The Clocks

Breakfast at the Donetti's was the usual subdued chaos. This was mostly because the youngest children were wide-awake, full of energy, and fidgeting. School was still out for another week, and they wanted to hurry up and go outside to play.

The two oldest children and their parents were discussing their plans for the day. They'd long ago learned that it was futile to try to get the twins to be quiet in the morning, so they were seated some two meters away from them. Stavros and Conseula tried to get their elders' attention but only briefly. It had been over a year since they'd worn out all the gambits they could come up and hadn't yet devised anything new that was likely to work.

Giving up wasn't part of their nature, so they did what they always did when they wanted privacy. They spoke to each other in "twin," the private mental language spoken by each set of twins born in The City. They threw various plans for getting attention back and forth, but nothing came up that was truly satisfying. Finally, out of sheer desperation, Consuela suggested putting a water trap above a door that would drench the next person to come through it.

Immediately there was a thump from the adults' end of the table. When the two of them looked up, they saw their mother looking at them with an expression of disgust accompanied by a slow shaking of her head. They both bobbed their heads in apology and changed the topic of their discussion. Everybody knew that nobody, not even another set of twins, could understand, or even hear "twin" so how did their mother know what they were talking about? Maybe it was just a coincidence.

They lifted their heads and turned toward their mother, who was still looking at them. All she did was smile slightly at them and wink. Then she turned her attention back to the others.

Paolo was more than a little confused by what had just happened. From the body language and expressions of the participants, it was something interesting, but he had not an iota of an idea of what it was. He raised an inquiring eyebrow at his mother who responded with a tiny nod. Good. They'd talk about whatever it was later. Besides that he was feeling a mounting need to talk about what had happened in his room earlier. Dealing with both at once would be the most efficient way to handle things. Nodding to himself, he turned his attention back to Eugenia's explanation as to why her traveling to Milan to visit her paternal aunt during her vacation at the end of summer, without any adults accompanying her on the trip, was a good idea.

After breakfast the twins went off with Sven, Eugenia trailed after her father, still lobbying for her trip, and Paolo followed his mother into her office. Excitement was warring with trepidation, but, as the shock of the early morning faded, and his disposition mellowed from the fine meal, excitement was winning the battle.

Once his mother had settled herself in a comfortable armchair, rather than behind her desk as Paolo had expected, he gingerly sat down in the chair facing hers. He'd never been invited (or ordered if you will) to do so previously and he wasn't entirely sure that it would be allowed. She smiled at him in order to reassure him, then began to speak, "Well, it's true that you are of an age for it, but as you likely noticed, a certain someone, or someones, decided to spring things on you before your father and I could ease you into it.

"We'd intended to let you get things between you and Sara settled first, but it seems that we no longer have that luxury."

She lifted her arms and rotated her palms upward as she spread them apart. "But that's life for you, always tossing something at you right when you think you've finally recovered your balance from some other trial."

Then she growled, "No thanks to them."

"That all being said, I think that I'll let you start things off. Ask your questions, and then we'll see where things lead."

Paolo tried to rein in his scattered thoughts, so as to ask his questions in an orderly manner. His parents despised people who said things randomly without thinking first. The next thing he knew, he found himself throwing himself to his feet and bowing deeply to his mother. "Oh my God! I totally forgot to thank you for the desk. Please, don't think that I don't appreciate it. I do! More than you might be able to imagine. It's wonderful. I'm SO sorry that I didn't say anything earlier!"

From his bent-over position, Paolo couldn't see his mother's face. He hoped that she wasn't too angry about his lapse. His anxiety was relieved by his mother's full-throated laughter. She rarely laughed that way. She always said that it wasn't "ladylike," so she reserved it for rare occasions when some private family going-on amused her.

Finally her laughter trailed off, except for sporadic, chuckling snorts. "Really Paulito. Sometimes you're much too serious. Do you believe that I, or your father, would be so petty as to not realize that you have other priorities at the moment? People should always come before things, and Sara is one incredible person. Of course you didn't have time to thank us, you silly goose!"

She stood and smoothed out the wrinkles in her skirt that her contortions while laughing had caused. Seating herself, she picked up the thread of the conversation, "Now as for your questions about the twins. You will not of course be repeating this," she gave him a sharp look, "but you will need to know such things when you have children of your own, which, by the way, you should wait at least two more years for so as to allow Sara time to fully mature."

Paolo would have recoiled in terror had the back of the chair not restrained his motion. Him a father? He had barely begun to reconcile himself to the idea of getting married. Thinking of children wasn't something he was emotionally ready for. That's what he wanted to say, but his mother was having none of it.

"You're going to need a lot of help with your first child. Fortunately, both Blair and I are well equipped to help you, but that's for later. For now we'll deal with what happened with the twins this morning. Clearly they were up to something or other. They were leaning toward each other and trying to be subtle about it, which made them extremely obvious. They're a decade from being anywhere near as good as you are, and you're barely at the level of a skilled amateur."

Paolo kept his face as close to non-committal as he possibly could. Even though his mother had spotted him eavesdropping, he'd thought that he was better than your run-of-the-mill amateur.

She looked at him closely. "Not bad. You still twitch a bit around the corners of the eyes when you do that, but you'll improve soon."

She tapped the fan she was suddenly holding with her right hand into the palm of her left. "You'd better.

"Now, the twins. When they noticed me noticing them, I gave them what we call 'the parent spots everything' look. That got their attention and got them thinking that somehow, even though they know that nobody else can understand 'twin' that I somehow had anyway. They discussed that for a bit then sneaked a look at me again. This time I gave them the raised eyebrow and slight smile that we call the 'yes of course I know what you were up to, what else did you expect' look. Naturally I had and have no idea what they were plotting. However, misdirection, and keeping your mouth shut, will frequently lead people to believe that you know a lot more than you really do."

She smiled slightly at Paolo. "You do that part rather well already. You still need to work on it, but you're not bad at all for someone your age."

Miranda leaned forward and spoke intently, "As for the people who created the book.... If you choose to believe what we've been told, they're from a time approximately 5,200 years in our future. We, meaning our city and its inhabitants, are an experiment of theirs. They seem to think that having a city here will reduce the chance of, or at least the number of, wars that happened in their history.

"The reasons for that will become apparent when you read about The Founding, so I won't waste time by repeating it now. According to them, at least two wars in their history already haven't happened in ours. If you want to know more about them, ask. Depending on their mood, they might even answer. Should they choose to do so, I want a full report as to what they say.

"Moving on, no, they don't use magic. What they do is engineering, but at a much higher level than we know of in our time. Though it will be hard, you need to understand that the 'book' is not truly a book but rather an extremely complicated machine."

Paolo jumped up in excitement. "OH! So that's it. It all makes sense now. The extra pages weren't created by magic at all. This book machine was manufacturing them somehow. I see. I see. No wonder it felt so different from what a mage does."

Miranda nodded her approval. "Yes, much like that. Which means you have another set of lessons coming. No, don't scowl at me like that. It won't work, and you already know it. In fact, one of the first of your bad habits you need to break is your tendency to continue using a stratagem long after its usefulness had disappeared. That lazy streak of yours has to go, or it's going to kill you one of these days. If it does, Sara is likely to find a necromancer to raise your spirit and nag you about it for decades.

"Along with your studies in spycraft, you're going to have to learn to differentiate true magic from advanced engineering. You don't have to understand either one completely, but you WILL have to understand enough of how each functions to tell them apart. If you can't do that, any action you take to counter one of them could get you dead if you've mis-identified what you're up against."

Paolo expected that he looked like a fish out of water because his mother began snickering. She had the grace to give him a few seconds to get himself at least marginally under control before she continued, "Of course you'll be studying spycraft. My parents' apparent occupations, even though they are still the best jewelers in The City, are an excellent misdirection away from their true calling. Spying has been my family's primary function for well over 200 years, and you know how important it is for parents to know that one of their children will continue the family business. Right?"

He nodded dumbly and said...nothing. He had no idea what to say.

Miranda nodded. "Exactly right. When you don't know what to say, say nothing. Besides preventing you from looking stupid if you say the wrong thing, it encourages whoever you're listening to to keep babbling. They might accidentally say more than they intended and give you something useful."

After a pause she went on, seemingly to herself as much as to him, "And you also have a reasonably strong potential for magecraft. It should serve you well when you have become a priest."

Before he could say anything, she glared at him, at her maximum intensity. "Oh please! Acting so surprised is unseemly and quite a discourtesy to me. It implies that you don't think much of my powers of observation. How could I not know of your inclination in that direction? The only times in the past five years that you haven't worn your 'slightly dumb' persona is when you've been listening to one of the priests who puts what they teach into practice. Some of your questions showed a fair amount of insight too.

"I am pleased that you've managed to avoid that distasteful parochialism of some sects that claim that they know the only way to reach God and that anybody who doesn't agree with them is damned. Fortunately every Duke since The Founding has thrown that type out of town almost immediately. God would never have created so many religions were they not of use to whatever culture was shaped by them.

"Given your personality, you might consider the seminary at the Church of the Placid Heart. Bishop Lundgren is broad-minded, a powerful mage, and also one of the best spies in town...after myself of course."

Miranda stood, and of course Paolo did likewise. He noticed absently that the fan she'd used earlier was no longer in evidence. "Well my son, that's about enough for now. I expect that it will take two or three days for what I've told you to percolate into your brain. By then I expect you to have finished the section of the book dealing with The Founding and to be ready to answer my questions about what you've read. Of course I'll answer yours as well, as long as they're well thought out."

Her smile morphed into one that was still sweet but also a bit scary. "You'll find that I'm much less lenient than your teachers at school when it comes to understanding what I'll be teaching you. The only passing score is 100%. If you don't reach that, you'll do it over and over again until you have it down pat.

"Once word gets around, and I give it no more than two days since it's still Spring Break for another week and people have nothing better to do, nobody is going to expect you or Sara to be doing much of anything other than getting ready for the wedding now that your formal schooling has ended. That gives us something over a month to get the two of you reasonably well started on your training. After that...well we'll have to wait and see. Planning too far ahead is a total waste of time and energy."

She made a shooing motion. "Now be off with you. You have a lot of work to do, so you might as well get started."

He bowed slightly then scooted out the door and up the stairs to his room. He was excited, scared, happy, worried, and enthralled all at the same time. He'd been mostly drifting the past few years, but now he found himself looking forward to what might happen for the first time since he was 12.

There was obviously going to be a great deal of work to do, and probably intense studying too, but, surprisingly, he realized, for perhaps the first time in his life, that he didn't mind at all.