"The lieutenant commanding the unit decided to show some initiative," because he was bored out of his mind, most likely, "and started to dig around the island to prepare fortifications." Or rather, the lieutenant had to make his men do something, so they wouldn't mutiny out of boredom. "That's when they found the buttons — a huge stash of them, in fact. They all have those symbols in the back — different symbols."
"How many buttons did they find?" A modern skilled jeweler could produce one or two of these a day, so depending on how many there were…
"Thousands. Tens of thousands. And all of them had slightly different symbols. Now, I guess you know what that means."
I did. It could only mean one thing. The buttons were produced in a factory. In an assembly line superior to anything we could do today. It's not like we don't have factories in Kalmar. Kalmar is the most advanced country in the world, and our Alchemy is the best (if you ignore Yllam — which I do — but they focus on pharmaceuticals anyway). We have the factories that made the first steam trains, sewing machines, and we can mass produce most household goods. And the tolerances of parts are quite good — our factories can machine parts with tolerances as low as 0.1 microns (or a millionth of an inch, as some people still insist on saying). But to produce not just thousands of identical objects a day — but to individualize each of them to this level of precision, and with magic — that was something you did only if it was for something expensive. Magic that fine was costly; you wouldn't use it for something as insignificant as buttons.
"Are these buttons actually buttons?" Maybe they were used for something else. After all, all this effort just for buttons — seemed too much.
"You thought of this too, right? Well, as far as we can see, they are indeed just buttons."
If somebody had spent what seems like huge amounts of effort — something that we can do but is very costly — for something as cheap and insignificant as buttons… That would mean…
"These are the remains of an alchemically superior society." If it wasn't a hoax made by bored soldiers, but soldiers don't tend to have the patience to do something like this.
"It seems so. And other things found on the island…"
"What other things?"
"Well, if you want to find out, you must sign the contract. We won't share anything more until you sign with us."
He was tempting me, offering me the possibility of a lifetime — but I would have to sign a contract with the Intelligence Corps. And I never liked the idea of working for the government too much.
"Well, can I think about it? It's such a big decision."
"Sure, Miss Bedwen. You've got three weeks to think about it."
3
I had to find a way other than signing up to get to that research. If there were any historical remains of alchemically and magically superior civilizations, where could I find them? The first thing you do in any alchemy research project is to talk to people who are familiar with the subject and have read lots of literature on the topic.
So I joined the history club. It was a club known for being the place where all the conspiracy theorists and nutjobs got together to discuss the most outlandish ideas. I knew enough of the official history to know that civilizations superior to ours were not something common knowledge. But maybe this club could help me find something?
The club had ten people, young skinny men, all non-magical. They took me in, although their enthusiasm at having a woman join was probably soured by me being dark arall. They didn't seem to know much about any alchemically superior ancient civilization, but I did get a lot of rumors about how the world is ruled by a secret clique of perfect empaths manipulating everybody through mind magic (seriously — where do they get those ideas from?). When I joined them on Friday for one of the guys' presentations, I couldn't stop laughing through the whole thing. Seriously — magicals controlling the weather and provoking the Great Famine by changing ocean currents? Did they have any idea of how impossible that was? The most anyone could do was make it rain when the clouds were dense enough. Magic couldn't create the clouds, nor the wind that would bring them. Changing atmospheric pressures — tons and tons of very light matter — was an exponentially difficult activity. Magic was more effective the smaller the mass and the smaller the object.
The guys, who had been attentively listening to the speaker (he introduced himself, I think his name was Mike?), weren't too happy with me. At the end of the lecture (I wasn't laughing anymore — my belly hurt too much), one of the guys, the least shy of them, asked me to explain what was so funny. I did. It took me a couple of formulas and five minutes or so of back-of-the-envelope calculations on the blackboard. When I looked at the audience, their eyes were glazy. I think the math just flew completely over their heads. These guys could not understand any description of technology even if it was explicitly mentioned. They had no idea of alchemy.
I would have to do the literature research myself; it seems like there are no alchemists studying history, so nobody with an actual understanding of what's possible, even with magic, was there.
Considering my Yllamese ancestry, it wouldn't be too surprising if I found their culture fascinating. And, as the islands where Captain Greggs said the remnants of that civilization were found were Yllamese, I may find something in ancient Yllamese books.
The library had a few books about ancient Yllam, but they all seemed too modern. And, considering how historians seemed to not understand how alchemy works, second-degree accounts of how things worked or what was available would be useless. Ask the average man on the street how the steam engine works — would they be able to explain it? And imagine somebody retells the account of the first person — this time, without ever having seen a steam engine. No, I needed first level accounts.
Archeological studies could work, but the Yllamese did not like excavating the past. The ancestor adoration thing, you know. That's why they didn't let Kalmari archeologists dig in their country either. So I had to find older sources, preferably ones that weren't too hard to access.
"Is there anything, maybe in the archives, about the older history of Yllam? It could even be in Yllamese; I can read it with a dictionary." We had a course in the third year, which I passed by learning mad skills with the dictionary.
The librarian, an elderly woman who wasn't used to energetic researchers who mess her whole organizing by taking all the books out, promised me she would find out whether there were other materials (she probably wanted to get rid of me). I told her I would come back tomorrow and search through the library more intensely if she found nothing. When she recoiled in horror, I knew she would be motivated to find me more sources. Since delegating hard work is all dark arall's schtick (we like to control things, not to do the hard work), I was quite happy to let her do it.
The next morning, when I came to the library at eight o'clock, its opening time, she was quite surprised to see me.
"Old habits. Up north, you have to wake up before sunrise, especially in winter, if you want to do anything productive during the day. Sleep a bit too much, and poof! Your whole day is gone."
She accepted my explanation.
"Well, I asked around."
"And?"
"While there are a few older books in the archives, the most interesting books are in the possession of the Interpersonal and Intercultural Relations Department."
Ugh. Them again. So it's not enough that they force us to take their classes, now they take the best books, as well.
"And who is in charge of those books?"
"Professor Derwen."
My relationship with Prof. Derwen wasn't very good. He seemed to have taken a particular interest in me since the first day I started studying alchemy. I attributed it to his dislike of dark arall. He usually tried to annoy all dark arall, the ones studying in the Applied Practical Magic Department (yes, APMD is completely unpronounceable; that's why they're commonly referred to as the black magic department). He seems to dislike me especially though, maybe
because I am a kind of a freak. The only dark arall in the whole Alchemy Department - the first one in a decade!
Professor Derwen was in charge of the Yllamese Cultural Relations Department. He always used his position to annoy people like me and got them in trouble whenever they showed disrespect or a lack of restraint when dealing with him. Dealing with him while remaining courteous was really hard even for ordinary people. He liked to stand too closely, lean too heavily, speak too informally, take too much time, although he never broke the rules, the bastard. He seemed content to only dish that kind of treatment to first-year dark arall, and that made it hard for me to complain about it. After all, dark arall usually find anything annoying and disrespectful. There's the prejudice issue too, and nobody considers us defenseless. Thankfully, he'd stopped after a year, and I had seen little of him since. And he had the books I needed? Maybe I should sign up for the government service after all. At least they'll pay me. And give me a badge. Do researchers get badges?
"He's probably very busy. Thank you for your effort, though. I will make sure to schedule a meeting with him." Like, never. But this lady was nice, and I may need her help again, why not show some appreciation.
"Oh, no, don't worry about that. When I inquired about the books, Prof. Derwen was so excited about it, he cleared his schedule for the morning. Few people are interested in those books, you see, and it took him a great effort to procure them."
Great. Now I had to go. Whether or not he knew my name now, he would make sure to learn who was interested in his books if I ignored him. And I couldn't have him restarting his hostilities towards me. It had been really hard to stop myself from strangling him during my first year as it was.
I knew perfectly well where Prof. Derwen's office was. Not because I ever wanted to visit it, but because I avoided it, sometimes making elaborate circles just to avoid getting close to him (that didn't help much, but a girl can try). It took me no time to get there, as his office was right next to the stairs. It usually took a lot of skill to avoid it. I never hesitate, but I had to do some breathing exercises before I knocked. My arall nature was demanding I fight, pumping my system with aggression. This was going to be hard. I knocked, firmly but not too strongly.
"Come in, come in." Professor Derwen had quite a nice voice. Which didn't make him any less annoying.
I entered. The door was solid oak. That's the reason it took me that long to open it, not that I was stalling, obviously.
"Good morning, Professor. May I sit?"
He seemed slightly surprised to see me, so he didn't know who the student interested in his books was.
"Ah, Miss Bedwen. So nice to see you in my office. Would you like some coffee or tea?"
"Tea, please." The last thing I needed was the excitement coffee gave me. Tea helped me relax.
"I just boiled some water and have some fine Yllamese powder green. Feel free to pour it yourself." He pointed at the teakettle burning on an alcohol burner.
Making tea was something ingrained in me since childhood. My father always made me make it following all the customs of his homeland, as he liked to insist I was Yllamese. I poured the just-boiled water into the bowl. It was too hot for making tea. No matter, the first pouring wasn't for making tea, anyway. I poured the hot water into one bowl.
"Would you like a cup too, Professor Derwen?"
"Yes, please."
I poured the hot water into a second bowl while warming the whisk in the first. When it was sufficiently warm, I poured the water out of both bowls and dried them. By the time I measured the right amount of tea with a thin spatula-like spoon, the water had cooled to the right temperature. I then used the measuring cups to pour the tea. I then put the bowls on a tray and took the tray to the desk. Prof. Derwen was looking at me, seemingly surprised.
"Here you have it," I said.
"Thank you, Miss Bedwen." He accepted the bowl I gave him.
I sat down and took a sip. It tasted just right, like the tea I made for my father. It had been years since I'd drank it, since green powder tea of good quality is quite expensive, and I didn't have much money. Why did Prof. Derwen offer me this really expensive tea? Was it because he didn't realize it would be me, and he prepared it in advance?
I slowly drank the tea from the bowl. As was the Yllamese tradition, I didn't talk. This had been a time for my father and me to sit down and just be, without my brothers, or other demands on his time. I'm not sure why Prof. Derwen didn't speak. Being quiet while drinking tea certainly wasn't a tradition of Kalmar; nobody would stop talking in the cafes and teahouses that had become all the rage.
This had been the most friendly interaction I've ever had with Prof. Derwen, maybe because he was the host here. But I didn't come here for the tea, so when I finished savoring the tea, I turned the bowl, showing I had enjoyed the tea and it was time for business. At least, if you knew Yllamese traditions. To Kalmari, it was just a way of drying a cup.
"I've heard you have some books on ancient Yllam. I am trying to make a presentation on the ancient history of Yllam for the history club, and I would like to get some original materials. Could you please show the books to me, Professor?" Business means business. Wasting time on pleasantries is not for me; I'm not Yllamese enough for that. Besides, it's not like Prof. Derwen was the polite kind of guy. Not to me, at least.
"Ah, the history club! I remember being a founding member," no wonder it was full of idiots, considering the founder, "so glad to see this great university tradition continued. So you want to check the books out of my department's collection?" For some reason, Prof. Derwen seemed less prickly than usual, distracted, as if he was trying to find the answer to some puzzle. He stood up and took a key from his drawer, opening a locked bookcase. He put on some gloves, and carefully took out a very old, worn book. He placed it on a big table that was covered with a cloth. "I must tell you, though, Miss Bedwen. You won't find it very useful. They're all written in old Yllamese pictograms, not the Yllamese you learn in your courses."
I approached the table. After putting on the gloves that Prof. Derwen handed me, I carefully examined the book cover. It was a traditional binding, with the pages bound but no spine or protective cover. I turned it around and placed it properly; Yllamese books are read from right to left, with sentences written from the top to the bottom in each page.
The book was written in the same characters as the Road of the Black Lily, the book my father made me study as a kid. He insisted, despite my refusals, tantrums, and outright sabotage, that I study the characters, and read that damn book. It was the one thing he was immutable on. I could usually bend his will, as he adored me and called me his little princess. "Little princess," he used to say, "princesses have many privileges, but they come with duties. And it is your duty to know your people's history and preserve it. You should be able to read The Road of the Black Lily, and The Mandate of Flowers. How would you be able to rule if you don't know anything?" Pointing out that I wasn't actually a princess, that I was an ordinary girl in Kalmar, that I'd probably never go to Yllam, ever, ever, since I hated Yllam, the country with the most horrible writing system, more than anything, never helped. My father was unmovable. Even mother wasn't able to reason with him on that. I was small enough when he started teaching me that my magic hadn't manifested yet, but by the time I hit puberty, with magic flowing through my blood, changing me, making me stronger, tougher, and bullheaded beyond reason, I knew how to resist. So I never got to learn Yllamese etiquette, with all those stupid bows, manners of address, etc. Except for making proper tea, as I thought of it more as alchemy than etiquette.
I had thought the knowledge of pictograms would be useful in our Yllamese course in the first year of Alchemy. To my disappointment, ancient and modern written Yllamese had so little to do with each other that I had to study that course like everybody else, memorizing the stupid new characters and promptly forgetting them when the course was over.
This book I could read, even without a dictionary
. I leafed through; it had no index, nor chapters, nor anything. I would have to read it cover to cover.
"Oh, no problem, Professor. I will just start reading then, if that's not a problem?"
"Wait, so you can read ancient Yllamese?"
I didn't answer that rhetorical question. Of course I could, what would I be doing otherwise?
When Craig Derwen left his office, with the Bedwen girl reading a book he hadn't been able to read (and she was a dark arall, at that! Could it get more humiliating?), he wasn't feeling very well, not to put too fine a point on it. He went to his old friend, who always had some beer and snacks.
He crossed the corridor and entered without knocking. Whatever Dave was doing, he would understand. Dave had been sitting in his armchair, writing. Preparing lectures for a new course was never that easy. He had recently moved to Ashford, to get away from the busy life in Ecton. He didn't share many details of why he moved from the capital city to this small university town, but he seemed much more relaxed here. He even let go of his usual compulsion for order: the office still contained some unpacked boxes from his recent move.
He looked up with worry in his eyes.
"Craig, old friend, you seem a bit shaken. What's the matter?"
He sat down, trying to collect his thoughts.
"You know how we have an unofficial duty — to weed out some of the most… disagreeable people from the Applied Practical Magic Department?"
Dave nodded. Dark arall tended to be impulsive and aggressive, so one of the — unofficial — duties of the school of the Interpersonal and Intercultural Relations Department, or white magic department, was to detect the most aggressive ones and find a reason to kick them out of school. Some skills were too dangerous to leave in the hands of aggressive maniacs. So they teased, and even slightly bullied the students, trying to get a reaction. The ones who resorted to the use of magic or physical force were forced out, whereas those who shouted got a scolding. This task was usually done by Craig Derwen, who (to his shame) actually enjoyed teasing dark mages. Besides, with the number of protective artifacts he was wearing, the highest risk involved was getting punched. Reconciliation or no, there was still enmity between light and dark mages, and Craig Derwen was old enough to remember when dark arall were enemies.
The Apprentice's Path: The Alchemist #1 Page 3