The room was dusty, motes of the stuff floating visibly in the sunlight which made them both sneeze. Cosima reached down and touched the top of Prospero's head before he wandered into the sunlight, sniffed briefly at the floor, and laid down. She rolled her eyes, then coughed.
"Do you think the dust in here is Dusty?" Her fingertips caught years of undisturbed dust on a long forgotten table, leaving whorls and swirls in her wake.
"I thought it was all meant to be Dust," he reminded her, stretching and then curling up nearly housecat-small.
She slipped the borrowed object from her pocket, touching it with an almost sort of reverence as she unwrapped it from its velvet sheath. Its deep, worn gold case was warm from her hand and the sunlight now glinting across its surface. Cosima smiled. "Some of it is surely just dust. Move over, I need the sunlight to see properly. We don't have long and I need to try."
Settling on the floor, her daemon curled at her feet, Cosima adjusted the knobs. Slowly, more slowly than she would have liked, the needle finally began to swing graceful loops around the dial, arcing between symbols.
Hourglass. Beehive. Madonna. Hourglass. Beehive. Madonna. Hourglass. Beehive. Madonna.
The symbols came, but nothing else. No dam burst of clarity or even slow trickle of understanding. Cosima frowned at the alethiometer. She would have to pour over the book for answers. It had been foolish, but she had hoped that using it herself would make understanding easier.
Prospero headbutted her gently in the shoulder. "Come. It's nearly dinner and we should take that thing back before it's missed." With a sigh, she rewrapped the alethiometer and carefully placed it in her pocket, then stood.
The air was brisk when they stepped outside, with the promise of late autumn thunderstorms making the small hairs on her arms stand to attention. It was a quick walk from the disused storehouse back to St Hilda's where she was meant to be in her room studying. Hourglass. Beehive. Madonna. Her mind tripped over surface meanings, trying to remember layers of connection that felt just beyond her reach. The alethiometer weighed heavily in her pocket. It thumped into her leg in an irregular rhythm with her steps. Prospero, true to form, bumped an irregular rhythm of his own into her other leg with affected gracelessness. She let her fingers rest briefly in the coarse fur at his neck before he was off again, pouncing on a leaf.
Inside the hallway where the Professor kept her office, Cosima paused. There were voices and light coming from the office where she ought to be returning the alethiometer. Stepping closer, she strained to hear.
"It will be good to have you here," the Professor said. Cosima had spent more than enough time with her experimental theology professor to know her voice anywhere, rough accented and tired.
"Merci," said the other, "I was very glad when you accepted me as a student." The other voice was also a woman, soft and unmistakably French. Cosima inched closer, trying to hear better. The floorboard squeaked under her foot. She could hear the women pause. Too late to be overlooked now, she shifted again and walked into the office.
Both women were turned to face the doorway as Cosima stepped inside. She took in the French woman with a glance. Honey coloured hair trapped in a bun, curls escaping around her face. Tall, slender, still in a travelling coat and with a large travel case by her side. To her other side, her daemon, a wolf-dog, sat patiently. Prospero sat next to her own feet, and began to wash himself.
"I'm sorry, Professor, I was just coming by to see if you wanted to walk with me to dinner." The lie rang patently false to her own ears, but the Professor smiled as if nothing were the matter.
"I don't think I will be coming tonight, thank you, but if you could please give Miss Cormier dinner and a tour, that would be most welcome. Cosima smiled. Her pocket felt heavy. She needed to put it back in the case before the Professor noticed it had gone and worked out her prize student was the culprit. Hourglass. Beehive. Madonna.
"Of course, not a problem," she said, and offered her hand. "I'm Cosima, I study experimental theology."
The woman took it lightly, squeezing briefly before letting go. "Delphine. Enchantée."
She felt her mouth quirk into a smile without any involvement of her voluntary muscles. "Enchantée."