Chapter #35A Conjunction, Part 2 by: Seuzz   "It's a clean ampyatation, Chazz," Nash says. "Ampyatation an' sedgury like I never seen."
It's the next morning--early--and Nash is bleary-eyed. You and he had worked most of the night, and he'd only caught a few hours of sleep after going to bed at five. You, though, don't feel at all tired.
But your body is now a golem's body, and doesn't have a metabolism.
"A full-body amputation?" Charles asks with a quizzical smile.
"Kinda," Nash says, and slurps at his coffee. "Don't ask me 'bout da mechanics. Dat's sumt'ing I don't tink even th'Liber'll describe."
"How did it happen?"
"After Joe and Frank knocked me out," you say, "they laid me on the book, to turn me into a golem. But it didn't work the way they thought it would. Joe opened the book to the wrong page, and he saw some writing on it. He put the book down to look at the writing, and that's when Frank put me onto the book. The memory I've got--" You point to your face, which is still looking like Joe's. "It looked like I sank down into the Libra."
"Eggzackly what happened," Nash says. "Moon script. Will and me found it last night when we checked. 'Snot theah now, prably only comes out when the Moon's right. But I cappied what it said." He hands a sheet of paper to Charles.
The head of the Stellae looks it over gravely. Nash had translated it for you, so though you can't know what's going through Brennan's mind, you can hazard a guess.
"Why does the Libra want a Sulva?" he asks. "We thought it was just a collection of spells. Everything we know about it--"
"Dat's jes' th'prablem, ain't it, Chazz? Lots we dant know 'bout it."
"So what happened inside the book?"
"The Liber turned inta'n operatin' table. Neer as I kin tell--" Nash scratches the back of his head. "It disassembled the kid. Essentia, anima, imago." He gestures with his hands, as though pulling the guts out of a cadaver. "Dat's what deh Liber likes t'play wit', at leest judgin' by th'airly spells. Kep' the pieces inside itself until Frank put dat poah homeless fella onnit. Den it dumped Will inta th'new golem. Well, bits of him. His anima an' pat of his essentia."
"Part?" Charles asks.
"It lef' da Sulva innim. Ain't no Kenanandra lef' in 'im."
Half a Stellae, you think to yourself. Even when you have a chance of joining these guys, the book fucked you up.
"Why would it remove one of the boy's ouisarchs?" Charles asks.
"Ask th'asshole who wrote the book," Nash retorts. "Might have sumtin t'do wit' dose sigils it added to him. Mebbe th'Kenandandra hadta be ampyatated t'make room f'rem. I dunno."
Charles Brennan look at you, and his expression is sharp and appraising. You swallow, feeling sick. I've been weaponized, you think.
Charles apparently senses your discomfort, for his face softens. "You've fallen into the deep end, haven't you, son?" he says.
"If I could cut them out of myself, sir--" you start to say. The Libra, you now feel very strongly since the last few days, is a very dangerous book, and the thought of being entangled with it sickens you.
"Let's not talk about amputations so soon after what Nash has told us," Charles chuckles. He pats your elbow. "How are you feeling? You don't look tired."
"I don't feel tired, sir. I think it has to do with being a golem."
"That could have advantages," Charles muses. "Though the nights might get a little long. Would you like to take a run? Joe likes a morning jog, and there's a nice park nearby."
You recognize the diplomatic attempt to shuttle you away from a more private conference. But it also feels like a statement of trust from him: He thinks you won't run away. You nod gratefully, and go to your own room to change.
* * * * *
It's a nice run, and you take a good long time at it, before returning to the hotel, to shower and change into fresh slacks and a loose sweater. You step into the hallway to go looking for Charles or for Nash, but run into the last person you want to see.
Father Ed has his hand on the knob to the room next door, and he looks over at you sharply. You freeze as he scowls. "Don't you look handsome," he sneers.
Two personalities within you bridle: you and Joe both. But it's the latter that tells you to calm down. Father Ed has Catilindria--Uranus--as one of his ousiarchs, and those can't help being peppery. "I didn't pick this look for myself," you say.
He continues to glower at you. "Chuck told me to leave you alone," he says slowly.
"If you've got something to say to me, I'll listen."
His eyebrows arch. "Got some of Franz's gumption, doncha? Or is that you?"
"It's a little hard to tell, under the circumstances," you admit.
He does the last thing you expect: He cackles. "If you've got a minute, whatever your name is under the circumstances." He grins like a shark, and gestures you into his room.
Inside, he wheels as you shut the door, and his eyes glint. Father Ed is a tall man, taller by half a head than you, with a mop of gray hair, a turtle-like mouth, and flinty eyes behind huge, thick glasses. He's dressed in dingy slacks and a paunchy polo shirt and a thin windbreaker. "So you're only a teenager," he says. "About Franz's age, right?"
"A few months younger."
"You liked getting in trouble?"
"No. I couldn't help it a lot of times--"
"You could always help it," he retorts. "But seventeen-year-old boys don't want to help it."
"Did you get in trouble when you were seventeen?" you retort. "Or were you born as a fifty-year-old--?"
With two quick strides he's in your face, towering over you. "Listen, you little wisenheimer," he snarls. (But he also grins.) "When I was twelve my mother packed me off to the Jesuits, and when I was fourteen they packed me off to the reformatory. I know how to get in trouble. You only know how to fuck around!"
You blink. This is not something Joe knew. "So how did you wind up with the Stellae?"
"Never you mind. They found me. But I had to pay for what I'd done, first."
"I'm willing to pay for what I've done," you say. "I'm trying to pay--"
"That's what Chuck says." Father Ed's eyes bore into you. "They had to drag me kicking and screaming back to the scenes of my crimes," he adds softly.
"Maybe it's easier for me," you say. "They put me inside Franz. Inside Giuseppe, too, for a little bit. I see what I've done to them, and I hate it. They'd hate it, too. Makes it easier to hate something, when you've got the victim's point of view."
Father Ed's eyes glint, and the corners of his mouth twitch up. "That is an advantage, isn't it," he says, and his voice drops to a low murmur. "Chuck says you've got Sulva for an ousiarch. The Moon's a mirror, you know."
"Oh?"
"It suggests you've a capacity for self-reflection. Or empathy. The ability to identify with others."
That doesn't sound like you, but you don't argue.
"Chuck also says you're missing an ousiarch."
"You had a conference about me?"
"Don't like being talked about behind your back? Get used to it. I can guess what people say about me behind my back." His grin is devilish. "But you'll need a second one, if you're going to join us."
"I didn't know I could replace the one I lost."
"There's ways. You'll have a choice." His eyes narrow. "You've got Franz's brain, right? If you're really sorry, whatever your name is, you'll know what a good second ousiarch would be." He steps back and nods curtly. "I've said my piece. Good-bye."
He shuffles over to his suitcase, ignoring you. It's as brutal a dismissal as you've ever suffered, and the doorknob feels awkward in your hand as you open the door and shut it behind you.
* * * * *
Charles takes you down to a nice restaurant on the fourth floor of the hotel. "Better keep in practice," he chuckles when you say you're not hungry. "If you start to lose your human habits-- Well, I don't know that it matters," he shrugs. But you take his advice, and order a very fancy hamburger.
Talk is light and inconsequential, even though he asks about your personal history and family. When the plates have been cleared, you tell about your talk with Father Ed. "He says I can have a second ousiarch."
"I think it's doable. It'll take some work."
"Father Ed suggests Lurga."
"He would. Misery loves company," Charles laughs.
You don't. Lurga: the planet of penitence and meditation. It's not something you're attracted to. But maybe for that reason--
"It's too early to think about such things, Will," Charles says. "At the moment, Nash and I think we've a solution to your physical ailment."
"Really?"
"Maybe." He pulls at his lip. "Are you willing to make a second trip through the Libra?"  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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