m sure you will be delighted to know, Henerey did indeed make an appearance at Arvist’s gala this evening. Though I will get there in good time!
To start, I will say that as much as the Structure unsettled me at first, I now feel slightly jealous that Arvist claimed it as his own. He acts as though this mysterious thing is all his, and if I try to talk to him about it, he puts me off. I do not know exactly what his “performance” entailed, but Seliara intimated the day before that he intended to “restage its emotions” in various sites around the house. His ultimate goal is to paddle out to it and place a “sculptural response” (upon which he currently toils) next to the Structure as its new companion for all eternity. I must try not to think of it – honestly, a Scholar of the Arts may be better equipped to understand that particular enigma than I am! (I hope more than ever, though, that the Elongated Fish might come back during the installation of his new work to give him a little bit of a fright. How dramatic that would be!)
In any case, I estimate that about seventy Scholars found their way to the Deep House last night: can you believe that? I doubt that I have been around so many people in a decade! The sounds that humans create while assembled in great numbers, Sophy, are absolutely abominable. I took up my usual position on the staircase (which made me quite nostalgic for the days when Mother and Father held their dinner parties, and I watched from my fortress on the landing as you and Arvist charmed our guests with your precocious sophistication) and kept an eye out for Henerey. I do not know what action I intended to take if I saw him – the thought of entering that fray made me feel sick with fear – but fortunately for both of us, Seliara directed him my way and before I knew it, I saw a kind-eyed, well-dressed gentleman ascending to the landing in an outfit so perfectly curated that I could imagine him stepping out of a Fashion Plate. Though I had not ever seen Henerey outside of his author portrait, I saw the warmth of his words in his gentle smile and sprightly gait. Everything about him looked so comfortingly familiar.
We found a way to initiate communication that suited us both, but after a time, the noise grew unbearable, and we retreated to the library. To my great pleasure, the room was deserted. I showed Henerey in, babbling all the while in what must have been a most unappealing way – about how the shelves are not quite as organised as I would usually like them, since Arvist has been ferreting about as he works on his “Art!”, and how I most passionately look forward to having my own space again. Henerey, for his part, seemed desperately happy, which I will attribute to his consummate politeness.
We sat down (since Mother’s was broken, I’m embarrassed to admit that we sat in your chair and mine – now I’ve become no better than Arvist taking over your bedroom!) and enjoyed a moment of silence, interrupted only by Henerey gently tossing one of the books he had brought me from one hand to the other. I studied the way in which the lamplight spun like seafoam around his face.
“As a childhood appreciator of Fantasies,” he said, all of a sudden, “are you equally fond of hearing them read aloud?” (I swear that is exactly what he said – I keep repeating it in my head!)
“Naturally,” I replied, which was curter than I intended, but what could I do? When we first met, we scribbled notes to each other on the staircase, and I had not heard him speak much until that very moment. Alone in the library, Henerey’s voice sounded as expansive and energetic as water rushing over a reef.
“Excellent,” he continued, “because I find myself increasingly dazzled and flustered by your presence, and I wondered if perhaps we might both benefit from a reading of this volume as a diversion?”
“That would be most agreeable,” I assented.
His voice quavered at first, but as he made his way through the sentences – even strange, verbose ones! – I found myself unable to think of anything but the clear confidence that rang through his every word. To my great shame, I began to daydream about what it must be like to hear him lecture: surely he counts among the most acclaimed Scholars, even to those in the audience who hold no interest in marine life!
While he read, the arms of our chairs just barely touched, and this intimacy gave me a feeling of affection unlike any I have ever experienced.
After spending some time in this enjoyable manner, we said our goodbyes – Henerey seemed quite surprised by how late the hour had become and expressed some anxiety about returning to his research vessel before it continued its pursuit of the migrating rays. He had arranged for his transport to pick him up at half past twelve bells. I pray that his apology was genuine, and that this excuse was not a half-crafted attempted to flee from my company!
I escorted him to the airlock by the back hallway, careful to avoid the carousers in the parlour. As we waited for Henerey’s transport ship to arrive, we stood watching the sea shadows through the airlock’s portholes.
“I don’t suppose we could see the Structure from here?” Henerey asked after a rather comfortable silence.
Arvist staged part of his “staggered performance” in his studio so his visitors might glimpse the Structure itself – thus I had been unable to show it off to Henerey.
I suggested we try the backmost porthole on the south wall – I always forget about that one – and we crept there, standing quite close together in the cramped space. I was just explaining to Henerey that our resident mysterious object would likely be difficult to spot in the darkness when I glanced out the window and saw the Structure glowing.
The circle of crystalline material that makes up the base was illuminated by the most stunning and sparkling tints of pink and pale, watery green. The light did not carry very far – one could not have spotted it from any other part of the house, but I imagine those in the Studio this evening were quite dazzled by it.
“Has it ever done that before?” Henerey asked, looking me straight in the eyes – he has a rather unsettling habit of doing this with great frequency!
“Not to my knowledge,” I replied, “though I have only seen it once before in the evening. I suspect I would have remembered the phosphorescence.”
Henerey nodded, turning back to the porthole. “A luminous circumference,” he said in a half-whisper as he leaned against the wall, twirling his walking stick in one hand as though he were trying to work out some puzzle.
“Are you a poet, too, Scholar Clel? Your talents are seemingly ceaseless.”
Goodness knows why I allowed myself to say such a thing!
He looked over his shoulder at me with the greatest warmth in his eyes (which, by the way, are brown, flecked with tan and gold, like the inside of a shell as it catches the sun from above the waves). Have I truly spent so little time around people that I forgot how much can be communicated with a glance?
“Alas, I only recite the words of another. It’s from a poem by Darbeni.”
“Scholar Darbeni wrote poetry?” I exclaimed. “Surely you jest.”
He gasped in mock horror.
“To think you would ever accuse me of jesting about Scholar Kenven Darbeni! No, it was during the very end of his career, and his poems only exist in manuscript form. Very few people know about them. The Boundless Campus holds the manuscripts in the Archives.”
“How wonderful,” I said. “I wish I could see such things.”
A crash from above indicated that Henerey’s transport vessel had navigated – inexpertly – into our docking area.
“I shall find the poem and send it to you,” he said. “I made a fair copy. The words stayed with me ever since I read them. There is something about it that reminds me of this Structure – I wonder—”
The passenger boat played the captain’s personal melody – in this case, four descending notes that were appropriately melancholy – to signify his arrival.
“We will speak more about this,” Henerey continued. “But E., I had a remarkable time this evening, and I hope that I shall—”
The cursed melody sounded once more!
“I do not wish you to be late for your boat,” I said miserably.
“I will write again soon,” he affirmed, taking a single step towards the airlock doors as though he could barely dare to take another. After he left at last, I stood there for quite a long time in a daze – it all felt like a dream!
In fact, in reflecting upon the entire affair, I find myself scrupulously reviewing my every word and action over the course of the evening. Surely he decided to read aloud because he could not bear to converse me any further. Of course he would have been eager to rid himself of someone who kept so brazenly edging her chair in his direction (I do not really remember doing this, but now I wonder if perhaps I did?). And even if there were moments when he tried to express some form of affection for me, how coldly and dismissively I acted! He returned home feeling most drained and disappointed to have met such an uninspiring person, convinced that he must put an end to the correspondence that he must have been previously enjoying (or perhaps even that itself was a fa?ade?).
O Sophy, it occurs to me now that I have – in one brief evening – substantially destroyed whatever friendship might have formed between Henerey and me over the past month. I wish I had never let myself invite him to the house, and that we remained safely in the realm of the written word. In fact, perhaps it would have been better if I never wrote to him at all! Then he would never have had to suffer the disappointment of meeting me.
I will try to sleep now.
E.
P.S. Dear Sophy, one more thought: do you think he could immediately tell how little experience I’ve had with anyone from outside the family? Do you think he was horrified that I have not left the Deep House in years?
Do you think he is now back on his research vessel laughing about my oddities with some far superior individual with whom he would much rather spend his time?
P.P.S. My worst crime is that I snatched one of your discarded gowns at the very last moment to wear this evening. (It is the old-fashioned garment that you once referred to as “that awful green one”, so I hope you will forgive me this trespass. I know you prefer more fashionable and practical frocks or suits!) Before Henerey arrived, I looked in the mirror at myself in my dishevelled white house-dress and cape and thought I looked like a true spectre. I did not wish to give him a fright. I pray you will understand. (I have taken it off now and have laundered it twice just in case I somehow damaged it irreparably with anxious perspiration.)
(Thrice now.)
P.P.P.S. I realise that I did not respond to anything in your letter but I hope you will forgive me. I can barely keep my eyes open—
My dear E.,
I feared that writing to you after the wonder of meeting you in person might feel somewhat diminished. Indeed, I find it frustrating to be faced with the empty page as my only audience – I much prefer your wry glances in response to my bumbling words. Yet there is nothing that can altogether remove the joy I experience when communicating with you in any format.
E., I cannot stop thinking about our time together. As someone who has spent much of his social life getting acquainted with books and specimens, I am often flummoxed by the notion of speaking with a stranger.
Fortunately, you felt nothing like someone I was meeting for the first time.
I write this in great haste (which is probably for the best, as it is extremely late in the evening, I just returned from seeing you, and I fear my prose might otherwise become much more sentimental than might make you comfortable!) because it’s – as they say – “all hands on deck” here at present! Our Captain received a letter from the Chancellors informing us of a change in plans: rather than holding our position, we have been instructed to make steady progress southward, with the eventual plan of studying the surface-level marine life at a specific location. What location, you might ask? Why – the very coordinates of the “Point of Interest” famously charted by Schr Eliniea Hayve Forghe, in close proximity to where your sister and her colleagues are currently underwater! Truly, I could not imagine anything more fortunate (excepting, of course, the experience I had at the Deep House earlier this evening). I do continue to wonder how and why Chancellor Rawsel has so entirely redirected nearly all Boundless Campus research efforts to work in service of his Ridge expedition.
Because this has become a more complex mission than any of us anticipated, we will require a day or two to make the necessary preparations. I only brought one suitcase, you know! To my delight and disappointment, the Captain reports that our books, equipment, and personal effects back on campus will be forwarded on to our vessel before we depart – I look forward to having my full wardrobe at my disposal, but I do hope that whoever takes charge of packing my things knows how to fold collars properly!
As soon as I have an opportunity to write more I will continue to discuss the thoughts racing through my head – of which I have too many to count.
Until then, please know that I wish I could have stayed with you longer.
Yours,
Henerey
P.S. I hope you will not mind the intimacy of the salutation with which I opened this letter. I am hypothetically acquainted with the practice of adding “my” before the standard “dear” to imply affection, but when employing it for the first time in practice, I found it may come across as unpleasantly possessive. But now it is too late to write this letter over again, as they need me abovedeck. If my phrasing offends you in any way, please let me know the manner of address that you would prefer, and I will put it to use in future correspondence.
Dear Sophy,
There is one more document I would like to share with you – an excerpt from Henerey’s daybook (what else?) written to commemorate this occasion.
Enjoy,
Vyerin
P.S. As someone who has been lambasted countless times for my inability to handle my brother’s laundry to his satisfaction, I imagine the poor soul assigned to pack his effects back at the Anchorage did not, in fact, know how to fold those collars “properly”. Such knowledge was apparently inaccessible to anyone but Henerey.
P.P.S. If you seek an amusing diversion, I dare you to count the number of times my brother uses “remarkable” in his entry.
I met her. I met her! How strange to see this stranger stand before me and know that she was… her! She wore a truly remarkable gown of sea-green weave that was remarkably tailored, with elegant embroidered cuffs adorned with spiralling seaweed stitches and an anemone-bustled skirt. The skirt pooled around her feet along with her floor-skimming red-brown hair. When I looked closely (which I tried to do in the least obvious way possible) I recognised her – her lips drawn tightly in a line, her green eyes raised in such a way that suggested friendliness battling anxiety. Truly remarkable! The candlelight set off her skin, making each freckle flicker across her face as she smiled. There was a radiance in her very laugh that I could not separate from the glimmering language she sent me. A radiance! Remarkable. (Have I said that already? No matter.)
Dear Vyerin,
Remarkable! (Truly.)
It is a gift to see E. through Henerey’s eyes – certainly she would not have thought of herself as “radiant” under most circumstances. How delightful that Henerey noticed every detail in her dress, including the fact that the gown was not made for her height. It is amusing to think of Henerey’s fondness for fashion, since this is a quality that I often associate with those who are more sociable and invested in the opinions of others. But I suspect he did not dress well to fulfil any societal obligation or to make an impression – he simply enjoyed it, did he not?
(And I was, as you will soon see, in no way perturbed that she borrowed my dress. I always detested that awful green one. It suited her much better.)
Radiantly,
Sophy