There is only so much she can learn about her heritage, and her abilities, from her mother and through experimentation.
The Elder Continent is, if not precisely off limits, not somewhere she even wants to try to go until she knows more. So: London, which is much closer anyway. She'd have to pass through to make it to the Continent anyway.
The stalagmites thin, and she blinks as she steps out into the lights of Mrs. Plenty's Carnival.
"Hi! I'm the Light-Hearted Wastelander. A friend of mine needs some warm amber for medical reasons; Madame Shoshana suggested you. I don't know what you'd want in exchange but if the course of the last few days is any indication I'm pretty good at getting my hands on things."
Lurulel considers this.
<<I should get the Male Specimen to translate,>> he burbles to himself. <<Charades will not suffice for this transaction.>>
Lurulel's facial tentacles stiffen in shock for a moment, then resume undulating. <<Really? How very unusual. And you need warm amber, you say, for medical reasons. Such a curious thing, that our amber can have such effects on humans... but I babble and the fish swim away. I have amber aplenty, but if I give it away I cannot engage in the pleasures of Thrl-foolath, and that is not something I would give up lightly.>>
His tentacles writhe in thought. Eventually he decides, <<I want... an education. I want to move on from the carnival to greater things. Convince the Principal of Benthic College to take me on as a student, and you will have all the amber your heart desires.>>
"Oh, okay! My brother goes there, and learning stuff is great, that makes sense. I'll be back when I've worked that out, then!"
He bows, keeping his hat firmly on his head with one handicle. <<I fear I have set you an impossible task, but I will await your return.>> Then he turns and walks back to the others at the table.
She heads back to the University and explains the situation to her brother.
Her brother thinks she's crazy. "He's right, that's impossible."
"No it's not," she says stubbornly. "You haven't been paying attention to the gossip, have you."
"I never do."
"I've been spitting in the Masters' faces for days and it hasn't bitten me yet."
He facepalms.
"Well, not all of them. Just Mr. Fires. And I wasn't doing it just to do it, I had to rescue some people he was trying to unrescue, that's all."
He sighs. "Well that's...better...I suppose..."
"Look, I just need to talk to the guy."
"I'm just a student! I can't get you an audience with the Principal."
"Can you get me an audience with a professor who can? Preferably one who knew about the situation with Dr. Vaughan?"
"...Fine."
The professor he gets her an appointment with is... familiar.
"Oh, I didn't realize you two were related! Hello again."
"Hi!!! Yeah, he's my big brother. Um. I need to talk to the principal about something and the something is, actually, that I have a really outrageous request, but as you know I have some really outrageous abilities to bribe her and/or the college with about it."
"We didn't really have time to get acquainted, she seemed to be in the middle of something important. So, you have an outrageous request? Let's hear it."
"...So there's this Rubbery Man who wants to get educated."
The Investigator grimaces. "Yes, that's exactly the problem. Benthic College already walks a fine line between accepting those looked down upon by society, and becoming nothing but a den of outcasts. When we accepted our first female students, the public outcry was incredible. We had to wait five years after that to accept the soulless. Before we break a new boundary, we examine it in detail - society is never ready, but to what extent? Is the gain worth the social capital we'll burn? Will there be rioting? A crackdown from the Masters? Or will the protests burn out after a few months, leaving fertile ground for the next controversy? We examined the Rubbery question some time ago, and the answer is clear. No one wants Rubberies to rise from the lowest rung of Society's ladder. Not Society, not the Masters, not even the devils. If we accepted your Rubbery Scholar, not only would we become a public laughingstock, we would face sanctions from Hell and the Bazaar. I'm not fond of either party, but even I can't deny they're forces to be reckoned with. The question, then, becomes 'what does this bring us?' And the answer is 'a handful of students to replace the dozens we would lose to the controversy... and whatever you can offer in return.'"
He steeples his fingers. "I don't want to sound mercenary. But I'm juggling with my reputation and the well-being of my school. What do you offer?"
She closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths, hands clenched at her sides.
"Nobody wants the Rubbery Men to rise from the lowest rung of the ladder. Nobody. Well. Perhaps the ladder should be set on fire. Are you seriously telling me, 'oh, we're just going to, to let things go on like this, forever, let an entire category of people get stepped on like it's not a problem?' Because it is a problem. And I solve problems. I solved Dr. Vaughan being dead, I solved a moon-miser being held captive by the Orphanage, and I'm going to solve this too. You and the rest of this college can help me solve this problem, or you can get stepped on when I do it anyway."
For a moment, he looks like someone's just slapped him in the face. Then he grits his teeth. "You sound like my sister. Never walk when you could run. Never compromise if you could get everything you want by sacrificing something else. We do not intend to leave the Rubberies out in the cold forever. Everyone deserves to learn. But we intended to wait until we have enough social capital to withstand the storm that will result, and you're asking us to move forward anyway and risk everything. I'll ask it a different way: how can you help?"
"...I'm sorry. I--the way you said it--it isn't acceptable that they're treated the way they are. Waiting to fix it isn't acceptable. It may be that the alternatives are worse. But the status quo is horrible and leaving it that way is horrible and that--isn't how what you were saying sounded like to me."
He sighs. "I know it isn't acceptable. Nothing is right, here. But burning it all down..."
Unconsciously, his finger traces a sigil in a bowl of sand on his desk. Correspondence, signifying the loss of a person who is still present in one's life. "Fire doesn't discriminate."
She glances at the bowl of sand and nods, quietly dipping her head in acknowledgement.
"The light which I bear is not that of fire."
He glances at the bowl as well, frowns, and smooths it over. "Sorry, bad habit... anyway, let's think of things that might persuade the Benthic's principal that accelerating the Rubbery project would be worthwhile. You said you can return the dead. Do they retain knowledge of the afterlife? Because the Department of Thanatology would be very interested in that. Actually they'll be interested either way, but if your subjects can answer questions about the Far Shore then it'd be revolutionary."
"Huh. Good question. So far the only person I've brought back who was dead that long was...a baby. Got any convenient candidates in mind?"
"We have a handful of ancient mummies lying around, but if you don't know yet then it'll be best to couch it as an unanswered question rather than testing it beforehand. There's also, um, my candidate, but I'm still looking for a graverobber who can visit the Surface to retrieve her."
This post has the following content warnings:
View Flat HTML
View Metadata
Search Post
