25. Among All, The Most Cryptic Being
At our next eting, it will be you who seeks out. I have found that the distance to this place is considerable, indeed.'
Having uttered these audacious words, Arthur took his leave. Yet, I found myself ensnared by his enigmatic presence, transfixed in my seat long after his departure.
He had shared glimpses of his far-reaching visions, each revelation shocking, audacious, draining of my ntal reserves. Indeed, if I were to liken myself to Faust, then Arthur would undoubtedly take on the role of phistopheles. I was captivated by his blasphemous blueprint, standing at the precipice of the Brocken Mountain, where devils revel in their wicked dance.
My mind, lost in thought, was jolted back to reality by the audacity of a bold rat, its small head peeking out from the crevices, as if to determine whether I was man or re object. At the sight of this, a sigh escaped my lips. Reflecting upon my circumstances, I was reluctantly led to a singular conclusion.
I was intricately woven into Arthur Frank's grand design from the very beginning. The realization that such an impetuous man could ticulously execute his plan was a revelation in itself.
Yet, why ? Surely, a more suitable candidate could have been found with ease. Yet Arthur, to the very end, had not deigned to reveal the answer to this intriguing question. Undoubtedly, he withheld this information intentionally, knowing my intense curiosity. A sly and distasteful individual indeed.
Knock knock.
The knock at the door served as a lifeline, pulling back from the abyss of my musings.
"Master, are you within?" ca the query.
"Yes."
The voice belonged to Marie. Well, to be precise,it was Marie's new voice. Similar, yet disturbingly alien, it left unsettled every ti it graced my ears, as though every word chipped away at my very soul.
"I do not wish to intrude, Master, but it is ti for you to prepare to venture out"
"Has so much ti elapsed already?"
Arthur's unexpected visit had led to lose track of ti, and I had forgotten that this day held a certain importance.
I vacated the parlor, the image of shattered teacups strewn across the floor suddenly flashing in my mind. I couldn't leave them as they were, so I found myself swiftly heading to the kitchen.
Yet, upon arrival, I was t with a scene of pristine order. No fragnts of ceramic were to be seen, the space immaculately clean.
"Marie, did you clean up this ss?"
Marie, who had followed into the kitchen, fidgeted nervously. Her movents were awkward, reminiscent of a marionette's disjointed dance.
"Yes, I feared you might injure yourself, Master."
"Show your hand."
Her glass-like eyes, touched with hues of blue, quivered in trepidation.
"Quickly."
With an air of reluctance, Marie extended her hand at my insistence. As I examined her hand, turning it over delicately, I found additional scratches marring her smooth, waxen skin.
"In the future, refrain from such actions."
"But, Master"
"I am perfectly capable of dostic duties. Focus on tasks within your realm of ability. For instance, tending to the orchids."
Unable to et her gaze, I released her hand and swiftly turned away.
"I must prepare to depart."
"Can I assist you, Master?"
"No, I can manage alone!"
I hurriedly extricated myself from the situation under the pretense of getting ready. However, Marie's desolate whisper followed , the words piercing my heart like a sharpened blade.
"Then what purpose do I serve"
Oldcourt University.
This serene institution, nestled on a quaint hill in North London, was originally an enigmatic and secluded monastery. The monks, early adopters of natural philosophy, frequently proposed bold interpretations that were deed heretical, resulting in a multitude of executions for heresy.
Thus, over ti, the monastery naturally evolved into a fortress. Today, we still see remnants of this transformation, with evidence of secret passages and panic rooms built into each building on campus.
At the heart of it all stands the Tower of the Irish Saint, a testant to dieval architecture.
This cylindrical fortress stands at the intersection of three colleges, intentionally designed to ensure that no corridors or stairways provide access to the other institutions. This is a clear demonstration of their commitnt to maintaining the autonomy of each college.
Atop the Tower of the Irish Saint lies the Dean's Office, also divided into three separate areas, each inaccessible from the others. In essence, this peculiar university houses three dean's offices in a single location.
Tock.
The quill pen echoed as it dipped into the inkwell. The sound, bouncing off the do-shaped ceiling of the Dean's Office, resonated deeply throughout the room. Professor Apollo Gregorios Kallas adjusted his glasses, sliding the signed contract towards him.
"Nationalism and International Politics Do I discern this aright?"
"Indeed."
Anxiously, I awaited his response, akin to a young lad having just made his foray into the vast city of London. Kallas, seemingly more intrigued by the title of the lecture than the content of the contract, rose from his seat, extending a welcoming hand and a congenial smile.
"Excellent. As of this day, December 2, 1895, you are hereby officially appointed at Oldcourt. Welco."
A mont of respite washed over . I attempted to rise, but Kallas, observing my condition, offered his hand while I remained seated. I gratefully accepted his tactful gesture, shaking the practically untouched hand in one decisive motion.
Professor Kallas retreated back to his seat, releasing a deep sigh.
"Today, I find myself standing in for the Dean. I confess, I find contracts far less pleasing than books."
The elderly scholar made no effort to conceal his strained state, his countenance easing considerably. He was a man who understood the comfort brought about by human imperfections.
"And the Dean?"
"He is much the sa. Nay, he is even more severe in this regard. A scholar at heart, he displays an utter lack of interest in administration. I have yet to witness him sign a contract in person, though he is never amiss in signing important docunts for the Royal Society."
"I must admit, I have received several letters bearing the Dean's signature."
"Ah, those, too, were penned by my hand. I am now more accustod to signing in his na than my own."
Kallas chuckled briefly at his admission.
"How curious. I thought the only aspect of him I was acquainted with was his penmanship, and now it appears I was mistaken even in that."
"Indeed. He is a figure of enigma. The Dean is among the most mysterious individuals I have co across."
At my comnt, Kallas burst into hearty laughter. His exaggerated reaction, a trait of his diterranean heritage, didn't unsettle .
"You arrived just in the nick of ti."
"To be frank, I was surprised. I hadn't expected my position to be maintained."
"There were so who foolishly petitioned for your removal."
Kallas' eyebrow arched in emphasis.
"However, the faculty and student representatives unanimously agreed to retain you. This was a matter of course for an Oldcourt individual. We seek wisdom. Wisdom is akin to clear water; it begins to stagnate the mont it settles. As the tis ebb and flow, new currents must infiltrate Oldcourt."
His words sparked a vivid sense of dj vu. They echoed a familiar sentint, sothing I had certainly encountered within these walls before.
"Is this a well-known quote?"
Kallas blinked in surprise.
"Is it perhaps an adage unique to this university, sothing akin to a slogan?"
"Ah, it seems you have had so intriguing interactions during your journey here."
"To be precise, a similar sentint was expressed by a student when I visited the library a few months ago."
At my clarification, Kallas seed montarily stumped. His lips parted and closed, mimicking the actions of a scholar contemplating the best thod to elucidate a complex concept to a novice. Given his profession, it was an understandable habit.
"How might I expound this uh."
While he pondered, my gaze drifted around the room. Since entering the Dean's office, sothing had persistently gnawed at my curiosity. It was a chanical clock mounted on the wall, though I was uncertain if it could even be accurately described as such.
It was the second most intricate chanical contraption I had ever encountered.
It bore a resemblance to the astronomical clock in Prague, but even that, celebrated as one of the most complex and artistic tipieces in the world, seed simple in comparison to this contrivance. This device appeared more akin to an intricate piece of artwork than a tikeeping instrunt.
Countless symbols were displayed, including Roman nurals, intersecting ecliptic and equatorial lines, Greek zodiac signs, Jesus and his apostles, Kabbalah, and nurous others. Soon unfamiliar symbols superseded them.
Each symbol moved at its own rhythm, the ticking sounds overlapping to form an almost cacophonous hum. The ordinarily tranquil Dean's office was infused with an incessant noise reminiscent of a bustling London street.
These symbols participated in an unending taphysical dialogue, appearing and disappearing in an instant. As a result, the clock appeared to morph into a different entity each second, creating a srizing illusion. Any attempt to extract aningful information from it was futile.
In truth, I had sought to ascertain the ti, but only managed to catch a fleeting glimpse of the hour hand. I was certain that there were minute and second hands as well, yet their location and form eluded .
"Does it distract you?"
Perhaps my fixation was overtly apparent. Kallas, with a warm smile, interrupted my contemplation. I confessed to my rudeness and offered my apologies.
"My apologies."
"Fear not, it is quite common. Most react similarly upon their initial encounter with it."
Kallas declared, his tone hinting at a peculiar sort of pride.
"That is the Hexasofia clock, a contraption devised by the dean himself."
"Hexasofia, you say?"
It was a term with which I was unfamiliar. He began to elaborate, as if anticipating my ignorance.
"Are you aware of the concept of a sixth sense?"
"During my tenure in naval service, certain impressionable recruits would dabble in such beliefs."
"Ah, I see. What is your stance on the matter?"
"After witnessing them being unceremoniously shot and killed, I've made it a point to avoid those who entertain such subjects."
Kallas appeared taken aback by my candid response and felt compelled to apologize.
"That's unfortunate."
"It has been more than a decade."
I erred in my manners. My gentlemanly decorum was compromised by an incident from this morning involving Mari's hand, but that is no justification for my insensitivity.
"The sixth sense we refer to is distinct from such pseudoscientific claims. Literally, it is the human's sixth sense."
"Do you imply sothing akin to a sense of equilibrium?"
"Rather, I refer to wisdom. The sixth sense, subsequent to the known five."
A luminescent spark ignited in the elderly eyes of Kallas.
"A person imbued with wisdom perceives more than their less enlightened counterparts. It affords them a glimpse into horizons otherwise invisible to the common observer."
"Is that philosophy?"
At my inquiry, Kallas exhibited a knowing smile.
"The Hexasofia clock persistently exhibits only six units of information. Yet, the truly wise can decipher an abundance of knowledge beyond that from it. It is a masterwork intended to reveal a thousand truths from six."
"To , it seems exceptionally abstract."
"No, it is a tangible reality. I invariably decipher so form of information from the Hexasofia clock. However, thus far, only the dean has exhibited full command over the Hexasofia clock."
There was no plausible reason for this seasoned professor to resort to exaggeration. Thus, it was rather astounding. That intricate contraption, which seed utterly nonsensical to , served as a practical tikeeping instrunt for soone else.
"And you, being a wise individual, I am certain will discern even more than I."
Kallas winked subtly, betraying the amicability that must have endeared him to his students.
"I fear I may have digressed excessively. I trust I have not detained you unduly?"
"No, quite the contrary. Your conversation has been most enlightening."
I struggled to my feet to bid him farewell, and then a thought occurred to , which I voiced.
"Pray, where might I find the dean? It has been quite so ti since our paths last crossed. I would like to pay my respects."
"He is at Jastown College today. Regrettably, you may need to wait for a future occasion."
"May I not go and seek him out?"
Kallas's countenance took on a grave expression.
" As one ages, the propensity to overlook important details seems to increase. I ought to have inford you of this sooner."
He muttered, removing his spectacles and ticulously cleaning them.
"Oldcourt is a seeker of wisdom. Any ans may be employed to procure wisdom. However, there is one principle that must never be breached."
Kallas returned his glasses to their rightful place and rose from his seat.
"You must never encroach upon the territory of another college."
Despite my lack of understanding, I experienced a chill of fear emanating from this genial old man. For a fleeting mont, his gaze bore an uncanny resemblance to the madn I had encountered in my past.
Professor Kallas eased his expression and offered a warm smile once again.
"And even if I were to inform you that today is the day the dean visits Henry VIII College, I am uncertain whether you would have the opportunity to et him."
"What do you an by that?"
"You will learn soon enough. But let tell you, even I have yet to see his face."
"How can that be?"
His face was adorned with the sa genial smile as before, but it no longer felt comforting. There was a profound secret laced within that smile.
"Did I not ntion it earlier? The Dean of Oldcourt, , is the most mysterious of all."
(TO BE CONTINUED)
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