AS THE EVENING had continued it came to Isaiah’s knowledge that Sir Mongoya, was a very special sort of Sir. Not only was he an academic and an alchemist. Not only was he a teacher and an uncle, but he had about a dozen other titles. Most of them, Robert said, were either unknown or forgotten, but all were significant to him, as he still saw himself as a highly valued member of the Nagárian aristocracy. Robert simply referred to him as “Uncle Raz”, with a certain loathing in his voice that only seemed to occur when there was bad blood within a bloodline. It was the same tone Tzelem had used when speaking of his brother. The same tone his grandfather used whenever mentioning Isaiah’s father. With this obvious disliking, Robert had offered to take Isaiah to him, and so the next day he felt oddly excited to see a real carriage for the first time. Mostly due to the fact that he wouldn’t need to walk the streets by foot again, which made leaving the house slightly less nerve-wrecking.
“It must feel unusual for you… with all these people, I mean.” Robert remarked, clearly noticing his discomfort as he put a small, odd-fashioned hat and long, black cape on.
“A little bit, yes.” Isaiah admitted, and Robert smiled as if he understood. Perhaps he did – as he’d told him, he did not leave the house very often either.
“I was raised here – mostly by my mother, and it used to be much more…” he paused. “Bearable might be the best word for it.”
“You’ve lived here all your life?”
“I moved to Bharoos a few years back for my studies. I planned on going right back here as soon as I was done, but then I met my dear Alice. We stayed until the plague came just a few months back. Rather ironic, as it was the exact thing, I went to further indulge myself in...” he sighed and cleansed his throat.
“I thought the only Araktéan academy was in Nagár.”
“It is, but the kind of research I’m doing is not permitted here. Some of my previous colleagues called it a sensible precaution, but to this I couldn’t agree. This is why I am working from home – so please keep what you’ve seen there to yourself.”
“Of course.” Isaiah responded, and Robert gestured a nod and that trusting smile that seemed to come so easily to him. Then, he opened the main door, and led him alongside the tracks that lead to their carriage. It was narrow and black and had crisp leaves on the roof that a coachman tried his best to remove.
“Don’t worry, they’ll fly off on the way, Jerry.” Robert assured him, and the slim, serious-looking oldling nodded.
“Certainly, Sir.” He said, opening the door. From the inside, the carriage was much smaller than Isaiah had expected it to be, and he realized the ones he’d seen in the painting would’ve been large and useless in today’s Nagár.
“You were lucky you got away in time, and to have such a beautiful home here.” He said, attempting to converse casually, as they sat down on red, velvet seats.
“Do not be so easily fooled by the exterior. I was born into a great debt.” Robert mumbled and then cleared his throat again.
“This home belonged to my father – and truth be told, I should get rid of it.” His expression darkened, then turned serious, and finally saddened as he looked right at Isaiah.
“You are right. Alice and I were lucky to keep our lives. But we… we lost our only child. There was nothing we could do for her.” Surprised by his honesty, Isaiah felt his hands tremble and had to fold them together in his lap.
“I am… I’m so sorry – I had no idea.” He said, feeling a sudden sorrow come over him. Losing children was a common enough thing these days – a loss he obviously never had to experience himself, and yet, he nearly felt tears coming out of his eyes, and had to turn towards the window to hide it. Robert didn’t seem to notice (himself somewhat surprised to be sharing this tragedy).
“Alice had just been nominated to one of the best doctors in Nahbí when it happened. Instead of working in one of the more prestigious care homes when we returned to Nagár, she chose to help the less fortunate. Though the loss of a child is something a mother never completely recovers from, it seems something has given her a new sense of strength. It’s admirable to say the least. She’s an extraordinary wife. I even believe the tragedy brought us closer to each other.” He said thoughtfully, his tone intact and filled with a pride that was every bit justified. Isaiah took a breath, “I won’t cry” he assured himself, turning away from the window.
“She seems like a wonderful woman, Sir Robert.” He said sincerely.
“She is indeed. Strong, independent. I sometimes sense I need her more than she needs me. If that’s not extraordinary, I don’t know what is. Do you have a wife, Isaiah?”
“Me? No.” He laughed, thinking it absurd, although it seemed to be a somewhat common thing for people his age.
“Good.” Robert said. “You’re still young. I had no plans on ever being wed, and I didn’t change my mind about it until I was five and thirty. Six years it’s been. In time, I hope you’ll find a woman of great character and not just of great appearance. A real partner.” Isaiah nodded and Robert hummed a little before returning to where he’d been heading with his initial point. He rarely spoke this much about private matters, but the boy had a decent silence about him that made it hard for him to stop himself.
“Alice and I now see our blessings for what they are, and we continue doing our best to make sure less people suffer what we did.”
“The world is for the living, so we need to look forward.” Isaiah felt embarrassed as the words left his mouth. “I didn’t mean…”
“No, you are very right. And, despite the masses of people crawling these streets, we need more of the living in this land. There is so much potential in rebuilding Araktéa – and unlike some people will tell you, it is not too late.” It had been a long time since Isaiah had heard someone speak of such things – if he’d ever heard anyone doing so at all. He came to the realization that if anyone could fight nature, it would need to be someone like Robert Mongoya, and if he could make cures to save them from plagues, there was a possibility he could help his grandfather too. He hadn’t told him about the mind sickness, aware he’d already helped him too much. Even so, he would ask his advice if it came to it. He’d thought this corruption disease to be something just as invisible as the mind itself, but perhaps it was no more mystical than plague. It might as well be a bacterium – something that could be seen and removed. But for now, he wouldn’t bother him with these speculations. “Find him first, then fix him.” He reminded himself, and then, trying to turn the conversation to a more casual subject, he asked, “What did Araktéa look like before, Sir?”
“I don’t know.” Robert said, dragging his finger over his mustache, “I just know I can envision a better one, that there is in fact enough room for us all to feel… a lot better – much safer than we do now. Most Nagárians argue there are too many of us, but there is so much land that can still be saved. There is so much unseen potential.” The only thing Isaiah could see through his own vision and window was the wild crowd, and it didn’t make him feel safe in the slightest. Robert’s vivid eyes did, and so perhaps it was possible they saw something that was truly wonderful.
“You should come to Delta some time, Sir Robert, then you wouldn’t need to envision anything, you could just look around and smile.” Robert laughed wholeheartedly.
“Perhaps I will. Now, I didn't mean to bore you with our plans. Right now we have much more urgent things to talk about.”
“Your uncle...” Robert nodded, the excitement leaving his eyes and replaced with strict hostility.
“I tried sleeping on it – but it sadly seems wine does little to help to clear my head. I still don’t know exactly how to prepare you for meeting with him, but if I’m yet to have made it clear, you should know he is a peculiar character. He is crude with everyone, so don’t allow this to bother you. And stand your ground – but don’t be too stubborn, alright?”
“Alright.” Isaiah didn’t quite know what to make of the warnings, but the nervousness he’d tried brushing off, was luring its way back. This time, it wasn’t his father’s reputation he would have to live up to, but the perhaps even more intimidating one of his grandfather.
“What should I say to him?”
“If I knew that I would tell you, but frankly I never seem to say the right things myself.” Robert chuckled. “You’re well-spoken, and probably better off making your own judgement of it.”
“My grandfather always told me he was a great man. Has he changed?” Robert hesitated for a moment, moving uncomfortably in his seat.
“For some he is and will always be a great man. From my experience, great men often carry with them equally great troubles. The only thing I can say with certainty is that he is unlike any other man you’ll ever meet.” Isaiah nodded, and decided to be as polite and humble as he possibly could. From the little he’d witnessed of the aristocracy the past four years, great men seemed to prefer the company of agreeable ones. Ones who didn’t mind entertaining the idea of their superiority.
*
It took them close to an hour to get out of the city center and reach the lower edge of Sujin Hill (which had Master Mongoya as its only resident). It was high and steep, and placed right in between two even higher hills. One, Robert explained, was the King’s palace and the other the Araktéan house of justice (where he would have been taken to trial, Isaiah realized). Both these grand buildings were protected by high walls, making neither visible, even as they reached the top of Sujin Hill. It was at the very edge of the northern side of the walls – high enough to see the entire city but not quite so high you could see the so-called refugee-market in front of the gates. It was silent there. Peaceful even, and so everything else seemed to be in Nahbí, the house was protected by a high fence, allowing them to see nothing more than the point of his rooftop.
“You told me he lived alone.”
“I told you he doesn’t have a family – apart from myself. He has a few servants. A guard, some cleaners, a personal doctor and now I believe he has a few chefs too. A bit excessive if you ask me…”
“Servants, are just like prisoners, aren’t they?”
“No, the servants do chores such as gardening, cleaning, serving his food… they keep him and his home alive.”
“I didn’t think they practiced slavery in Araktéa anymore.”
“No, no – they are not slaves either. They stay here voluntarily...” Robert got a thoughtful look upon his face. “Though I have no clue as to why, for I could certainly not think of a worse place to be.”
“Does he pay them in gold coins?”
“I’m not sure. But I suspect they’re mostly paid in a decent bed, food and of course the honor of his marvelous presence.” Isaiah still didn’t feel he understood the actual difference between a volunteer, a servant and a slave, but stopped asking as it didn’t seem so important.
As they got closer, he could see the guard Robert had mentioned. He was only one man, but even from a distance he seemed much more intimidating than the two fools he’d met the previous day. Robert gave him a friendly nod as he stepped out, while he started marching towards their carriage, looking less than welcoming.
“Good day, Robert Mongoya – his nephew, if you recall...” The guard made an animal-like grunt, and then stared inside the open door of the carriage.
“Who he is?” He spit at Isaiah. He was surprised to see that despite his size, he was a rather old man. Exactly how old he couldn’t say, but his face looked almost like a cracked clay pot – clearly burnt by the sun a few times too many.
“The young man is my guest. The grandson of an old friend of my uncles’.”
“Master has no friends.” He said in a sharp accent. A tribal man, Isaiah figured.
“An old colleague, then. A student, his name is Theodore...” Robert looked to Isaiah. He had noticed people had additional names there, but he had never heard his own – nor his grandfather’s. He shrugged, and Robert pressed his lips together and turned to the guard again.
“He was his student just before the revolution. My uncle will know him.”
“I never heard of this man.” The guard crossed his arms.
“Well, could you please go ask my uncle then?”
“Who will guard gates?”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Julius, he is not the bloody King.” Isaiah was close to astonishment. The guards at the fortress might not let anyone out of there, but they would’ve never acted so unyielding towards the Patron’s visitors.
“You have my word – Isaiah is no danger to him in the slightest.” Julius glared at him again. Clearly suspicious, though Isaiah looked ten times more groomed than he had the day before, nicely wrapped into the tight garments Robert had lent him. The little west and the uptight shirt felt suffocating in the city’s dry heat, but the Master cared for appearances and would take him more seriously if he was dressed in the Nagarián fashion.
“Out of carriage.” Isaiah hesitated for a moment, but Robert stepped down and signaled him to follow along. The same moment his boot met the ground, Julius roughly opened up his cape. As he checked his belt and pockets, the roughness of his hands made him feel as timid as he imagined a young virgin might. When he couldn’t find anything, he checked him yet another time – inside the west and even the shirt that had taken forever to button up.
“You better not hide anything.”
“I am not.” Isaiah assured him.
“Then why you look nervous?” he grunted, his face so close to his own, Isaiah could feel the heavy, greasy smell on his breath. Exactly what he had eaten that day, was uncertain – but it was certainly not honey tea and sweet fruits. He saw how deep the lines on his face went, his maddening eyes – like those of a provoked hound’s, waiting for any excuse to tear something into pieces.
“Could we please get this over with?” Robert asked impatiently, and after glaring at Isaiah for a few, long seconds more, Julius finally barked, “Not stay longer than one hour!” He took a step back, allowing air to flow in between them like an invisible savior from one of the Zura’s thirteen heavens. Then, he marched over and pushed the gates open for them.
The first impression of what met him behind this fence, was about as separate from that of Nagár, as it could have been. The house itself (built in beautiful, light gray stones, and with large, multicolored oval windows), was an astonishing sight. Compared to the garden flourishing in front of it, it became nothing but a bleach background. Aside from the bright green grass – perfectly cut and smelling of spring, even if it wasn’t – it was decorated with hundreds, if not thousands, of red, pink, and yellow tulips. Though their own garden had an amazing variety, he hadn’t seen tulips there since he was around four. They were so rare he’d never even been allowed close to them. Now, they needed to be rarer than ever, and for anyone that knew anything at all about flowers, they showed a level of wealth beyond comparison.
“Sorry about Julius. He’s my uncle’s last living guard and takes his job a little too seriously.” Robert explained, as the carriage halted in front of the building.
“Did all of them… die?” Isaiah asked, and Robert nodded.
“Most of them did from age, and he refuses to hire new ones since he is convinced they would betray him. Not that one isn’t more than enough already.”
“Why?”
“He doesn’t trust people he doesn’t know… or people that he does know for that matter. Among his many troubles, this paranoia might be his largest.”
Isaiah could understand why someone might be careful welcoming outsiders, having a beautiful garden as this one. Also, it seemed common enough for old men, not to always appreciate new ones. These observations gave him a certain indication of how their meeting might go, and he worried Uncle Raz would be at least as skeptical of him as Julius had been. On their ride up the hill, Robert had given him a handful of rules – mostly stating what he absolutely shouldn’t say or mention – but he’d given them with an uncertainty that made him doubt they’d be of actual help.
“I’m sorry if I’ve concerned you more than I should, really – it will be fine. Just be calm and try to stay composed…” Robert said, as they walked the seven steps that lead to the tall, two-adjacent door.
“I’ll put my iron mask on.” Robert gave him a questioning look, before knocking.
“I’m not certain what that is, but it sounds useful – so by all means, do it.” Isaiah wasn’t quite sure what it meant himself, only that he’d seen it on faces before. Both on guards, and seemingly ordinary men and women that appeared strong, but that perhaps were only secretive about what they were truly feeling and thinking. Their composed masks were their strongest armor, and he’d come to think he wanted one for himself, to use in times like these.
“If your grandfather came here, I’m not so sure that he’d let him stay for long. On the other hand, my uncle is full of surprises…” Robert said thoughtfully. “He wouldn’t lie about it. At least I don’t think he would.”
It took a few minutes before a servant opened the door, and though looking genuinely surprised by the sight of them, the short, gray-haired man (dressed in a similar fashion as the two of them), politely escorted them to the Master. After walking through a long, deeply red hallway with more oil paintings than Isaiah knew existed, they finally arrived at yet another door. After the servant had knocked, the three of them stood in silence. Isaiah looked around, trying to distract himself from the discomfort in his stomach and the lump reawakening in his throat. He noticed some strange inscriptions on the top of the door. First, he wondered if it might be the same as some of his grandfather’s unsent letters, but no – it looked strange and was not written in common letters. It was not scripted directly on the wooden door either but carved onto a piece of dark metal. He opened his mouth to ask about it, but closed it just as fast, noticing the polite smile on Robert’s face. It was the stiff, polite kind that nobles often carried when mingling at the fortress gatherings – whenever they talked with people they had little interest in talking with. Seeing this, Isaiah forgot about the symbols, and put on his iron face. It was just then that he decided to rename it (though it hardly mattered what it was called, as long as he remembered to wear it).
After they’d been standing there rather awkwardly for a little longer than what seemed natural, the servant knocked again, his hand firmer this time, and then an equally firm voice from the other side, granted permission for them to enter. The little man pushed, and the door moved heavily as they walked into a large room with a high, beautifully painted ceiling, and an endless number of bookshelves.
“Uncle.” Robert gestured with something in between a nod and a modest bow towards the left side of the room.
“Well, well. If it isn’t my nephew?” Master Mongoya was sitting on top of a high pendulum. He had a wide desk in front of him, with legs of gold and some strange instrument resting next to a book he seemed to be reading.
“And who might this manling be?” Isaiah made a slightly deeper bow than Robert, much like he’d been instructed to do when first meeting with the Huxleys’. Out of the many names and titles Robert had mentioned, he knew for a fact that he was not an actual Lord. He wasn’t even sure he were to be considered an noble, but reckoned exaggerated humility would serve him better than potential impoliteness. As he moved his spine back up, he did his best to remain it as straight and as long as possible, hoping it might make him seem firm – like someone who was humble but stood their ground. Someone more than just another manling, wanting to go home – thought this was what he was.
“Master Mongoya, my name is Isaiah, son of Ares…”
“—and the grandson of Theodore Aronin.“ Mongoya interrupted him – and it was in this strange manner that Isaiah finally learned his second name. “Isaiah Aronin,” he thought, “so that is my full name.”
“Precisely.” He said, trying to hide his astonishment.
“Huh.” The Master responded, unmoved, but at the very least interested enough to raise his head from the book, and his elbows up to the desk. It was hard to tell (both due to physical distance and time) if this was the man from his insight.
“I haven’t talked with Theodore for years.” He plainly informed them, and Isaiah felt his heart sink.
“That was actually why I came to see you, Master Mongoya. My grandfather has gone missing, and so I left Delta to look for him.”
“And why would you think to come here? Theodore hates Nagár.” He laughed a short, sharp laugh, not seeming moved by his tale in the slightest. “I’ve finally come to agree with him in that regard.” He then continued, his narrow face moving towards one of the three, long windows facing towards the tulip garden.
“He admired you greatly, Sir Mongoya. So, with no other clues as to where he’d gone, I thought it best to come to you first.”
“You rode all the way from Delta to see if I knew where he was?” Isaiah couldn’t tell if he was impressed or just found him exceptionally stupid, as Cyra would have put it. Still, he responded with an assertive yes, not having thought up any alternative story, that might make him sound like the more rational person he’d once thought himself to be.
“Huh.” He said again, seeming to consider this for a moment, and even from the long distance between them, Isaiah could see him raising his eyebrows. Interest.
“Very well.” He sighed finally, closing the book and bending slightly over his desk again – squinting over oval spectacles, similar to ones he’d seen Lord Huxley wear at times. Then, he stood up slowly and grabbed the black cane that’d been leaning towards his desk.
“Do you need help, Uncle?” Robert asked, taking a hesitant step towards the pendulum, as Master Mongoya cautiously made his way down the stairs – there were ten of them.
“No.” he said sharply, and Isaiah wondered why a man his age would even consider such an impractical workplace. Watching him was like watching a child walk for the first time, wanting to intervene, so it wouldn’t cry when it fell. When he at last had both his feet safely placed on the floor (clothed by a midnight blue carpet), Master Mongoya stopped for a moment. He took a long inhale. Then, instead of walking towards them, he headed to the other side of the room with surprising ease in his stray. Both Robert and Isaiah eyed him wordlessly, till he stopped in front of one of the many bookshelves. He stared at it, not seeming to be searching for anything, but rather just looking. As if it’d been some canvas he wasn’t certain if he liked. Isaiah spared a moment to look around. There had to be hundreds if not thousands of books in there, and he wondered how it would be possible for someone to read them all. He wondered how he'd ever thought himself able to write a story, yet to be told.
“Theodore was among my best students. I’m sorry to hear he is gone.” Sir Mongoya was still standing with his long, slender back towards them. His breathing was normal now, his voice sharp and loud like a whip. He’d said the words as if reading something in a foreign language he didn’t understand – motionless and cold like a frozen lake.
“He is not gone, only missing, Master Mongoya.” Isaiah cleared his throat, not used to speaking to someone standing more than fourteen feet away. “Though realizing he might not be here, I thought perhaps a man of your intellect would have an idea about his whereabouts. Where he might be heading to…”
“Is that so?” Master Mongoya chuckled. He then turned around, finally walking towards his visitors. As he came closer, Isaiah noticed the way his skin hung over his tall cheekbones. The deep lines on his face, and the descending hairline above what had once been a high, narrow forehead. He was indeed old, and yet, his light blue eyes were almost more electrical and vivid than those of a child. Now that he was on safe ground his back was as straight as his cane – now resting in between his hands, as he walked somewhat elegantly towards them. It was beyond a doubt the man from the dream.
“Do you really believe I keep track of all my students’ whereabouts? Do you have the slightest idea of how many I’ve had in my lifetime?”
“I am sure you have had a great many, Master.” Isaiah responded, suspecting that any of his guesses were likely to offend him.
“Vaguely correct.” He stopped some five-feet in front of them and was now resting towards his cane and looking him up and down indiscreetly. Isaiah had never given it much thought, but he realized he did not look very much like his grandfather. If Master Mongoya hadn’t met Ares, there was a chance he would doubt his legitimacy.
“What is it exactly Theodore has told you, that made you come to me?”
“He said you were the wisest man he ever knew. The greatest teacher in all of Araktéa, and… the most talented alchemist in the world.” The last part was something he’d overheard one of the triplets say, but it seemed like something Mongoya would enjoy hearing – and so he said it. Shamelessly lying for the sake of truth.
“Yes, yes. All of this is correct, of course.” Mongoya sighed.
“And your young mind would obviously see this as an indication that I would know his whereabouts, is that so?” Isaiah nodded, and they glared at each other. He’d never dared to look a man in the eyes for so many seconds before, but something told him that looking down would mean the end of their visit, leaving him back to the beginning and with not so much as a clue as where to turn next.
“I could certainly tell you where he has gone to, but it wouldn’t matter for a number of reasons. So then, I shall instead simply tell you that he is gone, and that you shall better accept this fact and move on with your life.” Isaiah felt himself gasping against his will. He wanted to yell that he wouldn’t accept anything of the sort, but instead he took a long, silent breath through his nose and tried regaining his iron face.
“With all the respect, Sir, I would much prefer if you told me where this place is so that I can go fetch him. He is rather... ill, you see.” Mongoya chuckled again and shook his head smugly.
“If he was ill before, boy, he will be worse now. Even with the courage of your father, you couldn’t possibly find him where he is. Or what is potentially left of him there – it is no place for the meek and faint-hearted.”
“Uncle, this is no good time for these games of yours.…please, tell Isaiah where you think his grandfather has gone to.”
“Silent, Robert, for we are having a serious conversation that has nothing to do with you. In fact, I will rather have you leave. You always put your nose in places it doesn’t belong.”
“My nose is right where it belongs, Uncle. I’m in fact working on very important research.” Mongoya snorted.
“Just because I’ve retired from my engagements, that doesn’t mean I haven’t heard about you being expelled from the Academic Federation. I’ll strongly advise you from whatever independent research you’re engaging in. You’re already a disgrace to our family name.” The short servant had walked in silently and now slightly bowed at Robert and touched his arm. He sighed and Isaiah hoped he would persuade Mongoya with his effortless, convincing engagement.
“Very well, Uncle.” he said, with a slight twitch on his face, and then tapped Isaiah on the shoulder apologetically. The tap felt more like a punch in the stomach, for though he found Master Mongoya to be particularly unpleasant, he was not ready to leave just yet.
“The manling stays.” The Master stated, raising his left hand from the cane.
“