Page 53 of Professor and the Seer
One thing I’d never actually done, unless you counted the way I sifted through Carillo’s mind, was see the past.
Yet, no denying the place I found myself existed a long time ago. Ancient Grecian times if I were to make an educated guess. The people passing by wore actual togas, not the kind made of a sheet for a frat party. We’re talking lush fabrics hemmed and stitched with proper belts for the waist and lavish brooches for the shoulders. Rich folk in their finest, which contrasted with the poor, whose linen showed patches and stains and lacked the fancy accoutrements. The togas ranged in length from ankle to midthigh. Sandals went from slip-on style to the type that had straps winding around ankles and calves. Bare shoulders abounded, as did hair done in intricate curls piled upon heads.
A glance down at myself showed me wearing modern clothes and being ignored by everyone around me. Definitely a vision. A moment later I saw the culprit. The notebook I’d been clutching. It sat on a vendor table along with ink wells and styluses, spread out for sale. Haggling with the vendor was a young girl with a basket over her arm.
While she bargained, I glanced around in admiration. The buildings were stunning and built with white stone mortared and fitted into intricate structures that involved lots of pillars. I had to admit to being impressed. Humanity’s ancestors knew how to build without machines, and they did it with style.
The sale of the notebook must have gone through, as I noticed the girl handing over a coin and tucking her purchase into her basket.
Curious, I followed the girl, even as I wondered what would happen to the vision if I didn’t. She hit a few more stalls, purchasing some lace at one, fruit at another. She paid little mind to those also shopping, apparently focused on her task.
When she exited the market with brisk steps, I lagged behind. I couldn’t help it as I stared in awe at buildings long since crumbled, the workmanship, all done by hand without power tools or modern technology. Impressive.
The young girl headed to the pier, toward a tethered boat being loaded with crates. Before I could follow her, the scene blurred, and I found myself on a different dock, this one on an island. A familiar one, as it turned out, with a castle still under construction.
Bane’s island. Back in the beginning. Suddenly the notebook and this peek into the past began to make sense.
The girl, basket clutched tight, ignored the men unloading the boat and skipped her way to the castle, entering the courtyard but eschewing the main entrance. She slipped in through a different door, a servant returning from running errands. She stopped by the kitchen with steaming pots and much noise as a cook and her helpers prepared a large meal. She dropped a bag onto the counter and kept on her way, heading deeper into the castle and up a set of narrow stairs, most likely reserved for use by the staff.
I’d not explored much during my time on the island for fear of running into John. Now I wished I’d paid more attention, as I found myself in the very place that left me with so many questions.
The girl moved quickly down a hall I’d never visited and paused only once she reached a set of double doors. She knocked firmly and waited for a reply. When the summons arrived, the girl appeared nervous but still pushed open the door and entered.
I followed and stood to the side as the girl presented her basket to the woman lounging on a couch. A beautiful woman, shapely, her curves plentiful, as was popular for the time. She took the basket from the girl before waving her off.
Who was this woman? Was her husband the first Warden? Could that be why the notebook ended up in the archive? But why was it blank?
The noblewoman dug into the basket, dumping the items out until she snatched a vial. Clutching it to her bosom, the noblewoman smiled, and my ghostly self shivered.
What was inside the bottle to make her look so pleased?
Time suddenly flashed forward in the blink of an eye. The woman had changed for bed and wore a robe over a gown. She sat at a vanity brushing her hair. A knock at the door twisted her lips.
Despite her not answering the door, it swung open, and a man entered, a handsome man, large and rugged.
He spoke and, to my surprise, despite knowing he didn’t speak English, I understood.
“Evening, wife.”
“Husband.” She rose to face him, no warmth in her tone or expression.
“You weren’t at the evening repast.”
“I am feeling unwell.” She canted her head to the side and put her fingers to her temple.
“Again?” he said dryly.
“Why do you care? You have your heirs and your mistresses,” was her sharp retort.
“Only because you won’t do your wifely duty.”
“Duty?” She sneered. “You want me to whore myself that you might slake your lust?”
“There was a time you enjoyed it.” A hint of sadness turned his lips down.
“There was a time I thought you’d grant me more liberty than just being a receptacle for your seed.”
“I’ve given you everything you ever asked for,” he replied softly. “But nothing is ever enough, and I tire of trying.” With that parting shot, he departed.