Clara played along by pointing to two separate instances of the circles on the page. She then flipped through some pages to showcase more examples.
“I found them all over this book,” Clara said. “Although I cannot make heads or tails of their intent,” Clara added.
Most of the Professors or Clergy would sit there and feign curiosity. Father Allen was a poor actor who could ill deflect her questions, whereas Professor Stephens was an expert. Even then, it was rare for her to buy his deception wholesale.
This time, Professor Stephens surprised her. Instead of the expected song and dance, he sat down at his desk and sighed. It was the first time she had seen him show his human side.
“There is knowledge that students are expected to know,” Professor Stephens said.
He paused while he flipped through the book’s pages. Clara observed how some entries seemed to trigger memories.
“We expect students to deal with situations involving vampires, ghouls, werewolves and whatnot,” Professor Stephens added.
Such a statement had merit. Students were taught to counter known threats and learned strategies needed to win against their adversaries. Over the past few years, Clara had learned how to distract, attract, trap and attack their foes.
“There are certain topics that are deemed unnecessary for you to know. They run counter to our policies and officially are not acknowledged,” Professor Stephens added.
“So—,” Clara said.
The professor raised his hand to prevent her from saying anything further. He scanned the room as if the walls had ears. In itself, that assumption was not wholly unexpected.
Before long, Professor Stephens said, “That’s the official story, of course. The truth, however, lies somewhere between our doctrines and your wildest imagination.”
“God—,” Clara said.
“Alas, I can say no more on this subject,” Professor Stephens said. He then winked before adding, “I know nothing of these symbols or how they are applied to the gods and goddesses of myth.”
That brief moment of honesty opened Clara’s eyes. There were things that even those from their order did not openly discuss. The reasons? Clara knew none would be forthcoming.
* * * *
Some mysteries left Clara certain that there would be no answers. Often her instincts served her well in making that determination. It proved wise to keep silent on such topics to prevent a whole slew of uncomfortable questions. Clara especially dreaded being questioned on where a particular line of inquiry came from.
In other circumstances, Clara knew that she would need to get her hands dirty to get answers. There were many nooks and crannies dispersed throughout the Tower waiting to be explored, some of which led to long forgotten sections of the Tower.
Officially, the Tower had few forbidden spaces. Some were flagrantly ignored by staff and students alike for convenience while others were avoided for reasons lost in the sands of time.
Other places were simply rumoured to be forbidden, so most kept a wide berth. Clara came across old archives covered in dust and cobwebs, she often found them to be filled to the brim with history and artefacts.
Eventually, she stumbled upon a particularly neglected lavatory that led to another wing. Rumours were that the Tower once had direct access to the outside world, just like any modern college or campus.
While the wing had been sealed off using heavy stone and mortar, Clara had come across this access point leading from the bathroom. Pipes and drains generally had to lead somewhere after all.
The opening was just big enough for her to squeeze through. Clara forced her tiny frame through the gap while her back grated against the rough stone surface. She was instantly covered in dust, mortar and years of accumulated filth. On the other side, she found the mirror image of the other side.
Dust must have been over an inch thick here. Oddly enough, the lights and plumbing were functional. Clara took a moment to clean up before she walked out of the room. After all, even explorers had standards to uphold.
The rest of the wing was covered in a thin layer of grime and displayed signs of life. Scat had collected in the corners; bones from predator and prey alike also littered the floor. Spiders had created large networks of webs so thick that she initially thought they were the tattered remains of drapery.
Clara was in awe of how nature persisted and even thrived when human interference had been removed. Nowhere else in the Tower were there such obvious signs of life. This was a prime example of survival of the fittest, visible only because a cleaning staff did not wash away the evidence.
It took a few moments for Clara to size up the wing. There were two adjacent rooms: one large enough to serve as a classroom while the other contained the remnants of a library. Against the wall, she saw something that seemed to be a trophy case.
Clara looked over the tarnished silver cups, sceptres and crowns. These items would have been worth a princely sum to the right buyers, even in their deteriorated state.
She considered disturbing the artefacts to have a better look, but decided that the effort needed to read the inscriptions was not in her best interests. For what? To learn that the Tower at one point in its history had a semblance of normalcy?
Within the old library she found a small section filled with thick volumes, while the rest of the library had been stripped bare. She ran her hands over the leather bound spines but could not make out the titles. These looked and felt ancient and given the state of this wing, they probably were.
Clara pulled out a book at random then opened it up towards the middle. It contained rows upon rows of names, all written in a fine hand. Most of these names were in Latin but a few exceptions were found throughout. Occasionally, these would be accompanied by an amplifying paragraph such as a notice on promotion, appointment, or commendation.
These appeared to be ancient personnel records based on the use of animal hides for the pages. Clara wondered why some lines had been blotted out?
The curious girl pulled open a few more books and discovered that they also contained redacted sections. Were these deliberate attempts to purge records from the books? Odd, although abandoning these books in a sealed part of the tower was certainly more effective.
Once she left the library, she came up to a set of heavy oak doors. The doors had been reinforced with steel, to deter any sustained attacks.
Immediately to the side, she found a door dwarfed by its adjacent kin. Clara would have missed it had she approached it from any other angle. The door was effectively invisible when viewed directly, probably as a camouflage to avoid accidental discovery. That in itself was not unusual. There were many such anomalies found in the Tower. Some had been known to go insane trying to find the right room.
Clara approached the smaller door and ran her hand over the door handle. The brass was tarnished, which confirmed that it had not been used in years.
Without hesitation, Clara pulled on the door and felt it resist at first. With a bit more strength, the door creaked and moaned until a snap echoed throughout the hall. With corrosion shaken loose from its hinges, the door gave way easily.
Given the large doors immediately to her side, Clara had not expected much from this particular entrance. She suspected this door would lead to a caponier or some sort of defensive structure. How else would defenders be able to repel invaders?
Instead of a dark and musty tunnel, she was greeted by light bright enough to leave her temporarily blinded. Clara closed her eyes and walked out into the open, expecting to feel the warm sunlight on her skin. Instead she felt nothing. Odd!
Clara slowly opened her eyes so they could adjust to their surroundings. Before her, there was a city washed out by the light, rendering a landscape devoid of detail. The longer she looked over the scene, the more ethereal the world seemed.
All around her, she found signs that this city was inhabited. Structures were well-maintained, foliage was trimmed, the streets were neatly cobbled and marked, while
the sides were lined with barrels and pottery. The latter was more telling since it helped her rule out certain eras.
Strangely absent from this world was the wind or sounds. Clara could neither hear nor see signs of insects, birds, animals or humans. Even when she came across a bazaar filled with wares, there was no one in sight.
Clara found a fruit stand and helped herself to an apple. One bite into the plump and ripened fruit yielded no flavour. The entire situation reminded her of something her sisters had said after their father had died, namely about the existence of Limbo.
She headed back towards the Tower and expected to make out some details on its exterior. Instead, she saw something far more intriguing. Right before her eyes there was a towering volcano in the midst of an eruption. Clara wondered if she was in danger.
“Know where we are?” Reverend Mother Augustine quizzed.
Startled, Clara turned around so fast that the Reverend Mother flinched.
“How did she manage to sneak up on me,” Clara muttered.
Reverend Mother Augustine was a tall and imposing woman who was rumoured to have been a hunter. She did not wear the habit which people tended to expect for someone bearing the title of Reverend Mother. Instead, she opted to wear the same uniforms the girls were issued.
The woman had deep blue eyes, which gave Clara the impression that she could peer into the very depths of her soul. It never failed to send a chill down her spine when the Reverend Mother adopted her pose. The one where she narrowed her eyes and cocked her head to the side, the moment or so before she rendered judgement.
Clara supposed there was a theatrical component to this act, used as a way to discourage further interactions? Today she appeared just as she would within the confines of the Tower, in spite of the blinding light. Clara looked down and noticed that she too was unaffected by the light. Alice Liddell’s adventures did not hold a candle to this experience.
Clara was not certain of the answer and was tempted to say Limbo. However, such an answer would fail to impress the Reverend Mother. All of the Tower’s staff expected a reasoned answer, one which reached beyond faith and scripture.
“Roman architecture,” Clara said. “You can tell by the furniture, available goods, and frescos,” she said.
“Go on, child,” Augustine replied.
“The abundance of fish and fresh fruits tells me that we are in a port city,” Clara said. “There is also a volcano in the distance spewing ash—”
The Reverend Mother was about to speak when Clara’s eyes brightened. Ash had been the trigger she needed to unlock the name.
“Pompeii!” Clara exclaimed.
“A sharp mind you have there, my child,” the Reverend Mother said.
“Thank you, Reverend Mother,” Clara said after realising she had forgotten to use any marks of respect until now.
“Managed to find your way out here too,” Augustine said. “No student has managed that feat since the nineteenth century. You’re the first so far,” she added, but hoped the number remained at one.
An obvious reply did not come to her, so Clara nodded and kept her eyes low. It rarely paid to appear confident when one’s transgressions were discovered.
“How did you find your way here, child?” Augustine asked.
“I followed the plumbing through the wall and into an abandoned section of the Tower, Reverend Mother,” Clara said.
The Reverend Mother smiled before she said, “Only two others have used that particular route, child.” Just as Clara’s eyes began to glow, she added, “Yes, there are other ways inside. Since the cat is already out of the bag, you are welcome to try. So long as you do not neglect your studies or tell the others.”
Clara cocked her head to the side and looked utterly confused. It was not every day that someone encouraged her to break the rules.
“Reverend Mother?” Clara said confused.
“Have you been able to explain why our surroundings appear as they do?” the Reverend Mother asked to change the subject.
A quick glance at the volcano was all Clara needed before answering, “A pocket in time, Reverend Mother.”
“You guessed or knew?” Augustine pressed.
“A bit of both,” Clara said. “I initially thought this was Limbo,” she said honestly.
“I could see how you might have thought that,” the Reverend Mother Augustine said. “If Limbo existed, it might very well be a place like this.”
“Why are we in a pocket of time, Reverend Mother?” Clara probed.
Clara expected to be given the runaround or told she was simply too young to know the truth. After all, that was the modus operandi of those who taught at the Tower. However, it seemed that today was a day of firsts.
“I am not quite sure that I can adequately explain, child,” the Reverend Mother said. Before the crestfallen look washed over Clara’s face she added, “I have been told that humans need to exist somewhere within space and time.”
Clara’s eyes brightened up, and she beamed a smile. Fortunately, there were no sounds or stimuli to distract her from listening.
“We cannot exist in any environment where time or space is absent. However, space and time can sometimes be coerced to permit situations like this,” Augustine said.
“Defensive,” Clara added and gripped her mouth just as the word slipped out.
“Correct, child,” the Reverend Mother said. “When we are in sync with the world, we can be located and attacked. The Tower exists here for now, so an attacker would need to coordinate an attack on this very day. It is our belief that the volcano, ash and pyroclastic flow would dissuade any direct physical attack.”
So that explained the need for the Terminus. On the bright side, this arrangement probably saved a fortune on maintenance costs.
“I am afraid that’s all I know, child,” Augustine said.
“Thank you, Reverend Mother,” Clara said. She then grinned before adding, “Do I get any hints on the other entrances?”
“No, child,” the Reverend Mother said. “However, I will show you a quicker way back to the Main Hall.”
For now, Clara supposed that would have to suffice. At least she was not expressly forbidden from returning to Pompeii. It appeared to be the perfect place for those who needed a bit of time away from the hustle and bustle of Tower living.
TWO SHIPS PASSING IN THE NIGHT
1911
Clara never realised how much fun she could have with her blinders removed. For years, Clara had been cooped up at the Tower learning the tricks of her trade, oblivious to the world beyond.
Now that they had set her free, Clara was capable of coming and going as her heart desired. In all haste, Clara had used the Terminus to reach Paris with the intention of playing the tourist. Her first item on the list was to sit down at a café, order a meal, and sip on a cappuccino while she waited.
Previous to her reins being loosened, the outings had been tightly controlled and with good reason. It was said that students would often walk away. All around her there was life untainted by what lurked in the shadows. For a moment, she too could feel the allure, that powerful draw that seduced a great many to defect.
If Clara were not certain that there were things out there that used her kin for a food source, then she might have heeded the call of the piper. Instead, she took another sip and felt that brief surge of energy that caffeine provided, even if it was only imagined.
In the distance, she heard an accordion player serenade passers-by with his music. In the opposing corner of the intersection there was a mime who performed his craft. Clara was impressed by his soldier’s resolve, watching him keep silent no matter how hard the children tormented him. She wondered what it would take to break that discipline.
“A pair of tits,” Clara muttered.
She was in Europe, a society that was far more practical about matters of the flesh. That was not the case with back home, and it was a shame that so much fun was also considered a sin. Just thinking about
ways of getting that mime’s attention by breaking social mores made her heart race. If this was the feeling one gets from going against the grain, then Clara was surprised people were not more easily convinced to lead a life of sin.
“You’re wondering what it would take to make him talk, aren’t you.” Jack said from behind.
Clara had been aware that someone was there. His steps on the cobblestone surface had warned her of his approach. Still she was not happy about this man’s attempt at reading her mind.
“Among other things,” Clara said with a perfect Parisian accent while she turned to see who it was.
“Hello, Clara,” Jack said.
Clara looked at the young man and remembered how he had been a boy the last time they met. It took all she had to maintain her composure and hide that schoolgirl giddiness she felt by the mere sight of him.
The Van Helsing Paradox Page 6
