The Time Roads

After a moment’s hesitation, Síomón continued down the path. Ó Deághaidh kept pace with him with long, easy strides. They had come to a section where young ash trees bent over the path, making a leafy tunnel of green and gold. Close by, the Blackwater murmured and a dank, muddy scent filled the air. Most of the pedestrians had turned aside to the upper walkways, and they were truly alone.

Síomón waited for the questions to continue, but once more Ó Deághaidh surprised him. “I’ve read the latest mathematical papers,” he said. “Some of the theories from Mexica are intriguing, if somewhat whimsical. Those from the West African scholars, from the Nri Republic in particular, appear more practical.”

This time it was obvious the abrupt shifts in subject were deliberate. “You mean the theory of numbers in relationship to the production of energy?” Síomón asked.

“Yes, those. But also the ones concerning electrical properties of certain equations.”

He went on to explain which properties he meant, and in far greater detail than Síomón would have expected from any garda or even an officer of the Queen’s Constabulary. Indeed, Ó Deághaidh seemed unusually well informed about recent controversies and debates in the field, even about the exotic corner of number theory Síomón had chosen for his doctoral thesis.

“How numbers affect dreams,” Ó Deághaidh said. “Is that a fair description?”

His musing tone lulled Síomón into speaking as he would with a fellow student. “Not quite,” he said. “My theory depends upon the concept that numbers have both abstract and tangible qualities. That is, we use numbers to measure and quantify, but we also use them to express theories completely divorced from the physical realm. I believe we might take that concept one more step—that they have a spiritual quality as well.”

“Some might call that numerology.”

Ó Deághaidh spoke softly, almost indifferently, but Síomón’s face flushed. “You are hardly a mathematician, Commander Ó Deághaidh. How would you know?”

“Because I studied the subject myself. I never completed my degree, which I sometimes regret. However, I read the journals still.”

Síomón exhaled softly. So and so. The commander was a failed mathematician. That would explain much. “My apologies,” he said, with as much sincerity as he could muster. “I’ve had many arguments about my thesis. I’ve become somewhat sensitive on the topic.”

“Sure and we all have our prickly moments, Mr. Madóc. No need to apologize. But speaking of mathematics, I understand your sister also intended to study at Awveline University. I spoke with your adviser, Professor Ó Dónaill, this morning, and he mentioned her name. He said she had begun work on prime numbers before.”

Síomón stopped and wheeled about. “What does that have to do with your investigation, Commander? Or do you like to distress everyone you question, the guilty and innocent alike?”

He had spoken out loud, hardly caring who overheard them. Ó Deághaidh regarded him without any expression on that lean brown face.

“Once more I apologize,” he said. “I was merely expressing my sympathy, however clumsily.”

They had exited the tunnel of trees. Here a set of granite steps led up the bank to Mac Iomaire Avenue, which now crossed the river into the city’s financial district. Síomón was vaguely aware of foot traffic on the pavement above, but no one paid any attention to them. It was just as Ó Deághaidh had suggested back in Aonach Sanitarium, though now Síomón suspected the privacy was for Ó Deághaidh’s benefit, not his.

“Have you any more questions, Commander?” he asked.

Ó Deághaidh tilted his head and studied Síomón a moment before answering. “None for today, Mr. Madóc. The official investigation begins tomorrow after Doctor Ó Néill makes his announcement. I’ll send someone by your quarters to take your formal statement.” He smiled, and this time it seemed genuine. “I thank you, Mr. Madóc, for your company and your patience.”

He held out his hand. Síomón shook it, noting the strength in his grip. “Good day then, Commander.”

“Good day to you, Mr. Madóc.”

Ó Deághaidh climbed the stairs and turned onto the bridge, where he soon blended into the crowd of clerks and messengers. Síom

ón lingered a moment longer by the riverbanks, taking in for the first time the fragile sunlight upon the autumn leaves, shimmering like so many raindrops. His gaze returned to the river and he shuddered. Paul Keller’s body had been discovered not far from this bridge, his throat slashed and his face hacked into a purpled bloody mass.

Before the university had recovered, other murders had followed. Li Cheng. Úna Toíbín. Nicolás Ó Cionnaith. All of them graduate students—three in the mathematics department. The newspapers had focused immediately on that fact. They dwelt in loving detail upon university politics, the youth of the victims, and any irregularities in their pasts. That the murderer had mutilated his victims with a knife only heightened the titillation.

A madman, said the newspapers.

Surely not one of us, said the provost, thinking first of his reputation, so entwined with the university’s.

The Garda had made no public statements, preferring to ask their questions in private. In the end they had run out of questions, and the cases remained on hold.

Until now.

Síomón glanced up. Above the city, the skies arced, empty of balloons for the moment. Then he glimpsed a swiftly moving speck—the red balloon from earlier, rising higher and higher toward the sky’s limit.

* * *

In spite of his best efforts, Síomón could not find a cab until he had jogged halfway back to the center of Awveline’s Old City. He arrived at the mathematics quadrant just moments before the clock tower struck three o’clock. Síomón galloped up the steps and into the building for mathematical studies, then around the stairs to the back of the lecture hall. A quick survey of the room showed him that Professor Ó Dónaill had not yet made his appearance. Even better, Evan and Susanna had saved him a seat a few rows down from where he stood. He sidled along the row and sank into the chair between them.