I Loaded the Mysticism Panel

The next morning at school, Richard went to the phone booth.

He had copied his aunt’s number from her business card onto the inside of his notebook’s title page.

After dialing the number for Room 314 of the Petrie Building, the phone rang several times.

When someone answered, it was a woman’s voice, much younger than his aunt’s.

"This is the Petrie Building, Room 314. How may I help you?"

Richard ventured, "Is Associate Professor Isabella in?"

"She’s not, no." The voice on the other end was clear and tinged with a smile.

"My Mentor is on a business trip to the Royal Academy. She’ll be back this afternoon."

"And you are?"

"I’m her graduate student," the person replied, explaining her identity. "I’m just answering the phone for her."

Richard hesitated for half a second.

"My name is Richard Williams."

He decided to give his name directly.

There was a distinct pause on the other end of the line.

"...Richard Williams?"

"Yes."

"The one who took second place in this year’s Cicero Cup?"

"Yes."

"Associate Professor Isabella’s...?"

"Nephew," Richard finished for her.

The person on the other end let out an "Ah!" and her voice suddenly became lively.

"Oh my gosh, my Mentor was just talking about you the other day!"

Richard couldn’t help but crack a smile.

"What was she saying?"

"She said she has a nephew who’s great at Latin. He took second place in the Cicero Cup, and his speech was every bit as good as the first-place winner from the Montague Clan."

"She actually praised me?" Richard was genuinely surprised.

"You didn’t know?" Her voice grew even more animated.

"Your Mentor used your speech as a case study in class. All of her students know your name."

Richard was surprised, but he didn’t let it show in his voice.

"I’m sorry, I haven’t asked your name..."

"Just call me Sofia," she said. "Sofia Hardy."

"Alright, Sofia."

"I competed in the Cicero Cup, too." Sofia was clearly pleased he’d addressed her with such respect. "Six years ago. Time really flies."

"What place did you get back then?"

The sound of rustling paper came from the other end of the line, as if Sofia was flipping through something while she talked.

"Not as good as you..." she mumbled. "I only got fourth place."

"Fourth place is still great."

"The associate professor doesn’t usually share her family matters with her students, does she?" Richard asked tentatively.

"My Mentor rarely talks about those things," Sofia said. "But every time she mentions you, her eyes light up."

As soon as the words left her mouth, she seemed to realize how blunt she’d been and quickly added something.

"I mean... she really admires you."

Richard smiled.

The phone bill was ticking up, penny by penny, but he wasn’t in a hurry to hang up.

"Sofia," he said, changing the subject. "Are you on the Scholar path?"

The other end of the line went quiet for half a second.

"Why do you ask?"

Sofia’s voice was still lively, but now it held a hint of caution.

Richard understood.

’A normal graduate student, hearing that question, would probably respond with, "Of course, aren’t all grad students on the scholar path?"’

’But she didn’t. She was trying to confirm which kind of "Scholar" he meant.’

"We’ve been talking for a bit," Richard said. "Your reactions to certain things remind me of a particular circle."

"Which circle, specifically?"

"You know the one."

The line went quiet again for a moment.

"...Did my Mentor tell you?"

"She mentioned a few things, and my Guide has told me a lot as well," Richard answered vaguely.

"Alright, then." Sofia’s tone relaxed. "I am."

"Tier?"

"I only became a Practitioner last year when I started my graduate studies," Sofia admitted openly. "Your aunt is my Guide."

Richard felt a slight stir within him.

"I hope we can talk more in person someday," Richard said. "But that’s not why I called today."

"What did you call to ask about?"

"I have a diagram for an ’Ether Massage Technique’."

Richard said, "I wanted to ask the associate professor if this kind of method could help with my Mother’s condition."

"Your Mother..." Sofia asked cautiously. "Has she always been in poor health?"

"Yeah."

The other end of the line was silent for a moment.

"Feeling a sudden burst of filial piety, junior?" Sofia’s tone became light again.

"Of course. My sister and I have a division of labor when it comes to filial piety," Richard joked. "She’s in charge of the Eating, and I’m in charge of everything else."

His joke made Sofia laugh. "What’s your sister’s name?"

"Evelyn."

"How old is she?"

"A year younger than me."

"What a cute name," Sofia said. "Next time my Mentor goes back to Brighton, I want to tag along and visit."

"You want to come too?"

"My Mentor is planning the trip right now," Sofia said.

"Anyway..." She steered the conversation back on track. "Regarding that massage technique you mentioned, I’ll tell my Mentor about it when she gets back this afternoon."

"Normally, my Mentor gets back to the office around five p.m.

She should call you back right after she gets your message."

"Okay."

"Your time on the phone must be almost up, right?" Sofia reminded him. "I can hear the warning tone."

"Yeah."

"Then let’s hang up."

"Thanks."

"Don’t mention it."

Richard hung up the phone.

* * *

At 5:20 p.m., Richard arrived home a few minutes early.

He was doing his homework in the living room, Evelyn was in the kitchen helping their Mother chop onions, and their father, who hadn’t worked late today, was reading the newspaper in his study.

The phone rang at 5:35 p.m., right on time.

Their Mother came out of the kitchen at once.

"I’ll get it," Richard said, reaching the phone first. "It’s probably my aunt."

"Isabella again?" his Mother asked, a little puzzled.

Richard picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Richard."

Isabella’s voice was a bit rushed. It was obvious she had called him not long after getting back to her office.

"This morning, Sofia called and told me about your situation."

"Yes."

"That massage technique you have, where did you get it?"

Richard had already prepared his story.

"A Practitioner from outside the academy gave it to me in exchange for a Technique document I had."

"What’s his tradition?"

"He didn’t say," Richard said calmly. "According to the rules of engagement, I didn’t ask."

Isabella paused for a moment.

"You were able to get your hands on a Technique document from a Practitioner outside the academy?"

"Auntie..." Richard sighed. "Are you asking where I got that document, or are you asking if I’ve been doing things I shouldn’t be?"

A very soft laugh came from the other end of the line.

"You know what I’m thinking, don’t you."

"I haven’t done anything I shouldn’t have," Richard said.

"It was a perfectly legitimate trade. I exchanged it for the Technique I deciphered myself."

"Mm," Isabella accepted. "That diagram of the massage technique, can you describe a few of the key steps for me?"

Richard read three steps from the contents of his copy.

Step one: The Caster gathers Ether in their palm, forming an Ether membrane of moderate temperature, and covers the corresponding location of the Throne of the Sun on the recipient’s back.

Step two: Using a four-beat Breathing rhythm as a cycle, slowly push and press the palm along the direction of the main meridians.

Step three: At the end of each round of pressing, the Ether flows back into the Caster, leaving no residue.

After hearing him out, Isabella didn’t respond right away.

For a while, there was only the sound of rustling paper on the other end.

"This method is worth trying. I’ve done something similar myself in the past."

"Is it really effective?"

"At most, it will make the person being massaged ’comfortable’." Isabella’s phrasing was almost identical to that of Prometheus.

"It’s a far cry from a ’cure’."

"But if you do it consistently, it can slow the degradation of the circuits and alleviate daily discomfort."

"You’ve done it for my mom, too?" Richard asked.

"I have." A trace of emotion entered Isabella’s voice.

"For a few years after your mom first moved back to Brighton, I would visit once a month and perform it on her each time."

"And then?"

"Then you were born, and I had to go for my doctorate," Isabella said.

"Your mom got busy, I got busy, and we sisters ended up living in different places."

"I never did the massage for her again."

Richard could hear the faint regret in her words.

"Then I’ll start doing it for her next week," Richard said.

"...Good."

Isabella reminded him.

"Practice the technique until you’ve mastered it first. Just looking at the diagram isn’t enough. The direction of the pushing and pressing in the second step is the easiest part to get wrong."

"I’ll let you know when I’ve got it down."

"Okay."

"I’ll come to Brighton in the spring and bring gifts for you and Evelyn."

"What kind of gifts?"

"Guess?"

"..."

"Look forward to it."

Her tone held a lightness Richard had never heard from her before.

"I’ll be waiting for you in Brighton."

"Okay."

The call ended.

Richard placed the receiver back on the cradle. When he turned around, he saw his Mother standing at the entrance to the living room.

She was still holding a corner of her apron in her hand.

"What were you and Isabella talking about for so long?"

"A massage technique."

"A massage technique?"

"Yeah," Richard said. "It’s for you."

His Mother froze for a second.

Evelyn poked her head out of the kitchen, her hands covered in chopped onions. "A massage for Mom? I want to do it too!"

"You haven’t learned how," Richard said.

Evelyn puffed out her cheeks. "If I haven’t learned, you can just teach me!"

His Mother looked at her son, then at her daughter, but didn’t say a word.

She lowered her head and turned back to the kitchen.

Evelyn hadn’t finished chopping all the onions yet. From the kitchen, their Mother coughed twice more.

Richard walked to the kitchen doorway.

"Mom, do you need help?"

"No." Her back was to him, and her voice was muffled. "Sit down and wait for dinner."

"Okay."

Richard sat back down at the dining table and looked over the massage diagram again.

The rain outside had lightened a little, and the evening breeze lifted a corner of the curtain.

He glanced out the window.

At the end of Waste Rock Lane, the gas lamp was already lit.

Its light cast a small circle on the wet flagstone path.

"Dinner’s ready!"

Evelyn called out from the kitchen doorway.

"Coming."

Richard stood up.

The aroma of food drifted out from the kitchen.

Mashed potatoes, onions, pan-fried fish, and freshly baked bread.