1908
Clara knew there were a great deal of secrets left to discover, but for now these secrets would have to wait. Sure, it was disappointing to keep her curiosity in check, but she needed to prioritise her studies, or at least initially.
Courses were taught all over the Tower, from the deepest bowels of the dungeon for combat training, to its highest reaches for poetry. Clara's course load made getting to her classes on time a challenge.
On Thursdays, she would sneak through a library past the watchful eye of Father Allen, the Tower's chief archivist, to shave twenty minutes off her trip. That gave her enough time to arrive early at her improvised weapons course to get some one-on-one time. There were risks in shaving time off her transits. Detention came to mind as a lesser repercussion, but the rewards were often well worth the risk.
Every Wednesday, Clara would leave five minutes early from bible studies to grab an early lunch. She would greedily consume everything on her plate to attend improvised weaponry classes.
Clara observed other initiates who were at the same point in their training. Some were cool and collected as though the chaos had been woven into the fabric of their souls, while others were on the cusp of a complete breakdown.
While never formally acknowledged, every aspect of their training had been designed to test the students. The ability for a student to realise this was a key factor for their survival. Those who sought perfection and needed to control their situation saw their grip on reality loosen little by little every day. It was obvious they wanted people to adapt to these conditions or fail spectacularly.
There was one factor which remained constant throughout. The Tower held a proverbial cornucopia of secrets. There were skeletons in every closet and people almost never gave a straight answer. That truth was not exclusive to the inhabitants of the Tower. Clara also learned that there were omissions in their archives.
For a young girl who liked to cause a bit of mischief, finding these omissions became a passion of hers. She would fly through rows upon rows of books looking for something that appeared peculiar or out of place.
Clara vividly recalled the conversation she had with Father Allen about a particular omission.
"What do you mean, child?" Father Allen asked.
"Pages are missing from this book," Clara said. She then added a belated, "Father," as a form of respect.
"That can't be right, child," Father Allen said.
Father Allen tore the book from her hands to get a better look. There was something about his dramatic behaviour that made her suspicious.
"Which page, child?" Father Allen asked.
Clara took back the book then placed it neatly on a table surface. That way, both of them could get a clear view of the pages. Clara then thumbed through it quickly until she found the offending pages.
"I would say five pages or so are missing, Father," Clara said.
Father Allen looked at the top of the book, nearer to the spine; there were no voids to indicate that pages had been cut away. Fortunately, Clara knew that books were often rebound.
"There are no visible voids, child," Father Allen said.
"No, but the animation is off, Father," Clara said.
"Animation?" Father Allen asked.
Clara had come across many mediaeval texts before, hand written works of art that are normally created using the precise hand of a scribe. However, some must have found the task monotonous, since she occasionally found doodles or illustrations hidden throughout.
YOU ARE READING
The Van Helsing Paradox
Fantasy"A gal has to look after herself after all." Clara Grey's parents once said that the world was a dark and dangerous place. There was more truth than fiction to those words. There were things that lurked in the shadows which defied the laws of nature...
