She ate scones and drank tea, and avoided looking at Mosses Meddleson. His smile had faded into a worried look, the same type of expression her mother would often wear when hiding bad news. Something about the expression made her uncomfortable.
Finally, he spoke. ‘Now, Ms. Amberginnegan, do you know why I wished to meet with you today?’
Alison returned the cup of tea to it’s saucer, held it still, nodded carefully. ‘My father.’
Mosses nodded sadly. ‘Yes, Miss Amberginnegan, I am afraid your father, Allathir Amberginnegan, has past on.’
He had already told her this, on the holograph card. She kept nodding, not wanting to be rude. ‘I know’ was all she could think to say.
‘I am sorry for your loss,’ said Mosses.
She smiled, still nodding. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and felt a little guilty. In a way, she had never really lost anything, and was really accepting something given for something that wasn’t there.
‘Have you … learned how it happened?’ asked Mosses.
‘Uh, no.’ Alison set down the saucer; then began fidgeting with her dress. ‘Nobody told me.’
‘Ah,’ said Mosses, leaning back. ‘Would it be acceptable, that is, would you mind if I was the one to … relate the news?’
‘Oh, no,’ said Alison, effecting the tone of overdone sympathy she always heard others use in situations like this. ‘That would be fine.’
Mosses Meddleson sat back in his chair. ‘Well, it is a mysterious thing, Miss Amberginnegan, and truthfully, no one knows exactly what happened. What we do know is, about three months ago, they were bringing some fresh supplies up to the Oligard—oh, not food mind you. I am told the Oligard is quite self-supporting. New materials … metals, and wires and such, I think, for the experiments—and they found the station empty.’
‘Oligard? Station?’
Mosses nodded, looking confused. ‘Yes, your father’s space station—the Oligard. It’s where he worked on all of his inventions. ’
She searched for the word, but it meant nothing to her. ‘Uh, right,’ she said. ‘Anyways, go on.’
‘Yes, well, anyways, the Oligard was completely devoid of life. A thorough search was done of the premises, and no body was found. Going off some of the information they found stored in the Oligard’s memory banks, they think either he atomized himself, or his mind moved past the point at which it needed a body. Maybe both.’
‘They?’
‘The people in the employ of your father.’
‘Employed? My father employed people?’
‘But of course.’
This made no sense to her. ‘But, how?’
‘Oh, very easily, Miss Amberginegan. Anyways, no real conclusion could be reached as to what happened, and I am afraid the details are a bit murky, having to do with magic and all.’
There was a tingling along the back of her skull. ‘Wait, magic? What are you talking about?’
Mosses Meddleson looked shocked. For a moment Alison felt ashamed, and wondered what she had done wrong. But then Mosses became gentle again. The tension that had formed in her chest dissipated.
‘Why, Miss Amberginnegan, has no one told you?’
‘Told me what?’ she asked, trying to sound as deferential as possible.
Mosses gave her a charitable look. ‘Miss Amberginnegan, do you know what a magician is?’
And then she was nine, sitting alone cross-legged on the floor of a room in her mother’s house. A small child again, gangly and wide-eyed, a VAST playing on the floor in front of her—Begal Bear and the Circle Gang Battle the Evil Angels—which she wasn’t watching.
She held in her hands her newest entertainment, a Magic Eyeball, produced, she knew, having checked the box, by Appel Ionian Industries. It was a smooth white orb, covered in a shiny clear plastic coating. Faint red veins coalesced around an electric blue iris, encircling the dark void from which the Eyeball issued its answers. She could ask it any question and it would give her an answer.
‘Magic Eyeball, what number am I thinking of?’
‘Nine,’ it replied.
‘Wow,’ she said, with childish wonder. ‘How did you know that?’
‘The technology involved is entirely too complex for you to understand the answer, so let’s just say I read your mind, shall we?’
‘Huh. You’re pretty fussy for a ball.’
‘Well, I am really just projecting an engaging affect, and I think I am quite a bit more than a ball, don’t you?’
She shook her head. ‘How are you more than a ball?’
‘Alas, another question it is impossible for me to answer in full. So let’s just say my functions exceed my size.’
‘So, what, like, you have more wires than fit inside you?’
‘Something like that, yes.’
‘Wow,’ said Alison, amazed. ‘Who could make something as wowsome as you?’
‘Why, a magician, of course.’
‘Huh? What do you mean? There aren’t any magicians.’
‘Yes, there are. Haven’t you ever heard the terms used before>’
Alison squinted into the iris. ‘Have I?’ she asked, trying to catch the orb up.
‘Of course you have. The question was merely rhetorical. You have, however, only ever heard the term used to mean “that which is impossible, but done.” Indeed, that is the meaning meant to be inferred by my own name. But the term has an additional meaning; “that which seems impossible, but is done anyways.”’
‘Oh, said Alison. ’So, what’s a magician?’
“A type of inventor. A creator, designer. The highest class of such people. Those who make the impossible seem possible. Masters of the mind, who learn how to alter matter, travel across time and space in an instant, read minds, see the future. That sort of thing.’
‘Oh. And one of them created you?’
‘Correct.’
‘Where?’
‘Alas, their greatness cannot be contained by this mundane world, and so many shut themselves away from humanity, to better concentrate on the glory of creation. Some live under the sea, some under the earth, some high up in the sky.’
‘Oh.’ Alison found this astonishing, yet slightly disappointing. ‘So I can’t meet a magician, can I?’
‘Well, no, not right now, but they are very near you, in a sense.’
‘What’s that mean?’
‘That would be telling.’
‘Huh, no fair! You have to answer what I ask!’
‘Alas, my creator’s gifts have given me the will not to answer. Would it make you feel better if I tell you that one day you will figure it out?’
Alison glowered into the Eye. ‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Well, let’s just say it’s an educated guess.’
‘Educated guess,’ she grumbled, and threw the Magic Eyeball across the room.
The memory had stuck with her through the years. Whenever the word ‘magician’ popped up, as a topic or casually referenced, she would flashback to that first encounter, just as she did now. Over the years, she thought this odd. The memory was not wholly remarkable on its own, but something about its ubiquity, its omnipresence, made the revelry feel, with each recurrence, more significant, more meaningful, than when it had first occurred.
‘Yes,’ she said, slowly nodding her head.
‘Oh, good,’ said Mosses Meddleson. ‘You see, Alison, your father, Allathir, was a magician.’
Her mouth dropped open. ‘Huh?’
‘Yes, quite stunning, isn’t it? That’s why you could never see him, you know.’
‘A, huh, a muh—really?’ She had been expecting the answer, to a certain degree, but the answer surprised her anyways.
‘Yes. And of course, you have inherited one of the largest fortunes in the whole of the city.’
‘I, I have?’
Mosses nodded sagely.
Finally, he spoke. ‘Now, Ms. Amberginnegan, do you know why I wished to meet with you today?’
Alison returned the cup of tea to it’s saucer, held it still, nodded carefully. ‘My father.’
Mosses nodded sadly. ‘Yes, Miss Amberginnegan, I am afraid your father, Allathir Amberginnegan, has past on.’
He had already told her this, on the holograph card. She kept nodding, not wanting to be rude. ‘I know’ was all she could think to say.
‘I am sorry for your loss,’ said Mosses.
She smiled, still nodding. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and felt a little guilty. In a way, she had never really lost anything, and was really accepting something given for something that wasn’t there.
‘Have you … learned how it happened?’ asked Mosses.
‘Uh, no.’ Alison set down the saucer; then began fidgeting with her dress. ‘Nobody told me.’
‘Ah,’ said Mosses, leaning back. ‘Would it be acceptable, that is, would you mind if I was the one to … relate the news?’
‘Oh, no,’ said Alison, effecting the tone of overdone sympathy she always heard others use in situations like this. ‘That would be fine.’
Mosses Meddleson sat back in his chair. ‘Well, it is a mysterious thing, Miss Amberginnegan, and truthfully, no one knows exactly what happened. What we do know is, about three months ago, they were bringing some fresh supplies up to the Oligard—oh, not food mind you. I am told the Oligard is quite self-supporting. New materials … metals, and wires and such, I think, for the experiments—and they found the station empty.’
‘Oligard? Station?’
Mosses nodded, looking confused. ‘Yes, your father’s space station—the Oligard. It’s where he worked on all of his inventions. ’
She searched for the word, but it meant nothing to her. ‘Uh, right,’ she said. ‘Anyways, go on.’
‘Yes, well, anyways, the Oligard was completely devoid of life. A thorough search was done of the premises, and no body was found. Going off some of the information they found stored in the Oligard’s memory banks, they think either he atomized himself, or his mind moved past the point at which it needed a body. Maybe both.’
‘They?’
‘The people in the employ of your father.’
‘Employed? My father employed people?’
‘But of course.’
This made no sense to her. ‘But, how?’
‘Oh, very easily, Miss Amberginegan. Anyways, no real conclusion could be reached as to what happened, and I am afraid the details are a bit murky, having to do with magic and all.’
There was a tingling along the back of her skull. ‘Wait, magic? What are you talking about?’
Mosses Meddleson looked shocked. For a moment Alison felt ashamed, and wondered what she had done wrong. But then Mosses became gentle again. The tension that had formed in her chest dissipated.
‘Why, Miss Amberginnegan, has no one told you?’
‘Told me what?’ she asked, trying to sound as deferential as possible.
Mosses gave her a charitable look. ‘Miss Amberginnegan, do you know what a magician is?’
And then she was nine, sitting alone cross-legged on the floor of a room in her mother’s house. A small child again, gangly and wide-eyed, a VAST playing on the floor in front of her—Begal Bear and the Circle Gang Battle the Evil Angels—which she wasn’t watching.
She held in her hands her newest entertainment, a Magic Eyeball, produced, she knew, having checked the box, by Appel Ionian Industries. It was a smooth white orb, covered in a shiny clear plastic coating. Faint red veins coalesced around an electric blue iris, encircling the dark void from which the Eyeball issued its answers. She could ask it any question and it would give her an answer.
‘Magic Eyeball, what number am I thinking of?’
‘Nine,’ it replied.
‘Wow,’ she said, with childish wonder. ‘How did you know that?’
‘The technology involved is entirely too complex for you to understand the answer, so let’s just say I read your mind, shall we?’
‘Huh. You’re pretty fussy for a ball.’
‘Well, I am really just projecting an engaging affect, and I think I am quite a bit more than a ball, don’t you?’
She shook her head. ‘How are you more than a ball?’
‘Alas, another question it is impossible for me to answer in full. So let’s just say my functions exceed my size.’
‘So, what, like, you have more wires than fit inside you?’
‘Something like that, yes.’
‘Wow,’ said Alison, amazed. ‘Who could make something as wowsome as you?’
‘Why, a magician, of course.’
‘Huh? What do you mean? There aren’t any magicians.’
‘Yes, there are. Haven’t you ever heard the terms used before>’
Alison squinted into the iris. ‘Have I?’ she asked, trying to catch the orb up.
‘Of course you have. The question was merely rhetorical. You have, however, only ever heard the term used to mean “that which is impossible, but done.” Indeed, that is the meaning meant to be inferred by my own name. But the term has an additional meaning; “that which seems impossible, but is done anyways.”’
‘Oh, said Alison. ’So, what’s a magician?’
“A type of inventor. A creator, designer. The highest class of such people. Those who make the impossible seem possible. Masters of the mind, who learn how to alter matter, travel across time and space in an instant, read minds, see the future. That sort of thing.’
‘Oh. And one of them created you?’
‘Correct.’
‘Where?’
‘Alas, their greatness cannot be contained by this mundane world, and so many shut themselves away from humanity, to better concentrate on the glory of creation. Some live under the sea, some under the earth, some high up in the sky.’
‘Oh.’ Alison found this astonishing, yet slightly disappointing. ‘So I can’t meet a magician, can I?’
‘Well, no, not right now, but they are very near you, in a sense.’
‘What’s that mean?’
‘That would be telling.’
‘Huh, no fair! You have to answer what I ask!’
‘Alas, my creator’s gifts have given me the will not to answer. Would it make you feel better if I tell you that one day you will figure it out?’
Alison glowered into the Eye. ‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Well, let’s just say it’s an educated guess.’
‘Educated guess,’ she grumbled, and threw the Magic Eyeball across the room.
The memory had stuck with her through the years. Whenever the word ‘magician’ popped up, as a topic or casually referenced, she would flashback to that first encounter, just as she did now. Over the years, she thought this odd. The memory was not wholly remarkable on its own, but something about its ubiquity, its omnipresence, made the revelry feel, with each recurrence, more significant, more meaningful, than when it had first occurred.
‘Yes,’ she said, slowly nodding her head.
‘Oh, good,’ said Mosses Meddleson. ‘You see, Alison, your father, Allathir, was a magician.’
Her mouth dropped open. ‘Huh?’
‘Yes, quite stunning, isn’t it? That’s why you could never see him, you know.’
‘A, huh, a muh—really?’ She had been expecting the answer, to a certain degree, but the answer surprised her anyways.
‘Yes. And of course, you have inherited one of the largest fortunes in the whole of the city.’
‘I, I have?’
Mosses nodded sagely.
No comments:
Post a Comment