All Men of Genius

XXX.



CALVIN Curio had never sought fame. His parents gone by age three, he was raised partly in a city orphanage and partly on the streets by children just a few years older than he. When a well-to-do scientist found him loafing about one afternoon and offered to pay him to fetch some things from market, Curio agreed, if only because he had never really had money of his own before. The older boys often did, and bought things with it, like penny dreadfuls and marbles. He had one marble then, a blue one with a stripe around it like Saturn’s ring. So he had run the errand for the scientist and helped him carry his purchases back inside.

The inside of the scientist’s apartment seemed elegant and rich to Curio at the time, though he now knew it had been shabby at best. But the basement, where the scientist kept his lab, was a place of wonder. Glass beakers were on every surface, and there was a fire with a heavy copper pot over it, boiling with something that smelled like mold and dust. Some of the glass beakers and tubes were filled with liquids of a hundred colors: blue like his marble, red like blood, green like the trees outside the city. The lab felt as though it were constantly shifting, as though, if he looked away, the beakers or their contents would dance about, only to hold still again when he turned back. Potions bubbled and smoked, hoses filled with liquid and poured it out again. Curio stood staring at it all, openmouthed.

“Do you like it, boy?” the scientist had asked. Curio nodded. The scientist introduced himself as Dr. Henry Voukil and told Curio he would gladly apprentice him if he was willing. Curio, fascinated by the lab, was willing, and for the next several years served as errand boy, apprentice, and test subject for Dr. Voukil. At first, it seemed fun. Voukil taught him to read, and the odd-smelling elixirs the doctor gave him to drink did little besides make him tingle or vomit, which was amusing. Then, as Dr. Voukil realized just how obedient Curio was, and that no one would know what he was doing, he became more daring in his experiments. Curio lost all his hair, fell asleep for a week, cried blood, and could suddenly do complex calculations in his head. He was dizzy and confused most of the time. Dr. Voukil began to teach him the properties of various elements, tell him what he was trying to achieve, mix the ingredients together, and then give the concoction to Curio to drink, which Curio did willingly. After all, he was an apprentice.

When Curio was sixteen, after testing a potion made to enhance strength, nothing seemed to happen for an hour or so. Then Curio started have a throbbing pain in his head and blacked out. When he woke up, it was on the floor of the lab, which had been destroyed: shattered glass everywhere, colored liquids mingling into odd patterns on the floor, and, among them, Dr. Voukil’s blood. He was quite dead, nearly pulverized like one of his roots in a mortar and pestle. Terrified and unsure of what had happened, Curio sneaked out at night and tossed the body in the river. The next day, he cleaned up the lab, telling everyone that the doctor had gone to a scientific conference in France.

He ran the lab as Voukil had done, experimenting and reading the library of books he’d never been able to read before because he had been so busy drinking potions. And from the books he learned science. It was slow going, especially when, after a frustrating day of trying to understand a formula, Curio woke up at the docks one morning, his hands covered in blood. He knew then that the dark suspicion he harbored—that he was responsible for Dr. Voukil’s death—was true. He began working late into the night, consulting the books and using what he remembered of the doctor’s teachings to try to find a cure for his murderous blackouts. After three months, he found that it crept into his personality, that he could be calm one moment and filled with rage the next.

But he was also gaining a reputation as a scientist. He found cures to other diseases, if not his own; perfected a tonic for sore throats; and created formulae that could repair broken glass.

So when the Duke of Illyria came to him to offer him a job, he confessed his dark secret and begged the duke to help him. The duke died before he could cure him, but he also set up a chamber for Curio in the basement, the walls all lined in velvet pillows, the floor a giant mattress, with a solid steel door that would lock itself shut and keep itself shut until the sun rose. In this way, Curio saved himself from causing more harm.

He tried to remove himself from people as best he could. No one knew his secret, not even the current duke—though he did know of Curio’s chamber, so he might have had an inkling. Curio had come to enjoy his evening solitude. He took books down to the chamber with him, even if he sometimes found them torn to shreds in the morning. It was quiet down there, except for the soft winding of the gears.

But recently, it had become much more crowded in the basement. Last year, he found footprints that weren’t his in the dust, and heard odd clanging noises from time to time. He had ignored them, but this year, there were people going to and fro all over the cellar. He had to peer around corners before turning to make sure he wouldn’t be caught. He stopped quietly at any sound, wondering if it was someone else, and who. He dodged beams of light that seemed to shine out suddenly from the darkness. It had become stressful to maintain his secret.

As it was definitely students wandering about after hours—he could tell from their muffled giggles and the smell of cheap ale—he decided to wait one night, and to scold them. The basement was not a place for students to play. Instead of dodging their lanterns, he would follow them. After all, he was the professor, and they the students. They were violating rules by being down here, and if they asked what he was doing, he was not obliged to answer.

Since the door would lock behind him if he entered his chamber, he instead waited in the hall beside it, staring up at its handle. It was a good door, built to look like the others, with a wooden front. The special lock was well hidden.

The students came early this evening, just after supper. Curio stood in the hallway, listening for the sounds of their feet, then ran toward their light. “Ah ha!” he bellowed in triumph.

“Professor!” said the duke, surprised by Curio’s sudden appearance.

“S-sir!” said Curio, equally surprised by the duke. “I’m s-sorry, s-sir, I thought you w-w-w-were a s-student. I was going to ca-catch them, sir, and send them t-t-to you for d-discipline.”

“Ah,” the duke said, looking a little nervous. “Well, that won’t be necessary, will it? They’ve all gone home already, Curio. Easter break begins tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Curio said. He had forgotten. All his nights were the same. He had no break from Illyria.

“Curio, let me introduce Mr. Matthias Forney,” the duke said, stepping aside slightly. The man standing behind him in the shadows stepped forward into the dim light. He was a large man, smoking a large cigar and wearing a top hat and long black duster, which made him seem even bigger. A gold watch chain hung between his black vest and his pants. Matthias had a thick black mustache, hardly any lips to speak of at all, and a rectangular face with bright gold eyes. He looked, to Curio, like a great black train, steaming and ready to run him over. “Mr. Forney will be teaching Mechanics until Professor Bunburry returns. Mr. Forney, this is Professor Curio, who teaches Chemical Sciences.”

“Good to meet you,” said Forney in a voice like coal. He had a peculiar American accent, flat and heavy. He extended his hand and shook Curio’s heavily.

“I was just … showing Matthias around,” the duke said.

“It’s a m-m-m-marvelous building,” Curio said, nodding. The three of them stood a moment in silence, save for the gears turning and Forney sucking on his cigar. “Well, since you’re not s-s-students in need of frightening,” Curio said, “I’d b-best b-be off.”

“Have a happy Easter, Calvin,” the duke said. Forney tipped his hat in Curio’s direction, and the pair of them set off.

“Happy E-easter,” Curio called after them. He lingered in the shadows, still confused, then headed back to his chamber. Easter already. Time was moving quickly.