Chapter 4 – A Small Crack
Emryr unpacked his belongings in the room where he would spend the next three years.
It was a good room: a comfortable double bed sat against the far wall; a beautiful mahogany desk and cushioned chair occupied the left side. One door led to a bathroom, while another opened onto a balcony overlooking the academy grounds.
Everything felt carefully arranged. Polished. Safe.
The kind of safety that felt unsettling, like a well-placed trap.
Once he felt at home, Emryr opened the door and began wandering the mansion's corridors. Following the same path as before, he returned to the dining hall where he'd talked with Doe earlier.
—"Looking for the lord?" said a voice behind him. It belonged to a woman holding a feather duster, evidently a housekeeper.
Emryr politely nodded.
—"Yes. Where can I find him?"
The woman began walking, signaling Emryr to follow, and he did.
They moved silently through corridors lined with doors leading to bedrooms, balconies, and sitting rooms that seemed designed more for decoration than actual use.
Finally, they reached their destination. The woman quickly opened a large double door at the corridor's end.
—"Here you are," she said simply, returning to her chores.
Emryr thanked her and stepped into the room.
It was an enormous library, stretching up three full stories. Shelves packed with books reached from the ground floor to the second, while the third floor was a wooden platform encircling the walls. A dome topped the library, decorated with colorful stained glass. Ladders allowed readers to reach manuscripts stored higher up, and comfortable chairs and tables were scattered throughout.
Vitreum-powered lights illuminated the space, aided by tall, bright windows.
—"Come, little one. I have a favor to ask," Doe's voice came from deeper within the library.
As Emryr approached, he found Doe sitting comfortably in an armchair beside a carved wooden table.
Doe gestured for Emryr to sit, and he did.
—"A favor? Already? I've barely settled in," Emryr joked, folding his arms.
—"I wish I could wait, but the matter is rather urgent," Doe replied, amusement clear in his voice, though he had no lips to smile with.
He skillfully twirled a vial between his long, dark fingers. The vial contained a dark red liquid.
—"I need you to go into the city and pick up a package. My research depends on these materials. Unfortunately, I can't leave myself, classes start tomorrow, and I must finish preparing."
—"Sure, no problem... But what exactly is this package, Professor? Why the urgency?" Emryr asked, eyeing the vial curiously.
—"A varghulf was hunted near Budapest. It left its forest and began attacking nearby villages…"
Doe paused thoughtfully. The blue glow in his eyes intensified slightly.
—"It's uncommon for large creatures like a varghulf to leave their dens. Such cases are increasing... as if they're fleeing from something."
He fell silent, lost in thought.
—"Well… you've never shown interest in varghulfs before. 'Cursed bear-bats,' you always called them. So why now?" Emryr filled the silence.
—"Yes, indeed, those wild pseudo-vampires are typically worthless," Doe admitted. "But this particular one was different. The seller said it had strange black markings on its skin. I ordered some samples to study."
He stared absently at his own feathers.
—"That's concerning…" Emryr said, looking somberly through the window. "I saw something lurking behind the stained glass during the ceremony. Now creatures are fleeing their habitats, bearing strange marks…"
Doe stood, handing Emryr a wallet full of pounds. He then gazed through the window and spoke softly, almost prophetically:
—"Yes, it's concerning… Nostradamus locked something away in a dark room long ago. Now, I fear they're returning, through a small crack."
He turned back toward Emryr.
—"Now go. And be careful, little one. I know you can handle yourself… but this situation makes me uneasy."
—"Don't worry, Professor. When I return, we can catch up properly," Emryr replied, waving gently before leaving the library.
He walked toward the mansion's exit.
—"Nostradamus… the one who turned magic into mathematics. Who silenced the whispers of the Ancients," Emryr thought, walking along the corridors.
Hearing that name triggered a familiar sensation, or something close to it. It was always like this: the unsettling feeling of knowing everything… yet remembering nothing.
Because of Lord Doe, who had stolen his memories at the age of twelve, Emryr lived haunted by this thin line between knowledge and emptiness.
He crossed the mansion gates, returning to Albion's main campus.
Students chatted and walked along the halls. Open courtyards appeared every few dozen meters. Countless rooms and corridors opened with every step. Large windows overlooked the Thames and the Westminster district beyond.
Lighting was provided by a blend of chandeliers, sconces, and vitreum lamps.
Emryr exited through the academy's main gates, heading to pick up Doe's package. The journey was short: he simply had to walk down Victoria Street to Ibne Gabirol's alchemical emporium.
Carrying his cane casually, he admired the royal district's beauty, clean streets, vitreum street lamps, royal guards posted on every corner, some even accompanied by steam-powered automatons.
After ten minutes, Emryr reached his destination.
The emporium building was attractive, featuring neo-gothic details hinting at its age. It had fewer windows than usual, no signs, and no displays. It was the kind of shop that chose its customers, not the other way around. Those seeking top-quality alchemical ingredients had to know exactly where to knock.
Emryr opened the door.
Ding ding ding.
The bell above rang clearly.
The interior was... different.
Disorganized shelves displayed a bit of everything: gears, books, crystals, jars filled with strange fluids, and various creature parts—perhaps even some closer to human nature.
—"Who is it?" called a heavily accented voice.
A man emerged from behind the counter. He had darker skin, wore clothes unusual for London, and appeared around fifty, his face wrinkled from fatigue and work. Small, round glasses rested on the tip of his nose, giving him the look of a scholarly mystic.
—"Good afternoon, sir. My name's Emryr, sent by Lord Doe of Albion Academy. I'm here to pick up his order," Emryr said politely, bowing slightly.
The man examined Emryr closely.
—"Call me Solomon. The order's in the back. I'll get it. It's 563 pounds," he said, moving toward a medium-sized crate.
—"Lord Doe is an excellent customer. He'll definitely need more materials for his research. For loyalty's sake… 500 pounds?" Emryr offered gently, smiling.
—"520," Solomon replied, mildly irritated.
—"Perfect," Emryr said, smiling as he took the crate. —"Thank you, Mister Solomon. Until next time."
As soon as he exited, the smile vanished. His expression returned to its usual tired, skeptical, slightly grumpy look.
—"This could be lighter… what the hell did Doe buy?" he muttered, adjusting the crate's weight.
Stepping onto the sidewalk, a chill ran down his spine.
He glanced around but saw nothing.
Yet an awful sensation overtook him, the feeling of being watched.
This time, it wasn't curious eyes peeking through a small crack.
These were the eyes of a stalker.