Chapter #40Some Uncomfortable Facts by: Seuzz   Charles's eyes twinkle as he holds the phone to his chest. Even with it so muffled, you can hear the booming voice on the other end of the line. You can't tell if the person is angry or joyful, but whatever the emotion, he seems to have a lot of it.
Fyodor?
That's Joe's thought. But what would the old Russian be doing in England?
"What's in England, sir?" you ask.
"Fun." The old man's expression turns even more mirthful.
Under other circumstances, that would sound very inviting. But after talking to Kali, you don't feel like you deserve "fun."
"Fun sounds like fun, sir," you reply. "But I already decided I want to go back to Olympia with you."
Charles tweaks your elbow lightly--a nice little gesture of appreciation--and returns to the phone. It takes him a few moments before he can interrupt the stream of words from the other. Yeah, it's got to be Fyodor. That is Charles's closest advisor, and the only Stellae older than the old man. They are both Glundandrans--there are never more than two Glundandrans in the Stellae--and Fyodor would have been the head of the order if the job hadn't devolved onto Charles. Fyodor, Joe has heard, never tires of telling Charles how lucky he (Fyodor) feels at having dodged that bullet.
"Something is weighing on you, son," Charles says as you walk down the corridor to the elevator.
You have the compartment to yourself, so you tell him about your talk with Kali--and about the golem you are carrying around inside you.
"You're quick at seeing things, and seeing through them," Charles says quietly. "Nash and I weren't going to say anything to you about that. Not yet."
"Sir, if there's a way of getting him out, of returning him to life--" Your breathing becomes labored. Do you mean what you're about to say, or are you only saying it because it seems like the right thing to say? "And if the only way to save him is to--"
"Hush, son," Charles says, and grips your arm. "I know what you mean to say. Don't say it. Words have a way of fixing thoughts and intentions."
"But shouldn't I--?"
"There's the right thing to do, but there's also the right time to do it. Knowing what to do is not the same thing as knowing when to do it, and many good men have destroyed themselves unnecessarily because they had a poor sense of timing. Do not speak of it, Will. This is not the time."
You hang your head, ashamed of your sense of relief. "So long as you know, sir, that--"
"I know, son. And that's enough."
* * * * *
And that's all that gets said that day. The flight back is relaxed--Charles is good at creating a merry atmosphere when he wants--and the two of you play cards on the plane. You win, and he grumbles good-naturedly about Joe's talent for "card counting"; you let yourself grin.
The weeks pass uneventfully. Or they seem uneventful. Winter is fast coming to Olympia, and Charles sets you to yard work, putting the garden and lawn to rest, and fixing up the house against the snows that will come. A middle-aged woman, name of Laverne, helps out too. "Daughter of an old colleague," he tells you, though you already know her history, thanks to Joe's memories. "We don't have any secrets from her, but she doesn't like hearing of them." You help Laverne with laundry and food preparation and housework, and Charles sends you to her house to help her out.
Christmas comes, and Charles hosts a festive, week-long party for those Stellae who can make it. Father Ed drives up from Denver; Kali flies in from California; others come in from overseas. You've long since laid aside Joe's mask, but it's not hard to glean, from comments dropped in conversation, that the others miss having Joe and Frank around. It would leave you feeling glum, but the buoyant merriment created by Charles keeps your spirits from sinking unduly.
Rick shows up in time for New Years. He's not been able to find any trace of the wayward Frank and Joe. When you have a moment with him, you ask about what's going on with the "Will Prescott" that you left behind. He just shrugs. "That's not really my business."
"But what if they tried getting in touch with it? They know it's a golem--"
"And they know you ran off to find us," he grunts, and gulps down most of his glass of whiskey. "At any rate, they know you're not their friend anymore. They're not going to say anything to that fake you left behind."
The party breaks up a few days later, but Nash remains behind at Charles's request, and the three of you huddle for a week. Nash has been examining the Libra, and he's got some tests to run on you. "Yeah, I'm good at my job," he drawls afterward with a sly smile. "Yeh wanna getcher self set up, Will, I can help ya."
"Like how?"
"Remember what I told yeh, that yer like a TV that can put up diff'rent pitchers? I can show yeh how t'do it."
You look nervously at Charles. "I'm not sure I want to," you say.
"Well, I should still tell you an' th'boss man what you can do. If y'evah wanna do it. Yeh know you got those sigils inside yeh, right? Well, it's sim'ly a questioniv unlockin' 'em."
"What do you mean?" Again, you look over at Charles, but he just smiles gnomically and leaves the conversation to you and Nash.
Nash grasps your hands. "Right now yeh just got one of 'em unlocked. The fest one, the one 'at makes masks. Yer can make a mask, jus' wit' dese mitts o' yers." He grips your wrists to keep you from flinching back. "Yeah. We get sum supplies, make up a blank, put 'em in her pams here, and yeh can finish it yerself. More'n that, though," he continues, as though that isn't enough. "It'd take a little experimentin', but I t'ink yeh could use 'em t'capy summon's imago direc'ly inta yerself. Chuck been teachin' yeh howta meditate?"
You nod. Yes, after only a few weeks you've gotten quite good at it and are quite familiar with what you can find within yourself. The Moon, usually, but also a constellation of stars that is your own imago. And that damnable sigil Nash is talking about.
"Well, if yeh can capy summon, yeh'll get a capy of dare imago t'go witcha one yeh gatev yerself. Then yeh should be able to switch between 'em. Prab'ly dat'll unlack the nex' sigil, too. Yer bilt like the Libra, Will," he says, and shuts one eye to peer at you sharply from the other. "Unlack one sigil by usin' it, an' yeh'll get aksess t' the next'un."
You twist away, throwing yourself backwards into the chair. Fury--at the Libra, at the universe, at yourself, and even at Nash and Charles--boils up within you. "Is that all I'm good for?" you yell, and hot tears spring up in your eyes. "Is this the reason I'm trying to become a Stellae? Am I just that goddamned book? Am I just supposed to go around, stealing faces?"
"'At's not all you are," Nash says mildly. "If it'll meck yeh feel bettah, I spotted anotheh wunna yer talents inside yeh."
"The one he uses when he doesn't want to be found?" Charles asks wryly.
"Oh, yeh noticed that?" Nash asks with a grin.
You look between them. "What are you talking about?"
"Sometimes you disappear on me," Charles says. "Haven't you noticed?"
"Noticed what?"
He laughs. "Yes, I think that's one prodigy, as Kali likes to call them, that needs leashing and developing." He fixes a gleaming eye on you. "You have a talent for going unnoticed, son. I think you used it a lot over Christmas. Especially around Father Ed."
"I hardly talked to him."
"Exactly. He kept looking for you, but never found you. You kept hiding on him."
"I wasn't hiding--"
"Not deliberately, Will. But you can turn yourself invisible. Well, not literally. But I've noticed you can make yourself ... inconspicuous ... even in plain sight. I might be looking directly at you, and yet not see you."
You sit back, dumbfounded. "How does that work?"
Nash grasps your hands again. "Well, lemme show you, kid."
* * * * *
It's fascinating, and it does make you feel a little better about yourself, for it's a talent that doesn't come from the Libra: Though Nash can't show you how to use it deliberately, he has found a little bit inside of you that can make you disappear from people's conscious vision. "It's like when yeh putcher hammeh down fer a bit," Nash explains. "An' then when you look fer it again, yeh can't find it." He shrugs. "Then, suddenly, it's there again, right where yeh t'ought you were lookin'. In yer case, yeh should be able to turn it off an' on. Wit' trainin'."
And yet you don't feel ready yet to explore it. Charles asks you to explain your reluctance. "I want to be a Stellae, sir, and I want to help out however I can. I've not forgotten about wanting to help find Joe and Frank. But the last few weeks, with you--" You break off, trying to find a way of putting the inchoate feelings into words. "I don't feel like I've accomplished anything, but I do feel like I've been helpful." Charles smiles. "It hasn't been fun, but it's been ... restful." You sink back, and your gaze grows distant. "I feel like I've been in a hospital, and I've been recuperating."
"It's a good feeling, isn't it?" Charles murmurs.
"Yes sir. I don't want you to think I'm slacking--"
"You haven't been."
"But I'd like to continue being helpful. That way."
The old man smiles broadly. "I think you've found your second ousiarch, son. I think it's time you visited Margaret Dillon."  You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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