Edith Clayton and the Wisdom of Athena Read online

  Mentioning Mother and Father was painful, but it works. The porter lets us through, leads us through the gatehouse, and out the other side. The main courtyard is a wide, open space with a fountain that resembles a bell tower. Students in royal blue gowns play croquet on lawns. Many stop to look, as if they’ve never seen girls in their lives. Trinity College is a man’s world, and we’re trespassing.

  The porter takes us right toward the chapel – smaller than King’s but similar in style – and right again through a fancy, polished door. The annexe we’re in is old, but well looked after. We continue upstairs, past a hanging portrait of a black-eyed man with a wide nose and curly grey hair. The plaque reads Sir Isaac Newton, 1642–1727. My science teacher told me about him. He’s the man who discovered gravity.

  We enter an office that overlooks the cobbled street out front. It’s a teaching room with a mahogany desk, bookshelves, and blackboards filled with chalk diagrams, sums, and strange symbols. Not those symbols. I think these are characters from a foreign alphabet. Gustav sits behind the desk, wearing a tight-sleeved, brown suit underneath a college gown. He looks down at an open, yellow-paged book.

  “Doctor Ernst,” the porter announces. “There’s a—”

  “Irene and Edith Clayton,” Gustav says without looking up. “I have been expecting them. Please leave us.”

  “At once, sir.”

  I hear receding footsteps, and a door gently close. How did Gustav…

  “You are wondering how I knew it was you.” Gustav’s chair creaks as he leans back. “I did not, but students would not require a porter to enter the college grounds. And your heeled shoes identified you as female. You were the only logical visitors. Both your parents are dead, yes?”

  The question is blunt. And unexpected. I can’t answer, only nod.

  “I am sorry for your loss.” Gustav doesn’t sound sorry, though. More… intrigued. “I saw what happened to Stephen. And Olivia was weak. I did not expect her to survive the fire. But not everything of value was lost.”

  Gustav closes the book. There’s a familiar crack on its leather cover.

  “Father’s diary!” I snatch it from under Gustav’s hands. He doesn’t try to stop me. If he has the book, that must mean… “You went back into the house.”

  Gustav opens a tall desk drawer and lifts out the black metal ball. Nothing’s different from when I saw it last: open petals, changing symbols. And no liquid inside.

  “You found the magic ball!” Irene exclaims.

  “I would no longer describe it as a ball.” Gustav runs his finger round the edge of a petal. “It is an empty, hollow shell.”

  Irene takes it from Gustav, cupping the flat side protectively to her chest. Again, he does nothing to stop her.

  “Lydia called it a vessel,” I recall.

  Gustav nods. “Another word for a container. So there was liquid inside. That is what the Greeks were after.”

  Gustav doesn’t know it’s in my blood now, or about my new powers. But he’s clever. He’ll work it out eventually. Can I trust him? Maybe it was a mistake to come here.

  “Why would Lydia pursue you from the study?” Gustav mulls. “And into the maze? I overheard what she said. The girl is more important. More important than this vessel. But which girl did she mean? You?” His gaze shifts to Irene. “Or your sister?”

  All these questions are making me nervous. “Lydia’s crazy. And so are you. Come on, little sister.”

  I take the vessel from Irene. It’s much lighter than it ought to be, easy to hold in one hand. Gustav rises from his chair, eyes open wide. What’s he staring at?

  The inside of my wrist itches where a petal touches it, and I’m feeling light headed. Blue light on my arm and glove. The metal’s glowing! Like it did when Lydia held it. Is it reacting to my skin? The liquid inside me?

  “Edith’s magic,” Irene says. “She can heal too. Show him.”

  “My sister’s pretending.” I struggle to get the words out.

  “Fee liked.” Gustav’s not making sense. He must be speaking German. I have no idea what that means. But he doesn’t believe me. That much is clear.

  Gustav stands up and takes an object from the desk. I see a bright, light brown glint. Is that a knife? No, but it might as well be. The letter opener’s blade is razor sharp. The ball is getting heavier, and my fingers won’t move. It’s like energy is draining out of me into the black metal.

  “Isaac Newton studied at Trinity.” Gustav moves closer. “It is where he discovered gravity, his three laws of motion. Where he wrote the foundation of mechanics. Great men are not afraid to take risks in the pursuit of knowledge. Newton inserted a needle in his eye to test his theories on optics. I will not go to that extreme, but I have to know the truth.”

  The implication frightens me, but I’m rooted to the spot. Gustav pricks my elbow with the blade. A small glob of blood forms, and then disappears almost immediately. Gustav wipes my arm clean. And a second time, as if he can’t believe his eyes.

  “I told you she was magic,” Irene says.

  “It is not magic,” Gustav postulates, stroking his beard. “It is science. Science beyond our present understanding. The liquid that was inside the vessel… You must tell me what happened.”

  “I’m not telling you anything,” I say. “We’re leaving.”

  I drop the vessel on the diary so it lands with the curved side up. The blue light fades the moment I’m not in contact with the metal, and the itchy feeling goes away. So does the crippling tiredness, though I’m still a little weary. I hook my arm under my sister’s, and balance the book on my other hand.

  “Where will you take her?” Gustav asks.

  “Away from you,” I reply, turning to leave.

  “You are young. Frightened. You are not sure what to do. You have strange abilities you do not comprehend. I can help you find answers. To the same questions your Father had. What is the black ball made of? Where does it came from? What was inside?”

  “I don’t care!”

  I start walking. Gustav moves in front. He’s still got that letter opener. Is he planning to stab me with that thing?

  “Then why did you come?” he questions. “Lydia will find you if you stay here. And what if others are also searching? Return with me to Berlin. Your enemies will not think to look for you there, and I will be able to protect you. The Prussian Academy of Sciences is home to the finest minds in the world. With enough time, there is no problem we cannot solve. We can study the artefact together, complete the work Lord Clayton started.”

  Now he’s bringing up Father to tempt me into agreeing. Maybe Gustav doesn’t realise I hated the man.

  “Come with you to Germany?” I say, flabbergasted. “The country we just fought a war against?”

  “Our countries have been at peace for six years. We have struggled to rebuild, but Germany is about to enter a new era of prosperity. Things are different since the war. The new Republic is one of the most progressive societies in Europe. Think of your sister. I can offer her a home there, a future. Does she have a future here? Do you?”

  I look at Irene. I’m fourteen, and it’s been a traumatic experience for me. But for my little sister…

  “Will you come with me?” Gustav holds out his upturned hands, waiting for my response.

  After some consideration – and another glance at Irene - I hand over the diary and vessel. Not because I want to go to Germany. Or because I trust Gustav. But because I know he’s right. Irene’s not safe in England, and neither am I. As long as I have that liquid in my blood, Lydia and Kostis will continue to search for us. I need to understand what’s inside me, keep my sister safe. I can’t do that by myself, and going to Aunt Emma’s will only put her in danger, too.

  “You have doubts. That is natural.” Gustav turns the vessel over to study the shifting symbols. “But this is for the best. I assure you.”

  1936 - The Year of Secrets

  Chapter Seven: Ageless

  I sta
nd barefoot on Gustav’s weighing scales. His steel tape measure clinks as he aligns its zero end with the crown of my head.

  “Any taller?” We both know I’m not, but I ask anyway.

  Gustav returns to the workbench and pulls a pencil from behind his ear. He methodically records the measurements in his notebook: 157 cm, 48 kg. Centimetres and kilograms. Over a decade spent on the continent, and I still think in Imperial feet and pounds. But the choice of units is irrelevant. The result would be the same.

  I haven’t grown. Not an inch. I’m twenty six - well into adulthood - but stuck in the body of a fourteen year old girl.

  “A slight decrease in weight,” Gustav says. “But you are not wearing a coat, so that accounts for the difference.”

  Wear a coat in this heat? Even with the windows wide open, it’s roasting. Aside from undergarments, all I have on are a white blouse, long sky-blue skirt, and my faded old cloche. Those hats went out of fashion in the early 1930s, but I kept the replacement I bought as a reminder of— I don’t want to think about the fire, in case I relive that memory again.

  Gustav has stripped down to his waistcoat. He’s got a few thin wrinkles on his cheeks and nose, but overall he’s aged well. A full head of blond hair, slightly thicker beard and moustache, eyes as alert and inquisitive as ever.

  “It is time to relocate,” he says. “I have already made travel arrangements. We leave for Munich tomorrow.”

  “Again!?” I cry in disbelief.

  Since coming to Germany, we’ve moved from Berlin to Munich, to Frankfurt, Hamburg, back to Berlin, and now… We’re going round in circles.

  “It has been three years,” Gustav says. “People get suspicious when they see a girl who does not mature. First there will be questions, and then rumours.”

  “And then they will learn the truth. So you’ve told me.”

  More than once. I’ve learned much under Gustav’s private tutoring, but I never have – or will – understand his reluctance to share knowledge with his peers. He’s always praising German scientists, but they can’t solve a problem they know nothing about.

  “And you want to keep me secret, don’t you Gustav?” It’s more an accusation than a question. “Until you figure out what was in the vessel.”

  “I have a theory about that.”

  “You always do.”

  This is the third this week. I dismount the scales and step into my flat-soled, leather boots. Masculine footwear. Heavy on the feet, but practical. I haven’t encountered Lydia since the scuffle at Liverpool Street station, but I don’t want to be wearing cumbersome high heels should we cross paths again.

  “When you sustain an injury,” Gustav ponders, pacing back and forth, “the liquid restores your body to its former state of health. It repairs skin, mends broken bones, seals wounds. Perhaps… it regards cell growth as an undesirable change - a mutation - and acts to reverse it.”

  Easier to comprehend than his last two crazy ideas, but more mystical than scientific. I’m sure Gustav’s come up with this one before, but there have been so many conflicting theories over the years I’ve lost track.

  “You speak as if… my blood’s alive,” I say.

  I lean through the nearest window and feel a lukewarm, summery breeze on my face. Twenty men of the Wehrmacht – as the German army is now called – parade in double file around Gendarmenmarkt Square. Jackboots pound paved stones as the soldiers march past the Konzerthaus, the classical style concert hall opposite the Academy.

  The Games of the Eleventh Olympiad are scheduled to open this afternoon. Flags are everywhere: steel poles, lampposts, street signs, the columns of the two cathedrals that border the square. Looking over the fifty or so banners, I spot a few Olympic Rings, but the majority are red, white and black Nazi swastikas.

  “Your blood is alive, Edith,” Gustav says, waking me from my daydream. “Your entire body is.”

  From the window below I hear an agonised male scream, quickly followed by smashing glass. Another failed experiment? We’re on floor three of the Academy of Sciences, a place where geniuses experiment all day (and often night) with chemical flasks, prisms, electrical circuitry, and whatever other apparatus they have in their labs. I come out of the sunlight, leaving the unseen man to his groaning.

  “But you were thinking intelligent life,” Gustav deduces. Correctly, as usual. “From what I have observed, and what you have told me, I am inclined to agree.”

  He pauses by an open encyclopaedia, a volume taken from a shelf of dozens. A glossy insert is dedicated to aquatic life. There are pictures, dissection diagrams, and descriptive text in coloured boxes. It’s written in German, but I’m able to read most words.

  “Fish?” I ask, bemused. “I’ve got fish swimming in me?”

  “The creatures would need to navigate your bloodstream quickly and efficiently. Mammals can swim, but they are not the fastest, and cannot extract air from liquids.”

  It does make sense, only… “They’re too big.”

  “The ones inside you are much smaller. And sufficiently numerous to repair your entire body at once. Perhaps they convert nutrients into electrical energy, act as batteries, store charge to power your… abilities. And transfer energy to the vessel when you are in contact.”

  All those slimy creatures swimming inside me? A scary thought.

  “The new electron microscopes are very powerful.” Gustav leans forward to inspect my arm. “I am curious why the creatures were not present in any of the blood samples I have taken. Do they remain in your body? Swim away from the wound? Or perhaps they were always there, but so small I could not see them. If I take another sample and repeat the experiment…”

  I jerk back in disgust. Another needle? Not today. “Have you made any progress?” I enquire, eager to focus Gustav’s attention elsewhere.

  He walks to a steel lock box, opens it, and removes the two items I’m starting to wish I’d never handed over. The pages of my father’s diary are browner, but the black metal ball - like me - hasn’t aged a bit.

  “Lord Clayton was a cautious man,” says Gustav. “He knew he was on the verge of a major discovery, and he did not—”

  “Want others to follow in his footsteps,” I snap. “So he kept his diary simple. No landmarks, no grid references, only vague notes. You told me all this twelve years ago. This isn’t progress, Gustav.”

  I glance round at the blackboards. Metre long equations, Greek symbols, complex diagrams. Unsolved problems - the story of my life.

  “I asked about progress,” I complain with a heavy sigh. “Why are we still in Germany? If we go to Egypt, we might find the tomb Father did, and I might… be able… I could…”

  I throw my hat on a model skeleton, and give the wooden ‘bones’ a kick. The two legs rattle about for a few seconds, and then stop. Hardly any movement at all, but there’s only so much a child can do.

  “You have sacrificed much.” Gustav rests a hand on my shoulder. “Your home, your parents, your sister.”

  “Don’t you dare mention her,” I say, tugging away. “You’re the reason Irene—”

  I must have blinked, because I’m in the past. It’s that evening three years ago when she… I decide to let events play out. There’s nothing I can do to change what happened.

  I yawn, and peek over my flowery patterned bed quilt. It’s half past nine according to the brass alarm clock. There’s a lot of shouting from the street, accompanied by a chorus of wailing sirens, whistles, and motor car horns. My sister gazes through the window, forearms resting on the sill. Irene’s grown so tall she has to hunch forward to avoid bumping her head on the sloped recess.

  “Edith! Komm hier. Ein Feuer.” Irene speaks German like it’s her native language. Understandable, given she’s spent most of her life here.

  Irene doesn’t say what’s on fire, and I don’t ask. She was in a grumpy mood that day, and I recall not wanting to get into an argument. I go to the window to look for myself. Dancing orange lights flicker to
my left. Water jets spray through plumes of black smoke, dousing a hidden rooftop. There must be a dozen fire engines battling the blaze.

  “Where is that?” I ask the question in German, though I’ve always thought in English.

  “Don’t you recognise it?”

  I scan the rooftops of Berlin. There’s the Brandenburg Gate. Six brightly lit, white columns, and - above those - the distinctive quadriga: four horses pulling a chariot, and a standard bearer holding an iron cross. That’s not the building on fire, though. The smoke is coming from further over. The plumes part briefly, just long enough to reveal a glass and steel dome.

  “The Reichstag!” I say, hand over my mouth in shock. “But who would…”

  “Communists,” Irene says bitterly. “This is their revolution. They’ve been plotting for months. Now they’ve attacked our parliament building.”

  My sister kicks open a wooden chest, and throws off her blue nightgown. “Bombs in our capital,” she says whilst she gets dressed. “What next? It’s about time the chancellor did something about this filth. He should ban their propaganda before they spread more lies.”

  Our, we… I’ve never thought of myself as German, but Irene obviously does. She’s very vocal and forthright in her opinion. The fire’s not even out, and she’s already decided who’s guilty.

  “We don’t know it was—”

  Irene doesn’t let me finish. “Any excuse to run! Let it burn to the ground. Hide until the enemy goes away. What then? Flee the country? Leave your young sister alone all day? Make promises you can’t keep?”

  I catch a hateful glare before Irene pulls a white short-sleeved shirt over her head. It’s obvious she’s referring to another fire, one that happened nine years ago in England. That I don’t need special powers to remember.

  “I couldn’t save them,” I sob. “You know that.”

  “Some people are strong, pure in blood.” Irene polishes her jet black, steel-buckled shoes to a reflective shine. “Others are weak. Tainted.”