Based on the notes of Blaire Faraday
In the following week we visited The Factory without Brigitte. As far as Mr. Darbinyan could explain us, the place was used to the “industrially inclined artefacts” and also to produce any things the Base would need to keep it running. Things like concrete, wires, windows, among others, were produced inside the tall red brick buildings with large chimneys. A couple of them were in silence, however, and that’s when he confessed a failure of a plan that the RAIN Company had between the building of the Base and our arrival.
—They were supposed to be able to mimic the conditions of the creation of some artefacts in the remote chance that we would be able to replicate them.
—What kind of brainless moron thinks mass producing artefacts is a good idea? —Dr. Tang asked, and her tone was a mixture of curiosity and disgust—. Having one of each to gather here is already a herculean task; what would happen if we had a thousand of “Archimedes’ death ray”?
I had the chance to interact a lot more with Dr. Tang during the week that followed our arrival. Her dozing off during the months that I’ve known her, seemed to be the result of a spell. Since she was not casting it anymore, her energy was back, and most of the time she was awake early and working at the library, having already prepared breakfast for everyone. She also seemed more opinionated than before, talking her mind on what she didn’t agree, and her attacks were mainly on how the Base was being developed.
—More I look these maps— she said one day—, more I convince myself that we shouldn’t even be here.
—Why’s that?
—The things that make this place liveable, had been arranged in the last couple of months. Food, money, a way around— her hand went to her neck, where the pearl wasn’t anymore—. It seems to be a place where those who work shouldn’t have needs.
At the house, we weren’t surprised to learn Ursula had no idea how to cook. She couldn’t boil water without one of us paying close attention to herm out of fear of burning herself or the house. She has to be, without competition, the worst cook I’ve encountered in my entire life, and yes, that pretty much includes the time I ate bugs while I spent a week as a toad. On an extremely related note, I had no idea someone could burn water. Luckily for us, she made herself after that incident, and spend the next days playing the piano. Unlike her cooking, she was very good at it.
Sometimes instead of exploring the city, of which we made probably a twelfth of the total, Dr. Tang, Professor Linde, Mugsy and I spent a couple hours playing cards in the parlour. No matter what the others say, I don’t cheat. Also, we weren’t playing for money, so I don’t get what the fuss was all about. But I digress.
Sunday the 26th, around midday, I was on a cooking lesson performed by Dr. Tang, mostly so Ursula wouldn’t feel alone. She’s a marvellous cook, especially for someone who, in her own words, had only prepared a meal twenty times.
—I learned from a cousin back in the day, he was in the Cordon Bleu. He’s a sous chef in New York— she said, sautéing vegetables in a huge cast-iron pan—. Stand back!
Moved her hand and a bottle of brandy flew from the shelf, on the other side of the kitchen, and poured half its content into the pan. It set the vegetables ablaze, perhaps a bit more reckless than I would’ve wanted. She tried to continue the conversation, but the sizzle of the food made it impossible.
Ursula stayed, taking notes, and I went upstairs to my little project.
On my room, besides the bed and the desk, was a large mirror covered in a white cloth behind the wardrobe. It looked older than the house itself. If the house, which I came to know as “Featherhill”, since that’s the name above the entrance, is from the Georgian Era (late 18th century), the large full body mirror, was clearly late medieval.
I had to ask Prof. Linde to help me move it on top of the dresser due to the frame being cast-iron. He also gave me a set of leather gloves, so I could touch the mirror without bursting in hives and burns, and provided me with a cord of copper wire. Didn’t ask. If he did, I would’ve blurted all.
Trying to fabricate a Testimony Reader, a makeshift one, was probably forbidden somewhere in the manual. I assume. The thing wasn’t that large, but was so dull and boring to read. Of course, a manual wouldn’t be interesting by any means, still I hoped for something readable. Sorry, went sideways on that. Obviously, I wasn’t going to ask Mr. Darbinyan about it, seemed like the fastest way to be fired and on a train back to England.
A crystal bowl from the china cabinet, salt from the pantry, the copper wire from Linde, and the large mirror. It took me a couple of days to have the wires connected in the frame. I had made a rough draft of the contraption, but it was still hard.
—You’re lacking the coins— a voice behind me said, I turned and no one was there—.
—Hello?
The yarn rolled from the dresser to the floor and under the bed. I went looking for it and was next to a large steamer trunk. I decided to pull both things out and see what it was. After casting a small protection spell so no one would enter unannounced.
Light blue, a shade that wouldn’t be possible without magic in this type of leather. It had two large black belts and a stylised “AA” in the centre of the lid. What would Alice Athenida’s luggage be doing here if it weren’t…her house. Now definitely I had to look for Featherhill in the library, though that was enough as a detractor so I wouldn’t open the chest. With a movement of my hand, the blasted thing flew back under the bed, from which I hoped would forget its existence.
I checked my notes, and the voice inside my head was right. I had forgot that inside the bowl, with the salted water, there were supposed to be three silver coins. I wasn’t sure if that was because it was needed on the reaction, or if it was just so the spark didn’t plate the testimony by mistake.
That would be difficult to explain in the Archives. “Hey, why this testimony is copper plated?”, yeah, I have no idea how to answer that.
Experiment again on hold. Besides stealing them, who the hell would have silver coins in this place?
Thinking that the library might have answers I closed my room and went downstairs. To my chagrin, Ortiz was there, sitting surrounded by a lot of book stacks, which had left about a hundred still on the shelves. Sound like many, but not really in comparison. I don’t know if he was sleeping or meditating, since he was sitting in a lotus position with his head slightly tilted to one side and closed eyes.
—Let’s see…Featherhill, Featherhill, Featherhill —I whispered to myself while browsing the shelves—, where the hell are you.
As to answer, a small book dropped from nowhere and hit me on the head. Thinking it had been Ortiz I turned around, but he was in the same position as before, I had to look at him for a few seconds to be sure he was breathing. I looked up to the top of the shelf; a small stack had fallen into itself and caused the book to fell on me.
“A History on Featherhill Manor”, written by its architect, one Mrs. Celia Dunn, whose name seemed oddly familiar. The manor had been built in 1794 close to Broceliande in Wales, and have been moved to Oxford England during the 1850s. Oh. OH. Okay, okay, okay. So, the reason Alice’s trunk was there? Why the owl on top of the entrance? It was their house, the Athenida’s. The name had rung a bell before for a reason. Featherhill was the Athenida family house for the main part of the 19th century and Sophia’s far-away headquarters.
In the annex, at the end of the book, were a couple of floorplans of the house. Both the original designs made by Mrs. Dunn, the construction plans, and those made after the house-moving; each of them had minor details that changed from drawing to drawing. For example, between the indoor bathrooms were created during the moving, which meant a few things were cramped together. I did four tours around both floors of the house, and realise something important. Though the house had no place for an empty space, according to the plans, there were two squares clearly marked in the three different floorplans. Two metres by one metre. One on each floor.
On the ground floor, this space was between the library and the indoor garden, covered by one of the bookshelves. On the one up, this was, as I came to found when I was already upstairs, acting as insulation between my room and Dr Tang’s. Since these don’t overlap, I discarded the idea of being some sort of ventilation to the basement kitchen, which had been my first thought.
They weren’t supposed to be sealed off, at least for what I could read in the plans, though I would be the first to admit that this is not my strongest subject. However, the shelves on the library seemed to be a recent addition to the place, because in the annex were also drawings of the rooms, and the original bookshelves were pieces of furniture in the other walls, with the chairs and a desk on that side of the room. On the other floor, the one I was standing, the entrance was from my room, and based on the drawings, the wardrobe was on the place of the desk, originally.
—God, please let not be more iron behind this thing…
The wardrobe was heavy, sturdy, and locked with a lot of heavy stuff inside. I was about to tipped it over the bed with my leather-covered hands before I remembered I can do magic at will. Snapped my finger and the thing lifted itself in the air a couple of inches, enough to be pushed away with care. It seemed like a sleepy giant, floating away slowly and wobbling.
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