xxxxxxxxx Chapter 18.
We showed up to Eden Academy in a rented van loaded with all of my shit. It's not that we brought that much, really, but the Fairy Stump could not be transported in the back of a truck or strapped to a roof, and wouldn't fit in a normal small car.
Personally, I thought Loid should look into getting a permanent vehicle, but then I'm American and I still sort of think it's odd not to own long distance transportation.
Once we got there, we were shown to a meeting room, and porters helped us carry everything in, so it only took one trip.
The meeting room was amazing. All mahogany and ebony and ivory and alabaster. Polished wood hundreds of years old, antique but sturdy furniture, decorations so valuable and tasteful it's a wonder the Anglish didn't try to steal them for a museum.
Henry Henderson, the big elegant sasquatch himself, was there to greet us. After pleasantries were exchanged, he explained his presence.
"It is my pleasure to inform you that, in light of our interactions, I will have the honor of having your daughter in Cecile Hall, of which I am the Housemaster of."
I got the 'squatch? Cool. I made appropriate noises and genuflection and kow towing and such.
Interestingly, Walter Evans showed up soon after, and there was another round of greetings and congratulations.
"I'm glad to see you, Mr. Evans," I announced to him particularly. "I've had time to read some of the writings of Saint Bonifact. Although I confess I don't have all of the context needed to fully understand the environment he worked in, as there is quite a lot of writing about the man I haven't had a chance to read yet, I do vastly admire a man as dedicated to education and reform as he is. I'm proud that a man of such goals is our national saint."
He was quite pleased by that.
Although they, and the others that showed up in ones and twos, all expressed interest in the various documents and art pieces we'd laid out, everyone took their time with small talk while they waited for the final guests.
Headmaster Goodfellow and Theobald Goddard, head of the Imperial Scholars program, who came in together.
These people were the high priests of this little educational cult, and were treated appropriately, with a variety of respectful gestures and greetings.
I kept my mouth shut as Loid took charge of our delegation, a decision mirrored by Yor. I wasn't particularly intimidated, I didn't need to hide behind Yor's skirts, but this is social combat at a level far, far beyond anything I have the skills to handle.
Also, rather frustratingly, there were just slightly too many people in this room for me to easily pick out thoughts. The meeting room was not small, but all eleven of us were at one end, clustered around the head of the table.
Worse, all of these people, with the sole exception of Yor, were thinkers. It wasn't so bad when they were talking, as most people's thoughts and spoken words are identical, but when they stopped talking, they started thinking.
So it was like they never really stopped talking.
At least until they started listening to the Headmaster.
Loid was personable without being obsequious, and had things well in hand as introductions went around, establishing bonafides and areas of interest.
Amazingly, two of them had some recollections of Yor! Both admitted to following the Berlint University's fencing and ballet programs, and Yor had been a standout performer during her time in the school. 'Personal reasons' had forced her to get a job rather than continue as a ballerina, and she lied and said that she had never really gotten into fencing despite her talents.
One of the guys who recognized her, the art teacher, Topher Temple, expressed particular disappointment at that. Apparently, Yor's ballet trained legs made her lunge particularly devastating.
Having seen the woman perform a Grand Jete that Loid could walk under, I absolutely believed it. Imagine that kind of power propelling a sword at you.
But that's a state trained assassin for you, I suppose. As an aside, I believe that they sent her to college as a way of giving her the skills and certificates needed to slot her into any governmental role they wished as a day job. Yor wasn't an intellectual like Loid or I, but she slotted in to her government job like a round peg into a round hole.
The peg just happened to be particularly long and pointy, if you'll forgive me stretching the simile.
Loid's background as a clinical psychologist at the Vivante Klinik didn't result in any vocal 'ah-ha's from the assembled personages, but there were several mental 'ohhh's. His doctorate, which he likewise earned honestly, and his career were respectable but not particularly notable, the way the nobility liked out of the commoners who were upper class but not actually worthy of being peers. Quiet experts in fields the nobility generally don't want to do, but fully agree is necessary.
Especially when you've got a murderous cousin or a disabled sibling that needs to be very quietly interred into a pleasant but restrictive facility… somewhere else. The Ostanian elite clearly took after the Anglish.
Once all the social roles had been defined, ourselves as the better sort of commoners, petitioning our betters, and the various hierarchies of the faculty, things turned to the reason everyone was there.
Me.
God it sounds arrogant to say that. But it's true. This is my big chance for a first impression. I had to perform. So I kept a polite, refined smile and only spoke when spoken to, but I let myself fidget just a little, as if I was eager to show off. Loid 'cautioned' me to calm down once, which I obeyed.
Frankly, the initial process was a little bit boring. There were four primary groups we were there to talk to.
Housemaster Henderson, mostly representing himself, since I'll be in his house, but also there with Housemaster Evans, who's just interested.
Topher Temple, who taught art, and Ormonde Werhner, who taught advanced history, and was also only there out of curiosity.
Jochim Harman, math and physics, and Korbim Dalhaus (MULTIPASS) who did general science.
And of course, the Headmaster and the guy that ran the Imperial Scholars program.
Every teacher there, with the exception of Ormonde Werhner, would be one of my teachers for the first several years. There would be others, of course, but not everyone could make it, and these old guys seemed to have seniority. I decided that thinking of them as being like tenured professors at a college rather than general faculty. They were there to give their impressions of my 'early efforts'.
Would have been nice to have a woman or two, and maybe a literature teacher, but whatever. Obviously, I really needed to impress the head honchos more than any individual teacher, but I'd need to get closer to the two dudes before I could accurately read their minds.
Loid decided to start big.
The Fairy Stump was already plugged in. Someone got the lights.
I hit the button.
Bam! Nobody expects the rainbows, motherfucker!
"My word," Walter Evans said quietly to himself. "That's rather lovely."
"May I?" the art teacher asked, kneeling down beside it.
I showed him the controls and let him go at it, speeding up and slowing down the color change.
"Hmm. But how much did she do, really?" the math teacher murmured to his companion.
"AN EXCELLENT QUESTION!" I all but yelled, pointing directly at the man, having been waiting on that sort of comment.
I got several frowns because of how loud and borderline uncouth I was, but more eyes turned to Harman, because I wasn't the only one to have heard that.
And then I dropped to my knees and started unscrewing wing nuts.
"I have to admit: much of this was done with the assistance of my parents," I said, grunting just a bit as I started pulling out components. "Father, will you show them the notebook?"
Loid pulled the design notebook off the top of the stack, opened it, and handed it to the nearest man, who happened to be Henry Henderson. Someone turned the overhead lights back on so everyone could see.
The Housemaster took a moment to focus, with two of the others leaning over his shoulders in unabashed rudeness, such was their eagerness. Ol' Squatch blinked rapidly, then started turning pages.
"I had the idea after reading some fairy tales," I explained. "I love nature, and I confess to a certain predilection towards things others might consider gross and overlook. Spiders, grubs, insects of all types, all those sorts of things that form the foundations of the world around us. And I'm especially fascinated by fungi. Mushrooms, bracket fungi, molds… They're so mysterious. Many refuse easy categorization." I slowed the colors until one of the fake fungi was lit up appropriately, and stopped the progression. "And so many are beautiful! Look, here's Calocera corna, the yellow finger jelly fungus. And here's Clathrus archeri, the octopus stinkhorn, with red fingers erupting from opaque white balls."
I played with the controls, pointing out various fungi, and even noting which ones shouldn't be growing on the stump, like fly amanita and a morchella.
"So when Mother and I were out hiking, and I saw a mossy stump, it struck me how beautiful it was in decay. Almost magical, really. And when I thought about magic, I thought about fairies. Tiny little people, fey and free, dancing around mushrooms and toadstools. And when I think about magic fairies… I think about rainbows. And then I thought… what if mushrooms glowed in all the colors of the rainbow? Everything you see here stems from that concept. From the need to
create that scene."
I finished unscrewing the last nuts, and the main component board dropped down into my hands, which meant the light in the mushrooms died.
That was okay, because now I was holding something just as amazing. A twisted, three part star pipe and a spinning color filter wheel with attached motor.
"May I see that for a moment?" I asked the Housemaster, who passed it over.
"It's quite striking," he said as he handed me the notebook. "Not quite what I would call elegant, but definitely fey and wild."
Okay? Is that bad? I think that's bad. I mean, in his terms. But he didn't seem unhappy with it, either. Weird guy.
I thanked him, then flipped to the beginning, held the notebook up, and started explaining.
"What I wanted was an easy way to make translucent mushrooms that would light up in the colors I wanted. What I got was an education in finding acceptable solutions." I then proceeded to go, step by step, through the whole process of coming up with a design. Then I halted and sighed.
"But yes, Mr. Harman, I admit. I had to prevail upon father to have these light pipes made by a professional glass blower. Mother and father did most of the actual physical work involved with drilling out the holes for the light pipes. Heh, if you'll forgive the expression, I made the molds for the molds, but Father wouldn't allow me to heat them to drain the wax. Likewise, I wasn't allowed to solder the components in place, or saw the boards to fit, or many of the actual mechanical processes for making the piece. It's very frustrating, being this small," I complained.
"I am a psychiatrist, not an artist. Or an electrical engineer, for that matter," Loid said quietly. "I helped Anya find the reference material she needed, but the design was all hers. Even, and this is something that I confess that all my experience with Anya failed to prepare me for, the wiring diagram for the controls and the timer. I took her to the library, helped her get a stack of books as big as she is, and the next thing I know, she's talking about Ohm's law and electronic circuit notation. Gentlemen,
I do not know what some of those squiggles mean. But she does. Ask her anything you like."
The math and physics guy did just that, when he found my diagram. He asked a few basic questions to see if I actually knew the notation, then tried to trip me up by asking what amounted to more of an opinion sort of thing about why I had set the timer circuit up like that.
I countered by showing him the 15 minute button. One push, fifteen minutes of activation, and then off again.
"I prefer to sleep in the dark, but it's nice to have some light to see if I need to get up in the middle of the night," I explained.
The art guy had more relevant questions to the actual artistic merits of the piece. I showed him sketches of different mushrooms, went into why I chose them, but ultimately agreed that the balance off the piece was off.
"Yes, Sir. I don't actually consider it finished yet. Ideally, it will have some fairy figurines. Either some winged figures on wire, flitting around it in motion, perhaps, or some small brownie type figures hiding among the moss. What I really want to do is some figurines of my parents and I. I've got sketches here…." I flipped to the appropriate pages of the book. "But my early efforts were crude. A mushroom may have erroneous lumps and still be a mushroom. People are… harder. But I'm working on it. It's just not my only project."
"It's still a beautiful piece," Mr. Temple admitted. "Would you mind leaving it here for a while, so I can show some others?"
"Of course!" I agreed. "With one request. Keep the notebook, and show them the insides. I like the art. But the beauty is in the making."
"The elegance is absolutely on the inside," Henderson agreed. "And what elegance it is. A fine example of starting with a goal, and taking logical steps to achieve that goal."
Loid took center stage again, passing out notebooks and sketchbooks and stacks of bound, typewritten pages.
"Art is not her only focus, though she does enjoy it. Her math is particularly advanced for her age, as noted by the equations for the gears for the piece, and the wiring diagram, but she primarily uses math in pursuit of some other goal. Really, she is driven to be creative. Here are a selection of some of the things she has thought of over the years."
He pulled the whole fidget spinner set out of a box and passed them around, as well as a few of the stuffed animals.
"Her early efforts were primarily toys, like these, which I had made according to her designs. These days, however, she has advanced past even pure art pieces like the Fairy Stump, and is thinking about everything from household appliances to industrial processes."
"You really weren't kidding," Walter Evans admitted. "Anya got every question correct on the entrance exam, and that's certainly a sign of genius. But this…" He looked up in concern. "Why didn't you publish? Anya could have been celebrated as the next precocious polymath. She
should be celebrated for her gifts."
Loid sighed and looked ashamed.
"We would have," he admitted. "We were going to. But then…"
"Mom," I said quietly. "My first mother."
"You have to understand. Anya went from being bright and happy and enthusiastic… and then withdrew. We both did. I'm afraid that, in my grief, I did my daughter a disservice," Loid admitted sadly, not meeting anyone's eyes.
Yor patted his shoulder consolingly, and he put his hand on hers.
"It's not Father's fault," I insisted. "I read the books on grief. We were both saddened by her loss. It's normal to avoid doing the things that constantly remind you of someone you've lost. It's normal!" I insisted, louder. "Everyone grieves! It would be weird if we didn't!"
"But think about where you could be now if we'd just… kept going. Kept pushing you with new challenges," Loid replied. He looked around. "Do you understand that Anya may be one of the most precociously gifted children the world has ever seen? There have been many savants who exceed her in their given areas of focus. Math prodigies, eidetic memories, or artists who could draw an entire city after a moment's glance. But the last time such a wunderkind appeared was in 1964."
"Silas Beck," Headmaster Goodfellow said quietly.
You know that thing that writers use sometimes? Where a character is kept really quiet, so when they do speak, their words have greater import?
Every person in the room was staring at the Headmaster.
Silas Beck. He may or may not have existed in my original world. I don't know, I don't exactly memorize lists of child prodigies. Here, though, he had shown up in some of Loid's research.
Beck was your usual sort of gifted child, if there is such a thing. The first studies of him were done at the age of four, when he was showing some precocial traits. From there, he practically exploded with talent. He had a photographic memory, perfect pitch, could calculate large numbers in seconds, and knew algebra before he went to his first year of school.
Kinda like me!
Except obviously I'm faking. I'm a cheater. Isekai for the win.
"He went here, you know," Headmaster Goodfellow continued. "Silas Beck, the treasure of Ostania. He was an investment for the entire nation."
Oh shit, really? I didn't know he went to Eden Academy, and if Loid knew, he didn't tell me. I glanced at my erstwhile father in concern. I mean, it does make sense now that I think about it, where do you send the prodigy but the best school in the nation, but at the same time, I can think of one very big reason why Beck's enrollment at Eden isn't publicized more.
Loid inclined his head, because of course he knew. Motherfucker is keeping secrets from me.
"It was a tragedy," Theobald Goddard said in disgust. "Many people failed their duties."
Yeah, uh.
I don't want to be the next Silas Beck.
"I will not allow that to happen to my daughter," Loid said quietly, with no small amount of menace.
"Nor will I," Yor agreed.
I went and stood between them, because that's what you do when your parents quietly swear to protect you.
"However," Loid continued, "Anya Forger is not Silas Beck. I am not Todd Beck, and Yor is not Pernille Beck. And none of you are Lovrenco Perkovic." His tone was full of quiet menace, a kind of warning of 'you fucking better not be'.
"There's no such thing as a 'typical' wunderkind. The human brain is too complex, too many faceted. Anya has an excellent memory, but not an eidetic one. She is talented at math, but takes time with her calculations, and is not above the occasional mistake. However, her intuition and logic are, if anything, noticeably superior to that recorded of Beck. I won't lie and say that Silas Beck isn't something of a cautionary tale in our family. However, at the same time, it would be a shame if Anya became anything less than the best she can be. Anya isn't the next Silas Beck."
He smiled.
"She's the new Anya Forger."
Loid is lying, of course. We've talked about Beck like, twice. Long story short, parental pressures and the psychologist who documented him fucked with Beck until he went bugfuck. Total insane megalomania, paranoia, and eventual suicide. It was basically like one of those Hollywood child star situations.
None of which actually applied to our situation, and we both knew it.
This was its own entirely new flavor of fucked up! With spies and assassins and genetically modified telepaths, oh my!
So, that sort of killed the mood of the meeting. Bit of a downer, you could say. Instead of doubting the veracity of my efforts, they instead quietly worried about my potential to go bad.
…Was that deliberate? Is this part of some long play thing on Loid's part to keep an eye on someone as potentially volatile as me?
In any other situation, that question would drive me nuts. I'd worry, I'd feel guilty, and it would color my whole interaction with Loid. An anxious introvert's 'are you mad at me?' given a shot of cold war era paranoia steroids.
But I can read minds. Loid is literally thinking 'Better that they fear her than doubt her. Anya will win them over.'
So, thanks for the vote of confidence, Papa? Would have been nice to have been consulted beforehand, but I do know he doesn't like to rely on my acting ability too much. He likes to control variables, and I am very much a variable.
My 'records' were wholly given over to the school, and they did take some time to discuss the issues of inventions and patents. Although it's never really come up before, given that even Silas Beck predates modern Ostanian patent law, Loid was able to hammer out some sort of agreeable deal.
Actually, it was a very generous deal, where Eden agreed to be totally hands off from anything I created… so long as, at their discretion, they could brag.
Cautionary tale of genius gone bad notwithstanding, they did like the idea of having someone they could put on an international pedestal.
The Headmaster and his buddy excused themselves to step outside for a discussion while the others talked with Loid.
I 'accidentally' dropped a few nuts and washers in such a way as so they rolled over near the door, so I was obliged to go get them. And if I lingered a bit long, well-
Loid glanced across the room and smiled at me.
I gave him a bright smile back.
Because, despite being down the hall a bit, I could hear the Headmaster and the Imperial Scholars guy's thoughts as they talked.
"Do you think she's the real deal? That is startlingly advanced material for a six year old."
"The father is a psychiatrist, if anyone were capable of such a fakery, it would be someone like him. However, he had a point. Faking achievements such as those before school is one thing, but he sincerely believes that his daughter is going to continue to produce miracles. No, he believes that she is going to positively ignite with even more ideas as she learns."
"If he's right, his insistence on protecting her patentable ideas makes sense."
"Exactly. We don't induct first years into the Imperial Scholars, anyway. There will be time for her to prove herself, or to falter."
"And if she proves herself?"
"Then she is exactly the kind of student the Imperial Scholarship is made for."
"Ah, but what of our other promising young scions? The Desmond child, and the Blackbell heir, in this year alone."
"Politics? We don't do politics in the Imperial Scholars. It is merit by which they are judged, and merit only."
"Not what I mean at all, old friend. What I'm saying is-"
But I had to go back and put the Stump back together. Dammit.
Still, that sounded good, right? I think it sounded good. Some doubt, which, Loid aside, I prefer to fucking
fear. I wonder how many fake geniuses they had to see to get so cynical about their students?
I got everything put back together, and showed the art teacher the process. Only one of the secondary light pipes was removable, since I didn't want the others falling out and breaking. I also pointed out the heavy use of insulation, so that it was safe to leave plugged in and show the light generation.
"Music, too?" one of the men commented.
"We should have brought Martha."
"Anya's birth mother was more musical than I, and Yor's art of choice is dance. Anya was always making up silly rhymes and simple songs… before. Afterwards… Well, she got better as she got older, but after she wrote Bittersweet Symphony, she said music made her sad, and stopped trying."
"Hey! Hey, hey! You weren't supposed to bring any of that!" I cried.
"They're good songs, Anya. You shouldn't be ashamed of them," Loid protested.
"They're not FINISHED! I never actually set them to music or anything. I still don't understand those tadpoles!" I protested.
Loid glanced at the other men. "She knows the notation, but keeps saying she doesn't 'get it'. If she doesn't get it, I don't know what getting it looks like."
"I don't, though. I don't get it. I know what an eighth note looks like, but I don't
hear it when I read it. You've got to hear it to get it."
"I've heard you sing it, though," Loid said again. "You hear the music you want to make."
"But I don't know how to play it! I can't even write it down the way I hear it! Besides, I'm much better at writing. Did you see those stories I wrote?"
"Please, young Anya, don't change the subject," Henry Henderson interjected. "You're talented at so many things, and I look forward to seeing them all. But you've got me curious. Please, sing for us."
I wavered.
I wavered hard.
My chin veritably quivered. I was proud of that, actually. Do you know how hard it is to make your chin quiver on command?
Actually, I really, truly, did not want to sing. I'm not a good singer, in this life or the last. No training, no immediate talent. The only thing I have going for me is a high, sweet voice.
But I am here to perform.
Dance, Anya, dance!
So I sang a solo variant of the classic Veggetales song, 'If It Doesn't Have a Tail It's Not a Monkey', a classic about the problems with binary categorization in a complicated world, which I then talked about at length. The missing two people hurried back in for my performance.
"I had just read about Diagones making fun of Plado by screaming 'Behold, a man!' while holding the plucked chicken. And I realized we essentially make the same mistake, at least by a strict definitional reading, with the classification of mammals." I gave them a sardonic grin. "Take the coconut. It produces milk. It has hair. Behold, a mammal!"
That got a good chuckle.
"Obviously, we solved that by adding more and more conditions. Live birth, a placenta, warm blood, and so on. But you can still run into edge cases. The African naked mole rat cannot regulate its own temperature, and I think there were a couple of others. The platypus doesn't have mammary tissue or teats, but produces a thin milky fluid which flows down its chest hair. This is one of the reason I'm fascinated by fungi. Many of them are deeply, seriously, intensely weird. I find I learn the most about the world where I find the places where simple statements of description can be turned in on themselves."
"Fascinating. Although it would be uncouth to bring a child to a drinking establishment, you would be the toast of the evening at the next meeting of the Hadrian Club," Korbim Dalhaus said with a chuckle. "All bon mots and clever turns of phrase."
"I certainly hope I would pass any judgement of you and your fellows," I said politely. Mangled it a little. I'd been trying to come up with a 'pass' reference to use on him since I'd heard his name.
"Childish, but brilliantly so," one of the others praised.
"She was thirty-two months old when she came up with that," Loid lied. "It's one of the few she liked well enough to write down."
"What about her more recent works? I find myself intrigued by the title 'Bittersweet Symphony'." Goddard asked.
I winced. "I uh. I'm not sure I can sing that one without crying. I was… not in a good place, mentally."
That's true. I listened to that song a lot when my wife died in my first life. It still hits pretty hard. But it's also not really the same without the actual music.
"I suppose I could give Under the Bridge a go," I said with a sigh.
One of The Red Hot Chili Pepper's greats. And not quite as obviously about California, sex, or heroin as so many of their others. Instead, it's just about Los Angeles.
Replace 'City of Angels' with 'City of Berlint', and a few other issues with translating it from English to German, and you can imagine my rendition of it.
Teared up a little, too. Finally just gave up and stopped so I didn't have to fight with the repeating chorus.
Everyone clapped, but in a serious, somber sort of way.
That was basically it for the meeting, so we started gathering up what little we were carrying home. I saw several of the men approach Loid with condolences and offers of concern and support, for both Loid and I.
Hell, I can't leave it on a sour note like that, pun intended. Not after concerns about a previous wunderkind going nuts.
"You know, you asked me earlier today, if I'd finished that new song," I said loudly enough to get attention. "You know, the Anglish one."
"Oh, Anya. I didn't mean to put you on the spot," Loid said, lying, putting me on the spot.
But obviously I'm willing, or I wouldn't have brought it up.
"So, I haven't written this one down yet. I've been working on it in Anglish, so forgive me if I bobble, I still make mistakes in the language. For that matter, I still make mistakes in our language, but learning is a process, right? Anyway. I stopped making music when music made me sad."
I gave them all a crooked little smile.
"But you know what? Things are better now. I love my new mother, Yor. There's nothing that says I can't have two Mamas. And Papa is happier now, too. Things are honestly going pretty great. So, uh, I've been thinking happy thoughts."
And so I sung them 'Great Big World', by Kari Kimmel. It's quite a bit more childish than the two 'sad songs', but it's also bright and happy in ways I haven't genuinely felt in years.
It's a song of hope and joy.
And I had to dash a few tears from my eyes while singing it, too.
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Years come and years go, bringing with them fresh crops of young students. Heirs, also rans, bright prospects and barely acceptables, with potential Scholars seeded amongst them.
But this year was special. A diamond had been found, unpolished but sparkling with promise, standing out even among the scions of some of the most powerful families in Ostania.
For some, this incredible young girl was a reminder of failure and shame.
Others saw her as a promise of things to come.
The best decided that she was deserving of an education no better, but no worse, than the absolutely best efforts they gave to all of Eden's apples, and that it was a joy to see every child flourish.
None, however, considered her unremarkable.
No one called her 'The new Beck'. But she, and her art, and her stories, and her test scores, were the subject of a number of discussions, even amid the rush of back to school preparations.
X
X
X
"You called for me, Housemaster?"
"I have a… mission, shall we say. Should you choose to accept it."
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AN: Sorry it took me a while to get this out. Got sick, AGAIN, after that burst of productivity. Whole week got wasted. Bleh. Anyway,, the next chapter, which is actually a bonus chapter for my highest tier patron, is available on my patreon. Next, I'm going back to Then Be Batman for probably two weeks. I'm kinda liking this two weeks one, two weeks the other, because I don't have to make my mind flip as much.
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