He ran like an excited child into his observation yard, his circumferentor in hand and lifted high so he might begin to measure the horizontal angles before he even came to a complete stop. The two comets blazed now, one brighter than the other, in the night sky. In the distance he could see the outlaw carnival’s bright green glow. He had never known a carnival to use green torches—what could it mean?
But after a few moments, he’d dropped his arms: he did not even need to use the circumferentor. His angles were plainly off. There was no alignment whatsoever between his spheres and these new objects, whatever they were. There was surely the chance that John’s calculations were merely wrong—that he’d been wrong enough in his life, and it was his own vanity that clung to these erroneous positions.
But no. In the end the spheres seemed to signify nothing. He stood there, bereft of all direction, with Tygo at his side. Tygo, who knew nothing of the spheres or any of the other perfectly aligned water tables and dials and disks that John had used so inertly throughout his tenure as Chief Astronomer. Then, without knowing exactly why, a terrible anger overtook him—not at Tygo but at the idea of Tygo. At his luck. His faith in himself? The entire situation was preposterous. By no means could it be true that the “angels” had told Tygo about the Return.
There were no angels. There could not be. He would not believe it. And yet what could this be other than the Return?
John felt black with fury as Tygo was strolling around the courtyard with his hands still shackled, looking with passive interest at the circular metal domes hiding what was not in use. The torches along the front wall of the house had been lit, and in the shadows Tygo’s ear-holes looked like pits. Here and there he touched the domes with his shackled hands, which sent John into a private agony until he felt like tossing up his hands in defeat. At last Tygo turned his eyes to John. He waved across the courtyard. John waved back.
He gloomily called out, “Why don’t you call down your ‘angels’ now, since my own attempts have always come to nothing. I’d like to see you try, actually.”
Light from one of the torches bounced off Tygo’s manacles. “That would be a very good idea. Clarification. Assurance. But—” He shook the shackles and smiled hopefully.
“I’m sure you’ll manage,” replied John.
“You do know I’ve only ever spoken with the angels that one single time, using my own personal shaving mirror.”
“Surely the angels wouldn’t mind you using a less humble mirror,” John replied acidly. “They are angels, after all. But I have many such mirrors. In fact I posses a beautiful mirror, a black granite chip of the Sky Mirror itself.”
“Sky Mirror?”
“The monument here at the Cape? Built by the ancients for all the known martyrs who gave their lives in spaceflight? That also lists the names of the noble families for posterity?”
Tygo’s expression didn’t change.
“Surely the angels would prefer that mirror to a shaving mirror?” John pressed.
Tygo seemed confused for a split second. A shadow darted across his eyes but he covered it quickly. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a mirror?”
John smirked. “Such objects are strictly for priests and magicians of the highest order. Did you not say you hated magic?”
Tygo nodded. “But I thought I made it clear that my conversation with the angels was an accident. I never called them. I wouldn’t know how to begin scrying, or whatever you call it. I abhor the utensils of your profession, I told you.”
John continued to smirk. “All the same, you are now in my employ, and it seems prudent to get to the bottom of this matter as quickly as possible. We did tell Alyson that we would report to her tomorrow with additional knowledge, did we not? Are you not looking forward to that?”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me if we see her or not. She was the one who requested the meeting. But I guess we have to tell her something. Maybe I’ll see something.” He paused. “Stranger things have happened to me. Since I arrived here I’ve done so many things I never thought I would do. What’s one more?”
It was a curious thing to say. What had he done that he never thought he would do? But John let it go, and led the other man to his office, where he peevishly lit a whole host of candles that spat their trembling shadows onto the walls. John kept his chip of the Sky Mirror on an intricate holder he’d commissioned some years back. Draped over it, however, was a plain cloth—a dust rag, really. Old and stained from handling. He withdrew the cloth and presented the palm-sized mirror as though showing off a finely crafted art object. He couldn’t help himself—he had gone to such lengths to steal it and hide it all these years.
Tygo snickered, but quickly tightened his mouth over his lips in an effort not to offend. John
