The Time Roads

“Answer my question first.”

His tone was blunt, but Gwen smiled, unflustered. “If you view numbers as dead, then you imply a dead house, and one that invites termites. Besides, the premise is wrong.”

Síomón caught his breath at her words, but Glasfryn’s mouth widened into a slow pleased smile. “How so, young miss?”

“You assume a universal quality of men, just as your statement assumes a universal quality of mathematics, or even of numbers themselves.”

“Does it follow, then, that you believe numbers exist apart from mathematics?”

A slight hesitation. “I do.”

Another pause, while Glasfryn drank down his cold tea. When he spoke again, it was to ask Gwen more questions. She answered—tersely at first, then with growing volubility. Glasfryn eventually turned his attention to Síomón and, in the same way, drew out more and more of what the twins had worked at in mathematics, their private research as well as their formal lessons.

Questions soon gave way to discussion. With the professor leading, they spoke of topics ranging from the mundane to the bizarre—of the origins of mathematics, of whether numbers had undiscovered properties invisible to the ordinary mind, and the newest theories from Egypt and Mauritania. Twice their aunt pleaded they stop for dinner. Both times, the professor waved her away. After another interval, a troop of servants brought in trays of covered plates and pots of tea, leaving them on the sideboard. Síomón didn’t remember eating, but he assumed they did, because later the servants retrieved the piles of dirty dishes.

The bells were ringing midnight when the professor rose and held out his hands to them both. “We must have you at Awveline, and soon,” he said. “I shall speak with your uncle tomorrow.”

Glasfryn rose late the next day, and departed for Awveline shortly after luncheon. Síomón and Gwen watched from their attic refuge as their visitor exchanged a few final words with Uncle Liam. Once the carriage exited through the gates, Gwen took Síomón’s hand. “Come with me,” she said, leading him down the back stairs and through the service quarters to the garden and beyond.

Síomón retained only vague impressions from that walk. The sunlight upon Gwen’s hair. The crunch of autumn leaves. The woodland scents of pines and damp earth. The warmth from his sister’s hand as she led him deeper into the wilderness.

* * *

The next morning, it took three cups of strong tea to clear his mind. With Garret’s help, Síomón dressed in his best black suit, then walked the four streets over to Evan’s rooms. Yesterday’s sunshine had vanished behind a mass of gray clouds, and the dank breeze, with its taste of frost, brought him fully awake. It also reminded him uncomfortably of the previous night and the abiding cold he felt when he had touched David Levi’s face.

Susanna had arrived at Evan’s flat already, and the two of them were drinking tea. Susanna’s eyes had a dull bruised look, as though she had been weeping for hours.

“Evan told you about David and Maeve?” Síomón said.

She gave a short nod. “I knew last night. Evan came by my rooms to tell me.”

Evan himself seemed distracted. He gathered his and Susanna’s cups and set them on the sideboard. “It’s not an hour to the assembly. We should hurry.”

They set a brisk pace through the streets to the nearby gates, and across the grounds to the assembly hall. Even so, they found nearly every seat claimed. Síomón recognized only a handful of the students, and those were from the mathematics department. Voyeurs, he thought, angrily, glaring at the strangers.

Susanna laid a hand on his arm. He glanced down, surprised to see a smile on her face.

“They are frightened,” she said softly. “So are we.”

Síomón let the breath trickle from his lips and nodded. He even managed a smile in return. When the priests spoke of God and Mhuire and Gaia, he could take comfort from the familiar words. Other priests from other churches and temples made their appearance—rabbis from the Hebrew temple that David Levi had attended, a Protestant minister, a Vedic priest, and even the lone Muslim cleric. But then came the Provost with a long unctuous speech, and his mood soured. David and Maeve deserved better.

More speeches followed. When the last official gave way once more to the priests and rabbis, Síomón released a silent exhalation of relief.

Requiem Aeternam dona eis, Domine et Gaia.

Baruch dayan emet.

Assalaamu ’alaykum wa rahmatu-Allah.

On and on through the litany of faiths, but Síomón could bear these more easily than anything from Doctor Ó Néill and his minions. At last came the moment when the Provost dismissed them. Susanna took hold of Síomón’s hand. She already had Evan’s, or perhaps she had never let go.

“

Outside,” she said. “I can’t bear the crowds.”

She led them out of the building and onto the green, where a mass of students lingered. “We can go to my rooms,” she said. “I’ve tea and coffee and stronger drink, if we like. Or would you rather something fancy?”

Evan made some reply that Síomón could not attend to. Through the mobs, he had caught sight of Seán Blácach. He glanced around, intending to make some excuse to escape the crowds and Blácach, only to spy Professor Ó Dónaill emerge from the assembly building. Ó Dónaill immediately started for Síomón. “Mr. Madóc,” he called out. “I’m glad to find you here. Would you have time for a short talk? It’s a question of your studies.”