Chương 14: Chapter 12 ~ A Vanishing Act of Alchemical Proportions

20/10/1111 EotTS, 14: 00 A knock came from the door to room '54', but after the sound drifted through the locked door to room '547,' up the stairs to the loft, and into Gysel's ear it was only a muffled tapping that blended in with the patter of the rain on the window, thus, it was ignored, as the open book, and cool glass of water on the small table were far more important than that which could be tapping at the door, so there was no reason to move from the comfortable chair in the loft.

The knock came again, and again, and by the fifth knock, the knocker had resorted to the use of a closed fist, producing a bang that was recognizable as a knock all the way up to the loft. With a groan, Gysel shut the book, and stood up from the chair, hurrying down the stairs and to the door to room '54.' With a deep breath, she opened it. The woman before her was the same woman that Lyma had pointed out to Gysel the previous day.

She had long white hair, eyes that sat somewhere between red and violet, and skin pale enough that one would lose her in the winter. This was the Headmaster's secretary.

"Gysel Neekhilst." Her voice was soft, the kind of soft that is enjoyable to listen to.

"Yes?" Gysel answered.

"The Headmaster is requesting you," the Secretary said, as she rocked on her heels. The words spoken by a voice tended to be far more important than the voice itself; saying nothing, Gysel backed up and closed the door on the Secretary—what could possibly have been done in the past two days to earn the ire of the Headmaster? nothing, absolutely nothing, is it a crime to enjoy a sandwich, a succulent egg and cheese sandwich... the bellhop... that is it, the inability to tip the bellhop is what caused this.

"You are not in any trouble," the secretary knocked on the door.

"He simply wishes to speak with you." Gysel opened the door a crack.

"I did not have the money to tip the bellhop." She snorted and shook her head.

"No one tips the bellhops." Relief came in with the next breath, and the anxiety left with it.

"He just wants to talk to you about Professor Hleenska and the nature of your scholarship," the secretary put her hands together and smiled.

"You have absolutely nothing to worry about."

"Can I get something?"

"Um..." The smile stayed, but her eyes made a confused squint.

"Of course." Gysel hurried to her room, and retrieved Kawvel from the table in the loft; the inside of his legs were damp from the condensation of the glass that had been sitting between them, but this was fine, so she put him under her arm and returned to the door. The secretary's eyes drifted to Kawvel, but did not comment on him.

"I know you have only been here a brief period," she said, "but have you enjoyed your time here?"

"Yes." Gysel locked the door.

"Are you liking your roommate?"

"Yes."

"And the food." The secretary walked fast with long strides, and Gysel struggled to keep up with her.

"Yes."

"That's... good." The secretary asked no more questions after that, and she and Gysel walked in silence. There were murmurs from other first-years as they passed, but all were comments on the presence of the secretary, and not Gysel: she must be an elusive figure, or typically a harbinger of bad news. When they got to the cloister, they stayed under the awning that ran along the walls.

If Kawvel was not present, Gysel would have just run right through the cloister (after returning to the dorm to put on a pair of boots so the puddles could be splashed in), but he was, and the Secretary, who was all but clinging to the wall, did not seem fond of the rain.

"His office is on the top floor," the Secretary said, as she opened the door to the library. She ushered Gysel in before herself.

"It's a bit of a climb."

The Secretary led the way, as they went up one flight, then around the whole outside of the library, then up the next flight, and by the sixth floor, Gysel's legs had grown tired—it would be nice to take a break, maybe sit down, and read one of the many books, for even just a few minutes, but this woman is showing no signs of fatigue, probably because she does this multiple times a day, so all that is left to do is keep going, up and up, and round and round, all while being taunted by the passing volumes.

"I'm sorry, I'll slow down. I do this very often. I forget that most are not used to this." The secretary slowed her pace, just enough that Gysel could keep up.

"The architect said this layout would allow for the maximum space. I'm not sure how true that was, but most don't seem to care; they hate it anyway." Gysel looked over the railing: the library was desolate save for a few people reading at the desks on the ground floor and at the tables and couches scattered about on the other floors.

"I like it. I do not like walking. But I like the library."

"I'm glad." They kept ascending; floor seven was fiction A to M, floor eight was fiction A to M as well. There was a clicking coming from behind the bookshelves, within the walls; it was a similar clicking to the sound Puppet-Cat made when he moved, so Gysel stopped and looked through a gap in the books: there were small humanoid wooden puppets within the wall; they were about the height of the usual leather-bound book, moved in groups of four, and carried books by the corners, with one puppet per corner.

A red leather spine appeared and fit back into place on the shelf, shutting off the world within.

"What are the little wooden men?" She asked the Secretary.

"The Headmaster's puppets."

"How does he make them?" The secretary stopped in her tracks and turned to Gysel. She ran a hand down her pallid chin.

"You will learn." She turned and began to ascend the next floor of stairs; Gysel heard a soft: 'perhaps'. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. They continued up to floor eleven, leaving the four floors of fiction below them, and trading it for one floor of Natural Philosophy and Mathematics, then a final floor of History and Law. Finally, after the grueling ascent, they came to the Headmaster's office on the thirteenth and top floor of the Library.

The Secretary led Gysel past her desk (a brass name plate sat on it, reading Yldhi; a rather fitting name, assuming it is some variation of 'Yldh' being white, and 'Dhi' being one, rendering a compound meaning of 'the White One' or 'One who is White') and to a pair of black oak double doors, where Yldhi gave a soft knock.

"Come in." It was a man's voice, it was old, hoarse, and tired.

Yldhi opened the door, and Gysel entered: the Headmaster's office smelled strongly of a smoky apple-honey incense that was wafting from the fireplace behind the desk; aesthetically, the office seemed like the distillation of every interior design choice of the Academy seen so far: high walls lined with stocked and glossy walnut bookshelves that sat atop matching, stout brass-handled cabinets; a dark green wool carpet resting upon the hardwood like a blanket of moss on the forest floor; chairs upholstered in a brown leather with brass rivets and scrolled walnut arms; bay windows with wooden sashes and grills, showing the rain, fog, and dim lights of the city beyond; and a warm orange light cast by the brass chandelier that hung from the ceiling pulling everything together—this is how Father's study felt a decade ago, when the contents of the books were still a mystery, and the wood was pretty, and nothing more.

Setting the iron fire poker against the bricks of the hearth, the Headmaster turned away from the fire and back to his desk. He was a clean-shaven man with hints of stubble on his upper lip. Stone grey eyes sat behind a pair of glasses, and below thin eyebrows that were raised inquisitively, and seemed to go no lower.

His black hair was cut and styled into a wavy curtain and parted on the right side, leaving strands to fall loosely upon the frame of his glasses—this is a rare cut; the barber Mother knew collected old fashion journals, going far and wide to auctions, and paying large sums for ones that were still in good condition, he would surely be ecstatic to know that the stylings of the mid-seventh century were still in vogue among the upper echelons of the academic world.

He was clad in a grey, three-piece tweed suit, with a red silk tie with embroidered silver flowers.

"Hello, Gysel. I'm happy to finally meet you. I saw you in town yesterday, but you were with friends. Please, take a seat," he said, as he splayed his hands. His gesture did not specify which of the chairs around the room should be sat in; the one in the corner would be too far, the two before the desk would be the right choice: the left would be best, as there would be a lamp between her and the Headmaster, if one were to sit in the right. Gysel sat, placed Kawvel in her lap, and said: "We saw you too."

He smiled and raised a hand to his secretary.

"We can be hard to miss."

"Indeed." The secretary said, with a laugh.

"Would you like me to leave you two?"

"Yes," said the Headmaster. Yldhi turned on a heel, and left, shutting the door behind her.

"You seem to have found yourself in with a good," the Headmaster paused and adjusted himself in his chair.

"A mostly good group of friends."

"Mostly?" asked Gysel—friends... that is nice... but for how long?

"Who is not good?"

"No one is 'not good', Wyohla and I," he gazed at the ceiling, trying to find the right words.

"Let us say we do not agree on some things and leave it at that."

"But everyone else is good?"

"Yes, they are excellent students."

"But they are first years? How do you know that they are excellent student?"

"I know of them just as I know of you."

"They burned down their private school?"

"Uhm, no..." The Headmaster seemed to be caught off guard by this.

"They were brought to my attention by my faculty, who knew them through people they apprenticed under or family friends."

"But I did not apprentice under anyone."

"I am aware. It was Professor Hleenska who told me about you."

"How did he find out about me?"

"Because you burned down a private school," the Headmaster answered, coolly, with a smile.

"Does everyone know?" Gysel flicked Kawvel's ears back and forth; if everyone knew this, it would not be a bother; the friends had laughed and found it fun, maybe to alchemists, this was funny, the zenith of humor.

"Everyone did when it was in the papers three years ago, now, I feel that most have forgotten. So, no, only a few know now, or at least, only a few remember. Professor Hleenska is from your city and was visiting family when it happened."

"Oh." Father did say the name seemed familiar.

"Will he be my teacher?" Puppet-Cat appeared out the window, balancing on the branch of a tree, just on the border of the fog, but as soon as Gysel locked eyes with him, he leapt away—the rain cannot possibly be good for him, he might rot. The Headmaster grimaced.

"That is the reason I had summoned you here today. I considered telling you as soon as I heard of your arrival, but I decided it would be best to allow you some time to settle in. Professor Hleenska is missing. We have not seen him in about two weeks."

"Are you sure he is not at home or visiting family?"

"No," the Headmaster chuckled.

"We are sure. He lives within walking distance, and his wife has not seen him, and I wrote his family in Wihrakolm, and they have not seen him either."

"What do you think happened?"

"We honestly do not know. It is not like him. We are looking into it, and we will keep looking into it until we have answers." He paused, took a sip of his tea, and set the cup down.

Gysel fidgeted with Kawvel's paw—it is difficult knowing how to feel about this, Professor Hleenska might have made the request and paid for the lawsuit, but he is still only just a name in ink on paper, it is sad to not be able to meet and thank him, but how much time would have even spent with him if he were here, there was no reason to take his class with a perfect score.

"Would you like some?" Gysel let go of Kawvel's paw and looked up to the Headmaster, blankly at first, then realized he was offering her tea.

"What kind?"

"Apple." Tea was best when it was not hot; frankly, everything was best when it was not hot.

"Do you have ice?"

"No, but I can chill it if you would like."

"All right." The door opened, and the secretary appeared.

"I will have it in just a moment."

"Thank you," said the Headmaster. The door clicked shut once more.

"How?" Gysel asked.

"Hmm?" He raised an eyebrow.

"How did she know?" Gysel said as she looked around the room, searching for anything that would answer how the secretary appeared without being summoned.

"You didn't say anything."

"How much do you understand about the lower quaternary?"

"Very little." It was sparingly referenced in a few books, and was made up of the Physical Body, the Etheric Double, the Desire Body, and the Lower Mind, but this was all: Gysel was simply, Gysel.

"Then you will learn. It is best not to skip steps; that is how things go wrong. I'm sure you are aware." Gysel nodded.

"Now, back on topic. I figured you would want to know this, so it did not come as a shock to you later. I would hate for classes to start and for you to feel unmoored from the reason you are here." The secretary entered with the tea, which looked like apple juice in a frosted glass. She touched the glass, but it was too cold to be held comfortably, so Gysel slid her hands into the sleeves of her sweater and picked up the glass.

She sipped: it tasted like a spiced apple juice; it was good, so she drank it quickly, and set the empty glass back on the table before the secretary was out of the room.

"Would you like another?" The secretary walked back to Gysel and took the glass.

"No, thank you." The secretary left the room—at least her body did.

"I will be fine," said Gysel, "I am here to learn. As long as I am learning. I doubt I will feel unmoored."

"Are you not at all interested in what happened to him?" the Headmaster asked.

"I find it strange that he is missing, and I would have liked to meet him, but I do not have the ability to find him, nor do I have the time."

"You never know where things will take you, Gysel."

"That is true. Who is replacing him?"

"One of our recent graduates who was an assistant under him for his second and third year has taken it upon himself to fill it. I'm sure you will get along. If you ever have any issues, you would be more than welcome to come and see me. With that, I have nothing else for you. Do you have questions?"

"Can I be exempt from first-year Operative Alchemy?" He laughed.

"You will have to discuss this with the professor."

"He is missing, how can I do that?"

"No, the stand-in."

"All right." The two sat in silence for a moment. Gysel watched the crackling fire; another glass of tea would have been nice.

"You are free to leave, Gysel," the Headmaster said.

"If you have any questions, my door is always open."

"Thank you. I hope you find him." Taking Kawvel, Gysel stood.

"I do as well."