“Neph? Hey, Princess? Get up, sleepy-head, we’re going someplace.”
Suddenly everything was
cold and
bright. With an annoyed mental mumble Nephrite grabbed the edge of her blanket still within her reach and pulled it back over her head. But, she’d only fallen asleep an hour ago!
… at least that was what it felt like.
Amon sighed. “Sometimes I wonder,” he said, stabbing at the young fiend underneath the blanket with a finger, “if this Doran guy didn’t capture the soul of an
owl in this stone.” It was only because he hadn’t been involved in any of the previous incidents that he’d speak of every fiends’ nemesis so lightheartedly.
‘Am no owl …’ Nephrite protested, glaring at her guardian crankily from underneath her blanket. He was wearing his track suit, which meant he had already gone run his laps. In the beginning she’d accompanied him (mostly because she'd been terribly afraid he was going to run away from her), but she’d stopped once she figured out it was just some weird sort of exercise he enjoyed. What did he want of her anyway? It was morning, it was
bright out there. She didn’t want to go anywhere, she just wanted to
sleeeeeep.
“Right. Get dressed, I’ll be leaving in half an hour.”
Nephrite grumped.
‘You don’t work today,’ she protested.
‘You told me. Where do you go?’“The botanic garden,” Amon said lightly. “But I guess, if you’re not interested, you just can keep sleeping …?” Not like she’d have much of a choice. That bond between them was, in some regards, much like a rubber band. The greater the distance between them, the greater the stress from being apart became, for
both of them. It was a given that, at some point, she’d join him, whether she wanted to or not.
The reaction to his words, though, was downright amazing. He could
feel her surge of excitement as she struggled free of her blanket, staring at him with wide eyes, suddenly wide awake and all attention.
‘The botanic garden?!’ ‘Garden’ was good, ‘botanic’ made it sound even better. It was in the title of her beloved book, after all.
“Yup. It’s part of the university. Figured it might be as good of a place to start as any. Certainly there’s got to be
someone around knowledgeable about rare plants-” More knowledgeable than the internet anyway. He stopped talking when, much to his surprise, Nephrite captured his head between both her hands, leaning forward to place a mock-kiss on his forehead. Huh.
***
They took the tram to the university. Late enough to escape the rush hour, early enough to avoid the masses of elderly people which had nothing better to do than to be out and about and harassing people. There were no students about, strangely enough, and Amon wondered about it for a little while before he figured it must be, what, semester break? Hopefully the place wasn’t shut down completely …
It wasn’t, not the gardens at the very least. But it
did look quite abandoned overall, with only few people around this early in the cold season. There were still some signs left put up here and there, advertising an exhibit on Christmas decorations, wreaths and trees and the like. No one had bothered to take them down yet, even though the exhibit had ended some two weeks ago.
Nephrite followed him quietly, and also, a little skeptical. So far this place didn’t look like much, very much like the park Amon liked to run in. Except for … Her slanted eyes widened, and she tightened her grip around Amon’s arm. Were those
greenhouses? Those huge buildings? She’d seen
skeletons of some in the abandoned gardens, the glass broken decades ago, but those had been tiny in comparison. These were … So Much Bigger! Like palaces made of glass …
Amon chuckled softly. “We need to come here in spring, it’s much nicer then. Gorgeous even.” He’d been here before, with one girl or another. Not because he'd be interested in plants, not at all, but the scenery was nice. “There’s a … lake over there, if I remember right, and …” He struggled, trying to remember. Bah, everything looked different now that it was all barren in winter. But that was what maps were there for. And conveniently enough, there was one right next to the entrance, hah.
“Look, there’s a … cacti greenhouse, one for tropical plants … There’s a medicinal plant garden too, but there wont be much to look at now that it’s winter …And a …” Huh. He’d completely forgotten about the Chinese Garden. There’d probably be no holding Nephrite once he mentioned it, so he didn’t, instead saving it for later. It would be a nice surprise, he figured, sort of a reward if she was behaving herself.
Now, where would be the best place to find someone knowledgeable …? The greenhouses, probably. There had to be
some sort of personnel around there, and they were likely able to point him to a person in charge if only he pressed hard enough about it.
***
They managed to hunt down a gardener in the tropical greenhouse, the warmth and humidity within a stark contrast to the chilly dry air outside. Luckily, the man was bored out of his mind and up to talk and answering Amon’s inquiries, all the while Nephrite kept cooing at the pretty orchids, plucking some here and there and weaving them into her hair when no one seemed to pay attention to what she was doing.
As it turned out, the man had not heard ever of
any of the plants Hawk was looking for, but that might only mean they were not
tropical. Or something. He
was able to point him towards some Oswald Oppenheim, however, some doctor or professor of botanics or the like – who should be hanging out at the library at this time of the day. Not the regular one, but the one which was part of the gardens. A botany and horticulture library, filled with books only about
plants.
Well, to each their own, Amon thought. There certainly had to be a library solely on
porn somewhere too …
‘Can I have these?’ Nephrite inquired, pointing at some purple orchids, of which several blooms were adorning her updo by now.
“This isn’t a place to
buy plants,” Amon told her, his visible eye narrowing with annoyance. Really, leave her out of his sight for a second and … “How much for the damage she’s done?” He asked with a sigh, reaching for his wallet.
But the gardener laughed and waved off, pointing out there were only few visitors about at this time of the year, and that the young lady did look quite charming and the orchids really suited her. He also handed Amon a leaflet, after some rummaging about to look for it, with a schedule of events and exhibitions of the garden slated for the new year, several of them being … sales, actually.
***
It was strange, and a little spooky, wandering through he quiet and mostly dark corridors of the institute – only the emergency lighting was on – but just as the gardener had promised, the doors to the botany library were unlocked. When Amon opened the final door, he was almost overwhelmed by the dry scent of Old Books. Though there was also a distinct hint of
coffee as well.
Nephrite followed him quietly, her fingers reverently touching upon the backs of the books in the shelves.
‘All of these are about plants?’ she asked in awe.
Amon glanced at some of the titles, most of which were entirely too scientific sounding for him, and then nodded. “Yup.”
‘Can we move here?’ They
had to. Because, how was she supposed to carry all of these home and fit them into her tiny room?!
“No we can’t.”
‘Awwww, but-’“No ‘buts’,” Amon cut her off, still trying to figure out just where the scent of coffee was coming from. He was wondering if it was because he hadn’t had any this morning, that he was so sensitive to it, or if it was because of Nephrite’s presence. Because, he was quite certain, when he’d last been to the tropical greenhouse, the orchid’s scent hadn’t been so
intense as well.
“Are you, ahem, looking for something?” The words were coming from an elderly man, rather short and pudgy of stature, looking at the odd pair of male escort and ethereal shadow over the rim of his glasses. “You don’t look like, uhm, students.” He was holding a thermos cup in his right.
“Someone. Would you happen to be Professor Oppenheim?” Amon inquired. “And is there more where
that comes from?” he added hopefully, pointing at the cup of coffee. “We’re here for research.”
‘On rare, rare, pretty rare pretty plants,’ Nephrite quipped cheerfully.
‘Can I have those books? All of them?’ Nevermind her reading abilities were still awful. There had to be pictures in at least
some of them.
***
They had settled around a small, round garden table not much later, with Amon and Mr. Oppenheim each enjoying a nice hot cup of black coffee, while Nephrite flipped through a book containing photography of zen gardens which the professor had handed her. Apparently he knew of the importance to keep children occupied.
“Seriously,” the professor said, peering at his strange visitors across the various books and documents piled up on the table. “You’re here for research? What field of expertise? You’re not students, are you?” If he was honest? That guy with the eye-patch looked like he might be interested in girls and fast cars more than anything, and a little on the shady side. But certainly not seriously interested in botanics, he couldn’t imagine it. The girl, however, was a different story, slowly tracing some of the descriptions in the book for ease of reading.
“Erh, none. And I’m not a student. Not even an interested layman, truth be told,” Amon admitted. “It’s more of a favor for an … acquaintance of ours who’s looking to create a very special garden. He’s handicapped though, so he asked us to look for the plants he wants.” He reached into his messenger bag, handing over Hawk’s notes to the professor who seemed to study them very,
very intently. Well, that looked rather promising – until the old man started laughing, that was.
Nephrite looked up from studying her book, quirking her delicate brows and wondering what was up.
“I’m sorry,” the professor said, wiping tears of laughter from the corner of his eyes, “but I think these may be quite impossible to find. Are you sure this isn’t your friend’s idea of a joke?”
“He’s
not my friend,” Amon emphasized. “And I do think he’s in fact quite serious about it.” The mental image of that
contract still gave him the creeps. Ending up to
owe to the Seer was pretty much the last thing he wanted. No, make that the second-last. Family reunion was still on top of
that list. Absently, not really noticing what he was doing, he reached into the pocket of his coat for his lighter.
“Well …” Oswald cleared his throat and leaned back, thoughtfully scratching his beard. “This seems more like something that would be right down Gregory’s alley, an old friend of mine. He’s on vacation, though. And he doesn’t teach at this institute.”
“This ‘Gregory’ – he’s a professor in botany as well?” Amon quirked a brow.
“Sort of.” The professor laughed again. “I’m sure he’s studied it some, it probably comes with the profession. I do know for a fact that he
is quite knowledgeable in botanics. He, uhm, teaches Potions at the Cromwell Institute of Occult and Magick Arts.”
Amon stilled. “I would prefer to not have to go there,” he said tonelessly, his features quite expressionless all of a sudden. But he was pale.
Nephrite looked up from her book once more, with a frown this time, and – after a moment’s hesitation – closed it and put it aside, hovering close to her guardian and wrapping her arms around his shoulders instead.
“I see.” Oswald nodded slowly. He’d come across those, occasionally, who’d had unfavorable encounters with what Gregory liked to refer to as The Arts. Especially here in Durem, as it was a stronghold of vampires … And – if his expression was anything to judge by –
this young man’s encounter had been of the worst kind. He’d been about to hand back the notes, but now he studied them again, looking for something he might be able to aid with. The problem was, these names were so
fanciful, something out of folklore. Not the scientific names broken down to order, family, genus and species.
“Dragon’s breath,” he said, “that sounds like something you should ask about on the bazaar. If it’s related to
actual dragons … Well, it’s supposedly a very Asian-y thing.”
Amon merely nodded, absently flicking his lighter open. And shut. And open. The bazaar had been on his list anyway, but the botanic garden had seemed more promising and less of a hassle than having to deal with Mang.
“I wish you would stop doing that,” Oswald said, staring at Amon over the rim of his glasses. “The lighter,” he added, when the man seemed quite clueless as to what he was talking about. “This is a library? Lots of paper about? Highly flammable?”
“Oh,” Amon murmured, slightly embarrassed, only now realizing what he’d been doing. “My apologies. It’s a … nervous habit of mine.”
“Well,” Oswald said sternly, “libraries are a
bad place for that ‘nervous habit’ of yours, obviously. Put it away. Shoo.” Secretly he wondered though what there possibly was to be nervous about. Because he’d mentioned magic?
“Of course, sir.” Amon obediently put his lighter away, though he still kept fingering it in the pocket of his coat.
“Uhm. Where was I? Twilight Rose. That very much sounds like something the vampire population might know about. And there’s a whole aisle on roses in this library, you might be able to find something there. Forget-Me-Nots? Tsk, tsk, that just sounds like something romantic someone made up, they might not even be real. Then again, magic is not
my area of expertise.” The professor stared at Amon over the rim of his glasses. “Would you
please stop playing with that lighter? It really is making
me nervous.”
“Of course.” Amon relented, holding out both hands palms up before he placed his elbows on the surface of the table and clasped his hands where they were plain for the old man to see. “No more lighter, no more fire hazard – see? Now, go on.”
Her arms still wrapped around her guardian’s shoulders, Nephrite giggled.
“Ahem. Uh. Lamia’s Sorrow. Well. There’s a whole lot of vine-like plants about, and a great deal of them are actually poisonous. Unless you’re able to narrow it down some, there are just
too many plants that would fit the description.”
“What’s with them sounding like they’re crying?” Amon interjected. “Isn’t that specific enough?”
The professor shook his head. “Ach, that’s just nonsense. I’ve
never encountered a plant like that. You’d probably be better off asking a toxicologist about it. Though …” He paused, his expression seeming quite absent.
“Though
what?”
“Nymph’s Laughter. I
did meet a nymph once.” Professor Oppenheim said dreamily. “At least I think it was one. I encountered her on a botany expedition long ago? Did you know that, ah, the term ‘nymphomania’ is derived from the nymphs’ supposedly insatiable sexual appetite?” He coughed, his cheeks flushing to a deep, deep red. “Let me tell you, that rumor is
quite justified …”
“Well now …” Amon grinned, chin resting on his folded hands. “Do tell.”
Now things were getting interesting. Though he didn’t quite like the sound of ‘expedition’. It just sounded too much like … wilderness, getting bitten by tics and mosquitoes, and having to deal with all sorts of inconveniences and no comfortable hotel nearby.
The professor coughed nervously. “I, uhm, was much,
much younger then. And hadn’t put on as much weight too, though I was a little pudgy even back then … She was
lovely. Her laughter …” He closed his eyes, his expression distant as he reminisced. “It still haunts me in my dreams. I swear, no mortal woman can possibly compare to her …”
“Where was it? I mean, could you give us details on the exact location?” Because, silly as it might seem, there was a good chance the man had encountered the
real thing. And since the Nymph’s Laughter was likely going to be found where
actual nymphs were about …
“And …” Amon hesitated, but then shook his head, deciding
against inquiring about that potion master. “Ah, nothing.” He had a feeling that visiting that occult institute would only lead to trouble – the world was an awfully small place after all, and he didn’t want to risk a run in with familiar faces from his past.
***
Amon and Oswald spent almost the entire noon looking through old files and documents, whereas Nephrite quietly kept herself occupied looking through more books and secretly tried to squeeze as many of them into Amon’s bag as possible without breaking it.
“You see, I
know it was in Phenyang,” the professor explained helplessly. “
Somewhere. I just don’t recall where exactly …The place names there are all tongue twisters that are
impossible for any Westerner to remember, and the village where we had our lodgings was so tiny … I doubt it even shows up on the maps.” He sighed. “Unfortunately GPS wasn’t as widely in use back then as it is now – it was still strictly a military thing I believe.” He pushed back his glasses back up the rim of his nose.
Amon merely shrugged, somewhat amused that the man who’d toss lengthy Latin plant names at him at every possible opportunity would complain about tongue twisters that were hard to remember. Against his will he found himself warming up to the eccentric old man, if only because he provided him with some of the best coffee he’d ever had. He’d complimented him on it, which had turned somewhat of a mistake, as Oswald had promptly launched himself into a lecture about the genus
coffea. But he had also kindly provided him with his resource, some small scale independent roaster he’d never heard about, but would make sure to check out in the future.
“Ah, here it is, finally.” The professor pulled a strongly discolored portfolio from the shelf. “I think so, that is …” He just barely managed to capture the loose papers starting to slip from the folder. “Ah, maybe lets move it to my desk …”
The folder, it turned out, contained hand-written observations and reports, and – to Amon’s surprise – quite a number of detailed ink drawings. “Don’t tell me cameras were still restricted to military use only back then as well – you’re not
that old.”
“Ah, no.” The professor laughed and shook his head. “But, you see, all a camera does is to reproduce an exact image of what is in front of the lens. But sometimes it’s required to
exaggerate to point out certain peculiarities, and sometimes … Oh, you know, it’s over- or under exposed, out of focus, you forgot to replace the film …Photography is a finicky matter.”
“I’m guessing that would have been long before the invention of digital cameras.” Amon quirked a brow, peering at the illustrations with mild interest. Not all of them were detailing plants, there was some picturesque scenery as well. Some sort of overgrown ruins. “Did you draw these?”
“Uh, yes. And yes. Isn’t it impressive how Mother Nature reclaims what mankind once took from her?”
“I guess so,” Amon said, his tone noncommittal.
“Ahhhh, look, here.” The eccentric botanist pulled forth one sketch in particular. “That’s where I met the, uhm, nymph. It’s … some sort of, ah, an artificial island in a pond … basin of sorts. It’s larger than the sketch makes it seem. See that structure there? That’s actually a small shrine or temple of sorts. I’m pretty sure the locals can point you there.”
Amon nodded patiently. “Once you figure out
which locals that is,” he reminded the man.
“Uh. Yes. Of course. It should be right … right here, hah! Just let me write that down for you …”
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