Chapter Text
Dear people who can fall asleep the moment they put their head on their pillow, I’ve always envied you, but never so much as last night. In one event, the majority of the development I had spent the last few years working on fizzled into nothing.
What did I do wrong to make Sycamore flee like a disturbed, frightened deer? No matter how many times I recounted every word I said and every action I made, it made no sense. None of them should’ve resulted in that response.
The morning eventually came, sunlight striking my unready face; meanwhile, Aurora was already wide awake. Somehow, the girl who knew nothing about who she was or what happened to her people was living a more peaceful life than me.
I needed to nip this in the bud as soon as possible. We were due to leave for America tomorrow! I didn’t want to look like an idiot turning up to be told that I wasn’t allowed to come anymore… or not prepare and leave everyone waiting.
Move forward–that’s what I needed to do. The best way to do that would be to speak with Sycamore directly. At this time of morning, he would beyond doubt be feasting on the breakfast delights offered by The Celeste Hotel. Then again, security there must be tight for how expensive and prestigious it is. Barging through the front door wouldn’t go well.
Asking the receptionist might work… if I knew his room number. I was confident that he hadn’t told us. The other option would be to go to the aerodrome where the Bostonius was having its engine upgraded. If it wasn’t for that stupid engine, we’d be on our way to America already, and this awkwardness wouldn’t be looming over me.
Unable to decide, I served breakfast for Aurora and me using what little food was left in the fridge. Since we were meant to be departing tomorrow, there wasn’t much point in restocking until we got back. There was only one egg, which I decided to let Aurora have. Azran food must have such a wide array of unimaginable flavours. If I had any idea, perhaps I’d be more jealous that she was able to experience them.
In the end, using the rationale of ‘what would Hershel Layton do?’, I found myself leaving my apartment with Aurora in tow. With how independent she was getting, I was half tempted to let her stay on her own if I could be confident she wouldn’t hurt herself or burn the place down. Still, the risk was more than zero, so here she was, trailing behind me like how a duckling swims after its mother.
The interior of The Celeste lived up to its reputation more than sufficiently. Anyone who stayed here clearly had an air of affluence about them. I was far from being on the poorer side of society, thanks to my parents and my work, but I was even further away from being able to afford a room here for as long as Sycamore had booked. Where on earth was he securing the funding for a place like this? Did he have a secret hedge fund?
Stunning red carpet marked the floor with not a single part showing age or wear and tear. The areas most vulnerable to damage were pristine, almost as if they had been replaced this very morning. Columns that reached the high ceiling above, also marble white, were dotted around the lobby. Around us, the bourgeois wearing coats made from real animal pelts and jewellery worth a kingdom nattered about business. Some of them gave Aurora pressured glances of superiority as we passed. If I weren’t afraid of getting kicked out already, I might’ve spoken up about their prejudice.
At the far end was the reception. A towering, thin woman stood reviewing the guest logs with the kind of sculpted face that reminded me of those stories about horrible head teachers told to make naughty kids behave. Her dark hair was pulled into a tall bun that threatened to yank her scalp off if she made it any tighter.
I approached the counter with my heart palpitating in my ears. The nerves of confronting Sycamore were bad enough. Having to endure this woman’s scrutiny was not something I came prepared for.
“Ah, excuse me?” I said softly. Drawing too much attention from the get-go wouldn’t be the best decision.
The woman pushed up her glasses with her middle finger and continued to read the logs. She hadn’t noticed me, no problem…
I cleared my throat and spoke slightly louder. “E-Excuse me?”
In private, her friends must think she was an angel for dealing with the common folk who mistakenly wander into the hotel. I was nothing more than a wayward vagrant seeking shelter from the elite. They could spare a penny if they so chose, not that they would. ‘Could’ and ‘would’ are two very different mentalities. She continued to ignore me, going so far as to turn the page and mistakenly push up her fallen glasses with her middle finger.
…What was I supposed to do now?
Suddenly, a flamboyant pair of honeymooners barged past me, slamming into my hip in the process. The wife wore a feather boa so poofy that I could feel the dust clinging to it stuff up my nose. The husband pulled a pair of designer sunglasses off his face and placed them on top of his head. Both were clearly intoxicated despite it being early morning. Unsurprisingly, the receptionist took immediate notice of them. The once-sharp features she bore dulled to smoothness.
“Good morning, Mr and Mrs Ortin. I trust our facilities last night were to your liking?” she asked with great poise. She must rehearse her statements in the mirror every morning.
The husband gave a great toothy grin. None of them were his original teeth, judging by the gold and silver flecks shining in the light. “Absolutely excellent!” he bellowed as he clung to his wife as tightly as possible. “Ask later and we’ll extend our stay, I’m sure!”
The wife squealed with such high excitement that it hurt my ears. “Oooh, dear! You shouldn’t! We’ll be taking a room from this little sweetheart here!”
She broke away from her husband and grabbed both of Aurora’s wrists with vigour. “Aren’t you just the sweetest thing? I could eat you right up!”
Aurora, with pure fear in her eyes, meekly replied, “Y-You’ll… eat me?”
Now was the worst time for Aurora to get confused by a figure of speech. I gently grabbed Aurora’s shoulders to direct her away from the wife until she eventually let go. For some reason, she acted as if I didn’t exist. Was I so bland that I was effectively invisible to the elite?
“Boo. You’re no fun,” she pouted before directing herself to the receptionist. “Go on, you’re clearly here for a reason, so get on with it so my lovely and I,” she planted a great kiss on her husband’s cheek, “can continue our fanfare!”
This was not how I thought this morning would go… but it was progress that I shouldn’t squander. When the receptionist was forced to acknowledge me, I pressed the question.
“I’m looking for Professor Desmond Sycamore.”
She squinted at me beyond the unblemished lenses of her glasses. Curtly, she replied, “We don’t give out room numbers. It’s a matter of basic privacy that I’m sure someone of your class can understand.”
Class? If she knew who my parents were, she might’ve held a different tone. …Unless she only cared about wealth and not celebrity status.
“I’m not asking for his room number, I don’t need it.” A partial lie. Having his room number would’ve made this significantly easier, but alas, I utilised what little space I had to manoeuvre. “Can you deliver a message?”
“We don’t do messages, either,” she snapped without hesitation. No wonder the hotel reviews were flawless. The staff treat guests like infallible royalty who could do no wrong. Only guests can leave reviews. The drab they shooed out like rats with a broom had no voice. My very presence was, in her eyes, polluting the lobby. God forbid she might have to steam the patches of carpet I stepped on.
Losing the will to live, I inhaled deeply. “What can you do? This is important—”
“Might I be of assistance, Miss Smith?” a polite voice asked.
My neck snapped to the side where the voice originated from to see my absolute saving grace: Raymond. Although he wasn’t Sycamore, he was his right-hand, so there was no better person to find to guide me in the right direction.
Raymond directed Aurora and me away from the desk, allowing the drunken honeymooners to bumble past. …I wasn’t like that last night, was I? I knew I had a drink or a few, so that couldn’t be why Sycamore left, right? I could’ve sworn the receptionist’s disgruntled frown turned into a sunshiny smile when I left. Talk about service and settling my nerves.
“Good morning, Raymond,” I greeted, trying to be as cordial as possible before displaying my eagerness to see Sycamore. “Is… Professor Sycamore around? I’d like to see him if possible.”
Understanding my request, Raymond clasped his hands together with formal grace. “Professor Sycamore has left for breakfast. You may be able to find him near the buffet.” He gestured over to the left side of this gigantic room. A sequence of columns held up the curved shape of the building, and there was a set of wooden patterned dividers separating the raff from those enjoying their morning tea. He must be sitting behind there.
“Thank you, Raymond! Let’s go, Aurora.”
Before we could leave, Raymond raised his finger with wisdom in his suggestion. “Perhaps Miss Aurora would like to see the garden. It is rather magnificent. I would be happy to accompany you.”
He was trying to let me rekindle my relationship without having the burden of using double meanings to ensure Aurora wasn’t catching on to any conflict. I hadn’t considered it; Raymond was two steps ahead, as per usual.
“It’ll be fun, Aurora. You can tell me about the pretty flowers they’ve got. How about it?”
Her hesitance at leaving my side was dwindling by the day. She was inseparable from me when she was awoken at the Azran dome. Now, she was turning into her own person, less afraid and more curious about the new world she lived in. Is this what it feels like when a baby bird starts leaving the nest?
She opened her mouth the smallest amount while she thought. “That sounds… nice. Will it be okay… Vivian?”
She still clung to my hand, even if it became more metaphorical than literal these days. “Raymond will look after you. Don’t worry. I’ll come find you when I’m done.”
…..
This was it. If I went past those dividers, I’d be without a way of turning back. Bare and exposed, the truth would be confronted. Was I going too far in doing this? What if stoking the fire made it erupt into flames instead of prolonging its weaker life?
Aurora would be preoccupied with Raymond for some time. I could leave, go home, and come back in half an hour…
I shook my head to rid myself of those gnawing thoughts. Sycamore was a gentleman, one whom I admired and had seen his patience and generosity. He wasn’t like most others. If something went wrong last night, he would forgive me. I had to believe in his kindness.
Butterflies in my stomach, I stepped through the space leading to the buffet area. Strong sunlight from the ceiling-high windows momentarily blinded me. When my eyes gradually adjusted, I saw him.
Newspaper in hand and pancakes drizzled in honey and decorated with wildberries laid neatly and methodically on the plate in front of him, Sycamore sat at the table closest to the window overlooking the garden Raymond spoke about. Many other tables were dotted about with patrons going between the giant buffet table and their own. So many sweet and savoury smells infiltrated my nose. …If only I were allowed to wolf down a croissant.
I put one foot forward, then another, and another as my heart threatened to break out of my chest. He hadn’t noticed me yet, okay, this was fine—
“Watch where you’re going!” a large man yelled as he bumped into me. His gigantic stack of French toast, pastries, and all sorts barely avoided cascading over me. A droplet of maple syrup might’ve flung onto my shirt.
“S-Sorry!” I yelped, sidestepping out of the way. My brain went into momentary autopilot and thrust me forward toward Sycamore.
At the noise, he peered up from his newspaper. His red-framed glasses hung on to the edge of his nose until he pushed them up with his index finger. I think he recognised me… or if he hadn’t, he might’ve gathered my presence by my voice.
He humbly placed the newspaper down before speaking. “Is that you, Vivian?”
He had seen me. Great.
The point of absolute no return had been crossed, and the opportune moment squandered. At the very worst, he wasn’t looking at me with disdain… confusion, mostly. I approached, hands behind my back so he couldn’t see my nervous fidgeting. Please don’t be sick.
“H-Hi, good morning, Professor,” I introduced, hating myself for stammering.
He smiled gently, showing no obvious signs of malice or wanting me to leave. “Good morning. I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.” Then, as he turned his head to face the light, dark, dusty circles appeared underneath his eyes. “Please, sit down.”
‘Until tomorrow’? So he wasn’t intending to exclude me… Thank goodness, but if he wasn’t angry with me, then what was the cause of last night’s disruption?
I pulled the chair out, taking note of the patterned design on the back of it. The seat itself was made out of padded leather, the kind that morphed its shape to the user. I was too used to battered chairs that squeaked when any kind of force was applied. This one was silent, a mere whisper in the wind. I’d expect nothing less of The Celeste.
I stayed silent, unsure of how to begin. The conversation was his stage to act, pretend, masquerade. He seemed more… milquetoast today. While he said he was feeling unwell last night, it hardly showed on his face other than a lack of sleep. I hadn’t caught on to him having any sleeping difficulties while we were in Phong Gi… apart from when Harlow made him barge into my hut, that is.
He cleared his throat and pushed away the plate of pancakes. His appetite vanished. When he spoke, he chose his words precisely and delicately, trying to inflict the minimum amount of damage possible. Harm caused by honesty or harm caused by white lies: which was the lesser of two evils?
“I would like to apologise for last night. I wasn’t in my right mind. I hope it hasn’t caused any undue stress.”
Undue stress? No, not in the slightest. I didn’t spend the entirety of last night and this morning panicking, thinking that you were about to ostracise me from the group.
I shook my head and provided my own white lie. “Actually, I was more worried about you. You disappeared suddenly… Are you sure we should depart tomorrow if you’re unwell?”
“I’ll ensure everything is prepared for tomorrow, including myself. Yesterday, I pushed my limits, the boundary.” A sudden chill spread across my skin as the clouds concealed the sun. His gaze faltered to the garden. Aurora and Raymond were poking around at a bright brown flower. “It… was unrelated to you. Please, don’t stress on my behalf.”
Sycamore was a trustworthy person the vast majority of the time. He had a prolific reputation as a gentleman, and as Layton would tell you, gentlemen don’t lie. The cold lifted goosebumps on my skin. With no evidence of another side to his tale, I let the topic fade, but it didn’t die in my mind.
“I’m glad to hear it, Professor.”
Around us, more and more patrons were joining for breakfast, turning the quaint scene into a bustling background. Soft voices turned stern to maintain their volume and intensity. My stomach grumbled in protest at the battling scents unwillingly entering my nostrils.
Perking up, I addressed one of the questions that had been on my mind for a while. “The Celeste lives up to its reputation. Three years living next to it, and this is the first time I’ve gone inside. I feel out of place! Don’t you?”
On cue, the sun broke free from the wall of clouds, returning warmth to the world. Sycamore gingerly sipped tea from his cup, almost as if he were giving me his answer in the most integrated way possible.
“I will admit that The Celeste would normally be out of my price range. My parents–they were good friends with the owner.”
Odd that he stumbled about talking about his parents. He spoke about them in the past tense, too. Were his parents no longer friends with the owner, or was there something else behind it? Perhaps it was the early morning air and the stress of last night that made me pick up on niche, unimportant details.
I leaned forward with my elbows resting on the table. Someone in the distance tutted, I could’ve sworn. “Wow, they must have some kind of influence to be on first names with someone like that. Are they archaeologists like you?”
Behind the cup, his lips thinned. “No. They were aristocrats–not the sort with titles, mind you. My passion for archaeology originated elsewhere.”
Fascinating… Neither of us chose to follow in our parents’ footsteps in terms of career. While I loved music, it wasn’t what I wanted to do professionally. They had made their mark on the world with their efforts; I wanted to make mine unassisted. There’s no true escape from nepotism unless you break free from its influence entirely.
I nodded enthusiastically, keen to empathise. “I get that. I was in a lot of hobby groups as a child to help manage my anxiety. I’ll never forget that museum trip we took that made archaeology shine. With infinite areas of study, I’m struggling to choose just one area to dedicate myself to. What made you choose the Azran?”
He let out a heavy, rancorous sigh. His teacup clinked against the china plate when he returned it to its rightful place. “That… is a long story. I’d prefer to tell you about it at a more befitting time.”
That story preyed on him, chasing and tormenting him until he was on the verge of collapsing. He wasn’t ready to bear arms and take a stand against that oppression. It would stay with him alone, lost to time should the beast consume him whole. His cage was made of glass, yet he refused to see paradise, disquieted that it might not be for him.
“That’s okay!” I fretted. “Don’t feel pressured. I’m grateful for what you’ve shared with me today. It’s been pleasant.”
A soft knocking nearby drew my attention back to the garden. Aurora had tapped on the glass with one of the brightest smiles. She held up two gorgeous flowers; one was a brown orchid, beautiful with peachy inner petals, and the other was a deep red rose. It didn’t take a botanist to know that these were rare and specially grown. Let’s hope Raymond got permission for Aurora to pick those… lest Sycamore, or worse, me, be given a bill for them.
“I should probably leave you to it.” I stood up out of the chair and neatly shoved it back under the table. The actual contents of Sycamore’s newspaper caught my eye before I departed. As expected of an academic like the Professor, he wouldn’t go for gossip mags or statistical broadsheets. That middle ground of information and sensationalism was best found in the London Times.
‘Business Tycoon Arnauld DuPont Debuts New UK-Based Group’? If I wasn’t mistaken, that’s Madison’s father. In that case, then the article's probably about that vinyl she gave me. What were they called again? The… Weevils?
‘US Town Famed as the ‘Holy Grail of Gold’ Mourns 5 Years After Mineshaft Collapse’. How tragic… To make it into the London Times, it must’ve been a catastrophe for that town. Losing your loved ones and friends while also losing your livelihood… The ways they would’ve had to adjust after then were unthinkable. Unable to directly help them, I had to move on.
Sycamore took one last long sip of his tea, enjoying the scent and taste of the rich beans. “Then I shall see the two of you tomorrow. I anticipate us leaving at noon to arrive at approximately 3PM. This time, the clocks will be going backwards.”
Phong Gi was roughly six or so hours ahead. Going the same amount of time backwards shouldn’t be too rough on my sleep pattern, seeing how disjointed it was already. I wasn’t a big fan of how everyone else was able to put their best faces forward. Really, it felt like nobody was having any issues with the timezone difference but me.
Such was my difficulty to overcome bit by bit. It wasn’t going to get any easier without dedication.
…..
Raymond brought Aurora into the reception of The Celeste to be returned into my care. The two flowers she picked were fresh with moist droplets on the petals from the early morning mist. Thankfully, Raymond sorted out the matter regarding any potential payment before I arrived—that didn’t stop the receptionist from shooting animosity at me. If she ate fewer lemons, her attitude might be better. The second we stepped outside, oxygen almost painfully filled my lungs. I hadn’t realised how stiffly I had been breathing in there. They were certainly not my kind of people.
Back in my apartment, the plan was clear: get packing and rest up before the big day tomorrow. Doubts erased, there was nothing stopping me from continuing this journey. Aurora was more excited about leaving than last time now that she had growing knowledge about what to expect.
She settled herself down on the sofa with the two flowers in hand. “Raymond… helped me choose them. I like them… but…” She looked up at me with those large, sad eyes. “They… will not last forever. Like… the Tudors.”
Without consistent sustenance, they weren’t going to survive to see the morning. A vase would’ve done the trick for a short while if the water wouldn’t get dirty. We could be in the Mojave Desert for weeks. We needed a more permanent solution that could best the houses of previous monarchies.
What caused the decay of flowers was moisture. Getting rid of it from the stem and petals preserved them relatively well. In the worst-case scenario, it would preserve them long enough until we returned and could find a better method.
I pulled out a random book from my bookshelf that I hadn’t read in years and flicked it open to a random page. It was around hefty enough to work. Frankly, how this book survived the ‘Great Purge’ of three years ago was beyond me. “We could press the flowers in this book. With some kitchen roll, it’ll do the trick.”
“That… sounds fun.” She held the flowers up for me to take. Without thinking, I grabbed the stem of the rose, expecting to feel shooting pain from the thorns… until I saw that this rose had no thorns. It was an alluring flower lacking the hazard of its genome sisters. It must’ve been deliberately bred to lack thorns.
Crafting the setup for the flowers took relatively little time. In the centre page of the book, two pieces of kitchen roll separated the flowers from the pages so the book itself wouldn’t be damaged. If it wasn’t for the fact that someone might want this book in the future, I wouldn’t have been as particular about looking after it.
“Close the book carefully,” I directed to Aurora by the kitchen counter. “If we’ve done this right, then they won’t rot away.”
She gingerly gave her best attempt to close the book without crushing the petals. Orchids and roses aren’t the most flat flowers, so losing some of their shape was unavoidable.
“I… did it.”
I took the book from her and put it back on the bookshelf with a little tag on the spine so we could tell which one we needed. The next hardest part was not forgetting that we had done this.
The future of the flowers settled, it was time to work on my near future. My suitcase wasn’t going to pack itself no matter how harshly I scowled at it. Leaving Aurora to read, I went upstairs to start. Before I could start, the album Madison gave me sat on my bed.
“...Oh, they’re called The Beatles, not The Weevils.”
She did say they were good as cake. If they were high quality enough to get into Sycamore’s newspaper and receive the accreditation of having Arnauld DuPont’s name backing them, they were worth giving a shot. Plopping the vinyl into the player downstairs allowed music to flow throughout the apartment. Too absorbed in her book, Aurora didn’t pay it much mind. That must’ve been her secret as to how she endured Madison’s without getting tinnitus.
I’ll give Madison and her father credit… These guys weren’t half bad.
…..
The next morning, Aurora and I arrived at the aerodrome about ten minutes before noon. Layton and Luke, having arrived by the morning bus, were already there. Emmy arrived shortly after by riding her scooter. Sycamore negotiated a bay behind the aerodrome’s garage for her to leave it without risk of being stolen.
Looking better than her prime, the Bostonius was proud with her newly upgraded engines to boast. It was heartwarming in its own special way. Sycamore clearly adored the Bostonius and wanted her to stay in the best condition possible.
“Good morning, Vivian, Aurora,” Layton said kindly with a tip of his hat.
“More like afternoon!” Luke called out. “It just went midday!”
Sycamore descended with Raymond the stairs that led inside the Bostonius. The outdoor light made him look more lively than yesterday. Like me, he must’ve had a better night's sleep. “Preparations are complete. Once everyone has boarded, we’ll head off. With Raymond’s assistance, we’ve managed to narrow down the egg’s location to a radius.”
A radius was much better than searching the entire Mojave Desert. My fingers were crossed that we’d find it without much hassle and without Targent catching our heels. They were rather quiet in Phong Gi other than taking Amanita’s nephew, Porcini, with them. I wasn’t going to be the one to hit him on her behalf if we saw him.
While we boarded, Sycamore explained the changes that had been made to the Bostonius. She looked largely identical on her exterior… However, Sycamore assured us that her interior had been modified with the newest engine and other gear that I didn’t grasp the concept of. Academic grants and a family rooted in the aristocracy go much further than I thought.
And, as the Bostonius rose above the clouds, I began to wonder… how my life would be if the threads of fate had woven a different tapestry for me.
…..
London, Modern Day
Several trinkets had been taken from this box and there were probably more than half of them left. Crystals, items of clothing, even a broken umbrella. How many of these were items that we had an actual attachment to?
“I’m starting to see why we put this box in the loft,” I chuckled, thankful that it had been put up there while my back was in better condition. My forties were turning out to be harsh, harsh times. “Something must be making it this heavy.”
In the corner of the box sat a thick book beneath various other pieces. Brushing them away allowed me to pick the book up and analyse its cover. I didn’t recognise the title of the book.
“Is this one of yours?” I asked Desmond, tilting it so he could see the name easily.
He readjusted his glasses on his face before responding. “I can’t say it’s an author I’m known to be fond of.”
If it wasn’t Desmond’s, it must’ve been mine at some point. Why would I have kept a book of this size if it wasn’t something important? Then, the tag on the spine revealed the book’s secret.
“This is…”
My throat closed on itself and my hands started shaking. I opened the book to the middle pages and saw them: a brown orchid and dark red rose pressed to last for eternity. A tear fell down my cheek and dropped onto the kitchen roll binding them to the book, quickly disappearing with the moisture it had stolen seven years ago.
Desmond’s hand rubbed against my shoulder somberly. He knew better than most the pains of loss and how to overcome them. “She may no longer be with us, but the marks she left on the world and your heart prove that she existed.”
Time stops for nobody and can never be controlled or conquered. These flowers signified the ties that bound us together.
We can never be eternal, but these ties… they can never be erased. No matter where we are or where we go, our connection will live on forever. She swore she would come back. I faithfully believed in her. I’d never stop waiting, no matter what.
Until it can be realised, we’ll continue writing the next chapter together—the one bathed in the golden sands of the desert.