All Men of Genius

by Lev AC Rosen

  “Professor Bunburry,” he announced, “has had an accident. But he is in good condition, and the doctors feel he will make a full recovery. However, it will take time. I will find a suitable substitute for him, and until then, teach his classes myself. If you’d like to visit the professor, you may do so during lunch, but please do not visit him after dark, as he needs his rest. I’m sure he’d be very thankful for all your well-wishes, and even more thankful if you continued to work your hardest in your scientific pursuits.” The duke nodded and headed toward his table, where the teachers were eating quietly.

  A servant brought out a meal for Ernest, but he was not terribly hungry. He found himself feeling dumb, as he often did after making impromptu speeches. He was never sure what to say. He wasn’t a leader. He didn’t know enough. All these thoughts trickled into him to replace the worry he had been feeling for Bunburry, as though somehow, if only he had been more prepared, he would have been able to prevent Bunburry’s accident this year. But he didn’t know enough. He was not his father. His father would have been able to stop it.

  Cecily seemed unable to stop talking that evening. Ernest recognized this as her way of dealing with the accident—how she tried to put everyone at ease with pleasant conversation. He admired her for it, and was thankful, for he was not in the mood to talk.

  “I confess,” she was saying to Professor Curio, “I am now quite curious about the basement beneath Illyria. I have lived my whole life here and have never seen it.”

  “Not m-much to see,” Curio said, and grunted. “Dust, doors, d-d-darkness.”

  “But I have heard that more lurks down there as well,” Cecily said. “Ashton was telling me about his initiation at the beginning of the year, how they all went down to the basement, and it was quite frightening.”

  “I’m sure he was exaggerating,” Miriam said, “to impress you.”

  “Though that is a lovely thought,” Cecily said, “I doubt it. Ashton is not prone to exaggeration. He said that while they were down there, he and the other students discovered a virtual labyrinth of rooms, and that they felt things brush up against them which were not there, and that they found what looked like a pile of lifeless but still twitching and vicious-looking automata, and even a large train.”

  “What?” said the duke, who hadn’t really been paying attention.

  “I said that there were things brushing against them, and—”

  “Those would be the invisible c-c-cats,” Curio said. “My p-predecessor’s mistake, using his invisibility tonic on a p-pregnant cat.”

  “Not that,” the duke said. “About the train.”

  “Oh,” Cecily said. “Ashton said they found a large train.”

  “And where did it go?” the duke asked.

  “Oh, they didn’t ride it. Just saw it. It was impressive, though, I think. It sounded impressive. I would so like to see it. Perhaps we should organize our own hunting party?”

  “No,” the duke said. “That place is dangerous. Filled with forgotten experiments. The dark side of science dwells down there. Let’s hope it stays there.”

  “But—,” Cecily protested.

  “No,” the duke said. “That is my final word.” Cecily crossed her arms and fell back into her chair glumly.

  “My d-dear,” Curio said, one eye enlarging slightly, “your cousin is q-q-quite right. It is v-very d-d-dangerous down there, and not a-at a-a-all well lit. P-perhaps, sometime in the future, we c-can attempt to c-c-clean it up and then take you d-down there. But right n-now, it is no p-place for a young l-l-lady to be.”

  “Yes,” the duke said. “One day, when it is cleaned up.”

  “But when shall that be?” Cecily asked.

  “I shall hire some men to take care of it this summer. Is that soon enough?”

  “I suppose,” Cecily said, the corners of her mouth turning up a little.

  The duke was happy to have pleased Cecily, but inwardly, his mind was churning. He had heard rumors about the train under Illyria, read the ridiculous books by men who had never set foot in the college, but he had assumed they were all lies. After all, if there had been a train under the school, his father would have told him, wouldn’t he? When his father died, Ernest had searched all over the residence for his notebooks, any unfinished theories or inventions or notes, but had found nothing. The duke’s only possessions, it seemed, were his clothes and the books in his library. Ernest had been unsatisfied, angry. His father had seen death coming—he was old and bedridden—and still he told Ernest nothing, only to run Illyria well, and to keep its gears well oiled and moving.

  He didn’t think to mention that there was also a train in the basement.

  Ernest scowled and dropped his fork. His food remained uneaten in front of him.

  “I find I am not hungry,” he said, rising. The professors and Cecily all looked up at him, then went back to their conversations. The duke walked back through the dining hall and across the bridge in the Great Hall to his residence.

  In his study, he opened drawers and cabinets, searching for the original blueprints of the college. He tore the room apart, opening every book and looking behind each shelf, but he couldn’t find them. He thought his father had shown them to him once, but it was so long ago, Ernest wasn’t sure if the memory was real. He sat down among the dust and strewn books and papers, and then sneezed.

  “Ernest?” Cecily said, suddenly in the doorway.

  “Yes?”

  “What happened?” she asked, surveying the mess.

  “I was looking for something,” he said.

  “Oh. Did you find it?”

  “No.”

  “That’s a pity. And you made such a mess.”

  “Yes, I suppose I did.”

  “And you’re quite dusty. You should really go take a bath and then go to bed.”

  “Thank you, Cecily, you’re quite right. That’s exactly what I’ll do.”

  “Good.”

  “Except…,” Ernest said, suddenly thinking. The students stumbled on the train accidentally. Surely he could find it if he was looking for it.

  “Except?”

  “I promised I’d visit Bunburry in the hospital.”

  “Oh, well, you ought to do that, then. But at least wash your face before you go. It’s positively gray.”

  “I will. Thank you, Cecily. Good night.”

  “Good night, Cousin. I’ll be reading. Do send Bunburry my warmest wishes.”

  “Of course,” Ernest said. Cecily left for her own quarters. Ernest leapt up and went to his chambers to wash his face and change. Bunburry was a convenient excuse, so that Cecily wouldn’t catch him doing the very thing he had forbidden her to do. He would explore the basement tonight, find the train, and take it to its mystery destination, if he could. Another of his father’s secrets would be uncovered, he was sure.

  * * *

  THE basement was in need of repair, Ernest thought after a few minutes of walking through it. Lights were burnt out, and walls were cracked and filthy. He stretched his gas lantern out in front of him, but it barely dented the darkness. He was going far deeper than he had ever gone on a monster-hunting expedition. After walking for two hours, it seemed he was back where he started, only tired and filthy. He was going to have to keep coming back until he found the train, and keep searching his father’s things for a map.

  Ernest spit the grime out of his mouth and headed back up to his rooms. This was not a mystery to be solved in one night. It would take time, and he had to use his time wisely now. He would have to balance searching for the train with his own work, which now included teaching Bunburry’s classes until he found a replacement. He washed quickly and went to bed. At least he wouldn’t have the first-years for a week. He had avoided Ashton since the kiss, and was not looking forward to seeing him in class.

  * * *

  THE next few days went smoothly. He taught or worked for the first half of the day, and worked in his own lab after lunch, leaving the mechanical stud
ents alone, Prism looking in on them occasionally to make sure they weren’t dead. After supper, he would tell Cecily he was going to see Bunburry and then head down to the basement, where he found nothing. Cecily never questioned him, only praised him for his kindness, which made him feel a bit guilty—perhaps he should go to see Bunburry now and again. Bunburry’s lesson plans were complex and thorough, written as if he knew they would be passed on to someone else at some point. And when Ernest finally had to instruct the first-years, Ashton was polite and clever, did his work and helped the others. Really, Ernest had hardly any reason to talk to him at all, though he always left straightaway, so as not to end up alone in the room with Ashton again.

  Up in his lab, Ernest had a pile of letters from Ashton’s sister. And though he carefully avoided Ashton, he found he could not indulge enough in Violet. Her mind was as spectacular as her eyes. While he knew that what they were writing to each other wasn’t love poetry, it often felt to him as though it was better. Words on a page, no matter how much sentiment they contained, were still words. But her arguments, and suggestions for his æthership, showed much more than sentiment. They showed her inner workings. He found her a woman of brilliant intellect and integrity, of humor and creativity. But he still did not know what she felt for him. For the letters were not, after all, romantic, and while he knew her mind, he did not know her heart. For fear of rejection, and for fear of what her brother would say, Ernest could not bring himself to ask her if she felt for him what he had begun to feel for her. So instead he worked on what was no longer just his æthership, but their æthership, and as he molded the metal around the frame of it, he pictured his hands caressing her, and her flashing eyes.

  Weeks passed, and still the duke could not find the train. There were whispers in the dark, sounds like footsteps that went silent as he got closer—Curio? The invisible cats Curio said were roaming the cellar? He didn’t care. He only wanted to find the train. He had narrowed down a list of possible replacements for Bunburry and was nearly finished with the model æthership, but the basement was unsolvable, an impossible maze keeping him from his father’s secrets and intruding on all his thoughts. He would have to find a replacement for Bunburry by Easter holiday, and he wanted to find the train before then as well. He would find the thing, and ride it wherever it took him. Illyria was his, after all, not his father’s. He needed to see what secrets were buried under it.

  XXVIII.

  ERASMUS Valentine had a fondness for women of a certain age, and that age was at least sixty. He loved their soft, stretched flesh, hanging off their arms like wings, and the look of surprise in their eyes when he made love to them. He loved their stiff gray hairs, which stuck straight out from their scalp and were often dyed a strange false shade of lavender or orange, and he loved their long beaklike noses. If he was particularly lucky, their cries of passion would even sound like squawks.

  He was often successful in his amorous quests. Though sometimes surprised, or confused, Valentine had loved many, many women of London, none younger than fifty-seven—and that one looked quite ancient for her age. But one bird had escaped his net, and it was the bird he wanted to catch more than any other: Ada Byron, the Countess of Lovelace herself. She was a different sort of bird. Ada had been famous for being wild and brilliant in her youth, and age hadn’t tempered her with caution—as it often did—but with confidence. She still smoked cigars, gambled, and wrote tracts on the future of analytical engines with just as much fervor as—if not more than—she had when she was in her twenties. When her husband died thirty years ago in an accident involving the steam presses he made to shape wooden ceilings into cathedral-like patterns, she hadn’t sought a new husband. Not out of grief, but because she didn’t see the need for one. She was independent. She laughed at bawdy jokes, and drank with the men after supper. And she had rejected all of Valentine’s advances. But she was coming to Illyria today, and Valentine was determined to persevere.

  Ada always came early for Easter and stayed at Illyria for the few weeks before the holiday began, usually giving a lecture in the duke’s place. Valentine was waiting when her coach pulled up, and was there to help her out of it.

  “Lady Byron,” he said, “such an honor to have you with us, as always.”

  “Erasmus, shouldn’t you be teaching a young person something about how to make an elephant into a bird, or how to apply rouge?” She pursed her lips, and, taking his hand, stepped down out of the carriage. “Although, on second thought, you shouldn’t be teaching the latter. Wouldn’t want all our students looking like circus clowns.” Valentine smiled at her. Her remarks stung, but she was often this way with him. He assumed it was how she expressed affection.

  The duke and Cecily came out of the college, and Cecily ran up to hug Ada.

  “Good day, dear,” Ada said, stroking Cecily’s hair. Valentine bit his lower lip. No chance of escorting her anywhere now.

  “Good day, Godmother,” the duke said, kissing Ada on the cheek. “So glad you’ve come to stay with us.”

  “Ernest, dear, always. How is Professor Bunburry doing? I heard his accident this year was really a kick in the pants.”

  The duke held back a grin and extended his arm to escort Ada inside, leaving Valentine alone with Cecily. “Shall I escort you inside, Miss Cecily?” Valentine asked.

  She raised her eyebrows at him. “Why would I need an escort?” she said, and followed her cousin and godmother, leaving Valentine to trail behind her.

  * * *

  CECILY was very happy that Auntie Ada had come to stay. Ernest had been distant lately, or busy teaching, or off visiting Bunburry, and Miriam had become distracted and tired. Auntie Ada was sure to bring some energy back to Illyria, and Cecily had certain questions about love, questions she could not ask Ernest or Miriam, on the nature of the heart and how one knew one was in love. For though she had loved Ashton, and felt quite sure she still did—it would be unladylike to waver in her affections, after all—she also now had a certain affection for his friend Jack, who paid her more attention than Ashton did. Just last week, Jack had come to visit her while she worked in the chemical lab, something Ashton had never done.

  Jack had apparently lost a ferret while performing surgery on it. He spoke haltingly, explaining that he was hoping to make the ferret speak, but when he had begun the surgery, he discovered a cancerous growth inside her, so he’d stopped and put her to sleep. She only would have had a week of pain and suffering before her, but he still felt quite terrible about it. Cecily saw the red lines circling his eyes and knew his sorrow was genuine. They hadn’t said much after that, but Cecily was touched by Jack’s delicate soul. Usually, he just seemed like a playful boy, without a care in the world, but she knew now that that was just the outer layer. And she was touched that he had come to her, had known instinctively that she was someone who had comfort to give, had seen that she was generous and understanding.

  Ashton had never made her feel that way. It was Ashton she was in love with, though. Jack was just a friend. Still, she was beginning to wish that Ashton would reveal a little more of himself, as Jack had done. She would just have to work harder. Most men were not as open as Jack.

  Inside the Great Hall, a few students were milling about expectantly, but most were already at lunch. Cecily followed Ernest and Ada to their table, Valentine trailing behind them, fussing with his hair. They were served as soon as they sat down, the servants anxious to please the countess.

  “So, Godmother, what will you be speaking on this year?” Ernest asked as lunch was served.

  “Don’t bother Aunt Ada with work rightaways like that!” Cecily said. “Ask her how her trip was. How was your trip, Aunt Ada? Was the coach very comfortable?”

  “It was fine, Cecily dear,” Ada said with a wry smile. “Thank you for asking.”

  “And now,” Cecily continued, with a look at Ernest, “what do you hope to do while here? I hope you and I can talk. I have some things I wish to speak to you about. And I mus
t show you my most recent chemical achievement.”

  “It really is quite extraordinary,” Ernest said.

  “Miss Cecily promised to make me a birdcage with it,” Valentine said, eager to participate in the conversation.

  “I look forward to seeing it,” Ada said, nodding at Cecily. “And I hope to give a lecture to the students on passion in the sciences, and overcoming obstacles.”

  “That sounds oddly rousing for you,” Ernest said.

  “I have spent too much time in the gambling houses lately, so I didn’t decide on it until day before last,” Ada said. “But I assure you, it will have scientific merit and shan’t lead your dear students astray, Ernest.”

  “Of course not,” Ernest said. “I would never expect anything like that.”

  “Perhaps the countess would care to play cards with some of the professors after supper tonight?” Valentine said from down the table.

  “If I recall correctly, Professor Valentine, none of the professors here are very good card players. Consequently, they’re good for taking money from, but not much else.”

  “Perhaps you would find it more interesting if we wagered with more than money?” Valentine asked. The duke cleared his throat.

  “I will be here awhile,” Ada said. “I’m sure I shall play cards at some point. But tonight I will be spending with my dear Cecily,” Ada said, patting Cecily’s hand, “and making sure she is up to date on her studies.”

  “Of course I am,” Cecily said in protest. Ada smiled at her to make it clear she was teasing. Cecily crossed her arms. “I am a young woman now. I am not to be teased.”

  “Of course not,” Ada said, patting Cecily’s hand. Cecily knew Ada was still teasing her, but didn’t care. She was happy to have her there.

  Unfortunately, Cecily couldn’t get Ada alone for several hours, as Ernest insisted on touring her through the school she’d seen so many times before. Valentine continued to suggest a card game, and said he would gladly gamble away articles of his clothing instead of currency, which Cecily didn’t understand at all. Ada spent a long while checking the analytical engines and going over some improvement plans that Professor Prism showed her. Cecily didn’t mind waiting for this, as she got to watch Ada correct Prism’s work, make suggestions, point out things that wouldn’t work, and see Prism defer to her in all regards. It was reassuring to see the power Ada wielded simply by being the best in her field.