221 A Long Nigh (2/2)
Bart was forced away by shockwaves from Ingmar and slammed into the wall. His vision went black and he spat out blood; his arm was broken. The entire room fell to ruins and the building’s alarm went off. Everyone panicked, but the alarm quickly disappeared again.
Everything in the office was dragged to its original spot by an invisible strength. The shattered vase was put back today, the torn carpet was sewn together and the pulverized wall painting emerged out of the dust again. It was as if nothing had happened.
Ingmar was sitting in his original position and his eyes were no longer crazed, but his body was soaked with cold sweat. Not caring about the pain of his hand being nailed to the table, he yanked the pen out. He glanced at Bart, whose arm was continuing to heal, and finally regained his senses. He finally knew what had happened.
”Bart, you are a good student. If not for you, Abraham might have…” He gritted his teeth, his expression becoming fierce as a beast. He sprinkled medicine on his hand, wrapped it and put on a glove, covering the wound.
Bart was still terrified and stammered out a reply.
”You said that no one saw you when you went to the history department, right?” Decisiveness and ruthlessness flashed past Ingmar’s eyes. ”Are you sure?”
Bart froze. Understanding something, his face paled even more. Under Ingmar’s heavy stare, he finally nodded forcefully. ”Yes, no one knows I was there…”
”Good.” Ingmar suddenly smiled. It did not suit his pale face at all and was instead terrifying. ”Come to the Musician Union with me in a bit.”
Bart’s suspicions were confirmed and his expression became one of fear. ”Would they do anything…if they realized?”
”You’re still too young, Bart. Too young and naïve…” Ingmar looked up. There was a shade of gloomy pity in his eyes. ”These things belong to whoever publishes it first.”
-
Late at night, a carriage stopped before the clock shop. The man pushed the door open and entered.
”Mr. Bayer?” The blonde youth drinking tea by the window looked up. Shock appeared on his face. ”A guest from the Musician Union? How rare. You haven’t visited since you received this position. How can I help you tonight? Are you here to buy something?”
”No need.” Bayer waved his hand and smiled sadly. ”I cannot afford your products.”
”Ah, don’t say that.” Hermes shook his head. ”I’m well-known for having great things at great prices. If you look carefully, you’ll be able to find something you like.”
”Actually, I am here today to ask you to help me appraise something.” He sat across from Hermes and pushed over a copy of a black folder. ”I think you have some knowledge about this.”
”Oh?” Hermes arched an eyebrow. ”The experts at your Union aren’t sure? How rare.”
Bayer chuckled bitterly, shaking his head. ”Actually, the scholars of our union and the Sacred City have been arguing over this. When I left, they were still fighting over whether this is qualified research results.”
”Oh? Let me see…Voynich Manuscript? After all these centuries, you all still haven’t given up and are still trying to decipher this?” Hermes opened the folder and quickly flipped the pages. He scanned through, not like reading, but rather like confirming something. His gaze grew stranger as he read.
”It really is…interesting! Are you all trying to use weird ways to restore the original because all other paths are impossible? This is a strange side path, but has returned to the correct direction. Let me see the author…Ingmar?” He furrowed his brows. ”I’ve met this guy and, quite honestly, I don’t think he has the guts to overthrow all previous theories. Have I misjudged him?”
Joy flickered past Bayer’s eyes. ”So you confirm that it’s fake?”
”Tsk, of course it’s real. It’s obvious he started bullsh*tting at the end, but the direction is right, at least.” Hermes waved the folder around in irritation. ”Congratulations. You’ve found another direction to let you to bullsh*t for a few more decades. What great news. This time, you can bring that old thing out again, knock on it and celebrate. But isn’t it annoying to ring bells every holiday? Why can’t you think of a more graceful method?”
”Sir, please do not joke. That is the Philosopher’s Bell. It’s naturally different from others,” Bayer said with a smile. ”In contrast, the gates of heaven contain God’s prestige. It does not often show the way.”
”Don’t compare my work to that piece of crap,” Hermes spat in distaste, seeming extremely vulgar. ”Philosopher’s Bell? Psh, it’s clearly like…” He uttered the words very unclearly and Bayer pretended not to hear. He gathered the papers, handed over a large sum of money, and left. Hermes opened the sachet with his pinkie finger. Glancing at the crystal-like things inside with disgust, he called, ”Bai Xi!”
”What?” Bai Xi, who was being punished by copying music scores behind the counter, looked up.
”There’s a saying from the East that says students should help when the teacher needs it. I don’t like this thing so take it home for Old Phil to chew on.” He tossed the sachet into Bai Xi’s arms. Something seemed to suddenly dawn on him and he revealed a strange smile. ”Ah, my association skills are just so amazing,” he muttered to himself. ”It seems like something interesting is going to happen again soon? I’m so…excited!”