The loneliness and isolation on the street pierced him. Frankie had never been a social person, but also had never realized the subconscious comfort he’d taken in knowing other people were around if he ever felt the need for a little human contact. The loss of that option disturbed him more deeply now than he ever could have imagined.
He hurried back to his building. He didn’t need to sleep, didn’t need to eat, but he needed to keep writing. He’d already reached novelette length, and at the very least this as-yet-untitled piece was going to be a novella. Maybe even a novel. He didn’t know at this point.
What Frankie did know was that he was spinning out the best thing he’d ever written. Deeper, richer than he’d ever imagined he could produce. Being cut off from humanity had sparked an inferno of thoughts about the human condition, all weaving into a gut-wrenching story. This was going to blow readers’ minds. He’d have to come up with yet another pseudonym if he wanted it taken seriously, because no one would ever believe P. Frank Winslow or Phillip F. Winter or Phyllis Winstead capable of this.
No hunger, no fatigue, and once-in-a-lifetime inspiration. A writer’s dream.
He’d finish it here in this strange, lonely place…and then he’d have to find a way back. Because what was the point of writing the Great American Novel if no one was ever going to read it?
ERNST
Ernst found Slootjes just where he’d expected: at his desk downstairs in the archives. The clutter was even worse than earlier, but the loremaster wasn’t poring over the materials. Instead he sat slumped back in his chair, staring off into space. For a heartbeat or two, Ernst thought he might be dead—a heart attack from the stress of the Atkinson memoir—but then his chest moved as he took a breath.
“Saar?”
Slootjes started, then his eyes focused. “Oh…Ernst. Sorry.”
“You looked like you were lost in space.”
“Lost in thought is more like it.” He sounded so tired.
“About what?”
Slootjes pierced Ernst with his sad gaze. “All the lies that are my life.”
Ernst blinked. “I’m sorry…what?”
“It’s the title of a story I read long ago. I don’t recall who wrote it or a single thing about it, just the title. Because I’ve been living that title.”
“I’m not following.”
“That memoir, Ernst. It’s all true. Your grandfather witnessed the other side of the Veil and realized that he’d been lied to since he joined the Order, and that he’d been lying to the son he was grooming to join the Order. And you, Ernst, your father, Ernst Drexler the first, you’ve been lied to all your life as well.”
“Be careful, Saar.”
“Oh, I don’t mean your father intentionally lied to you. I’m sure he was convinced the lies he told you were true, and thought he was passing on arcane truths to his son. But they were lies, lies, lies.”
“Come now—”
The loremaster slammed his fist on his desk. “It’s true! It’s the only truth we have now! We are dupes! We are fools! And thanks to this stranger who met your grandfather, at last we know it. Which leaves me in a very awkward position.”
Ernst frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Well, as loremaster I must pass this on to our brothers.”
Alarm bells rang in Ernst’s brain. “Pass what on?”
Slootjes had a strange look in his eyes. “Your grandfather’s fate and the doubts he had about the Order’s mission. I confess to having had my own doubts deep down over the years, but this confirms them.”
“Let’s not do anything rash. I’ll call a Council meeting to discuss—”
“Discuss? Discuss? The Council is peopled with dolts! Nothing but gullible dolts who believe every lie the One feeds them!”
“You shouldn’t talk about the One that way. If he hears—”
“And where is the One? Has anyone heard from him lately? He’s dropped out of sight. Maybe he’s in hiding. Maybe even he’s afraid of what the Change will bring!”
Good question. Where was the One? Two months had passed since Ernst’s last contact with him. Maybe the stars had to align or the spheres of the multiverse had to rotate into a certain configuration. Who could say? The convergence of the signals indicated that the Change was about to begin.
Of all living members of the Order, none had provided the One more personal service toward bringing the Change than he, Ernst Drexler. He and the upper echelons of the Order expected to be rewarded in the world that followed the Change. As for the fate of brothers like the loremaster and the rank-and-file members, Ernst was not so sure.
But the One’s silence these past months as everything came to a head…Ernst found it not only puzzling, but deeply disturbing.
“Please be calm, Saar—”
“The time for calm is long gone! I’m going to gather my notes and,, first thing tomorrow, I’m going to send out a worldwide email blast to the membership. Everyone should be prepared for betrayal. I may have been fooled like the rest of the Order, but now that I know the truth, I will not betray my trust, I will not betray my brothers.”
“Listen to me—”
“You want me to cover it up? That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it? How typical of an actuator. The Order above everything. Septimus über alles and to hell with the members!”
He was working himself into a froth of anger.
“I want you to think this through.”
“The time for believing in lies is done. The time for truth is at hand.” He strode to the door and yanked it open. Pointing to the stairwell outside, he cried, “The archives are my domain and you are no longer welcome here, Actuator Drexler. Out!”
“But—”
“OUT!”
At a loss as to how to defuse the situation, Ernst stepped into hall. After the door slammed behind him, he heard the lock turn.
Slootjes had gone mad. Mad with fear? Mad with hate? Ernst couldn’t
