Excantation

by Honor Raconteur

  It was so simple once he outlined it that way. I suppose it really was modern thinking that did us all in. We kept thinking there had to be more to it. That those four boxes and the symbols on the front column couldn’t possibly be all there was to it. Our examination of the platform in Brazil had gotten interrupted. We’d never fully figured out how the platform was built.

  “Richard.” James’ voice was deceptively mild. “When did you say you were arriving, again?”

  Richard let out a boisterous laugh, amused but a little sympathetic too. “Yes, yes, I’m coming. I was actually packing until I saw your live feed go up. I stopped to watch it. Why don’t you all knock off for the day. I would like to look at it individually while you have it apart like that. I’ll arrive likely mid-morning tomorrow, as I’m taking an overnight train. You can put it back together tomorrow, after I’ve given it a good once-over.”

  “Splendid. We’ll do so.”

  Shower and some down time to catch up on anime and not think about dusty stones that made no sense? Yes, please.

  The next morning, I came across a gentleman standing in front of the gate. I bumped into him at the entrance of the platform station, as I’d gone to fetch drinks at the local café for us.

  He turned to watch my approach and gave me a genial smile.

  “Hello. I’m Richard. Are you a member of the clan here?”

  If he was asking about clans, he couldn’t be a Nix.

  “I’m from Mononoke Clan,” I corrected him, slowing with drinks balanced in both hands. “I’m Reagan Hunt, apprentice Imagineer.”

  “Oh, yes. The one who organized the Google Drive for us all.”

  “That’s me.”

  “Brilliant to meet you, my dear. I’m Richard Hawes.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Sometimes, people looked exactly as they sounded. Richard was a case in point. He was exactly the portly, white-haired gentleman in a cardigan and khaki pants that I’d expected—much like a professor in search of a blackboard. In this case, in search of an archaeological dig. “Please, follow me in.”

  “Delighted to. Pray tell, how goes it?”

  “Well, we’ve basically been doing cleanup on the rest of the building while waiting on you. Did you know this place took a bad hit during an air raid in World War II?”

  “I did, in fact.”

  “Yeah, so we’re working on it. The building’s stable at this point, but some areas need serious overhaul. And since—crossing fingers—we’re likely going to have the Hub open for business in the foreseeable future, we figured we’d get stuff knocked out while we could.”

  “Wise of you. Can I help you with those drinks?”

  “Please and thank you. They got a bit heavy.” I handed over one container with relief.

  We walked in, me showing him the way. People stopped to get introduced and retrieve drinks before returning to work. I ended up showing him right to the platform and then staying when he kept talking to me. Really, the person who wanted to talk to him was James, but I had no idea where he was in the building.

  “Truly fascinating, what I’m seeing,” Richard noted. He knelt and pried a little bit of loose mortar from the edge of a stone and peered at it with the aid of a magnifying glass. “I saw many notes and pictures on the first platform you examined in Brazil. It seemed to be constructed with a mix of Roman and Incan building techniques.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I heard. The way the stones were fitted together was Incan method, everyone said.”

  “Yes, quite. The design was more Roman. Those Romans did like their columns. But here, I see no influence of that Incan technique.” Richard turned a little, picking up another stone and eyeing it from every angle, tilting it in his hand. “Rather, this seems to be a completely Roman technique. Which rather makes sense, in a way. This is one of the oldest platforms on record, and the Romans were quite busy conquering the known world at one time. Even if they didn’t conquer a place, their building techniques and such went much further afield.”

  The geek in me was curious. “Just what is it you’re seeing that makes you so confident it’s Roman?”

  Richard was absolutely delighted by that question. A little too delighted, and I almost regretted asking. “Come in a little closer. I’ll explain. You see the stones, first of all? The facing of it all is irregular stones, no doubt quarried from somewhere nearby, and then they were fused into concrete. It was a very standard technique for the Romans to pour a concrete foundation first, and sometimes the walls, with timber supports as a temporary structure. Then they would apply either broken bricks or irregular stones to the facing of it with a mortar. Much like the mortar I see here, which is a mix of lime and volcanic sand called pozzolana.”

  Yeah, that did match what was in front of us. I just had one problem with it. “But we had multiple layers of stone. Was that typical?”

  “Not usually, no. I think what might have happened was that they built the platform and then belatedly realized it wasn’t the right size. Rather than remove a perfectly nice structure, they just built over it to the size they needed.”

  “Ahhh. Simple solution.”

  “Indeed. Removing Roman concrete is not a fun job, I assure you. Only an Imagineer’s banishing skills would be equal to the task without a great deal of sweat and labor. Why bother when you could just build on top?” Richard set the stone down and climbed up to his feet with a grunt of effort. He looked around, walking short strides before stopping to peer at something else. “Hmm. Yes, I think that’s exactly what they did. It did look that way from the camera yesterday, but sometimes it’s best to see these things in person.”

  I couldn’t figure out if he’d learned everything he needed to. “So…does that mean we can put it all back together now?”

  “I’d like a bit longer, but certainly, we can start reassembling it today. It’s a good chance to study the foundation and building techniques, make sure we can replicate it later. And I want pictures to put in the Gramarye folder for reference.” He turned and gave me a look over the top of his glasses. “Or you can imagineer it together.”

  I grinned and shrugged because heck yeah, I would so do that over painstakingly reassembling it. Like, really, why bother when we didn’t need to?

  “Richard!” James flashed a wide smile as he came toward us. “Good, glad you’re here. I’m curious what your thoughts are.”

  I left them to it, going back to my own thing of renewing the front tiles leading into the building. They were looking pretty 80’s beige, and everyone agreed something else would be better. But as I worked, the thought came to me that if the platform was built with Roman techniques, the original Hub likely was too. But that wasn’t how it looked in the paintings we’d seen. Or the glimpse of it we’d gotten via the drone. Heck, the door alone was wildly different, with a metal cast to it. And not something like bronze, either. It had looked rather modern, something more turn of the century.

  No building could withstand the test of time through centuries without some wear and tear. It only made sense they’d have to make repairs, reconstruct, etc. I imagined any new Imagineer assigned with the task of repairing something or updating it would use the building techniques they were familiar with—aka, the building techniques of their own time. Which…oh man, that likely meant the Hub was a hodgepodge of architectural styles and construction that not only spanned cultures but centuries. That could not be good. Some of those things likely didn’t mesh well.

  Was that what happened with the Hub? Too many things had deteriorated and people had fixed it patch-work style without really tearing it out properly and fixing it from the ground up?

  Seriously, what were we walking into?

  I ended up in what was becoming my favorite chair at Agna’s, studying construction techniques and learning about things like load-bearing walls and beams and such. I took notes because I’m one of those people who remembers things better if I write it down, and as boring as construction manuals were, I made myself f
ocus. I needed to know this, and I’d likely need to know it as soon as tomorrow.

  I did take a second to send another message to my parents, as they apparently forgot about the other one. No immediate answer this time, either.

  With a sigh, I went back to studying construction. I switched between the book and watching something like Holmes on Homes just to get a visual of what I was doing. And Mike Holmes was good about explaining why he had to change something or pointing out errors, so that helped too. I took notes there as well. With my headphones on, I was pretty much deaf and blind to what was going on around me in the house.

  Until someone plucked an earbud out and informed me, “He’s here.”

  I blinked up at my pooka blankly, his words not registering for a full second. Then I saw Klaus coming in through the door and realized what he meant. “Klaus! You’re here already?”

  He set his suitcase aside and beelined for me, coming around the many chairs and the table. I set my notebook and laptop aside, freeing up my arms so I could hug him. He caught me up and sighed against my hair, like a man who was finally satisfied. I hugged him back, glad to see him, even if he was likely going to hover like the worst helicopter parent ever.

  A bit of a bittersweet feeling came over me for a moment. I couldn’t even get my father to respond to a text, but Klaus had just flown across an ocean to see me. I guess I knew whose priority I really was.

  Klaus drew back and looked me over, then glanced at the work I had set aside. “Busy as ever, I see. I hope I arrived in good time?”

  “I actually expected you tomorrow,” I admitted. “Did you take an earlier flight?”

  “I did, as it happens, first thing this morning. And glad of it, too, as you apparently finished quicker than anticipated.”

  I shrugged in agreement. “We thought dismantling would take longer, and for our expert to take longer, and neither ended up being the case. So, yeah, platform is in tip-top shape and ready to go. I think we’re getting more tools together tonight and tomorrow morning before we go in.”

  “Why not simply make the tools?”

  “A lot of them are power tools. Lots of parts. Easier to buy ’em.”

  “And,” Zoya added as she joined us in the living room, “we need to save our brain power, da? Hello, Klaus.”

  “Zoya,” he greeted with a nod.

  “I believe Agna has a room already set up for you.”

  Agna popped her head around the door frame and greeted her cousin however many times removed with a laconic, “And yes, it’s next to Reagan’s room. Come up, I’ll show you.”

  He fetched his suitcase from the foyer and followed Agna, asking a lot of questions. I listened to him with half an ear and considered. Two kobolds in the same household, taking care of the same people. Um. Houston, we might have a problem?

  Well able to read the thought off my face, Zoya assured me, “They won’t kill each other.”

  “I really hope not.”

  Zoya came around to sit on the arm of the chair and looked over everything. “You seem to have the general concepts down of foundation and framework, horosho. You might need to step away and take a break.”

  “If that’s the nice way of you saying that I might be trying to cram too much into my brain all at once, you are absolutely correct and I will take that break.” As I set it aside, I had the thought and asked her, “After we get this fixed, can I do a little sightseeing?”

  “I think it will be a shame not to,” Zoya agreed readily. “I have not been in London before either. I want to see it some as well before we head home.”

  “Awesomesauce.” Yay, something to look forward to that wouldn’t give me more headaches!

  Agna came back downstairs at that moment and announced, “Dinner will be ready in five!”

  I took that as a cue to wash my hands and put my work away for the evening.

  Because Agna was a good cook, I ate far too much and had to gently roll myself back to the sitting room. We all seemed to end up there, conversation flowing again as we discussed theories on what the Hub was made from, how it was made, all of that. I mostly sat and listened, taking in their ideas, and wondering who would be proven correct at the end of the day.

  We lingered there probably longer than we should have before finally retreating to our own rooms. I took a shower just to get the grit off of me, and immediately regretted not taking one sooner. Sleeping on wet, naturally curly hair ended up in a big No Thank You.

  As I lay in bed that night, I pondered my thought from earlier. If the Hub really had become a hodgepodge of different construction techniques, different renovations, then could that be the problem? The whole Holmes on Homes show was built on the fact that people had come through and messed things up because they didn’t know what they were doing. As far as we were aware, no blueprint existed for the Hub. Maybe plans existed on the Hub itself, but even following those, what if someone had made a hash of things?

  Was the Hub the victim of something gone wrong, be that beast or a deliberate attack? Or was it more the combination of deterioration from time and bad renovations? If it was a beast or a deliberate attack, I would think it easier to handle and easier to fix. Maybe not easy, no, but easier than doing an extensive renovation of the Hub.

  A mental image of me fixing the Hub for the next fifty years ran through my head and I shuddered. Oh, please no. Hand to Thor, not what I wanted to do. Although granted, I probably wouldn’t be the one assigned to do it. My job was to help unravel the mystery. Fixing it was second to that, which of course we’d do if possible. But we were also to pull in the experts if it called for that, too.

  But if it was the latter, a matter of deterioration and bad renovations, we might be in a world of trouble. Unless we found really excellent blueprints hanging out in an office somewhere, we’d have no way of knowing what the Hub originally looked like. Or how to fix it. And that sounded like a migraine coming in on a bullet train.

  If we could just figure out where they put it, and how it all worked, maybe we could just build a new Hub? The thought tantalized my brain, but it seemed really impossible at this stage. We had no idea how the ancient Imagineers had managed it, after all. Duplicating their work seemed a stretch at this point.

  I turned onto my side and breathed in deeply, trying to settle enough to sleep. Tomorrow would bring its own problems and possible answers. I would need a sharp, clear head to sort through both.

  And may the Hub not collapse on my head, please and thank you. If I died, Klaus would absolutely never let me hear the end of it.

  I knew I should get back in bed. I needed rest since we planned to go into the Hub tomorrow. Instead, I was sitting in the living room downstairs, in front of a cold fireplace, staring at my phone.

  This was one of those moments kids normally told their parents about. Something exciting and amazing was about to happen, something I had a hand in. But neither of my parents were, apparently, interested. Despite messaging them multiple times, I’d failed to get any sort of response. They couldn’t even take the two seconds needed to reply with an emoji.

  And I really didn’t know how to feel about it anymore.

  “Reagan? Why are you still up?”

  I turned my head and found Klaus framed in the doorway. The thought crossed my mind to play this off and just move to my room to brood. But since day one, Klaus had always been a good listener. Maybe he could help me sort this out. “I just realized a few things. It’s keeping me awake.”

  He came toward me, sitting on the ottoman next to my feet, his eyes taking me in with concern. “What things?”

  “It’s been two weeks since I spoke with my parents, due to one thing or another. I mean our Skype calls. It’s been a week since I spoke to my father. And yet I haven’t gotten a single email from either of them. I’ve messaged them multiple times, and they see the message, but no response.” I went back to staring at my silent, black phone. “I just realized that whenever we Skyped, it was always me who sent th
e reminder email. It was me who pushed for communication. Without me repeatedly pushing buttons, they don’t remember me.”

  His hands reached out and cradled mine, warm and firm, a little calloused. Like a father’s hands. “That’s not your fault, my darling child.”

  “I know. What’s become clear, ever since I found the clan, is that it’s really not me.” I managed a sorry smile at him. “Because everyone in the clan seems to like me. They like spending time with me. You and Ciarán have moved the world for me multiple times, without me even asking. It’s not that I’m not lovable. It’s just that the two people who had me can’t seem to love me. And I’m not…sure how to feel about that.”

  His eyes were dark with anger but mostly concern for me. “Are you so sure they don’t love you? Perhaps they’re just very selfish people?”

  “Oh, they’re definitely that. But you know, even after seeing my dad face to face in India, he didn’t really respond like a father should. I didn’t realize it for most of my life, what a father should do. Not until I met you. As I sat with him and answered questions, not once did he ask the questions you would have asked me. He never asked me how I felt. How I was coping, being thrown into this magical world. He never asked questions about you or Ciarán living with me. I couldn’t help but compare you with him, and he kept coming up lacking.” I let out a shuddering breath, my heart burning in pain from my own words. But they were true. And we both knew it. “He sired me. But I can’t call him my father.”

  “My dear child,” Klaus sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I would do anything to take the pain of this realization from you. But I’ve seen their neglect, and I cannot argue the point you make.”