The butler looked faintly disturbed. “My deepest apologies.”
“I prefer shallow ones.” Enrique sniffed, examining his fingernails. “Now—”
“—did our photography equipment arrive?” cut in Zofia.
Enrique had a split second to hide his frown. Zofia must have been distracted because she’d never once messed up her lines in the past. Now that he looked at her, he noticed her mustache lifting slightly at the edges.
“Yes, it did,” said the butler. A slight furrow appeared between his eyebrows. “They were locked inside a massive traveling cabinet.” He paused, and Enrique watched his eyes flick to Zofia’s lifting mustache. “… I must inquire, is everything quite all right—”
Enrique let out a loud, hysterical laugh.
“Ah, my dear man! So thoughtful, is he not?” he said, grabbing Zofia’s face and pressing his thumb over the lifting mustache. “What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty… uh…”
Enrique stalled. That was about all he knew ofHamlet, honestly, but then Zofia spoke.
“—In form and moving how express and admirable,” she said, her voice pitched low.
Enrique stared at her.
“You must forgive the eccentricities of my friend,” she said smoothly to the butler, remembering her lines. “Would you be so good as to show me some of the rooms? A short tour is all that is necessary, but I want to ascertain whether any other photographs will be required for the article.”
The butler, still wide-eyed, nodded slowly. “Right this way…”
“I will stay here,” said Enrique, turning in a slow circle. He tapped his temples and took a loud, deep breath. “I want to soak in the art.Feelit, before I may be so bold as to write about it. You understand.”
The butler flashed a strained smile. “I leave you to what you do best.”
And with that, he led Zofia to a different part of the house.
Once they were out of sight, Enrique drew a Forged sphere from his pocket and threw it into the air, watching as it slowly scanned the room for any detection devices. The butler’s words curdled in his gut.What you do best.He thought of standing in the atrium of the National Library, his damp fingerprints smudging his notes for the presentation that no one attended… and, later, the letter from the Ilustrados.
…Write your inspiring articles on history. It is what you do best…
It still stung. Enrique’s references hadn’t mattered at all. He had expected the weight of his professors’ and advisor’s words might not mean much to them, but he was shocked Séverin’s influence had done nothing. Séverin’s public support meant a universally appreciated influence: money. But maybe his ideas were so foolishthat no amount of money made them worth listening to. Maybe he simply wasn’t enough.
What you do best.
Enrique clenched his jaw. By now the spherical detection device had settled on the floor. The room was safe. Footsteps resounded on the other side of the hall. Zofia and the butler were returning. In a moment, they’d enter the Chamber of Goddesses where they would find the Tezcat spectacles and with it,The Divine Lyrics. The Ilustrados thought he did nothing but master dead languages and pore over dusty books, that his ideas were worthless, but there was so much more to him. GettingThe Divine Lyricswas all the proof he needed. They wouldn’t be able to deny, then, that his skills could procure power.
Now all he had to do was get it.
THE CHAMBER OF GODDESSESnearly brought Enrique to his knees.
It was like the foyer of some forgotten temple. Life-size goddesses leaned forward from recessed niches. Above stretched an elaborate cerulean ceiling, mechanized so the stars rotated slowly, and the planets spun as if on an invisible axis. The artwork made him feel small, but gloriously so, as if he were part of something greater than himself. It was how he used to feel every Sunday when he went to mass, drinking up the reminder that he was surrounded by a divine love. This room was the first time he had felt like this in years.
“The chamber is truly overwhelming,” said the butler in reverent tones. “Though it does not last.”
That sharpened Enrique’s attention. “What? What do you mean?”
“The Chamber of Goddesses has a unique function, one that we don’t fully understand but that we hope will become more clear once your article publishes. You see, the Chamber of Goddesses…disappears.”
“Excuse me?”
“Every hour,” said the butler. “The goddesses sink into the walls, and all these gilded trappings turn white.” He consulted his watch. “By my estimate, you have about twenty minutes left of this before it disappears and returns at the next hour. But I figured that would be sufficient time to take your photos and take notes. Besides, it becomes nearly freezing in here once the door is shut. We believe the original artist installed a Forged temperature-control mechanism, perhaps for the preservation of the stone and paint. Anyway, do let me know if I can be of any assistance.”
And with that, the butler left, shutting the door behind him. Enrique suspected his heartbeat had changed to:Oh no oh no oh no.
“Where’s Hypnos?” asked Zofia.
