I promise I will get these shorter soon! In the meantime, I hope I'm not boring you.
The knowledge keepers The smell of the Maestro’s coffee lingered after he left. Fabian set the book down on his desk and wondered for a moment if the Maestro really would have bloodied Oswald and tried to hide his battered body in the ossuary. He decided that it was too plausible for him to continue considering and his fingers twitched, reaching for a cup that wasn’t there. With a faint feeling that he was somehow being railroaded he wandered down the corridor to the kitchen to make himself some coffee. The New Imperial Museum had a shared kitchen on each of its many levels in the administrative part of the building, which took up three sides. The public side, where the exhibits were and the curators spent a lot of time, had only two kitchens, one on the ground floor and one on the top. The ground floor kitchen was strictly off-limits to anyone but the staff and the security guards, and the upper kitchen was actually a large, airy coffee shop under a glass dome where the public and the curators vied, mostly good-naturedly, for the tables. Fabian’s closest kitchen was unofficially referred to as the Director’s Kitchen and stocked slightly better coffee, fresher milk and always had enough sugar. “Excuse me?” Fabian’s hand trembled at the interruption and the stream of coffee that he was pouring wavered slightly, just splashing over the edge of the cup and onto the counter. “Damn it, couldn’t you have waited till I finished?” Fabian’s irritation was more with himself than the speaker, as he dimly recognised that the voice was unfamiliar. Without turning to look at the speaker he set the coffee jug down and went to the sink to get a cloth to wipe up the mess. “Most people aren’t so jumpy,” said the voice. “And it’s not like I didn’t say Excuse me. I can hardly say Excuse me in preparation for saying Excuse me, can I? And if I did, how would I do it? Would I have to start with an almost inaudible Excuse me and work up, through several levels of loudness until you acknowledged it? Better, surely, to start by bellowing it. Ask forgiveness, not permission, right?”
Fabian ran the coffee-soaked cloth under the tap, wrung it out, and looked at the speaker. They were short, probably only just 160cm or so, dark-skinned and had the slightly misshaped torso of someone whose ancestry had more arms in it that standard humans. Fabian’s first guess would have been something Elvish but the skin tone made him pause and wonder. The face was handsome though, yet Fabian’s eyes kept sliding away from any detail like the colour of the eyes or the shape of the nose as though there were unimportant. “Do you work here?” he said, sounding surprised. “I mean, you sound like you work here; that’s exactly the kind of argument most of our researchers have. Though, not usually with themselves. But I don’t recognise you.” “Are you always this blunt?” The dark-skinned man’s eyes widened as though shocked. Fabian replayed the conversation and decided that he could have been a little more tactful. His ex-wife had been big on elbowing him and telling him that, and his ribs twinged with remembered pain. “Often,” he said. “Are you new then?” “I’m a knowledge keeper,” said the man. He offered his hand and Fabian shook it warily. It was warm and firm and asserted authority. “Which is to say—” “Mage, yes,” said Fabian. “Dread did the same spiel, I know how it goes. Are you a necromancer too, then?” “No!” “Oh, ok. That’s probably good, there’s nothing here that we want to see walking around again, if I’m perfectly honest. Things in museums are better off staying dead, especially since we can’t always be sure we assembled out of all the right parts.” “I’m a knowledge keeper,” said the dark-skinned man, regarding Fabian as though he was slightly insane. The effect was spoiled a little since Fabian was replying with the exact same expression. “Cognitomancer if you prefer. Sebastian Framer, D. Mag, Th. Rex, Jud. App. S.S, Poss. Lumi. Imp.” Fabian tried to smile and frown at the same time and gave up as it felt like he was squishing his face into his nose. “Fabian,” he said. “Director. Um. We don’t go in for titles and letters much here so I can’t remember what ones I’ve got. I can go look them up if you want.” “It’s not a competition,” said Sebastian. “It sounded like it,” said Fabian, without thinking. “I actually came to lend you a book,” said Sebastian. “Although I’m starting to doubt the wisdom of that. You’re not going to put it in your mouth and see if it’s edible are you?” “You wrote the Umber Hulk book!” Fabian’s mind darted back to the book sitting on his desk after the Maestro’s visit. “With the Maestro!” A small blue book appeared in Sebastian’s hand and he pressed it into Fabian’s stomach, forcing him to take it before it dropped. “Yes,” he said. “I did most of the work, but the Maestro did capture the Umber Hulk. With help.” “Yes,” said Fabian, remembering. “He said it took six of you to take it down.” “Oh, that’s… remarkably accurate,” said Sebastian. “Look, don’t eat the book but do read it. I’ll be back on Monday for it.” “Oh but I’ve--- ah, you’ve gone already,” said Fabian. He picked his coffee up and tasted it. It was still hot enough to drink.
Greg - me being bored by this is pretty much the last thing you have to worry about!
A second copy of the book? Interesting. And I thought the Maestro had given this copy to him already... but perhaps I misunderstood which copy that was. Or maybe this is one of Sebastian's own... anyway.
Continuing to enjoy Fabian and his interactions with those around him :)
3 comments:
I promise I will get these shorter soon! In the meantime, I hope I'm not boring you.
The knowledge keepers
The smell of the Maestro’s coffee lingered after he left. Fabian set the book down on his desk and wondered for a moment if the Maestro really would have bloodied Oswald and tried to hide his battered body in the ossuary. He decided that it was too plausible for him to continue considering and his fingers twitched, reaching for a cup that wasn’t there. With a faint feeling that he was somehow being railroaded he wandered down the corridor to the kitchen to make himself some coffee.
The New Imperial Museum had a shared kitchen on each of its many levels in the administrative part of the building, which took up three sides. The public side, where the exhibits were and the curators spent a lot of time, had only two kitchens, one on the ground floor and one on the top. The ground floor kitchen was strictly off-limits to anyone but the staff and the security guards, and the upper kitchen was actually a large, airy coffee shop under a glass dome where the public and the curators vied, mostly good-naturedly, for the tables. Fabian’s closest kitchen was unofficially referred to as the Director’s Kitchen and stocked slightly better coffee, fresher milk and always had enough sugar.
“Excuse me?” Fabian’s hand trembled at the interruption and the stream of coffee that he was pouring wavered slightly, just splashing over the edge of the cup and onto the counter.
“Damn it, couldn’t you have waited till I finished?” Fabian’s irritation was more with himself than the speaker, as he dimly recognised that the voice was unfamiliar. Without turning to look at the speaker he set the coffee jug down and went to the sink to get a cloth to wipe up the mess.
“Most people aren’t so jumpy,” said the voice. “And it’s not like I didn’t say Excuse me. I can hardly say Excuse me in preparation for saying Excuse me, can I? And if I did, how would I do it? Would I have to start with an almost inaudible Excuse me and work up, through several levels of loudness until you acknowledged it? Better, surely, to start by bellowing it. Ask forgiveness, not permission, right?”
Fabian ran the coffee-soaked cloth under the tap, wrung it out, and looked at the speaker. They were short, probably only just 160cm or so, dark-skinned and had the slightly misshaped torso of someone whose ancestry had more arms in it that standard humans. Fabian’s first guess would have been something Elvish but the skin tone made him pause and wonder. The face was handsome though, yet Fabian’s eyes kept sliding away from any detail like the colour of the eyes or the shape of the nose as though there were unimportant.
“Do you work here?” he said, sounding surprised. “I mean, you sound like you work here; that’s exactly the kind of argument most of our researchers have. Though, not usually with themselves. But I don’t recognise you.”
“Are you always this blunt?” The dark-skinned man’s eyes widened as though shocked.
Fabian replayed the conversation and decided that he could have been a little more tactful. His ex-wife had been big on elbowing him and telling him that, and his ribs twinged with remembered pain.
“Often,” he said. “Are you new then?”
“I’m a knowledge keeper,” said the man. He offered his hand and Fabian shook it warily. It was warm and firm and asserted authority. “Which is to say—”
“Mage, yes,” said Fabian. “Dread did the same spiel, I know how it goes. Are you a necromancer too, then?”
“No!”
“Oh, ok. That’s probably good, there’s nothing here that we want to see walking around again, if I’m perfectly honest. Things in museums are better off staying dead, especially since we can’t always be sure we assembled out of all the right parts.”
“I’m a knowledge keeper,” said the dark-skinned man, regarding Fabian as though he was slightly insane. The effect was spoiled a little since Fabian was replying with the exact same expression. “Cognitomancer if you prefer. Sebastian Framer, D. Mag, Th. Rex, Jud. App. S.S, Poss. Lumi. Imp.”
Fabian tried to smile and frown at the same time and gave up as it felt like he was squishing his face into his nose.
“Fabian,” he said. “Director. Um. We don’t go in for titles and letters much here so I can’t remember what ones I’ve got. I can go look them up if you want.”
“It’s not a competition,” said Sebastian.
“It sounded like it,” said Fabian, without thinking.
“I actually came to lend you a book,” said Sebastian. “Although I’m starting to doubt the wisdom of that. You’re not going to put it in your mouth and see if it’s edible are you?”
“You wrote the Umber Hulk book!” Fabian’s mind darted back to the book sitting on his desk after the Maestro’s visit. “With the Maestro!”
A small blue book appeared in Sebastian’s hand and he pressed it into Fabian’s stomach, forcing him to take it before it dropped.
“Yes,” he said. “I did most of the work, but the Maestro did capture the Umber Hulk. With help.”
“Yes,” said Fabian, remembering. “He said it took six of you to take it down.”
“Oh, that’s… remarkably accurate,” said Sebastian. “Look, don’t eat the book but do read it. I’ll be back on Monday for it.”
“Oh but I’ve--- ah, you’ve gone already,” said Fabian. He picked his coffee up and tasted it. It was still hot enough to drink.
Greg - me being bored by this is pretty much the last thing you have to worry about!
A second copy of the book? Interesting. And I thought the Maestro had given this copy to him already... but perhaps I misunderstood which copy that was. Or maybe this is one of Sebastian's own... anyway.
Continuing to enjoy Fabian and his interactions with those around him :)
Post a Comment