“I am studying my physiognomy,” I protested softly. “I was looking at some of Gibea’s diagrams. Look what I found.” I held out a book for him to see.
“Gibea?” Simmon whispered, horrified. “I swear the only reason you study with me is so you can interrupt.” He pulled away from the book I was offering him.
“It’s nothing grotesque,” I protested. “Just . . . here. Just look at what it says here.” Simmon shoved the book away, and my temper flared. “Careful!” I hissed. “This is one of his originals. I found it behind some other books, buried in Dead Ledgers. Lorren will cut off my thumbs if anything happens to it.”
Sim recoiled from the book as if it were red-hot. “An original? Merciful Tehlu, it’s probably written on human skin. Get it away from me!”
I almost joked about how human skin probably wouldn’t take ink, but decided against it when I saw the expression on Sim’s face. Still, my expression must have given me away.
“You’re perverse,” he spat, his voice almost rising to unacceptable levels. “God’s mother, don’t you know he cut apart living men to watch their organs work? I refuse to look at anything that monster was responsible for.”
I set the book down. “You might as well give up studying medicine then,” I said as gently as possible. “Gibea’s research on the human body was the most thorough ever done. His journals are the backbone of modern physic.”
Simmon’s face stayed hard and he leaned forward so he could speak softly and still be heard. “When the Amyr moved against the duke, they found the bones of twenty thousand people. Great pits of bones and ashes. Women and children. Twenty thousand!” Simmon sputtered a bit before he could continue. “And those are just the ones they found.”
I let him calm himself a bit before I said, “Gibea wrote twenty-three volumes concerning the machinery of the body,” I pointed out as gently as I could. “When the Amyr moved against him, part of his estate burned, four of those volumes and all his notes were lost. Ask Master Arwyl what he would give to have those volumes whole again.”
Simmon brought his hand down hard on the tabletop, causing several students to look in our direction. “Dammit!” he hissed. “I grew up thirty miles from Gibea! From my father’s hills you can see the ruins on a cloudless day!”
That stilled me. If Sim’s family lands were that close, his ancestors must have been fealty-bound to Gibea. That meant they might have been forced to help him gather subjects for his experiments. Some of his family might have ended up in the pits of bone and ash themselves.
I waited a long while before I whispered again, “I didn’t know.”
He regained most of his composure. “We don’t talk about it,” he said stiffly, brushing the hair out of his eyes.
We bent to our studies, and it was an hour before Simmon spoke again. “What did you find?” he asked too casually, as if not wanting to admit his curiosity.
“Here on the inner leaf,” I whispered excitedly. I opened the cover and Sim’s face twisted unconsciously as he looked down at the page, as if the book smelled of death.
“. . . spilled it all over.” I heard a voice as a pair of older students strolled into the hall. By their rich clothes I could tell they were both nobility, and while they weren’t shouting, they weren’t making any effort to be quiet, either. “Anisat made him clear up the mess before he let him wash off. He’ll smell like urea for a span of days.”
“What’s here to see?” Simmon asked, looking down at the page. “It’s just his name and the dates.”
“Not the middle, look up at the top. Around the edges of the page.” I pointed at the decorative scrollwork. “Right there.”
“I’d wager a drab the little pug poisons himself before the term’s through,” the other one said, “Were we ever that stupid?”
“I still don’t see anything,” Simmon said softly, making a baffled gesture with both his elbows on the table. “It’s pretty enough if you like that sort of thing, but I’ve never been a great fan of illuminated texts.”
“We could head to the Twopenny.” The conversation continued several tables away, drawing annoyed looks from surrounding students. “They’ve got a girl there who plays the pipes, I swear you’ve never seen anything like her before. And Linten says if you’ve got a bit of silver she . . .” His voice dropped conspiratorially.
“She what?” I asked, butting into their conversation as rudely as possible. I didn’t need to shout. In the Tomes a normal speaking voice carries the whole room. “I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch that last bit.”
The two of them gave me affronted looks, but didn’t reply.
“What are you doing?” Sim hissed at me, embarrassed.
“I’m trying to shut them up,” I said.
“Just ignore them,” he said. “Here, I’m looking at your damn book. Show me what you want me to see.”
“Gibea sketched all his own journals,” I said. “This is his original, so it makes sense that he did his own scrollwork too, right?” Sim nodded and brushed his hair back from his eyes. “What do you see there?” I slowly pointed from one piece of scrollwork to another. “Do you see it?”
Sim shook his head.
I pointed again, more precisely. “There,” I said, “and there in the corner.”
His eyes widened. “Letters! I . . . v . . .” he paused to puzzle them out, “Ivare enim euge. That’s what you were rambling about.” He pushed the book away. “So what’s the point, aside from the fact that he was nearly illiterate in Temic?”
“It’s not Temic.” I pointed out. “It’s Tema. An archaic usage.”
“What is it even supposed to say?” He looked up from his book, his brow creasing. “Toward great good?”
I shook my head. “For greater good,” I corrected. “Sound familiar?”
“I don’t know how long she’ll be there,” one of the loud pair continued. “If you miss her you’ll regret it.”
“I told you, I can’t tonight. Maybe on Felling. I’ll be free on Felling.”
“You should go before then,” I told him. “The Twopenny’s crowded Felling night.”
They gave me irritated looks. “Mind your own business, slipstick,” the taller one said.
That got my back up even more. “I’m sorry, weren’t you talking to me?”
“Did it look like I was talking to you?” he said scathingly.
“It sounded like it,” I said. “If I can hear you three tables away you must want me to be part of your conversation.” I cleared my throat. “The only alternative is that you’re too thick to keep your voice down in the Tomes.”
His face flushed red and he probably would have replied, but his friend said something in his ear and they both gathered their books and left. There was a quiet scattering of applause as the door closed behind them. I gave my audience a smile and a wave.
“The scrivs would have taken care of that,” Sim reproached softly as we leaned back over the table to talk.
“The scrivs weren’t taking care of it,” I pointed out. “Besides, it’s quiet again, and that’s what matters. Now, what does ‘for greater good’ remind you of?”
“The Amyr, of course,” he said. “It’s always the Amyr with you lately. What’s your point?”
“The point,” I whispered excitedly, “is that Gibea was a secret member of the order Amyr.”
Sim gave me a skeptical look. “That’s a bit of a stretch, but I suppose it fits. That was about fifty years before they were denounced by the church. They were pretty corrupt by then.”
I wanted to point out that Gibea wasn’t necessarily corrupt. He was pursuing the Amyr’s purpose, the greater good. While his experiments had been horrifying, his work advanced medicine in ways it was almost impossible to comprehend. His work had probably saved ten times that many lives in the hundreds of years since.
However, I doubted Sim would appreciate my point. “Corrupt or not, he was a secret member of the Amyr. Why else would he hide their credo in the front cover of his journal?”