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The Steel Orb
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"He glared," the bishop said, "and said, 'and I will not speak with anyone lower than a bishop!'"
"What did you say," I asked.
"I looked at him wearily, and said, 'Believe and trust me, good man, when I say that no one here is lower than a bishop."
He paused a moment and continued, "Unspoken--"
A flood of memories came back. It was not what he said, but how he said it. He had spoken in my island's dialect. His accent was flawless.
"How do you know my island's dialect?" I asked. "I come from an insignificant and faroff island. Nothing important has ever come from that island, and nothing ever will."
"That's easy enough," he said, "I was born there.
"Unspoken, I am a man like you." He paused, and continued, "There is a place I was born. I have a father and mother, and brothers and sisters. I remember the first time I skipped a stone, the thrill when I reinvented the pipe organ. I contemplate and pray, hunger and--"
"Your Grace, how did your father introduce you to the art of memory?"
"When I was a boy, I loved to swim. I swam as much as I was allowed, and some that I wasn't. There was a lagoon, with a network of underwater caves, and some of them I was allowed to explore. My uncle chipped and ground a mica disc enclosed in a ring of copper, and showed me how to close my eye around it. I could see under the water, and I watched the play of light inside the one largest cave. My uncle also gave me a bent spear, with the head pointing sideways, and I speared many meals with it.
"One day my father looked at me and said, 'Fire, if you could decorate the cavern in the big pool, what would you put there?
"I thought and said, 'Blankets along the wall so I could feel something soft.'
"He said, 'What else?'
"I said, 'Nothing else.'
"'What might you imagine?'
"'There's nothing else that would work.'
"'And things that wouldn't work?'
"I hesitated, and said, 'A candle to see by, and something to write with.'
"'What else?'
"'Come. You are wilder than that.'
"'Color, as when the leaves of the forest go green.'
"'And what if there were passageways branching off? What would you like to see there?'
"He led me to imagine this vast network of rooms and passageways, each one different, each one holding something different, each one different to be in. It was a wonderful game, and swimming was almost as enjoyable as this activity.
"One day, my father added another dimension. He walked up to me with a rope and said, 'Do you see this rope?'
"'Yes,' I said.
"'What is the strangest thing that could happen to it in the antechamber to your labyrinth?'
"'If it were not soaked, for it to fall down to the floor.'
"My father was silent.
"'Or it would be peculiar for it to fall, not up or down, but to the side.'
"I expected a smile. My father looked and me and said, 'Surely you have imagined things stranger than that.'
"I said, 'It could coil and uncoil, slithering around the walls before coming together to a bundle--and then coming together and vanishing.'
"My father smiled and said, 'And what of that plate there? What could happen to it in the room under?'
"I laughed at the things I imagined; such strange things happened to the things in my rooms, and I invented things on my own. Then I began to be bored, and my father saw my boredom. 'This game bores you. Let's move on to something else.
"'Look up. Note what position the stars are in. After ten nights' span, I will open the cover of a box and you will behold forty things you've not seen before. Then I will leave you with the box and eat a large loaf of bread. When I have returned, I will return and we will climb that peak, and when we reach the top, you will tell me everything you saw in the box.'
"I jumped slightly, and waited for him to explain himself.
"When no explanation came, I said, 'I can't carry a wax tablet when I'm climbing the peak.'
"He said, 'Nor would I allow it if you could.'
"I said, 'Then how will I do it?'
"He said, 'I've already told you.'
"I was angry. Never had he been so irrational as this. For seven days I searched my heart in wrath, searching. On the eighth day I rested from my wrath and said, 'He will say what he will say. I renounce anger at his request.'
"He had begun his odd request by releasing me from my labyrinth; I delved into it. I imagined the first room, but I couldn't banish the rope coiling and uncoiling. I swam to another room, only to have something else greet me. I swam around, frustrated again and again when--
"My face filled with shame.
"I spent the next two days playing, resting, swimming. I moved through the imaginary labyrinth. When my father pulled the cover off the box, I placed everything in my imaginary labyrinth, one in each room, exactly as he had taught me. It took him a while to eat the bread, so I stared at the box's rough leather lining. We walked, and talked, and the conversation was... different. I enjoyed it.
"He asked me, 'What was in the box?'
"I said, 'A key, a stylus, a pebble, a glazed bead, a potsherd, a gear, an axle, a knife, a pouch, a circle cord, some strange weed, a stone glistening smooth by the river's soft hands, a statuette, a crystalline phial, a coil of leather cord, a card, a chisel, a mirror, a pinch of silt, a candle, a firecord, a badly broken forceps, a saltball, a leaf of thyme, an iron coin, some lead dregs, a bite of cured fish, a small loaf of spiced bread, some sponge of wine, a needle, a many-colored strand of parchment, an engraved pendant--hmm, I'm having trouble remembering this one--a piece of tin wire, a copper sheet, a pumice, a razor, a wooden shim, a pliers, and a measuring ribbon.'
"'I count thirty-nine,' he said. 'Where's the fortieth?'
"I ran through my rooms and hesitated. 'I memorized thirty-nine things, then stared at the rough leather inside the box. I didn't see another; I don't even have the trace of memory like when there's another one that I can't quite spring and catch.'
"When I said, 'rough leather inside the box,' he seemed pleasantly surprised. I didn't catch it at the time, but I understood later.
"And that was how my father let me taste the art of memory. How did your father teach you the art of memory?"
"I don't have as good a story to tell. He introduced me to the more abstract side--searching for isomorphisms, making multiple connections, encapsulating subtle things in a crystalline symbol."
"Oh, so you've worked with the abstract side from a young age. Then I have something to ask of you."
"Yes?"
"I want to speak with you further. I'd like if you could inscribe in your heart the things you tell me. When we return--pardon, if we return, if we are shown mercy--I may send you to the monastery and ask you to transcribe it so it can be copied."
My heart jumped.
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The Steel Orb
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