Stealing Infinity, page 30
In an instant, the vision is gone.
The memory of my dad recedes.
And I’m left staring at an archaic piece of metal behind a thick sheet of glass.
Too late, I remember Arthur is watching me.
99
“Everything okay?” Arthur tilts his head in study.
The way he regards me, with his brows drawn together, it’s clear that he’s onto me. Still, I just nod and mumble vaguely about having felt momentarily dizzy.
Right away, I know he’s not buying it. But thankfully, for whatever reason, he’s quick to move on. “The Antikythera Mechanism is the first ever analog computer,” he says. “It was used to accurately predict astronomical positions and eclipses decades in advance. After being lost at sea for over two thousand years, it was discovered in an old shipwreck near Antikythera Island in Greece, which is how it came by its name.”
I glance between Arthur and the artifact. I know about its history. One long ago day, my dad told me. Still, I’m not sure why out of everything here, it manages to claim the top spot on Arthurs’s list of favorites. I mean, sure, it’s extraordinary in its original form. But here, in its current condition, it’s not all that impressive.
“Many of its pieces are still missing,” he continues. “Metal gearwheels, stones that stood in for the various planets, rotating dials—all of which are vital to its function. Though unfortunately, they’ve remained hidden for centuries.”
I think of all the skilled artisans and craftsmen Arthur keeps on staff. The solution to his problem is obvious. “Why not just replicate those parts?” I ask.
He dismisses the idea with a wave of his hand. “We’ve tried, but none of it can be duplicated. Only the genuine articles will do.” Wearing a look of deep contemplation, he shifts his focus to me. “It’s my dream to see it restored to its original form. And that’s where you come in. You’re going to find those pieces and bring them to me. You’re the only one who can.”
It takes a moment for the statement to register, but once it does, my stomach begins a slow churn as my entire body breaks out in a cold, clammy sweat. “This—what you mentioned at lunch—this is your greatest ambition.” I pause long enough to clock his reaction. As usual, his face reveals nothing, but I know I’m not wrong. “Still, you can’t be serious!” I say, only to regret it the second it’s out. No one talks to Arthur Blackstone like that. But, since there’s no taking it back, I rush to explain. “What I mean is—”
I don’t get far before he holds up his hand to stop me from making it worse. “I am entirely serious. And I have no doubt you’ll succeed. But for now, I want to hear more about this person who confronted you at Versailles.”
Unsure what this has to do with anything, I nonetheless give him the rundown on the groundskeeper and how close I came to missing the window when he attacked me. But by the time I finish recounting my story, Arthur looks surprisingly pleased. “And this is why you believe you failed?”
I stare at him, struggling to comprehend what he means. “Well, I didn’t procure the Get, and …”
“But you didn’t even know what the Get was, did you?”
He’s not wrong, though I’m willing to bet it was one of the missing pieces belonging to this ancient computer.
“Going by your encounter, I’d say you came much closer to retrieving it than you think.”
He studies me for a long, intense beat, and not knowing what else to do, I return my attention to the Antikythera. “I guess I don’t understand why this is so important to you,” I say. “There’s got to be more accurate ways of charting the stars. Is there something I’m missing?”
Arthur offers an indulgent smile, the kind normally reserved for favored pets and small children. “As it turns out, there is far more to the Antikythera Mechanism than the scholars who’ve studied it can even begin to comprehend. Within it lies a great power. To put it simply, it is the means for everything the world has the potential to be. Though unfortunately, ever since its inception, there’s been a group of short-sighted fools, like the man you ran into at Versailles, who are committed to halting its promise. It’s why so many of its parts have been hidden.”
Another look at the ancient scrap of metal leaves me to conclude that Arthur must be extremely bored. I mean, what else is a trillionaire to do after traveling through time to procure all the world’s greatest treasures? Instead of taking up golf like every other old rich guy, he’s set his sights on completing the ultimate puzzle, and now he’s looking to me to handle the grunt work and collect all the pieces so he can claim all the glory.
To Arthur, I say, “Why Versailles? Why not just travel back two thousand years and snatch the mechanism while it’s still in one piece?”
An amused look crosses his face. “Because time travel uses an enormous amount of power, and the further one travels, the more power is required. I like to use the rubber band analogy—if you stretch it too far, it’ll snap. As of now, we’re not yet able to travel back safely more than eight hundred years without snapping. Or, in our case, vanishing. We’re working to resolve that, of course. But at this point, the solution is still a ways off.”
I’m pretty sure I check out the second he says “vanishing.”
100
Arthur’s dark eyes narrow on mine. “My team of Blues are an immensely talented crew,” he says, drawing me away from a fear I’d prefer not to imagine. “And yet, out of all of them, you’re the one I’m counting on to see this thing through. And this—” He reaches into a drawer built into the display case to retrieve what looks like an old piece of parchment. “This will help you locate those hidden pieces.”
I peer at a detailed drawing of oceans and continents, with an array of random symbols scattered about, though I sense there’s nothing random about them.
“What you’re looking at is no ordinary map,” Arthur says. “It is the map—the same one Christopher Columbus used on his journey across the Atlantic. It was created by Henricus Martellus, a German cartographer, back in 1491. The symbols you see serve as signposts to finding the missing pieces I seek. The map also contains hidden texts we’re still working to decipher. So far, they remain mostly illegible.”
While the map is undeniably impressive, I’m not sure what Arthur expects me to do. As a member of Generation GPS, I don’t even know how to read it, and I have no problem telling him as much.
Undeterred, he says, “But you understand the symbols, don’t you? Just have a look and tell me what you see. Though limit your focus to France, please.”
I take a moment to study that section of the map. Somewhere outside of Paris, I find the ancient tarot symbol for the Death card and, since I already deciphered that back at the Yew Ball, the words are easily summoned.
“The Death card, which can refer to both endings and new beginnings, shares a numerological connection to the Emperor card, which, I assume is connected to Versailles—not only because it’s the royal residence but because it is a symbol of new beginnings. Also, its element is water.” I pause to look at Arthur. He’s clearly interested, so I continue. “The symbol for the Hermit card”—I motion toward the detailed image etched onto the parchment—“shares an astrological link to Saturn, which is linked to the Titan god Chronos, who is known as the god of time. And, since its element is earth, I assume the object you’re looking for is hidden in the gardens somewhere.”
“Extraordinary.” Arthur breathes, his gaze riveted on me.
“I also assume you already know all this. I mean, isn’t that why you sent me there in the first place?”
Arthur nods, and is quick to say, “And yet, it pains me to admit how long it took to connect all the dots. Unfortunately, we’ve experienced several false leads that have served to greatly delay any progress. May I ask who taught you all this?”
My dad. Over the course of a handful of afternoons, my dad taught me things that didn’t make any sense. And for some odd reason, after lying dormant for years, buried deep inside the graveyard of my mind, all those memories are now rising to the surface, like hollow-eyed ghosts refusing to be forgotten.
To Arthur, I just shrug. Thankfully, he doesn’t push me for more, though I do have something to say.
“But if you know all this, then what do you need me for?” It’s the question I’ve been wondering all along. Arthur always hints about my having some kind of gift. But whatever that is, he’s yet to share it with me.
The look Arthur gives me is unexpectedly candid. “Because out of everyone here,” he says, “you’re the one best suited to find it. You have exactly the sort of vision I need to see this thing through.”
“I’m not sure—” I start, but Arthur raises a hand to stop me.
“You don’t need to be sure about anything,” he says. “Leave that to me. All I’m asking is that you trust what you see. I think we both know your vision has far more reach than you’re willing to admit.”
I stand silently before him, barely able to breathe, much less speak. Yet somehow, I manage to say, “Can I take that?” I gesture toward the map.
Arthur replies with a curt shake of his head. “I’ve already made that mistake. It was a copy, of course, but it never made its way back. But have another look if you please.”
I wave it off. I’ve seen all that I need to. Though there is one glaring detail Arthur’s left out. “Are you going to tell me what sort of piece I’m looking for? Is it a gem—a scrap of metal—a piece of the missing cabinet?”
Arthur, about to tuck the map back into its drawer, suddenly freezes. “How did you know about the missing cabinet?” he asks.
101
I stand before Arthur, stomach clenching, pulse jittering, as the full impact of my mistake comes reeling back toward me.
I mentioned the cabinet! And now he knows about the Unraveling and my ability to see glimpses of the past.
Or maybe he already knew about that.
Maybe that’s exactly what he meant when he said that bit about my vision having far more reach than I’m willing to admit.
I swallow past the lump in my throat and force the words from my tongue. “Y-you mentioned it,” I stammer. “You—”
“No,” Arthur says, gaze brightening. “I most certainly didn’t.” He turns away and tucks the map back into its drawer. When he returns to me, he says, “I trust you’ll know the object I seek when you see it.”
I’m not entirely sure I agree but, since there’s obviously no point in trying to persuade him, I ask him the other question I’ve been wondering. “Let’s say I do manage to find the missing piece, and eventually, all the other pieces as well—what then? I mean, you said the Antikythera Mechanism is the means to everything the world has the potential to be, but I’m not sure I understand. What exactly do you plan to do with it once it’s fully restored?”
For one fleeting moment, Arthur’s expression takes on a dreamy, faraway look.
When he finds me again, his gaze burns as bright as I’ve ever seen. “Why, I’m going to remake the world,” he says, as though stating something glaringly obvious.
A silence stretches between us, and I remember my conversation with Song, and how convinced she was that Arthur had no intention of messing with the course of history, and then, the night I arrived, when Braxton told me that Arthur was a collector of beauty. And I can’t help but wonder if maybe Arthur has set his sights on something between these two things.
Maybe after curating a personal collection of the most vaulted pieces of art through the ages, he’s now turned his eye to curating the world itself.
But he can’t actually believe he can do such a thing.
Before I can ask him to elaborate, he says, “Now come. Time to choose a piece for your room.”
Despite everything that just happened, despite the uneasy twitch in my belly, the thought of one day owning one of these glorious pieces of art makes me as excited as a kid on Christmas Day—one who lives in a house where Santa always shows up and does not disappoint.
Arthur ushers me out of the secret room, and over to a display case featuring a glittering tiara. “A sapphire and diamond coronet Prince Albert designed for Queen Victoria in 1840.” He gestures proudly. “Theirs was quite a love story, and this is a symbol of their devotion. What do you think? It’s yours if you want it.”
I imagine the look on Elodie’s face when I show up for dinner in the Winter Room with the crown informally perched on my head. She would totally freak, and that alone is enough to tempt me. Though in the end, I decide against it. A relic of someone else’s love story doesn’t hold much interest for me.
We head for the section where Arthur stores the more important pieces of art. “How do you emulate the pigments and the materials for the forgeries?” I ask. “There must be experts who are trained to spot the difference?”
“Experts.” Arthur scoffs. “Yes, I suppose there are no shortage of experts in the art world, but we’ve managed to fool them all, thanks to the Reds.”
I turn to him. “Reds?” Though just after I say it, I realize he’s referring to the color of a sweatshirt, like the Greens, Yellows, or Blues. Apparently, there’s a whole other category I didn’t even realize existed, and I wonder if that might be the next goal to shoot for.
“The Reds tend to keep to themselves. Also, their Trips last much longer. Sometimes they travel as benefactors, commissioning pieces, paying for supplies, that sort of thing. Other times they procure pigments, brushes, canvases, and other tools for our Gray Wolf artisans to use.”
I turn to Arthur, torn between complete awe and utter horror at what he’s accomplished. “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?” I say, then immediately worry I might’ve spoken out of turn, crossed an invisible boundary by acting too familiar.
But Arthur, proud of his iconoclast status, just grins. “Yes,” he says. “I have. And just so you don’t get the wrong impression and assume I’m motivated solely by greed, aside from the assigned Gets and the trinkets I allow you to keep, everything else is returned to the timeline in which it was taken and distributed among the poor.”
I’m pretty sure my jaw has just landed on the floor as I stare wide-eyed at Arthur. His ability to surprise never ceases to amaze me.
“I’ve always been one to root for the underdog.” His face creases into a close-mouthed grin. “Which is why I try to redistribute the wealth when I can.”
“Ohmygosh,” I say. “You’re Robin Hood.” I watch as he tips back his head and lets out a deep-bellied laugh.
“Better to be known as that than Dickens’s Fagin,” he says with a wink.
I return to the art, and after serious consideration, I’m about to reach for Boticelli’s Primavera simply because it’s always struck me as joyous and happy, and I could use a little of that. But then I detour in an entirely different direction when I catch a glimpse of a well-known piece from the surrealism school—a picture of a stark landscape and clocks melting. Like the Mona Lisa, it also has a river running in the background.
Salvador Dalí’s most famous work: The Persistence of Memory.
“Interesting choice,” Arthur says, and I realize that part of the reason he enjoys bringing us here is so he can analyze our picks and glean something about us that we may have tried to keep hidden. “Dalí claims they’re not actually clocks, but rather bits of camembert melting in the sun. What do you think?”
“I think Dalí might’ve hated art critics.”
We both laugh, but I’m self-consciously aware of Arthur’s continued study of me.
I wonder if he’ll think my choosing this was glaringly on the nose, seeing as how the image relates to time, Einstein’s theory of relativity, and the end of the idea of a fixed cosmic order. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter what Arthur thinks of my choice, though. For me, having this piece in my room feels like a necessity.
Much like Braxton choosing Narcissus, if I can look at this painting every morning when I wake up and every night before I go to sleep, then maybe I can manage to hang on to the memory of what happened that night at Arcana—maybe it’ll help me remember there’s a whole other world outside these walls.
Because the longer I stay here at Gray Wolf, the more I’ve come to suspect that Memory Fade doesn’t just happen while Tripping—it happens here, too.
The heady combination of extreme comfort and luxury, combined with the monotony of routine, makes the days blend so seamlessly, it’s easy to forget which world I truly belong in.
And that’s what scares me the most.
By the time I get back to my room, I find a folded note slipped under my door.
Sorry I’ve been kinda distant. I have an early morning Trip tomorrow, but let’s talk later when I return.
I’m ready to tell you now.
Song
102
Today’s inspirational quote feels like it was chosen just for me.
No great artist ever sees things as they really are.
If he did, he would cease to be an artist. —Oscar Wilde
After an hour of French class, I’m just about to head over to the Spring Room for break, when I receive a message on my slab.
Keane: An escort is outside. You are scheduled to Trip
I stare at the screen, unsure if that flicker in my belly is born of excitement or nerves, though after my discussion with Arthur, when he revealed his true expectations for me, I’m guessing it’s the latter.
The feeling grows even more pronounced when I realize this will probably be my first solo trip. A final-final exam of sorts. Though, all things considered, I was pretty much solo on my last Trip, too.
Still, being dropped in a foreign place and time, with only myself to rely on, fills me with dread.
