There was silence in the room. The gentle rain from before had turned into an incessant storm. The winds pounded against the windows, pleading to be let in. They too seemed to fear the onslaught of the wrathful heavens. Thankfully, Ms Orchard had pulled down the window, closing the little creak.
I stood leaning against the window pane, watching the weather and the hour change. The first light had broken a while ago, but the colourful streaks were nowhere to be seen. I had seen violet and purple, red and orange, yellow and golden — but today there was none. Only a cold, white world waited outside, casting the stone pavements into loneliness. Soon, the grey clouds turned dark as the hour of dawn passed. In the distance, over the horizon, I could spot flashes of lightning. The clouds were building their fury.
Behind me, intermittently, I heard the grunts and murmurs from Ms Olsberg. Incoherent as she seemed, she was solving a crossword. The things she had come to witness on the night seemed to bring no pain to her. The big revelation I made seemed to have solved a few mysteries for her, and yet, there was no division among us. I hoped it was so, and I hoped the child would wake up soon. In the silence, once again, I stood silently.
It was seven in the morning that day — the fifteenth of March, Friday — when a messenger arrived at our door with the official letter signed by the Dean. Lectures were cancelled because of the happenings of the night before and the storm of today. I heard the old lady from downstairs complain about the wet footmarks as the man closed the door behind him. I didn’t have any lectures on the day, to begin with. They were postponed when it was confirmed that I would participate in the hunt. I was worried that the other students wouldn’t know, but Ms Olsberg said they too must have been informed. That was only logical, but their number was enormous. It must take the whole day to go around.
‘The trams will have notices posted on them,’ said Ms Olsberg before going back to her paper. Of course, all require the tram to move around. That was convenient but also seemed extensive and exhausting.
I thought about the day and how I should spend it. My cycle of sleep had already been broken and now, though not groggy, I felt out of this world as if I was there but not truly. Everything seemed serene despite the storm, and that was how the little room too felt. It was warm, dark, and calming. The plain white curtains weren’t drawn, and yet the room was dark. The outside world had little light to offer to the puny mortals.
I watched as Ms Orchard went out of the room for a brief minute and came back. ‘Breakfast arrangements,’ she answered my questioning gaze. My growling tummy approved of the sentiment while my reason wondered if the old lady from downstairs would disapprove. She seemed cranky. Further mouths, I thought, may only seem awful to her. The room was knocked not long after, and Ms Orchard answered. I hoped it was our breakfast while watching the raindrops slide off the clear window pane. Watching the world through those marks, all of it seemed blurry if only faintly.
‘Is he here?’ a tiny, quiet voice sounded. It was a familiar one to me. I looked behind to find an anaemic girl in the doorway and a Ms Orchard that looked at me, seeking an answer. I sighed.
‘Ms Parkinson,’ I said while the girl looked at me in confusion. It took me about a quarter of an hour to convince the girl that it was indeed I. The thought seemed to only further befuddle her, her face showing signs of doubt and anxiety. Other than that, she was silent and without a shred of liveliness. After what seemed like an endless amount of convincing, she believed me. The poor girl informed me why she had come. Apparently, when her mother did not find me anywhere in the house, she asked a friend, who asked another friend, who asked a very busy Mr Crawford, who informed them of my whereabouts. Hospital. I could grasp what must have happened next. I looked at the bag half the size of the girl that carried it. Mrs Parkinson had sent with her daughter a change of clothes and toiletries, inferring a long stay at the sick bay. The pair was either incredibly staunch or considered me stupidly incapable.
I felt remorseful; the girl was wet despite the umbrella she had brought with her. I must have given them a scare just like before. I drew every drop of water off Ms Parkinson and sent it down the drain of the bathroom. My magic seemed to amuse the lovely girl. I inquired about her studies and sent her back after I cleaned and changed into new clothes. I hoped for her safety as she turned around the corridor and only then closed the door.
Not long after, another knock was heard. Our breakfast had arrived. On the long wooden tray, there was salad, toast, a loaf of cold bread, cheese, milk, tea, coffee, charred tomatoes, a large omelette that we had to cut among ourselves, grapes, oranges, bacon, sugar, salt, and the day’s newspaper. I had a craving for something more delicious, but the peckish man does little to complain.
I began with toast and as I turned to the bacon, I felt a great disgust. The bacon wasn’t old or unsanitary; it was just that — bacon. I reluctantly cut into it, forcing my hand. But no matter how much I convinced and coerced myself, I could not bring it near my mouth. Why? I thought desperately. The aversion was strong, and I could do little to reason with it. The same happened with the omelette; I could not bring myself to touch it. I thought it was unreasonable as I stared at the plate. Ms Olsberg seemed to have noticed my pale face and asked, ‘It affected your diet?’ Her eyes were stuck to my face. And with unease, I nodded.
It seemed whatever I was turning into did not take kindly to meat. It distressed me greatly. So, I am to not consume flesh? Ever? Shockingly, I did not feel any sort of loss. I was disquieted by the change and what it meant. Not simply physical… I was affected mentally too. I was anxious, and if not for Ms Orchard and Ms Olsberg’s light conversations, I may have bathed in worry longer. What else have I yet to discover about myself? I wondered while taking a bite of the toast. The cheese seemed fine to consume, so dairy was not out of my diet just yet. I had an orange, some salad, tomato, cheese, and toast. I ate with delight and a lingering worry. The fast was broken and thoughts of unease suddenly vanished.
Time passed, and we approached eight o’clock as the storm worsened. I washed my mouth with coffee and noticed that relative to my hunger, I had eaten less. Less need for diet? I reminded myself to observe my next few meals for a conclusion. But truly, despite my hunger, I had consumed less. I took a sip of the coffee that I liked sweet and prepared myself for another long day. The rain did not seem to subside any time soon.
After a knock entered a lady. With our approval, the plates were removed. Ms Orchard sat reading a book she had brought with her. The Depths of Criminal Psychology, the cover read. And while I watched the dark world outside, Ms Olsberg read the latest newspaper. We had to stay as none of us could leave in the storm. Perhaps, I could; water was no enemy of mine. But all of us lacked the reason and the motivation. None of us had anything better to do, it seemed. So once again as time passed, we sat there in silence while the child lay in bed.
‘Ha!’ Ms Olsberg exclaimed suddenly as I was about to find myself papers to write theories on. The abruptness brought Ms Orchard out of her book. ‘See what I said, Professor?’ the green-eyed woman spoke smugly. ‘A serial killer at large,’ she read from the paper. ‘Another body found in the night! Third night, third victim!’ Leave it to the press to conjure titles, I thought. ‘We have a serial killer, Professor.’
‘No leads?’ Ms Orchard asked.
‘Greatly skilled in human anatomy,’ she read. ‘Hearts removed, female victims, death by blood loss.’
I looked at Ms Orchard. The word Anatomy had brought to mind a certain someone. Mr Bones…? I thought, amused, but soon shook my head. Couldn’t be. ‘Sick, isn’t it?’ I commented.
‘Greatly,’ agreed Ms Olsberg. ‘Wonder what goes on in a sick mind.’
‘Sick things,’ I said, hoping to sound smart.
We talked about sick minds as if we held dominion over the topic; well, Ms Orchard did. And while we talked, the storm only worsened. The rain was beating down on the city fiercely. I was deeply convinced this had something to do with me. Had I not caused the disruption in the wind, perhaps the storm would not be here.
‘The storm is not kind today,’ Ms Orchard commented, taking her eyes off the book. Our talk in the early morning had given food for thought to each of us, and I could feel a faint sense of it still lingering in their minds and around their lips.
‘It will keep the sick killer at bay,’ Ms Olsberg added with a slight glance at me. I had a doubt she said that so I would not feel bad about bringing destruction upon the city.
‘I hope so,’ I muttered. If something foul were to happen because of me, I knew, I would hold it in my heart. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ I asked the two, and both agreed. It was, in no way, an effort to right the wrongs. Tea rarely had that effect.
‘Professor,’ said Ms Olsberg softly as she sipped the hot tea, ‘you said you are mutating.’ She added two cubes of sugar and continued, ‘Does that mean you will become a beast?’ Her solemn eyes bore into mine, but I shook my head.
‘I doubt it,’ I said, pouring Ms Orchard a cup. ‘I will change. I do change. Each day, little by little, something about me has been lost and something gained — perhaps on a cellular level, so small that it could only be observed under the microscope.’ I hummed a little tune. It kept me concentrated and whole. My mother would sing it, and now I did. ‘A beast, Ms Olsberg, does not lose its sense of self when it mutates.’ I added only one cube of sugar for Ms Orchard as she seemed to prefer. She looked impressed. ‘The beast we saw was the same. It had grown in size and gained those intelligent eyes. It had changed, but it did not suddenly become scholarly. It did not walk into the nearest library and asked for a copy of Basic Biology.’ I chuckled. No one else did, but I did. I refused to believe my jests were not funny. Mage jests, I convinced myself, only mages could appreciate. ‘Well, it must have taken it at least a year of being in contact with Ormosphite to mutate.’
‘You believe the stone is present in the forest?’ Ms Olsberg asked with a raised frown. That seemed concerning to her. I did not really think of it that highly. What child would dare step there?
‘Well, of course,’ I said with certainty. ‘Else that level of mutation simply wouldn’t occur. I believe Mr Neumic must have sent someone to scour the place.’ I hope he grants me the find, I murmured, hoping for a reward. I did not know how I would use it or what I would do with it, but my greed demanded it. ‘As I was saying, the mutation is an anomaly,’ — I poured myself more coffee — ‘but it also is an evolutionary trait. Sometimes, it may become a burden, while sometimes, it may be a harvest worth boasting. For example,’ — I looked into the eyes of the blonde woman — ‘blue eyes exist because of a mutation that occurred thousands of years ago. It is harmless, truly. But…my case is rather difficult.’
Ms Olsberg turned towards her newspaper and sighed after a glance. ‘What is happening in Celbrun? Murders, mutation, beasts, some mysterious woman…’ A second passed and she asked, ‘What about her? The nude woman, was she perhaps mutated?’
‘No.’ My eyes turned to the window once again. ‘But she wasn’t herself.’ I very well knew the why, but the how evaded me.
‘…What was she, Professor?’ Ms Olsberg asked cautiously, and Ms Orchard closed her book, turning her eyes towards me.
It wasn’t my secret to disclose, but she had been seen, so neither was it my fault. I deliberated for a moment but felt too tired to hide. I felt as if I didn’t want to. My eyes turned to the two. Nothing would change even if they knew. ‘…Have you heard of Hamadryads?’ I asked with glimmering eyes.
Ms Olsberg seemed unaware. Ms Orchard leaned forward. ‘They are mentioned in the mythos. They are Nymphs, I believe,’ she said with a slight frown. ‘But they are only a myth.’
‘No, they aren’t.’ My denial was outright enough to seem egregious. With a grunt, I stood up. ‘None of them are. The bare woman we saw was a Hamadryad, a Nymph that is born with a bond to a single tree and dies along with it.’ My eyes turned wistful as I paced around the room. ‘Unfortunately, by someone’s intervention, the girl did not die despite her tree being dead. Her purest love died but she didn’t. Hence, the eternal suffering. The greatest punishment for a Hamadryad — life after death.’
‘Goodness, I am hearing things that should shock any man alive, and yet, you seem fine.’ She said casually, but in her eyes was a pensive look. She too had much to ponder. ‘I have heard surprising things today, Professor.’ The woman turned to her paper once again. ‘I doubt anything else can surprise me now.’ I am sure there are, I thought mischievously.
‘I will have to read more, Lile,’ said Ms Orchard with a knowing look. ‘What happened to her tree?’
‘I am unaware—’ My words were cut short. The door was knocked. It was the fourth time that day, or was it the fifth? Once again, even before we could respond, the door was knocked. Whoever was behind the door clearly seemed impatient, and when Ms Orchard opened it, a man entered. I had seen the man before. In fact, I knew him. It was the Professor of Anatomy, Mr Bones. He had come along with a thin man who seemed to be an assistant of some kind.
‘By gods!’ he exclaimed as he saw me and darted towards me, his face observing mine. ‘You have indeed changed, Mr Dew!’ His eyes bore a glean of excitement rather than horror. I was surprised he could tell it was me.
‘Mr Bones? What brings you here?’ I asked in a steady voice, keeping the surprise to myself.
‘You, of course!’ He traced his finger across my chin. ‘I hope you don’t mind— my, the bone structure is delicate!’ I gave him a questioning look. The man seemed chatty today. I had seen him speak only a little in all of our conversations. His good friend Mr Canary was the talker of the two. ‘Oh, yes. I came because I was sent by the Planning Offices. They want to see if you are fine, Dean’s wishes. I did not believe their rubbish at first, but look at this! The bone has shrunk. You do not feel discomfort in your jaw?’
‘None,’ I answered truthfully. ‘The doctors here could’ve looked at me.’
‘Could’ve and should’ve are not the same, Professor.’
‘You came for curiosity’s sake?’ I asked with a smile. I recalled what Ms Olsberg had said, Curiosity kills the cat. Indeed, something was awfully wrong with us professors.
‘I can’t deny the thirst for knowledge. Oh, believe me, I am not alone. The Professor of Biology is even more excited, but the poor fellow is very old. Can’t stand the rain. Hurts his bone, this cloudy weather,’ he said while drawing some of my blood — with my consent, of course. ‘I will inform the Professor of Physiology later. There are a few more that should arrive.’
The man spent some time chattering and asking questions. He collected a few strands of my hair, and his assistant drew a diagram of my facial structure before leaving. There were straight and crossing lines on it that I could not make heads or tails of. Even as I watched them from the window, my amazement did not vanish. The way these people run into and out of the storm was beyond me. So careless, I thought. They weren’t me. I should be the peculiar one. The thought of running outside just to prove a point crossed my mind, but afraid of my own capability, I abandoned it.
Once again, I settled in my seat. And once again, the storm worsened.
There was silence in the room. The gentle rain from before had turned into an incessant storm. The winds pounded against the windows, pleading to be let in. They too seemed to fear the onslaught of the wrathful heavens. Thankfully, Ms Orchard had pulled down the window, closing the little creak.
I stood leaning against the window pane, watching the weather and the hour change. The first light had broken a while ago, but the colourful streaks were nowhere to be seen. I had seen violet and purple, red and orange, yellow and golden — but today there was none. Only a cold, white world waited outside, casting the stone pavements into loneliness. Soon, the grey clouds turned dark as the hour of dawn passed. In the distance, over the horizon, I could spot flashes of lightning. The clouds were building their fury.
Behind me, intermittently, I heard the grunts and murmurs from Ms Olsberg. Incoherent as she seemed, she was solving a crossword. The things she had come to witness on the night seemed to bring no pain to her. The big revelation I made seemed to have solved a few mysteries for her, and yet, there was no division among us. I hoped it was so, and I hoped the child would wake up soon. In the silence, once again, I stood silently.
It was seven in the morning that day — the fifteenth of March, Friday — when a messenger arrived at our door with the official letter signed by the Dean. Lectures were cancelled because of the happenings of the night before and the storm of today. I heard the old lady from downstairs complain about the wet footmarks as the man closed the door behind him. I didn’t have any lectures on the day, to begin with. They were postponed when it was confirmed that I would participate in the hunt. I was worried that the other students wouldn’t know, but Ms Olsberg said they too must have been informed. That was only logical, but their number was enormous. It must take the whole day to go around.
‘The trams will have notices posted on them,’ said Ms Olsberg before going back to her paper. Of course, all require the tram to move around. That was convenient but also seemed extensive and exhausting.
I thought about the day and how I should spend it. My cycle of sleep had already been broken and now, though not groggy, I felt out of this world as if I was there but not truly. Everything seemed serene despite the storm, and that was how the little room too felt. It was warm, dark, and calming. The plain white curtains weren’t drawn, and yet the room was dark. The outside world had little light to offer to the puny mortals.
I watched as Ms Orchard went out of the room for a brief minute and came back. ‘Breakfast arrangements,’ she answered my questioning gaze. My growling tummy approved of the sentiment while my reason wondered if the old lady from downstairs would disapprove. She seemed cranky. Further mouths, I thought, may only seem awful to her. The room was knocked not long after, and Ms Orchard answered. I hoped it was our breakfast while watching the raindrops slide off the clear window pane. Watching the world through those marks, all of it seemed blurry if only faintly.
‘Is he here?’ a tiny, quiet voice sounded. It was a familiar one to me. I looked behind to find an anaemic girl in the doorway and a Ms Orchard that looked at me, seeking an answer. I sighed.
‘Ms Parkinson,’ I said while the girl looked at me in confusion. It took me about a quarter of an hour to convince the girl that it was indeed I. The thought seemed to only further befuddle her, her face showing signs of doubt and anxiety. Other than that, she was silent and without a shred of liveliness. After what seemed like an endless amount of convincing, she believed me. The poor girl informed me why she had come. Apparently, when her mother did not find me anywhere in the house, she asked a friend, who asked another friend, who asked a very busy Mr Crawford, who informed them of my whereabouts. Hospital. I could grasp what must have happened next. I looked at the bag half the size of the girl that carried it. Mrs Parkinson had sent with her daughter a change of clothes and toiletries, inferring a long stay at the sick bay. The pair was either incredibly staunch or considered me stupidly incapable.
I felt remorseful; the girl was wet despite the umbrella she had brought with her. I must have given them a scare just like before. I drew every drop of water off Ms Parkinson and sent it down the drain of the bathroom. My magic seemed to amuse the lovely girl. I inquired about her studies and sent her back after I cleaned and changed into new clothes. I hoped for her safety as she turned around the corridor and only then closed the door.
Not long after, another knock was heard. Our breakfast had arrived. On the long wooden tray, there was salad, toast, a loaf of cold bread, cheese, milk, tea, coffee, charred tomatoes, a large omelette that we had to cut among ourselves, grapes, oranges, bacon, sugar, salt, and the day’s newspaper. I had a craving for something more delicious, but the peckish man does little to complain.
I began with toast and as I turned to the bacon, I felt a great disgust. The bacon wasn’t old or unsanitary; it was just that — bacon. I reluctantly cut into it, forcing my hand. But no matter how much I convinced and coerced myself, I could not bring it near my mouth. Why? I thought desperately. The aversion was strong, and I could do little to reason with it. The same happened with the omelette; I could not bring myself to touch it. I thought it was unreasonable as I stared at the plate. Ms Olsberg seemed to have noticed my pale face and asked, ‘It affected your diet?’ Her eyes were stuck to my face. And with unease, I nodded.
It seemed whatever I was turning into did not take kindly to meat. It distressed me greatly. So, I am to not consume flesh? Ever? Shockingly, I did not feel any sort of loss. I was disquieted by the change and what it meant. Not simply physical… I was affected mentally too. I was anxious, and if not for Ms Orchard and Ms Olsberg’s light conversations, I may have bathed in worry longer. What else have I yet to discover about myself? I wondered while taking a bite of the toast. The cheese seemed fine to consume, so dairy was not out of my diet just yet. I had an orange, some salad, tomato, cheese, and toast. I ate with delight and a lingering worry. The fast was broken and thoughts of unease suddenly vanished.
Time passed, and we approached eight o’clock as the storm worsened. I washed my mouth with coffee and noticed that relative to my hunger, I had eaten less. Less need for diet? I reminded myself to observe my next few meals for a conclusion. But truly, despite my hunger, I had consumed less. I took a sip of the coffee that I liked sweet and prepared myself for another long day. The rain did not seem to subside any time soon.
After a knock entered a lady. With our approval, the plates were removed. Ms Orchard sat reading a book she had brought with her. The Depths of Criminal Psychology, the cover read. And while I watched the dark world outside, Ms Olsberg read the latest newspaper. We had to stay as none of us could leave in the storm. Perhaps, I could; water was no enemy of mine. But all of us lacked the reason and the motivation. None of us had anything better to do, it seemed. So once again as time passed, we sat there in silence while the child lay in bed.
‘Ha!’ Ms Olsberg exclaimed suddenly as I was about to find myself papers to write theories on. The abruptness brought Ms Orchard out of her book. ‘See what I said, Professor?’ the green-eyed woman spoke smugly. ‘A serial killer at large,’ she read from the paper. ‘Another body found in the night! Third night, third victim!’ Leave it to the press to conjure titles, I thought. ‘We have a serial killer, Professor.’
‘No leads?’ Ms Orchard asked.
‘Greatly skilled in human anatomy,’ she read. ‘Hearts removed, female victims, death by blood loss.’
I looked at Ms Orchard. The word Anatomy had brought to mind a certain someone. Mr Bones…? I thought, amused, but soon shook my head. Couldn’t be. ‘Sick, isn’t it?’ I commented.
‘Greatly,’ agreed Ms Olsberg. ‘Wonder what goes on in a sick mind.’
‘Sick things,’ I said, hoping to sound smart.
We talked about sick minds as if we held dominion over the topic; well, Ms Orchard did. And while we talked, the storm only worsened. The rain was beating down on the city fiercely. I was deeply convinced this had something to do with me. Had I not caused the disruption in the wind, perhaps the storm would not be here.
‘The storm is not kind today,’ Ms Orchard commented, taking her eyes off the book. Our talk in the early morning had given food for thought to each of us, and I could feel a faint sense of it still lingering in their minds and around their lips.
‘It will keep the sick killer at bay,’ Ms Olsberg added with a slight glance at me. I had a doubt she said that so I would not feel bad about bringing destruction upon the city.
‘I hope so,’ I muttered. If something foul were to happen because of me, I knew, I would hold it in my heart. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ I asked the two, and both agreed. It was, in no way, an effort to right the wrongs. Tea rarely had that effect.
‘Professor,’ said Ms Olsberg softly as she sipped the hot tea, ‘you said you are mutating.’ She added two cubes of sugar and continued, ‘Does that mean you will become a beast?’ Her solemn eyes bore into mine, but I shook my head.
‘I doubt it,’ I said, pouring Ms Orchard a cup. ‘I will change. I do change. Each day, little by little, something about me has been lost and something gained — perhaps on a cellular level, so small that it could only be observed under the microscope.’ I hummed a little tune. It kept me concentrated and whole. My mother would sing it, and now I did. ‘A beast, Ms Olsberg, does not lose its sense of self when it mutates.’ I added only one cube of sugar for Ms Orchard as she seemed to prefer. She looked impressed. ‘The beast we saw was the same. It had grown in size and gained those intelligent eyes. It had changed, but it did not suddenly become scholarly. It did not walk into the nearest library and asked for a copy of Basic Biology.’ I chuckled. No one else did, but I did. I refused to believe my jests were not funny. Mage jests, I convinced myself, only mages could appreciate. ‘Well, it must have taken it at least a year of being in contact with Ormosphite to mutate.’
‘You believe the stone is present in the forest?’ Ms Olsberg asked with a raised frown. That seemed concerning to her. I did not really think of it that highly. What child would dare step there?
‘Well, of course,’ I said with certainty. ‘Else that level of mutation simply wouldn’t occur. I believe Mr Neumic must have sent someone to scour the place.’ I hope he grants me the find, I murmured, hoping for a reward. I did not know how I would use it or what I would do with it, but my greed demanded it. ‘As I was saying, the mutation is an anomaly,’ — I poured myself more coffee — ‘but it also is an evolutionary trait. Sometimes, it may become a burden, while sometimes, it may be a harvest worth boasting. For example,’ — I looked into the eyes of the blonde woman — ‘blue eyes exist because of a mutation that occurred thousands of years ago. It is harmless, truly. But…my case is rather difficult.’
Ms Olsberg turned towards her newspaper and sighed after a glance. ‘What is happening in Celbrun? Murders, mutation, beasts, some mysterious woman…’ A second passed and she asked, ‘What about her? The nude woman, was she perhaps mutated?’
‘No.’ My eyes turned to the window once again. ‘But she wasn’t herself.’ I very well knew the why, but the how evaded me.
‘…What was she, Professor?’ Ms Olsberg asked cautiously, and Ms Orchard closed her book, turning her eyes towards me.
It wasn’t my secret to disclose, but she had been seen, so neither was it my fault. I deliberated for a moment but felt too tired to hide. I felt as if I didn’t want to. My eyes turned to the two. Nothing would change even if they knew. ‘…Have you heard of Hamadryads?’ I asked with glimmering eyes.
Ms Olsberg seemed unaware. Ms Orchard leaned forward. ‘They are mentioned in the mythos. They are Nymphs, I believe,’ she said with a slight frown. ‘But they are only a myth.’
‘No, they aren’t.’ My denial was outright enough to seem egregious. With a grunt, I stood up. ‘None of them are. The bare woman we saw was a Hamadryad, a Nymph that is born with a bond to a single tree and dies along with it.’ My eyes turned wistful as I paced around the room. ‘Unfortunately, by someone’s intervention, the girl did not die despite her tree being dead. Her purest love died but she didn’t. Hence, the eternal suffering. The greatest punishment for a Hamadryad — life after death.’
‘Goodness, I am hearing things that should shock any man alive, and yet, you seem fine.’ She said casually, but in her eyes was a pensive look. She too had much to ponder. ‘I have heard surprising things today, Professor.’ The woman turned to her paper once again. ‘I doubt anything else can surprise me now.’ I am sure there are, I thought mischievously.
‘I will have to read more, Lile,’ said Ms Orchard with a knowing look. ‘What happened to her tree?’
‘I am unaware—’ My words were cut short. The door was knocked. It was the fourth time that day, or was it the fifth? Once again, even before we could respond, the door was knocked. Whoever was behind the door clearly seemed impatient, and when Ms Orchard opened it, a man entered. I had seen the man before. In fact, I knew him. It was the Professor of Anatomy, Mr Bones. He had come along with a thin man who seemed to be an assistant of some kind.
‘By gods!’ he exclaimed as he saw me and darted towards me, his face observing mine. ‘You have indeed changed, Mr Dew!’ His eyes bore a glean of excitement rather than horror. I was surprised he could tell it was me.
‘Mr Bones? What brings you here?’ I asked in a steady voice, keeping the surprise to myself.
‘You, of course!’ He traced his finger across my chin. ‘I hope you don’t mind— my, the bone structure is delicate!’ I gave him a questioning look. The man seemed chatty today. I had seen him speak only a little in all of our conversations. His good friend Mr Canary was the talker of the two. ‘Oh, yes. I came because I was sent by the Planning Offices. They want to see if you are fine, Dean’s wishes. I did not believe their rubbish at first, but look at this! The bone has shrunk. You do not feel discomfort in your jaw?’
‘None,’ I answered truthfully. ‘The doctors here could’ve looked at me.’
‘Could’ve and should’ve are not the same, Professor.’
‘You came for curiosity’s sake?’ I asked with a smile. I recalled what Ms Olsberg had said, Curiosity kills the cat. Indeed, something was awfully wrong with us professors.
‘I can’t deny the thirst for knowledge. Oh, believe me, I am not alone. The Professor of Biology is even more excited, but the poor fellow is very old. Can’t stand the rain. Hurts his bone, this cloudy weather,’ he said while drawing some of my blood — with my consent, of course. ‘I will inform the Professor of Physiology later. There are a few more that should arrive.’
The man spent some time chattering and asking questions. He collected a few strands of my hair, and his assistant drew a diagram of my facial structure before leaving. There were straight and crossing lines on it that I could not make heads or tails of. Even as I watched them from the window, my amazement did not vanish. The way these people run into and out of the storm was beyond me. So careless, I thought. They weren’t me. I should be the peculiar one. The thought of running outside just to prove a point crossed my mind, but afraid of my own capability, I abandoned it.
Once again, I settled in my seat. And once again, the storm worsened.
