Pascale Auber & the Ruritanian Riddle

LIV The University - 1

Blaise has an office three floors up on the west side of the physics building. This is just high enough up that you can see the old market through the large windows, if you stand on a chair. Not that I make a practice of standing on chairs in front of my twin, you understand. He is not very understanding about the importance of confirming sightlines, unless those sightlines involve a telescope.

When I pushed the flimsy wooden door open, I expected to see a desk piled high with unmarked assignments, a thirsty-looking aspidistra, and Blaise marking papers, and Baud fast asleep. There is a worn horsehair couch that entirely fills the short wall between the main door and the bookcase; Blaise often puts it to good use, when mid-afternoon hits and his luncheon has rendered him sleepy. Given Baudoin's late night, his use of the couch seemed inevitable. On this particular day, the desk and plant were exactly as I expected them. My brothers were not.

Baudoin was sitting at Blaise's desk, looking vageuly horrified. Blaise himself was standing in the middle of the room, an orange in one hand and a grape in the other.

"If only I had not sent the tabletop orrery out for repairs," he was saying, "I could make this so much more clear!"

Blaise's tabletop orrery is a clockwork model. He claims that it is based on an orrery owned first by Archimedes and later by one of the friends of Cicero, but as Cicero does not describe the instrument in question, I have my doubts. Regardless, it is a pretty thing. It is not the sort or orrery where each planet is a little jewelled ball that whirls around a central sun. Those are much more expensive. Instead, Blaise's little machine is composed of concentric brass rings, each with a a spike rising out of it. A painted cork sphere has been pushed onto each spike, and each higly-polished brass ring is inscribed with a planet's name. You wind the machine up, and with a little whirring noise, the heavens are set in motion before you. Blaise often uses it when a student is having particular difficulty. Not that Blaise needed an orrery at this juncture – the orange and the grape seemed to be furnishing his needs quite well.

I had seen Blaise's impromptu demonstrations before, and could conclude that this was a discussion of how light makes its way from the sun to the earth. The contrast between the bright colour of the orange and the black of Blaise' academic robes was striking, as was his expression. His face was animated, joyous – he was as happy as I've ever seen him. He was apparently giving a personal lesson to the person sitting on the horsehair couch. That person was a woman, very casually dressed in a dove grey tea gown and no hat.

I announced my presence by saying, "Oh! Sorry to interrupt, Blaise!" my voice dripping with utter innocence.

Blaise looked over to me in surprise, a flush suffusing his features. The woman turned to face me. I recognized the serious eyes and sweetly bowed lips immediately. It was Cartimandua Silverstar.