Engines of Obsession: Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Admission of Guilt

Turner had no choice but to follow the cackling doll.

Reginald was none the worse for wear, from what Turner could see, despite missing one arm at the elbow. The glow from his eyes cast an eerie blue shade to the corridor, yet despite the dim lighting, Turner had no trouble following nor making out the details of the wooden hallway.

Neither could he miss the light spring in Reginald's step, the one-armed boy showing none of the anger from his dismemberment that he'd shown before.

"Now remember, you sought her out," Reginald reminded him, the doll-boy's head swiveling around to look behind him. "You could have walked away, but you chased us down. Everything that happened, everything that will happen, is your responsibility."

The door at the end opened, revealing a large, yet cluttered laboratory. A table with various vials and glassworks sat in the middle of the room, with a woman behind it. A redheaded, youthful woman who looked unsurprised at Turner's appearance.

Anne Blakely.

Smoothly, Turner drew his revolver, thumbing back the hammer during the lift and aiming it at the woman.

He pulled the trigger.

Click.

Out of ammunition.

He fumbled to reload, but with his left arm missing, Turner could only watch helplessly as the bullets clattered to the stone floor, rolling off to the side. The thud of the giant, bronze constructs made them rattle as the monstrosities closed in from either side.

Turner's sword was in his hand in an instant, raised in a guard position. Elina Vale spoke, face half-rotted, her pretty surviving half pale and lifeless. Her jaw worked soundlessly at first, as she tried to warn him away. "I didn't want you to end up this way. Please, Ro-ooOOOOAAAAAAHHHHH!!"

The screech of Vale's voice shifted pitch into the whistle of the train. Turner jolted awake, fingers fumbling at his side before he remembered where he was. The train had arrived.

The trip was not luxurious, but more spacious than the last time Turner had ridden on a train, years ago. Even so, his still-healing injuries complained about the vibration and constant motion, leaving his thigh aching, and even his arm twinging, reminding him of the injury there. The muscle had been bitten into fairly deep, he'd just been lucky it had healed so cleanly.

Turner limped out onto the platform to wait for the others, which didn't take long. It had been over half a decade since Turner had been to Edsenburg, and he didn't doubt that a lot had changed. Right here, though, it all looked like he remembered. A bit smoggy, with a gritty but mild stench, and...

"It's so noisy," Milo called out, finishing the thought that Turner had begun. He and Martin were coming up toward Turner in a rapid walk, threading through the crowd as best they could. Martin, as usual, said little. The scowl on the shorter brother's face spoke more than any words could hope to achieve.

Nora put on another amused smile. "Welcome to the big city," she introduced, gesturing broadly at the crowd and nearby streets. "I don't like it either. It does get better near Grunthal, don't worry."

A young man and woman nearby approached, both dressed in modest blouse and pants or skirt. The woman's bodice was tailored snugly, more to a precise fit than to impress. Turner immediately caught on that they weren't simple travelers, once he saw how well-made and clean the clothing was.

Nora noticed, as well, so when the two approached she smiled lightly. "Our escorts, I presume?" Milo and Martin both looked up in surprise, still distracted by the numerous sights and sounds of the overwhelming city.

The young woman looked startled, but the man was all business. "Mister Turner, Miss Graves. Misters Wellright." He nodded his head. "I am Rainer, and this is Sibille. We are indeed your chaperones. One of the other manservants will see to your luggage. We are to show you to the Byron estate and see to your rooms for the duration of your stay."

Turner gave the two a wry smile. "Thank you. These two are new to the area. I grew up here, but don't have a local home, so this is appreciated. We'll try not to embarrass your Master. I'm sure you're also here to keep us out of trouble."

Rainer replied in a stiff tone, "I am not at liberty to interpret the Master's wishes." He turned to Nora. "Miss Graves, will you be staying with us, or shall I see you to your family's home?"

Nora bowed her head with a thin smile. "I am afraid my extended family and I are no longer on speaking terms. I will accept your hospitality for now, although I may try to speak to them to see if they are willing to mend the breach."

"Very well," Rainer answered with a nod. The man was so... stiff and formal, and the woman silent. It put Turner on edge, since the Byron he knew was, while certainly noble, much more laid back than others. Perhaps it was his life in the frontier, living under the Confederacy, that led to that.

He felt naked without his weapons, but Turner had expected this. With a sigh of resignation, he gestured for the others to follow.

Lord Byron had sent a wire to his household to prepare a place for us, but that didn't mean it was a spot of opulence and pleasure. Rainer and Sibille did have a carriage waiting, but it led the group to the servant's wing, rather than a proper guest suite.

On the upside, it not only had plumbing, but even hot water during the day, when the servants could heat the boiler. It was also well-ventilated, a welcome relief from the heat of the fading summer days.

Lord Byron's nephew, however, was not nearly as pleasant an experience.

"My uncle is always too generous," the youth had said. He resembled Byron, though younger. Sandy-haired, clean-shaven, but lacking the hard muscle and also the geniality of his uncle. He also had a more serious, almost glowering air. "I will be hosting you because of his request, but I expect you to remain quiet, out of sight, and do not embarrass us. If you need anything, and it is a reasonable request, ask Rainer or Sibille."

Turner had a feeling they wouldn't see him again unless they screwed up badly.

Which meant the first day was spent unpacking and getting themselves settled in. Edsenburg was in more 'civilized' land, and didn't allow open carry of weaponry. It was possible to pack up the weapons and carry them discreetly and legally -- after all, plenty of shops sold arms and offered training in combat here -- but Turner reasoned that it would be a little more strict on the Academy campus, especially for non-students.

"I'm not sure we'll be any help here," Milo said that evening, as the small group relaxed in Turner's room. The room was cramped, with all four of them in it, but at least they didn't need to share rooms. Four small private rooms were an unexpected luxury.

Nora shook her head, "Maybe not, but you could have noticed something that will be relevant. Besides, it will give you a feel of the city." She made a gesture toward the open window. "If you need to visit a city later, without us to guide you, it will be easier if you've had some experience."

"I guess," Milo grumbled, crossing his arms. Martin just looked vaguely amused at his brother's grumpiness, but didn't interrupt and let Milo continue speaking for them. "What's the plan, anyway?"

Turner settled back on his bed, using it as a seat. "Right now, we are just going to walk to campus from here tomorrow morning. It isn't far. Don't bring any weapons, all right?" He nodded at Nora then, and clarified, "Leave the investigation into the records department to Nora and I... she knows her way around, and they'll probably want people who are fluent in the dialect and comfortable digging through written records."

He pointed to Milo and Martin both. "Meanwhile, you two just check out the campus and maybe ask any teachers you see if they remember a redheaded girl. It shouldn't be too difficult, most women don't enroll in school. She'd stand out -- red hair isn't common here, female in a sea of men, probably intelligent given the kinds of things we've seen her do."

Milo furrowed his brow, "Okay... uh, I'd have thought most of the students would be women..."

Nora frowned, but it was only half annoyed, confusion in the tilt of her head. "Why... would you think that? Women here are seen as the sort to stay home and tend to the household."

Milo glanced at Martin helplessly, but Martin's smirk and shrug seemed to say You're on your own, brother. This left Milo mentally flailing, as he swallowed and tried to explain, face reddening with every word. "Well... where we're from, that's the same, but I thought it'd be normal for them to go to school while uh... their husbands handled the work..." He trailed off, realizing he was sounding more and more dismissive. "A-and you're uh... probably the smartest one in the group, so I thought it was normal..."

Through it all, Nora kept staring... until finally she just broke out into laughter, losing her self-control into a fit of giggling that broke her normal reserved, stoic shell. "Relax. I know you didn't mean anything by it."

Nora made a loose circle with her finger in the air, quoting a rule she didn't believe. "Officially, the Commonwealth has supported equal education and voting rights for women for over a century. Unofficially... well, the men still hold the power, don't they?" She sighed, "It isn't that unusual to see one in Grunthal, but I'd say it's still a five to one ratio favoring the men."

"Huh," Milo mumbled, both chastened and vaguely interested. The confusion on his face was clear. Just one more difference between the village frontier boy and the city he was forced to deal with now.

Turner chuckled, but made a shooing gesture. "All right, get out. I know you think you're fine because you didn't do the walking, but even on a train, three days of travel will wear you out. Get some sleep, all of you. I want to see everyone in the foyer an hour after sunup, all right?"

Even though Turner had told the brothers that they wouldn't be needed here, it was really a small mercy on them. He could read very well, considering his upbringing as an orphan, but that didn't mean he enjoyed looking through stacks of aging rag paper. At least the university hadn't switched to the more delicate wood pulp paper yet.

"I'm afraid this is likely to be a wild goose chase," Mister Pomfort said, paging through sheafs of paper in one of the drawers. The middle-aged man -- still chasing a professorship after all these years -- had been very helpful. Enthusiastic, even! Mostly because he'd remembered Nora.

Pomfort adjusted his glasses and looked at Turner again, with that expression of judgement and mild disapproval. "I've attended every commencement for the last twenty years, I'd likely remember a woman like that," he continued, finally looking away. Turner ignored the stare, as usual.

Nora flipped through her own stack of papers, scanning the graduation rolls. She didn't look up when she spoke. "We don't have much to go on. We have a couple others looking around. Maybe someone has heard of her, even if she didn't go here."

A small grunt from Pomfort indicated his grudging agreement. "Mnhm. That is a possibility. If you had stayed on, I have no doubt you would be speaking at Delphi University at this point." He sighed, once again glancing at Turner. "I do hope it was worth it."

Turner snorted, but said nothing. His own paper was rapidly descending into dates over twenty years ago. That was... an unlikely time period, given Gretchen's description of Miss Blakely.

"Turner isn't the reason I quit school," Nora said with a gentle sigh. "I didn't meet him until three or four months after I withdrew. And he's surprisingly well-educated, even if he's self-taught. Stop glaring daggers at him."

"It's fine," Turner replied, setting the papers aside. "I'm not really the academic type, he's right about that. I am grateful that there's a public part of the library here, though. I actually read a few of the books here, growing up, but I doubt I'd have enrolled even if I could have afforded it. Just not my style."

Nora wasn't listening. Her fingers tapped thoughtfully at her chin, eyes unfocused and pondering. "Actually... we may be going about this all wrong. We know this woman is skilled in witchcraft, and she wouldn't have studied that here. Maybe, like me, she left early or..."

The chair creaked as Nora sat up quickly, laying her papers aside. "Mister Pomfort, do you remember a student here, a few years older than me? One of the Quiet Ones. His name was Lev Brenner, and he was doing a research project on socioeconomic status of students and educators over the years."

Pomfort blinked. He didn't have time to react to Nora's comments about Turner, instead lighting up with a bright expression. "Oh! Yes, that's an excellent idea! It would take us weeks or months to search through enrollment records instead of graduation rolls... but he already did that for us! And organized it!"

The man stood, shuffling toward the door adjoining with the main library. "A controversial treatise, to be sure, but very thorough. He did finish it, and we'd have a copy in the library, with the other theses. Let me go fetch that."

"What's this?" Turner asked, carefully stacking his own papers now. He looked toward Nora curiously -- she'd mentioned something he'd never heard of. "That's an unusual name. Classmate of yours?"

Nora shook her head. "No, just an upperclassman I knew. Lev isn't an uncommon name amongst the Quiet Ones... they have their own traditions and holy texts. I'll introduce you to some, sometime. They keep to themselves, mostly, but they played a large part in the creation of the Covenant of the Many. Even the old Empire gave them a bit of an exemption with the worship of the old gods."

It wasn't the first time Nora had mentioned them, and Turner vaguely knew the term, but he hadn't wandered into their part of town. "You think this project of his would help? I have to admit, I think we're kind of casting a fishing line in the dark, without any bait. The chances we'll pull up anything are pretty slim. You yourself said that what she was doing was wildly different."

A sigh, and Nora shrugged. "Maybe, but it's better than nothing while we wait for the engineering school to finish looking over that construct. We'll probably learn more from that than any kind of record we see here. Besides, crusty as he is, it was nice seeing Pomfort again."

"I heard that," the man's voice called out. That had been... a remarkably short trip! He'd only been gone a few minutes, and Turner knew that normally fetching a book would involve plenty of hunting through stacks and shelves. "Another student referenced it last week, shelved it myself."

Indeed, the man was hefting a small book onto the table even now. "Here it is. A Treatise on the Socioeconomic Tendencies of Education in the Commonwealth, 1950-2050." He glanced up, "He didn't cover the last few years, but it was only published in 2054. So this is about as recent as we could hope for. Brilliant boy, I hope he's doing well. I hear he went back out east for some reason."

"Probably," Nora agreed. "That's their holy land. They sometimes make pilgrimages out that way, but it's been dangerous for generations. Hope he's all right. I liked him." She slid her chair over to the table. "Does he have any references on students that may have dropped out? I know he was considering adding those for exceptional students, when I left."

Turner, actually curious about this, also slid his chair over. The book was printed, not written, so the student must have had some influence there. For a controversial publication that was a little surprising to him.

"He did indeed!" Pomfort declared, already flipping toward the back. "It really was a fascinating read, but I didn't check all the references. He mentions a few in the text, but only in passing. Let's see here..." The man's voice faded as he adjusted his glasses and skimmed through the words.

Turner grunted, "Interesting, but seems like a real shot in the dark. What was the big deal about the treatise, anyway? Why was it so controversial?"

Pomfort mumbled as he ran his finger down the pages, "Oh, the powers that be didn't like what it said, even though everyone already knew it. It is essentially a study showing how the distribution of wealth influences the prestige and spread of education and success. How difficult it is for upward mobility despite the stated goal of the Commonwealth and the Academy's mo... oh, hello."

Turner nodded. He understood now. Pointing out the realities in the system despite the propaganda never went over well. The sudden shift in tone caught his attention though. "Did you find something?"

With a little snort, Pomfort nodded. "It was here the whole time! Hmm... or perhaps not, the date doesn't line up with what you've said." He traced a finger over an entry. "Anne Blakely, admitted on scholarship from the Tinar Isles refugees. Noted for her red hair and as a prodigy in mechanical engineering and alchemy. Ah..."

He paused, taking a sharp breath.

"Enrolled Fall of 1990 and withdrew Spring of 1992 at request of... J. Middleton."