Chapter Six

From a completed epic fantasy novel told across two time periods.

Lydee

Year 1378 (Present day)

Her face was noticeably bloated. Bags like welts protruded below her eyes. She walked as quickly as she could through the first floor of the building, the knowledge that a vigor tonic awaited her in her office helping to push her along. It had been another long night working by the light of a small oil lamp. Authoring a paper which substantiated a religion at direct odds with that of her own country, all the while crafting the work in such a way as to avoid unwanted attention and criticism the like of which could be criminal, was taking a toll on her.

Four main buildings made up the university proper. They had all been constructed a few years before Lydee was born, each edifice constructed of limestone, a match to the Fostrilya Royal Library, the material being abundant in the south of the continent. They featured massive windows to let air in, a feature of which the students and staff appreciated considering the sweltering heat common in Oslidor. It was hot year round, and being inside was often considered a punishment. But the design of these buildings, all of which were the work of a single architect, was such that finding oneself indoors was actually a pleasant relief from the climate.

The wing of Lorgan Hall housing the history department was quiet in the mornings, and seeing anyone in the halls before the ninth hour when lectures began was a rarity. The eighth bell had just rung, and Lydee walked alone. As always, she was thankful for the quiet and calm which gave her an opportunity to think without having to attend to the needs of others. And I would prefer that Richard not see me in this state. He is fond of declaring that I do nothing but work; he does not need to know he is correct.

A few steps from the door to her office, she was struck by a sudden sense that something was amiss. Her pace slowed, and she soon saw that the door was open. She was certain it had not been left that way. Her heart in her throat, she gingerly stepped to the precipice of her office.

“Good morning, professor,” said a woman seated behind her desk. Lydee simply stood in the doorway, too frightened to respond.

“You are uncomfortable,” the woman said grinning. The contrast between the smile and the darkness in her eyes made Lydee shiver. “Enter.”

Lydee swallowed, then stepped through the threshold. A cursory examination of the room revealed that the woman had sifted through the shelves. Scrolls had been retied and set down at odd angles. Books were replaced so that the spines were unevenly aligned. A small moleskin notebook that she did not recognize was lying on her desk directly in front of the woman. She had no idea who the woman was, and though she was standing in her own office of a dozen years, she was now unsure whether she was even allowed to sit in one of the remaining chairs.

“You may sit,” the woman said, as if reading her mind. “My name is Councilor Yara. I speak with the Divine King’s voice in matters of the state.”

Lydee’s breath was taken from her. Attempting to fight off the panic which encompassed her, she exhaled slowly, then asked, “What can I do for you?”

“You are the dean of the university’s department of history. I am speaking with each department lead to determine why there has been such thoughtless waste at this supposed institute of education. I am looking forward to your explanation as to how a department which produces nothing of value can have asked for, and I am disappointed to say, received, an increase in funding each of the past two years.”

The relief that this interrogation did not relate to her research gave way to outrage at having her profession disparaged. Not thinking, Lydee attempted a weak defense of her station. “We have more students attending than ever before.”

Yara leaned forward and picked up a book that had been lying on Lydee’s desk. She opened it to a page that had been dogeared. “An enrollment of fifty-six students. And a staff of five professors. Your classes are not well attended, I gather. Not a surprise, as history has no financial benefit. Tell me, with only fifty-six pupils, how to you justify such an exorbitant amount of coin?”

“Well, in truth, we currently only have four professors.”

An eyebrow lifted. “It says here, ‘five.’”

“Professor Woller Karuvian is no longer with the department.”

“Woller,” Yara whispered to herself, a spark of recollection in her tone. “He is still on the list.”

“That is my error. He should not be there.”

“Yet he is.”

“He did not… officially resign.”

“You terminated him?”

“He… left.”

Yara’s focus had not wavered, yet the intensity of her stare had grown. It took a sizable amount of resolve for Lydee not to quaver under that regard. “Elaborate.”

“I must apologize, but I do not know what happened. Woller left without speaking to me. Or anyone.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized she had made a grave error. What have I just done to you, my friend?

“And he remains listed here. My, I cannot fathom why one would accuse your department of mismanagement.” When Lydee did not reply, Yara continued. “The students who study here, upon exiting the institution, what boon do they grant our nation?”

“Some of my very own students have gone on to publish works of historical import.”

“Do give an example. One that has improved society.”

“Madame councilmember, history is not a good that can be measured as are grains or dairy. The value is an improved understanding of how civilizations and people function, over the long term. With a thorough analysis of the past, we can help avoid future problems.”

“That sounds quite impressive. Can you provide me with a concrete example of how the work of a single individual who has graduated from this university has helped our nation avoid a future problem?”

Lydee was silent.

Another chilling smile. “Thus. Tell me of your current research. That is how you pass your days, looking into old documents and charging the citizens of this nation for the time, yes?”

No more missteps. I cannot afford another. I must get through this and then correct the mistake I made. “My research is varied, but it centers on confirming the veracity of disparate historical accounts. I wish to know the truth of the past.”

“And if I wanted to be educated by your discoveries, where could I find them?”

“The work is, at the present time, still being compiled.”

“If this university produced useful results as well as it produced excuses, I would not find myself here. Alas, here I am. I will tell you what I am going to do. I am going to speak with the Divine King. I am going to inform him of the expenses of this institution, and I am going to enlighten him as to the output, and management of resources. Do you know that he is in the process of constructing a new palace? One which will dwarf the current edifice and protect his royal person behind a multitude of layers of defense? It is quite an undertaking, requiring a significant quantity of coin. He does not want to increase the burden of taxes on the populous. I believe he will be pleased to learn there are other ways of funding the project.”

The councilmember exited without a farewell. There was much for Lydee to consider. There was no doubt that the university was soon to face significant and damning changes. The lack of oversight that had allowed Lydee freedom in her research now showed its cost. Was she now in her last semester as a professor? What would she do if not this? She could not imagine her life any other way than it had been for the past twelve years. Yara’s words had stung her, as well. If she were to lose her position, what could she fall back on? There was not a great demand for historians, and her skills lay solely in that arena.

Yet, those questions were not what tore a hole in her stomach. That was reserved for the feeling that she had betrayed her friend. Woller had left under suspicious circumstances, the story being that the professor had been engaged in a romantic relationship with a student, and fled in disgrace. Lydee had always found the rumors difficult to believe. Woller’s high degree of professionalism, mixed with his obvious lack of grace when speaking with women, had given the rumors a hollow feel. If they were untrue, then why had he disappeared?

She recognized his name, and noted the peculiarity of his exit. She enjoys investigating as a means of delivering punishments. She is not done with Woller, and therefore neither am I.