Chapter 14
Present Day
I moved through the grounds of New Harrow’s extensive university in the clean light of morning. A few hatted heads turned and whistles chased me across the campus towards the main building, where a shy young woman directed me to Dr. Maddeson’s office on the second floor.
“Mr. Stoke sends his respects,” I told the lean, brown-haired professor across his book-strewn desk. I had snared only a few hours of sleep, and the amount of coffee this lack had necessitated left me jittery. But I strove to remain composed. “I am his secretary, Ottilie Fleet.”
“Tell him likewise, Miss Fleet.” Dr. Maddeson’s moustache, a long-tailed, drooping specimen, dipped further in discontent. His gaze flicked over me, searching for something. “You did not bring the artifact?”
Ah. Now there was a development.
“No, sir,” I said, summoning one of the lies I had concocted throughout my largely sleepless night.
Aside from the late hour of my return home, Hieronymus was feeling neglected, and had howled and batted my toes throughout the sparse hours in which I had found my bed.
I had also been forced to scale the balcony again, which had fouled my already sour mood after meeting Wake.
“It was my understanding that Mr. Stoke had already delivered it to you, and I was to retrieve it today,” I lied.
“Well, well…” Dr. Maddeson said peevishly. “Would that were so. I anticipated your employer’s visit yesterday, I even came into the office abominably early, but he did not appear. Did he tell you why?”
I swiftly added this to my mental logbook of events. “No, I had several days off and have not seen the detective.”
“Well,” Dr. Maddeson said again, his discontent deepening towards self-pity.
“This is all very disappointing. It is one of the Landsdown Relics, you understand, and its examples of Old Sarren are impeccably preserved—both on the box and, likely, the object within. We have little of the language, so it has yet to be translated. That is my goal, Miss Fleet, my dream. To unlock Old Sarren.”
His eyes drifted to the shelves of his office, and, following his gaze, I noted an extensive series of worn notebooks and bound sheaves of typewritten material. His research, I surmised.
“You are referring to the language on the box,” I clarified. I intended to press more about Mr. Stoke, but the more information I could gather on the artifact, the higher my chances were of finding it—with or without my employer. “The wheel-like symbols?”
Maddeson’s eyes lit. “You saw them?”
“Yes.”
“But you do not know where the artifact is?”
“No, sir.”
“Then… Is there any possibility you could transcribe the symbols, so that I might, at least, have a sense of them?” The hope in his voice was thin, as if he already accepted the futility of his request.
“I can,” I admitted. “My memory is rather good, and I have a fair hand at drawing.” One did not grow up with a sister as domineering as Madge without gleaning some of her skills.
Maddeson burst into movement, riffling together paper and pen and clearing off a chair for me to sit in at his desk. “Did you see the object within also?”
“No,” I said, watching him flutter about. “What is it?”
“Would that I knew, that I knew! Though I suspect it to be made of Incarnate, whatever it may be, but of course, I cannot state with any certainty.” He launched off into a ramble about his continued hopes of seeing the box, his expectations and minutiae of linguistics as I took the materials and went to work, pulling up my memories of the box and the warehouse.
I drew slowly but steadily. Dr. Maddeson finally slackened his rambling and hovered just behind me, close enough for his breath to rustle the strands of hair escaping my chignon.
“Sir,” I said. “Might I have a cup of tea?”
“Pardon? Oh. Oh, of course,” the man fumbled. The gusting of his breath withdrew and I relaxed as he left the room.
I glanced at the shelf with the manuscripts and notebooks, already halfway out of my seat, but footsteps in the hallway plunked me directly back in my chair. I attended to my sketching until they passed by, then finally rose and pulled out the first manuscript.
The Arasi of Old Sarre: The Vanished Peoples and the Proposed Origins of the Entwined.
I reread the typewritten title. What did The Sarre have to do with the origins of the Entwined? No one knew where the Entwined had come from, but it was widely accepted that we had developed, as a people, far distant from humanity.
Footsteps sounded again, this time two sets in concert. I darted back to my chair and was dutifully sketching when a young man appeared with tea. Dr. Maddeson came in behind him and shooed him back out the door as soon as the tea service was placed.
“Oh,” Dr. Maddeson crooned as he saw the symbols I had completed so far. “This is superb, Miss Fleet. You are doing an incredible service to me and the university, though I do still need to see the artifact itself, as I said.”
“Many times,” I murmured.
“Pardon me?”
“Oh, I was simply agreeing.”
“When is Mr. Stoke back in his office?”
“Next week,” I said, still sketching and grateful for the excuse not to look at the professor. I pushed the sketches I had finished closer to him. “Have you any idea what these mean?”
“Let me see… All this waiting has been very frustrating, you know. I have been waiting on this for some time.”
“Yes, I am aware.”
He continued with an anxious, preening demeanor, “There is a fire under my feet, you see. My research is funded by Grand General Baffin himself.”
I stilled my pen. “Why would the Grand General have interest in the artifact?”
“Not the artifact—at least, not until I told him of it, after Mr. Stoke reached out. Now he is quite interested. But because this is the language of the ancient Entwined,” the professor said with the air of one delivering a great revelation.
“The Arasi, the oldest known civilization in The Sarre, were the ancient Entwined. Or so I propose. Deciphering the Arasi language is the key to learning the true origins of the Entwined—their creation.”
Creation. My mind caught on that word, but the professor prattled on.
“That history is recorded upon the Landsdown Stele. You likely have not heard of it—I will elaborate. The Stele is the pride of the Landsdown Trove, and is the longest Old Arasi text we possess. It is, however, not intact. To all appearances, some sections were intentionally removed. By whom? Why? To hide its secrets? To erase the Entwined’s history?
To utilize its precious stone? Perhaps all of them, though the latter would be a most heinous crime.
Several missing pieces of the Stele were at the original dig site, but have since, yes, disappeared.
I believe there to be ten such pieces, with the Stele itself constituting the eleventh. ”
“You believe one of them is in the box with these symbols?” I clarified.
Maddeson nodded emphatically. “It is a puzzle box, Miss Fleet!”
“Ah, I did notice that.”
“Very astute.”
“Thank you. Where is the Stele itself?”
“It is rarely in one place for long,” Maddeson said. “Shared between the great museums of the Continent, for its own safe keeping. It presents a tempting target to thieves, as you can imagine.”
The world shrank away from me just then, leaving Dr. Maddeson’s voice echoing into the silence of my skull.
A tempting target to thieves. Thieves, like Pretoria. I had begun to believe her assertions of innocence, back at the museum, but now…
“I see. Fascinating,” I finally found the words to say. “However, what do you mean by ‘creation’ of the Entwined?”
Dr. Maddeson was truly alight now. “The Entwined look human, bleed and breathe and procreate as humans. Because they are. The Entwined were made, Miss Fleet. They are no more than humans granted great magical ability through artificial means. That is what the Stele will tell us, once wholly translated. The suggestion is already there, I believe, but with the writing incomplete—”
“What means?” I interrupted, baffled and not a little offended. “By what means were the Entwined made?”
“A question I can only answer once I decipher Old Arasi and thus the Stele, once it is whole,” Dr. Maddeson finished, riffling through my symbols and seemingly unaware of the vitriol in my voice.
“This is the end to strife in Harrow, Miss Fleet. My research will bring harmony and understanding. Peace, Miss Fleet, is within reach.”
That all sounded grossly optimistic. Instead of feeling hope at his words, all I felt was a rush of pity and a spike of apprehension.
In an ideal world, the revelation of common origins might forge kinship between peoples, but this was no ideal world.
There were so many layers of hatred and conflict, so many wrongs done on either side.
More than that, the peril of such an idea could not be exaggerated. If humans believed there was a way for them to become Entwined, the carved box and whatever relic was inside it was worth far, far more than a stack of banknotes.
It was a secret to kill for.
Where was Mr. Stoke?
I was, I realized, beginning to feel ill. “May I see those papers again?”
Dr. Maddeson relinquished the symbols, then cried out as I tore the pages down the middle.
“I have remembered incorrectly,” I stated, tearing the papers again and shoving the pieces into my teacup. They immediately soaked. “It was arrogant of me to believe I could recall them clearly. Now that I know the importance of them, I would be remiss to submit these to you.”
Dr. Maddeson looked as though he had choked on his tongue, or perhaps wished to strangle me. But he forced a nod. “Perhaps you are correct. When can I see the artifact itself, then?”
“I will bring it by as soon as I speak to Mr. Stoke,” I promised.
It was almost the truth.