by E. C. Jarvis
“And who said I was looking for a map?”
“Everyone who comes to this section of the record library is looking for the same thing, and they all leave disappointed. Nonetheless, if you don’t believe me, feel free to see for yourself.”
The man was shorter than he’d imagined, a pair of oval spectacles perched on his oversized nose and a few strands of grey hairs dotted through his slick black mop. He looked older than he should have looked for his age, with dark circles around his eyes and a dowdy brown corduroy suit that fit poorly.
Perhaps it will take only a small bucket of gold.
“So, where is the map?”
“You mean you’re not going to deny that you’re after it?”
“What would be the point in denying it?”
“Most folks do. They just grumble under their breath and leave, or spend hours looking over the place, trying to prove me wrong. Then they grumble under their breath and leave.”
“Well, let’s say I am looking for it. Can you tell me where I can find it?”
“Nope.”
“Ah. So what can you tell me about it?”
The man tipped his head and peered over the top of his glasses at the Professor.
“Who are you?”
“I am Professor Maximillian Watts.” The Professor extended his hand, which the other man stared at blankly for a moment. Eventually he reached out and shook the Professor’s hand with a grip limper than a newborn babe.
“Ah, I know you. It’s not often we have an aristocrat visiting the archive. I’m Jon Field, Clerk of Geological and Archaeological Records.”
“A knowledgeable fellow, no doubt. Fine subjects of study.”
“Indeed, indeed.”
“I am looking for Professor Markus. He and I were friends for a time at University, and I’ve been meaning to search for him for a number of years.”
“Wait, you mean you’re not looking for the-I mean...you knew Professor Markus?” Jon’s eyes lightened and his demeanour shifted visibly.
The Professor clicked his tongue behind pursed lips. He wasn’t accustomed to making up such flawed lies on the spot; it seemed as though the trail to the Anthonium ended here, and so he reasoned it was worth the risk. All he could do was hope this man couldn’t piece together the age difference between the two Professors, that Markus was almost ten years older than himself and that he had clearly never met the man.
“I did. You knew him, too?”
“I worked with him,” the man replied. “On the same expedition that...well, that is to say, I was one of the last on our team to see him before he disappeared.”
“Ah, so you may be of more use to me than the map.”
“If only that were the case. I’m sad to say I have no idea where he went when he disappeared.”
“All the same, I’d like to hear about it. You were supposed to be searching for some artifacts, I believe?”
“Yes. President Hague Senior was in power at the time and he had a penchant for old imperial items. I think he fancied himself an Emperor, and as Professor Markus was famed for his success in finding Emperor Dynestis’ burial chamber, the President commissioned an expedition. The Professor was delighted and hired an entire team of assistants, myself included. We travelled the world with him and did well for a number of years, until something changed.”
“Oh?”
“It all started with that woman. Why is it always a woman who ruins things?”
“Fascinating creatures. They can distract the most dedicated men from their undertakings at times,” the Professor said with a smirk.
“She was just a pretty girl and a new assistant on the team. Professor Markus was smitten from the start. We all knew what they were up to. Quite out of the blue he married her, and the next thing we knew he shipped her home to Sallarium City.” Jon fiddled with the rim of his glasses before continuing.
“I heard she had a baby a few months later, but I never saw her again. Good riddance, too. That was when he really changed. He started having mood swings. That quiet, clever man became violent and distracted. He lost all sense of time. Our discoveries had dried up and we followed empty trails to dead ends, failing to find even the corpse of a rat for months on end. Eventually, President Hague grew weary, and as his party sought re-election he started to analyze his spending. Of course, he could no longer justify frivolous ventures such as archaeological expeditions, especially those that had ceased to produce results.”
Jon sighed and adjusted his glasses once more. The Professor watched him silently, he hadn’t expected to get this much information from the man without either paying or pressing him for it. He pushed away the niggling feeling of guilt that prodded the back of his mind; he wasn’t about to fall to pieces over taking advantage of a lonely man’s need for conversation.
“One day, Professor Markus had a visit from some men. I have no idea who they were, but they looked like Foreign Government types. He stopped talking to me about such matters when that woman came onto the team, and he didn’t see fit to resume his trust in me after she left. The map showed up out of nowhere and he would disappear with it alone for weeks or months at a time.
“He would come back looking years older, suffering from dehydration and exhaustion. He started to fire us, one by one, dismissed us without warning or explanation, until I was the only one left. I tried to speak with him, to see if he would listen to reason. All I could get out of him was some rambling madness about...”
Jon had been staring off into the distance and now his attention snapped back to the Professor. Jon looked him over with a scrutinising gaze, and the Professor maintained an impassive expression—one he’d mastered over the years. That look would stand him in good stead if he ever developed a taste for poker.
“Anthonium,” Jon finished.
“The element?” the Professor asked, his voice quavering slightly on the word.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know anything about it. If you knew enough of the story to come looking here, you must have known about it. Gods, even the bloody press had heard the rumours when they started reporting on his disappearance.”
“Yes, of course. I just didn’t want you to think-”
“That you were after it? Everyone is after it—the world’s rarest element, so valuable with all its magical powers.” Jon wiggled his fingers and made a face as he spoke the word magical.
“So you don’t believe he found it?” the Professor asked, no longer bothering to hide his interest.
“Oh, he said he found it. He even showed it to me.”
“Oh?”
“During our last talk. He was barely coherent. All he had was a lump of silvery stone. They’ve given me the geology section to maintain, yet I don’t know the first thing about it. Rocks and stones only ever serve as inconvenient obstacles to great treasures and historical artifacts. There was nothing at all remarkable about the stone.”
“So, he kept it?”
“Oh, no. He bade me send it to his darling wife with an incredibly paranoid list of instructions for what she should do with it. Mustn’t hold it for any length of time with bare hands, must keep it in a lead box, shouldn’t expose it to heat, blah blah. Once he finished rambling, he went ahead and fired me.”
“A shame.”
“Indeed. After that, he disappeared, and no one has seen him since.”
“So, you sent it to her?”
“Hmm?”
“The wife, the stone?”
“Yes. For all the good it would have done her. Poor woman was left destitute. With no income and no one to claim him as dead, she probably ended up in some workhouse, or goodness knows where. Serves her right, if you ask me.”
“And his instructions?”
“Hmm?”
“Did you give her the instructions for how to care for the stone?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. He was a jabbering idiot at that point. Why would I give credence to such nonsense?”
“Because, my dear
fellow, you may well have fated the woman to her death.”
Jon stared up at the Professor, blinking.
“Did she have a name? Besides Mrs. Markus, of course?”
“Did you even know him at all, or was it just a ruse?” Jon said as his face sunk into a scowl.
“What does it matter? You’ve done the man a tremendous disservice.”
“What? I’ve never been so insulted. How could you say such a thing?”
“If he left behind a wife and child, you should have been man enough to care for them in his stead. You should have at least looked out for them a little, put aside your disgust for the woman. Even if you did not believe he truly found the Anthonium, you should have considered the safety of those to whom you sent the stone. No wonder he fired you. You were a poor and disloyal employee.”
The Professor sucked a deep breath in through his nose and glared down at Jon, who muttered incoherent sounds of protest to himself. He pushed the man to one side with the edge of his cane and strode toward the exit, feeling simultaneously glad for a new path to follow and angry at Jon Field’s behavior.
As he reached the glass doorway the sunlight assaulted his senses, and as he stepped through the door his arms stuck in place. The world toppled over and he was once again back in the cave with Doctor Orother.
. . .
For a while everything remained silent and bathed in harsh light. The silence ended when Orother spoke, his voice soft and melodic.
“So that is how the girl came to have the Anthonium? I suspected she may have had a piece but wasn’t entirely sure until I learned you had taken an interest in her. How fascinating. I recall going to that library myself to search for the map. Never chanced upon that fellow, though. Not that it would have mattered. Eptoran maps are virtually unreadable. The only shard I’ve come across is of no use to anyone. Is the mother dead?”
“Yes.” The Professor found his voice. It was small, meek, and too quick to provide answers.
“You think the girl may know where her father is?”
“Yes.”
“And you never asked her?”
“No.”
“No, I’d have seen that memory by now, seeing as that girl is all you’ve shown me. You are a stubborn thing.” Orother turned away to address his assistant.
“James, send a message to Hans. Tell him to collect the girl along with the engineer and the Anthonium. It seems we have a use for her, as well.” Orother pushed the light to one side and reached across the table to unlock the braces pinning the Professor’s legs.
The Professor tested each leg in turn, twisting his ankles around and raising his knees. The freedom of movement felt exquisite.
“As I promised. This should provide more comfort. Continue to comply and I’ll be more generous. If you revert to fighting, I shall lock you back up again. Eventually, we will come to a mutual understanding and I will allow you to wear simply this.”
Orother lifted up a metal collar. Under normal circumstances the Professor would have been disgusted by the concept, but now he felt almost euphoric at the idea of wearing it. The notion of gaining a small measure of freedom, to stand and move around, to avoid the light, the memories, and the pain, made his breath catch. The Professor’s mind played back through the words.
Orother had spoken to one of his assistants. The engineer—Cid? Collect the girl—Larissa? His heart jumped into his throat as he considered the notion of Larissa, or even poor Cid, his faithful engineer, being subjected to Orother's cruel and painful torture. He knew at once he had to do something to try to prevent that from happening.
“So, back to your machine. Will you now show me how to build it?”
“Yes.”
A final tear of defiance trickled down the side of his face as he watched Orother head towards the Memory Device. This time he would not fight. Orother had to believe he was defeated, and the only way was to give him everything he desired, to give up his Machine. And he would do it...for her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Holt held onto the curved underside of the pirate ship. He gripped the wood with his fingertips, bracing his body, and balanced on the edges of his feet. The cloth on his back burned from the ferocious heat within the downed ship’s plume of smoke. He had to take short breaths to prevent coughing and risk giving himself away. As the pirate ship turned from the wreck below and the heat and smoke dissipated, he focused on listening to the voices above.
In the measured chaos of his last moments aboard The Larissa, he had failed to determine the exact number of men he would have to face on the pirate ship, though his estimate was at least ten on deck.
The voices above barked, filling the air with expletives and threats. He closed his eyes. The more people up on deck who paid attention to the downed ship meant less people below hurting Larissa. Unfortunately, having them all on deck was not ideal for his predicament.
Moments passed and he had determined eight distinct voices. He had also concluded Cid was still alive and being dragged back down below. He wasn’t sure if Cid’s survival was good news or not, as he’d already threatened him once and Holt usually didn’t let people live after the first threat. After a few more moments he heard one man express his keenness to “get below and finish with that girl”. Part of him felt relief at knowing for sure she was still on board and still alive. Another part of him knew all too well what lay in store for her. He felt the anger rising in his blood. If he had to slaughter a ship full of pirates, then so be it.
When the voices disappeared Holt climbed. Inch by inch he crawled up the curve, taking care to test each new contact point for weakness before he trusted it to hold his weight. When he finally reached the top, he chanced a glance over the edge. Only three men remained on deck, one at the wheel and two others busying themselves with work.
The ship gained altitude again, and he surmised there must be at least one man at the hydrogen tanks and another two in the furnace room stoking the fire to climb at such a pace.
A man headed toward him carrying a bucket. Holt dropped one hand down to his belt and unhooked a knife, holding it loosely between his fingers. A cold breeze rushed past his head, blowing his scruffy hair out of place. He sucked in a calm breath as the man approached the ship edge, just above his position. The man placed the bucket on the deck and picked up a handful of loose nails, dropping them in the bucket as he stood.
Holt pushed off with his toes from his wooden perch and launched up, grabbing the man by the shoulder with his left hand and plunging the knife into his neck with his right. Holt slipped back down below the guardrail, pulling his target overboard. Before the man had a chance to register what was happening it was already too late. His body tumbled over the rail and fell through the air without so much as a scream escaping his severed vocal chords.
Holt chanced a look up again. The man at the wheel did not look in his direction; he launched over the rail and ducked behind a thick mast pole. Taking a moment to assess the situation from the new angle, he was still equally aware of his exposed position and that it wouldn’t be long before someone realized his first victim was missing.
Muffled shouts came up from below deck, telling him that time was running out fast. He needed to act quicker. He sprinted across the deck and grabbed the man at the wheel, latching his hand around his mouth. His target was too confused to react and far smaller in build, giving Holt barely any fight. He dragged him across the deck and turned the man over the side with one lift.
The second worker came up the staircase nearby and headed toward the empty bucket. He pulled a finger from his earhole and stared down at it as he walked.
“Hey, guys, you should hear that lot down there. They’re having a right shouting match...hello? Anyone?” The man turned around in circles, frowning at the unmanned wheel and rudder. “The fuck is going on?”
Holt left the last man on deck and dipped into the furnace room, swiftly dispatching the two men inside, and finally he took care of the man at the tanks. O
n deck, the last man still stared back and forth between the abandoned bucket and empty wheel, scratching his head. Holt considered him for a moment when a short, shrill scream came from below. Holt froze in place, his heartbeat quickening. His calculated approach shifted to something more panicked. He abandoned the last man on deck, gliding past his line of sight, and headed down the staircase towards the sound of angry voices.
The corridor was tight, an uncomfortably enclosed area for fighting a ship full of angry pirates. Holt felt a slight irritating twinge of regret at crashing the other ship, which had been far better designed despite being much smaller.
He reached a junction in the corridor; a group of men huddled around a doorway up ahead, and just past them the corridor disappeared down another turn. They trained their collective attentions inside the one door, so he straightened his back and walked past them, hiding in plain sight with silent footsteps.
As he passed he caught a glimpse into the room; the image of pale flesh, bound and beaten, flashed through his vision with such speed that it barely registered. No one noticed his presence as he slipped around the other corner.
“We need to find this man, Holt. He has the other item the Doctor wants,” a thickly accented voice boomed out.
“I keep telling you, mate, that’s not my fucking problem. He wanted the engineer and he’s gonna have him. We’ve lost a Captain and several other men to this mission and now we’ve lost a hell of a payday with that ship. These men want vengeance and I intend to let them have it. Now, hand the girl over or I’ll string you up right beside her.”
“Breeeenan...”
Holt watched, peering around the bend, as the last man from the deck came trotting down the corridor towards the others as he called out in a panic.
“What now? What the fucking hell do you want, Grubbs?” Brennan emerged from the room and all the men turned their attention to Grubbs.
“It’s the others, uhhh…Sir, they’ve gone.”
“Gone?”
“Jim and Derek, they was there one minute, then gone the next. And then there’s Gibbsy and Bates and Hook Nose.”