The last problem Vera solved was 72 ÷ 8. She wrote a "9" with enough force to nearly pierce the paper.
Gordon could not put into words how thrilled he was to see that answer.
Education!
The spark of human civilization...
He had actually managed to kindle it.
Gordon checked her answers. She had gotten seventeen out of twenty right. The remaining three had died in assorted gruesome ways, but they did not affect the overall result.
"Good. You win. Have you ever considered going to university?"
"I could kill everyone in a university."
"The admissions officer won't like that application statement," Gordon said.
"Then I won't go."
"A shame. The uniform might suit you." Gordon scribbled on the paper.
Reduced appetite, diminished feelings of disorientation, good mood.
Conclusion: treatment effective.
"Give it to me," Vera said. "I want to write."
"What?"
"Your problems." Vera picked up the fountain pen and wrote about Gordon beneath her own medical report.
Read all day. Drank no water, only coffee. Ate nothing. Grinned foolishly at a book. Cause unknown.
"That was a love of learning," Gordon said.
"All I saw was you finding those words and case studies endlessly entertaining," Vera said.
Gordon tried to reclaim the notebook, but Vera pinned it down with one hand.
"Miss Cateret, this is your log," Gordon said.
"Now it's for two people. Ours. For both of us," Vera said.
"This sovereign is in perfect health," Gordon said.
"Not anymore," Vera said. "Your symptoms are loving books and not sleeping."
Gordon paused.
True.
Source Substance came at a price. Why should he be exempt? Unbroken Strings had come from a Spider Aberration, which could not care less whether Gordon had a student ID.
On closer reflection...
After refining Unbroken Strings into himself, Gordon seemed more inclined to pursue connections between things. One anomaly led to another.
The Blackwater River connected the Cultists, the Tidal Birth-Rite, Olivia, the woman living in Lu Ming, and the unborn Source Substance. In his mind, these things formed an interconnected web. Whenever one node stirred, he could not resist following its threads.
For that, what did eating a little late matter? What did losing a little sleep matter?
"There might be something to that," Gordon admitted. "I've been chasing answers to all sorts of questions lately."
"How much have you slept these past few days?" Vera had completely turned the tables, holding the notebook in her left hand and the pen in her right.
"Seven hours at the professor's, three hours at home," Gordon said. "I've had a lot going on."
"Right. When I'm hungry, it's an illness. When you don't sleep, you have a lot going on."
"A medical assessment must account for individual differences." Gordon put on a solemn expression. "You need to respect modern medicine."
"Modern medicine seems very interested in my feet," Vera said.
"That was an examination," Gordon said.
Vera stood up, her shadow falling over Gordon. She bent her head to inspect the bloodshot veins in his eyes, then touched his hair with her right hand.
"Go rest," she said.
And so, from that day onward, Vera's Health Management Log recorded not only a hunter's food intake and emotions, but also a university student's interest in knowledge and how well he slept each day.
Sometimes the two sets of entries sat one above the other; sometimes they faced each other on opposite pages. Doctor and patient supervising one another was probably a first.
Over the next two days, life settled into a routine.
Gordon and Vera got up at almost the same time. Then Vera prepared breakfast while Gordon made coffee and read the newspaper, before catching the earliest public horse-drawn tram to university.
If he had no afternoon classes, he returned to 9 Knights Road to read, while monitoring Vera's food consumption to ensure she was fed at fixed times, in a fixed place, and in fixed quantities.
Even if a crumb of food hid itself away, or a piece of beef vanished when it should not have, Gordon would notice immediately.
In this way, Vera gradually established a rhythm between meals.
It was also the first time Vera had realized that impulses and needs could be separated. Just like when she sometimes rewarded herself: most of the time it was out of boredom, and only occasionally was it a necessity.
Gordon wrote in the log:
"...Regular meals have effectively controlled the subjective sensation of hunger." He had just finished writing and was about to have a cup of coffee when Vera's hand arrived unannounced and replaced it with milk.
"It's already eight in the evening," Vera warned.
Gordon shrugged.
The once-clear boundaries of their private lives now seemed somewhat questionable.
Meanwhile, in Lu Ming, in the Gallia Region.
At 17 Saint Michael Street, Eve Grant was reading a letter from across the water.
She was a woman with full lips, deep-set eyes, and a dangerously alluring face.
She wore a long black dress with black tights beneath it. There was not a second color to be found. It was an exceedingly austere outfit, yet it could not conceal her breathtaking curves.
Because the sender had mentioned Winslow's name, she had not immediately tossed it into the wastebasket. Gordon Vick's name, however, made her read the letter twice.
An unremarkable university student had described his discoveries in Lundenim.
He had concealed the Blackwater Hermitage and described the ritual as repetitive behavior. The Fisher King, Water Monkeys, the deep sea beneath Lundenim-these strange tales seemed cheap, but Gordon's writing gave them interconnected meaning.
Naturally, Eve understood what Gordon was trying to say.
I have leads. Come to Lundenim. Let's do something big.
Eve's lips curved into a smile. She set the letter aside and drew out the second document: the ancient inscription Gordon wanted her to translate.
Her gaze focused on the copy Gordon had made.
It reproduced every detail of the information depicted in the rubbing, all drawn by hand.
Inscriptions twisted like seaweed, symbols alluding to embryos, interconnected lines, and every tiny design...
What caught her attention was that Gordon had written several lines of conjecture. Though incomplete, they showed remarkable insight.
Gordon knew nothing about inscriptions, but from the structure of the images, he had already deduced that this was more than a Cultist's wild fantasy. It was also a precise engineering framework.
A ritual for... elevating the level of life, allowing organisms to evolve and be born.
Very interesting.
Eve understood exactly what the ancient inscription sought to convey, so she took out a sheet of letter paper and began drafting her reply to Gordon.
Respected Mr. Vick...
Eve considered it, crossed out "Respected," and wrote again:
...Dear Mr. Vick.
On the morning of April 10, Vera brought Gordon two letters from downstairs.
"They're both for you," Vera said.
One was snowy white, made of fine paper, and bore the emblem of the Elizabeth Charitable Student Trust Fund.
[Student loan envelope. Don't open it! Don't open it! Don't open it!]
The other was purple and gave off an enticing scent of tuberose.
[Lovely envelope. Open it now.]
One represented reality, the other hope.
Gordon took a deep breath and resolutely chose to let reality punch him first.
He opened the student loan letter.
"In regard to your approved educational assistance loan... interest has accrued at the contractual rate from the date of disbursement..."
"Original principal: 100 gold pounds."
"Interest accrued this period: 2 gold pounds and 7 silver pounds."
"Account maintenance fee: 3 silver pounds."
"Postal notification fee: 5 copper pence."
"Current total balance due: 102 gold pounds, 10 silver pounds, and 5 copper pence."
The letter ended by wishing Gordon a happy Rescue Festival and expressing the hope that he would develop his knowledge and character at university. It also reassured him that he was currently in a grace period and did not need to make an immediate repayment.
"So this is a student loan." Vera had finally seen the thing Gordon was always thinking about.
"Yes." Gordon sighed heavily.
"It sneaks more onto what you owe."
"Not sneaking. Robbing me in broad daylight," Gordon said. "They calculate it every month and send a notice every quarter."
"It says you don't have to pay it now," Vera said.
"Yes."
"Your debt earns interest."
"Yes."
"And the interest becomes new debt."
"Yes."
"What kind of Source Substance ability is this?"
"Whatever it is, they're definitely a top-tier ability user," Gordon said.
Vera returned to her room.
She retrieved the money she had hidden beneath the floorboards, inside the cupboard, and under the windowsill.
"Is this enough?" she asked.
"No, and that's our emergency fund." Gordon persuaded her to put it away. Vera had about twenty-five gold pounds to spare. "Promise me we'll only use it when we're about to starve."
"All right." Vera looked a little disappointed.
Gordon ran through his assets in his head.
He still had nearly sixty gold pounds, a Gray who could shoot, a pure Source Substance embryo, and an underground hydrological map Harold had left behind.
For now, what concerned him most was that embryo, and whether Eve could translate the material related to the birth-rite for him.
Once Gordon acquired his second Source Substance ability, his situation would improve greatly. What would a mere student loan matter then?
Gordon took a deep breath and picked up the second letter.
It was a purple envelope, clean and beautiful, with a substantial amount inside. Gordon broke the seal, and eight sheets slid out in sequence, with the feel of a crafted work of art.
He arranged the pages and read them carefully.
She had used dark blue ink, and her handwriting was graceful. Merely looking at the words set Gordon's peculiar brain to work. He could almost see an educated, courteous beauty sitting at a desk, writing those lovely words with a beautiful hand.
He glanced at the opening and could not help smiling.
"...Dear Mr. Vick: allow me to express my sincere gratitude. I have studied in depth the ancient inscription you so graciously permitted me to examine; it has provided gratifying corroboration for certain rather unpopular conclusions I have reached in recent years..."
"Is she thanking you?" Vera stood behind Gordon.
"Yes, yes."
"She says her conclusions are unpopular."
"That means everyone else is an idiot," Gordon said.
"Then she could say it more directly," Vera said. "If I wrote it... it'd be, 'Thank you, Gordon. Everyone else is an idiot. We're the two smartest people in the world.'"
"You're right," Gordon said. "I actually prefer that style too. If I write back, you can do it for me."
Vera nodded in satisfaction.
Gordon continued reading.
On the one hand, Eve was extremely curious about the myth of the Fisher King. She had collected quite a few leads. Some believed the Fisher King was the monarch of the Riverbed Court; others said he was an ancient hero sleeping in the Sea Where the Stars Sink. Still others said that the Fisher King was a vacant position waiting for someone to inherit it. All these accounts indicated that the Fisher King's authority was closely connected to Breeding.
On the other hand, Eve had translated the inscription on the ancient rubbing. In her view, the entire inscription addressed only one subject:
"How should we artificially bring about a birth?"
Gordon grew serious.
This lady was clearly extremely well versed in the literature of the Esoteric Cult.
Winslow had good reason not to want the two of them to meet. Face-to-face, Gordon could talk to her for days.
"She's dangerous," Vera said.
"How do you know?"
"You're smiling very happily."
"It's the satisfaction of meeting an accomplished colleague." Gordon thought nothing of it.
At the end of the letter, Eve raised her sole point of uncertainty.
She noted that an embryo was depicted at the center of the rubbing, wrinkled and resembling a dried fruit. None of that was unusual.
What was most unusual was a set of inconspicuous symbols around the embryo. They looked like an elongated, twisted eye, or two spiral curves chasing one another without ever meeting.
The ancient rubbing had a rough artistic style, and Gordon had always regarded those symbols as decoration.
After all, ancient documents often filled their blank spaces with water monsters, compass roses, and walking rabbits.
Eve, however, believed that these symbols expressed a separate concept. They very likely involved meanings such as inheritance, transmission, bestowal, or the giving of form, and might even be the key to the entire ritual.
She left Gordon three questions.
"What exactly carries all the instructions an embryo needs to develop and take shape?"
"What makes us humans grow into the forms we have now?"
"Why do children resemble their parents?"
At the very end, she also wrote:
"Mr. Vick, if you can unravel this mystery, perhaps you will understand the most important-and most easily overlooked-part of this Arcane Ritual."
Gordon felt somewhat at a loss.
He looked at the tiny markings surrounding the "embryo" on the ancient rubbing.
[The symbols on the rubbing. Take a guess.]
He focused on them: two long, intertwined lines with little dots between them that looked like tadpoles, though now they brought crossbars to mind. Crude and distorted as they were, their proportions all wrong, he gradually began to understand.
...In the world he had come from, this thing represented a more clearly defined concept.
It appeared in biology textbooks and in pharmaceutical company logos.
The double helix.
Genetic information.
A code that could be copied and passed on...that guided the development of life.
Before you continue