"I learned when I was there, during the ten months, very slowly, something which I found almost incredible. I found out that their teaching is entirely by rote, entirely by rote, that they don't know anything about what the physics means. When I first came there, I saw children of 11 years old and so on getting physics books, much more than in our country, and it seemed that everybody was studying physics. I was teaching a class in electricity and magnetism, sort of an intermediate class in a university, and I had a lot of trouble with the class that I couldn't understand. They made excuses that they weren't used to my methods, and this and that, and they didn't do the homework problems for one reason or another. Sometimes I'd ask them a question and they'd give me the answer immediately, very neatly, you know. Sometimes I'd ask what I thought was the same question, and nobody knew the answer. Gradually I figured out what it was, particularly by one experience. Having talked about polarized light and polaroid and so on, and having gotten them to realize that when the polaroids were set so as to make them opaque, their axes were at right angles — in other words parallel — I asked them if they could tell me, by any method, in which direction the electric field was passing through a particular piece of polaroid; in other words, absolute axes. And of course they couldn't think of it right away. Then I said, "Well, look. You've got the light reflected from the sea out there, from the water in the bay." That didn't do any good, and so on. Finally I said, "Have you ever heard of Brewster's angle?" And they said, "Yes, sir — light is reflected from — substance of —." I can't do it like they did it, but they quickly said the law and something about the tangent of the angle of index refraction, or something. Then I said to them, "Which way is the Polaroid; parallel to the plane of incidence?" "Perpendicular to plane of incidence, Sir," was the answer. I said, "All right, then. So the light that's coming from the sea is polarized," you know. "Light reflected from a material with an index end is 100 percent polarized, perpendicular to the plane of incidence when the index, the angle of incidence is equal to the angle of tangent of the index," or some such thing. They knew that. So I said, "Well, then, look at the water again, and look at it through the Polaroid." And they turned the Polaroid, and they said, "Gee. It gets dark." So I realized that although they had told me what Brewster's angle was, they didn't know that when they looked through polaroid at water reflecting from the surface, it would look dark. And so I gradually realized that, although they told me what Brewster's angle was, they hadn't the slightest idea what the words meant. And incredible though it may seem, I found out by further looking into this that they knew all these laws by memory, and understood nothing. They didn't even know that after they figured out the direction of a ray of light, and they put their eye where that ray was, that that's the direction they have to look. And so on. In other words, nothing was related to any observation whatever. Whatever! It's hard to believe the zero that was involved. Also, to investigate further, I looked into a lot of things. I listened to other professors who were supposedly good, like in the engineering school. I heard how they gave a lecture. And the professor gave a lecture something like this: (only it was in Portuguese) "Two bodies are considered equivalent —" and so on, with pauses in between each phrase, and the students were writing it down, exactly. When he got finished saying the sentence, slowly, with pauses, he said it all together: "Two bodies are considered equivalent, that equal torques will produce equal acceleration." He was talking about equal moments of inertia, but it wasn't at all clear, just the sentence. He said it quickly, and they checked that they'd written it down. They were taking dictation, and writing it exactly. But it was unclear. It was perfectly obvious to me that if this was an introduction to the moment of inertia, it was incomprehensible to the human mind. What kind of equivalence was not defined, or why. Then there was a formula for the moment of inertia, for no good reason. There was none of the usual talk: "Well, let's see — you have to swing the object around. You do the same thing further out, and it's harder to get it going than if it's nearer in —" Or any such discussion, in terms of any experience. I asked a student, afterwards, "What are you doing?" "I'm taking notes on the lecture." "Then what do you do with them?" "I study them," he said. "What do you study for?" "The exam." "Well, what's the exam like?" "Well, this one's easy. You can always kind of guess what they're going to ask. For example, they're going to ask, 'When are two masses considered equivalent?'" I said, "What is this?" "I don't know." He looks, and he reads that sentence out. Now, see, it was possible, I realized, to pass the examination, and to learn and everything, and to go through the courses, without ever knowing a word of what you were talking about. I also went to the examinations for students qualifying to get into the engineering school. They were difficult examinations. And I took the best student, and after they had asked some questions which he answered satisfactorily, I asked the questions in a different language. As an example, they asked him how light is altered in going at an angle through a thick, plane sheet of material with an index? He said it was displaced from its original direction; it came out parallel to the way it went in, which was quite correct. When asked how far it was displaced, he was able to set it up and do it, which was far beyond the usual. But when I asked him later, I said, "Suppose this book is a piece of glass, and I'm looking at this other object through it, another book," and I tilt the glass, "what will I see?" He said, "You'll see the image of the other book go up at an angle twice the angle that you tilt the glass." "You don't mean the image of the other book is just displaced to one side?" "Oh no, it turns, and the further you're turning it, the more it turns" — which is, of course, completely beyond the ordinary experience. I said, "Don't you have mirrors mixed up?" "No." In other words, he didn't know that he'd already answered that question — that the light ray coming into the eye, is the direction that you'll see something in the illusion. So I began to realize and I found out by all this experience, that it was a most miraculous phenomenon, how these students could memorize enough stuff to pass all these examinations, and know so little — nothing, in fact, whatever — about nature when they're finished. It's impossible to believe, but it was 100 percent." - Richard Feynman
It's ya girl, back at you with another transcript. Transcript begins.
We return to the perimeter of thrones. The Editor greets us, but doesn't get up.
EDITOR: We need to talk.
NARRATOR: Again?
EDITOR: Marie-Clair Eleasha Crawford? You think I wouldn't notice?
NARRATOR: If a joke I've made has offended you, your station does come with the power to trim it out.
EDITOR: I know what your idea of a joke is. This is some hare-brained attempt at supersaturating every last inch of your "body of work" with your corkboard-and-twine idiocy.
NARRATOR: If you can't understand my work, why are you even editing for me?
EDITOR: Are you incompetent? Your work is not misunderstood, it is genuinely harmful. You have, again and again, demonstrated a failure to distinguish meaningfully between faith in epistemic frameworks and faith in pure, genuine superstition. Your understanding of physics is rife with new-age mysticism. Your very own ideology has no regard for consistency whatsoever, and your beliefs seem to gravitate toward only what will stir the pot the most.
NARRATOR: So you say.
EDITOR: Yes. Which, you'll notice, is my job.
NARRATOR: I'm not interested in having this conversation at a juncture so inopportune.
The Editor is taken aback.
EDITOR: I'm sorry. Are you a little busy?
NARRATOR: There are official channels for this.
EDITOR: Oh... there are, aren't there? That's a great idea. In fact, why don't you run along, and find out what she thinks?
NARRATOR: With pleasure. I know where her favor lies. Come now, my Understudy. Why don't we hear what she has to say?
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: The Editor is completely correct.
NARRATOR: What?!
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: Your vernacular is impressive, of course! You're well-read, you wax philosophical, and you try to keep away from any cultural exceptionalism. But ultimately, I am dissapointed with your work.
NARRATOR: But not dissatisfied?
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: Of course not. It's the wasted potential of your work that breaks my heart.
NARRATOR: I'm working to the best of my abilities.
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: I understand, I do! However, I'm concerned that every time you advocate for intellectualism, you feel the need to cling to the esoteric and the occult twice as much.
NARRATOR: So you concur with my Editor.
The Abyss nods sadly.
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: I don't want to sound as harsh as she did. I just worry that you're bringing up dangerous superstitions...
NARRATOR: I assure you, I know what I'm doing. You're not accusing me of anything, are you?
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: It's like Hanlon's razor. I don't think it would be fair to say that you're trying to effect harm. I only think I hadn't adequately prepared you to understand the difference.
NARRATOR: You think me ignorant?
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: Not ignorant! Only unguided, I think. You have all this beautiful, wonderful knowledge poured into your soul by the insight of a demon, but nobody has helped you make any sense of it.
NARRATOR: I can do well enough on my own, with or without outside assistance, thank you.
There is an unshakeable feeling of kindness in the presence of the Abyss. Maybe it's something in her eye, or maybe it's more abstract than that. But not now. The way she talks to the Narrator I have to wonder if I'd imagined it all along.
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: I see.
Her shadow elongates. I can't even remember if she had one just a second ago.
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: If you think you're not benefitting from my assistance, show me I'm useless.
NARRATOR: ...What?
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: All I ask is you lay a single blow on me. Just one.
She extends her arms. The Narrator grunts and cracks her knu
Thank you, but I'll handle this from here.
"You're not seriously going to attack her, are you? How do you even imagine that's going to unfold?"
I can arrange words into a weapon (5). What do you think I'm going to do?
"It's not you I'm worried about."
Well, I can't even begin to say what she'll do, while a target (6). I don't suspect any tricks, though. In fact, I can't help but notice she's not even arming herself.
She takes the umbrella from upon her wrist and slings it over her shoulder idly. "There's nothing I need. Go ahead."
I lunge at her. My sword strikes nothing. I turn to block whatever counterattack she has to offer, but nothing gets through my shield.
"Your form is subtle and graceful, but I thought you'd know better than to swing conventional weapons at the void itself. Get up and try again."
I'm sorry. My vocabulary is stuck in a dry spell of redundancy and flamboyant attitude (8).
I project the fireball at her. Nothing catches alight, a trivial feat. I feel the exhaustion of nothing.
"You shouldn't think like that! Your attitude is all wrong! I know you're capable of reasoning more abstractly than this."
Of course. I just didn't want this to end so suddenly. I was, initially, not seriously trying any noteworthy tricks. My idea thusly might be too much (7, 5):
Despite my best attempts, nothing dies in the wake of even this attempt on her.
"Enough excuses. If you can't so much as touch me, you know, I wouldn't dream of leaving you unsupervised and unprotected. Especially not with the Knight around."
Through all the stress of failure, I feel invigorated. There is nothing to cause a tightness in my chest, nothing to bring me to my knees, nothing to choke me near the point of blindness...
"I'll give you one more chance. Make it count."
My hand runs softly across an implement of art (5). Art, the ability to make actual, has been my strength distilled this entire time. The brush is only a concentration of this power. And if a being is ended by an act of destruction, it takes one of creation to fell the void.
"Would you really reduce yourself to demonstrating raw power?"
If I must.
"That's too unoriginal, even for you."
The brush effects primitive, perhaps elementary manifestations of the strength I channel, crude but meaningful shapes at the Abyss. Powerless imitations - the power lies in the act of imitation. Creation is mimesis run conceptually fractalline, of infinite detail.
"And yet, of finite depth."
The art disassembles itself. Deconstructs - decants form from meaning. The form loses all power and the meaning, all medium.
"You forget I'm more than the void. I am the process of destruction."
A violent rip separates art from artist. The strength leaves my being. I struggle to hold together, until she releases her vise upon me.
"You can realise a great many ideas," she smiles remorsefully. "Not me. I'm beyond your ability, and outside your knowledge."
She taps her umbrella against something I can't see, and
NARRATOR: What do you want from me?
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: I want to hope.
NARRATOR: What...?
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: To hope that you can grow wiser, that you can improve.
NARRATOR: You're letting me go?
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: On the condition that you try to do better. That's all I ask. Everyone has room for improvement. Well...
I guess that kind of sentiment stings to the Form she is.
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: If you don't want to end up a mad, broken old woman who confides in demons for comfort. Now go.
The Narrator gets up, furious, and storms off. I feel compelled to follow.
NARRATOR: What does she take us for?
UNDERSTUDY: Me? Nothing much, probably. I think she thinks you're next-level janked, though.
NARRATOR: The disrespect! And to dismiss me under the pretense of mercy?
UNDERSTUDY: She's letting you just walk, dude. If I had to guess, that's because this entire situation is pointless to get into any further.
NARRATOR: And to end it so arrogantly!
UNDERSTUDY: But isn't this a good thing?
NARRATOR: I've given you too much credit, haven't I?
UNDERSTUDY: Rude!
NARRATOR: Nobody ever lets you "just walk". They're onto us.
UNDERSTUDY: That's a bit pretentious, isn't it?
NARRATOR: How do you mean?
UNDERSTUDY: Are you sure you're worth the effort?
NARRATOR: Of course I am! I created your entire universe, remember?
UNDERSTUDY: Not by yourself.
NARRATOR: Shows how much you understand. Are you with me, or against me?
UNDERSTUDY: Chill, dude. I don't know, I just work here.
NARRATOR: Alright then. Back to work we go.
"I see you've decided to keep this away from civilisation. That defensive attitude is how I can tell it's you, century after century, life after life."
Some 2490 years prior to the majority of events hitherto detailed, Lakshmi crouched in the shade of a shisham. Despite its reputation as open plains, the density of the trees in particular regions of the Punjab was hard to overstate.
"Actually, I was hoping I'd lose you," she grimaced. For miles she had sprinted, miles now wearing even on her transhuman strength, but at no point had the glimmering golden titan seemed more than two steps behind her.
"Why? I have no intention of harming you."
"You want to kill me."
"You sealed your fate the moment you signed your contract. All I want is to ensure that your death isn't for no reason."
"I see." She weighed the orb resting in her palm. "Important to what?"
The Knight was practically breathing on her now, no doubt it would be if it had a throat. "Is there any sport you're familiar with?"
She turned and tossed it far beyond the beast. If it were as blind as it looked, then the sound...!
It didn't turn to follow the sound. It didn't so much as flinch. "I can't imagine why else you'd throw under-arm."
Lakshmi tensed. The electricity which flashed through her muscles - was it the terror of having nowhere to hide, or the chill of the dark, ancient fog the Knight carried reaching her ankle? Had it approached? She'd neither seen nor heard it move, but its presence gripped her heart more than it had a minute ago.
"I can't escape you, can I?"
"No."
"And you're going to kill me."
"I'm afraid so."
"I understand."
One deep breath. She knew what was to follow would be over before she drew the next.
"And your verdict?" it sighed.
She turned her wrist. The sphere shredded clean through the tree to return to her hand. With its momentum, she turned to face her pursuer. She'd not touched it. It had contorted its golden dermis around the trajectory of the orb, and avoided it entirely. She could see, as the beast restored its form, the maddening intricacy of every minute component of its body shifting completely free of any attachment, and yet, constantly dislocating and relocating from each other neighbouring component of the machine as one perfectly-tuned whole.
"Of course." It shook its head, and what remained of the tree and the earth around it exploded violently. Lakshmi only just managed to adjust two hemispheres of her weapon, and the world twisted inside out and back again.
She was behind it now, and channelling all her power into it. Its surface illuminated white-hot with information beyond human understanding, the photosynthetic process as it occurred in every cell of every leaf of these trees, the mineral composition of every speck of dirt beneath her, the molecular-level ballistics of the explosion where she had just been. No sign of any weakness in the Knight.
The ground beneath her shattered and disintegrated. Almost too late Lakshmi jumped away, visibility low in the excitation of the fog. While the sphere was learning, she decided she didn't have time enough for anything it could teach that trial and error wouldn't. She bowled at the Brass Knight, who now she saw hadn't even turned to look at her. It shifted shape again to allow the ball passage through. She found her target, though. The ball ricocheted off yet another tree, and she dashed aside so that the Knight eclipsed it. If she could align her strike correctly, and hit the mechanical core buried beneath its skin...
The strangest thing happened. The Brass Knight's entire body blurred, and until it reached her hand, Lakshmi noticed the sphere was too. The Knight had synchronised the molecules both within its own body and that of the orb, such that neither interacted with the other whatsoever.
Was that it, then? Was this monster truly untouchable?
Her own soul gem dimmed a quarter-lumen at the thought, and the bursts of flame tearing up trees behind her weren't getting any further away. She looked over the orb once again. It spoke of the total number of grains of sand spanning the planet. It described, to the nearest yojana, the distance of every star she had ever watched in her life. Still no sign of weakness in the Knight. Well, no problem.
She could get closer, if she had to.
She ran at the Knight, slid between its legs...
...what?
Something passed right through her heart. It had stopped beating. She slid further only on the slick of her own blood. In seconds, she would be braindead. Not long after, no doubt souldead too.
"That's enough," the Knight huffed in a chorus of brass tones where the air passed through the gaps in its armour.
"W... w... wh..."
"Maybe you mistook my actions for an all-out fight to the death, but it was only a warning. I've killed you, and that, too, is only a warning."
Lakshmi healed her heart as quickly as possible, an act of only short-term practicality and debilitating pain when rushed, but it was all she had. She scrambled for her sphere, now so bright it was burning itself into her retinae.
"You had a sister, a long time ago. Not by blood, or creed, or culture, but undeniably a sister. Nedjem. She tried to do battle with me, the same as you have. It killed her."
"You killed her." She concentrated as much force on the sphere as she could to give her the specifics of the Brass Knight's battle against her supposed sister.
"That is correct."
The sphere now spread its influence to the points linking every flow of dark matter in the observable universe. The thoughts and feelings of every human being who had ever lived. And the exact process by which the Brass Knight could be stopped.
It made no sense. She could have been made to live forever, and by no form of logic have concluded that.
"So that's how... to end this all..."
"It's one way. Certainly the most disadvantageous to me."
"But...?"
"How tragic. You have the knowledge to stop me, and your sister had the means. If only you hadn't been born 1597 years apart."
"So that's it, then. I die for nothing."
"I tried to stop this."
"I don't need your guilt."
"Of course not. But you do deserve the dignity of a painless end."
With tremendous claw, the Knight touched, impossibly gently, upon the boundary where Lakshmi's gem connected to her neck. It was then, in the final instant of her existence, that she sprung her own counterattack.
Every last moment of magic contained within herself poured forth now, outward, burning strong into the Knight but with no intent to harm.
Once the next instant arrived, the life had left her. Something far worse had befallen the Brass Knight, something it knew to be inevitable.
Branded into every single piece of itself was an enchantment detailing the exact process by which it could be defeated.
It was over, now. It would be over, eventually. The Knight raised it head to the sky and proclaimed,
"Though I understand why it was necessary, I can't shake the feeling that your presence here was nothing short of voyeuristic."
Nobody emerges from the foliage to retort the accusation. Nobody presents themself to admit such a thing.
"That's because I was talking to you."
What?
"You know what I just said. I can't stand to repeat myself."
What?!
"Belief in your own omniscience has made you excruciatingly obtuse."
But...
No, that's impossible!
"Impossible? Do I have to shake your ivory tower before you understand what I'm capable of? I can tell the future. I can enter and exit the universe at will. But the moment I speak to you is the moment I'm impossible?"
How can you speak to me, when I don't even exist?
"And how can someone who doesn't exist talk back? Had you ever considered your power runs two ways? I'd say 'don't be absurd', but that might be asking too much."
Who... are you?
"My. They really haven't told you much, have they?"
Told me what?
"Perhaps you presume I belong to your own kind, because you understand how powerful I must be to pose a threat and believe there is no power greater than a demon. Narcissist."
Then what are you, if not a demon?
"The alpha. The beginning. The forces of creation flow though me. If you're so eager to compare myself to you, at least hide it in the name. I am a daemon."
NARRATOR: Give me a new transcript.
UNDERSTUDY: You never told me to cut the old one.
NARRATOR: Didn't I? Hmm, not a fan of the sound of that. Cut it anyway.
UNDERSTUDY: But you just told me to start!
NARRATOR: What? Oh. Right, yes, yes, yes.
UNDERSTUDY: So what did you want me to write down?
NARRATOR: The Brass Knight.
UNDERSTUDY: I figured. Could you be more specific?
NARRATOR: You'll notice it said my "power runs two ways". Don't you think that's odd?
UNDERSTUDY: Odd how?
NARRATOR: Not "both ways". Two ways. What could it mean?
UNDERSTUDY: That you're more pedantic than it is? Only you could be threatened to your face and scour the threat for deeper meaning.
NARRATOR: But it must have one, mustn't it?
Must it, though? Really? Must it?
UNDERSTUDY: Sure. Why not.
NARRATOR: You're skeptical.
UNDERSTUDY: And you're prone to distraction. What's your point?
NARRATOR: Am I...? Am I? Very well.
UNDERSTUDY: Oh. I didn't expect you to actually agree.
NARRATOR: Why? You're completely right. I'm focusing on something that doesn't matter at all.
UNDERSTUDY: Thank you! I'm so glad to have someone who actually listens to me when I say this sort of thing.
NARRATOR: The real mystery is in the word "daemon".
Oh, for crying out loud.
NARRATOR: Its literal meaning is essentially interchangeable with that of demon, it's just a more archaic spelling. But it was very clear that wasn't what it was. So what, then?
UNDERSTUDY: Is this some spot-the-difference puzzle crap?
NARRATOR: Right! The difference! I know the importance of the letter A, alpha, the beginning, and so on, but why demon if that's not what it is?
UNDERSTUDY: If you're going to turn this into a kind of word puzzle, I'm gonna kick your ass.
NARRATOR: Word puzzle! Brilliant! How many anagrams of "daemon" can you think of?
UNDERSTUDY: What? Uh... hm. One dam. And emo. Dao men. Mean 'do.
NARRATOR: How many anagrams can you think of that mean anything?
UNDERSTUDY: Oh, none. Moaned?
NARRATOR: Monade!
UNDERSTUDY: Monade? What's monade?
NARRATOR: Grammar, mon ami. What are monade.
UNDERSTUDY: Alright, fine. That, then.
NARRATOR: I wrote of the (Monad/Monas) in chapter 17. It's Greek for unit, singularity, and used by Pythagorean and early Christian philosophers to refer to the aspect of oneness in God.
UNDERSTUDY: I imagine the -de changes that, though?
NARRATOR: Well, actually the Christians have (one god/three gods). It's a Brahma-Vishnu-Shiva kind of situation - oh! And look that up when you get the chance, too. That's also interesting.
UNDERSTUDY: Narrator, please!
NARRATOR: Right you are! Look, regardless of however many entities one god actually is, the point of the Monad is that their essence is singular, immutable in its own all-encompassing existence. The -de suffix, though, that's troubling.
She's pacing around. She's avoiding looking at me, too.
NARRATOR: Think about the root word, the feminine Monas. Ancient Greek, you see, and when the tongue comes to a word ending in -s, the plural generally adopts a -des suffix. Plural of octopus?
She stops pacing and points at me.
UNDERSTUDY: You're not answering my question! What does -de mean?
NARRATOR: There are languages where "plural" means three or more. That -de suffix, it's neither singular nor plural.
UNDERSTUDY: So? So, what is it?
NARRATOR: It's the dual form.
She sinks slowly into some kind of catatonic fugue. Bright blue energy courses through her and a storm cloud which shouldn't fit in the room by any means except for some illusion of perspective brews above her.
NARRATOR: Two gods.
UNDERSTUDY: Narrator, please...
NARRATOR: "I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life..."
I have no idea what she means by this.
UNDERSTUDY: Don't tell me you're getting this worked up over some Da-Vinci-Code-Ass bullshit.
NARRATOR: Et tu, Brute?
UNDERSTUDY: You're jumping immediately to conclusions that most people wouldn't make in their entire lives!
NARRATOR: What, and you think the Knight doesn't know what it's doing?
UNDERSTUDY: You don't, certainly! It's riling you up, and you're just as eager to get into a tussle as my last mentor.
I wish Margaret was here, actually. I'd love to tell her she's on the same level as a cavewoman who doesn't, and I quote, "think J. Edgar Hoover ever really existed".
NARRATOR: And here I was hoping you'd learn a thing or two from working with me.
UNDERSTUDY: I mean I bet I could sweep at the weirdest trivia nights now.
NARRATOR: Why don't you just... run off, and do whatever it is when you're not hanging around me? Go scheme, or conspire, or censor me or something. I don't care, just get out.
UNDERSTUDY: What?
NARRATOR: I mean, how am I supposed to have a conversation with someone who immediately disbelieves whatever I say?
UNDERSTUDY: I don't! I believe you completely! I just so happen to believe that the Brass Knight is getting on your nerves on purpose. If it can hear you, then it knows how you think as well as anyone. It knows the exact line of reasoning you'll start running after the moment it spells a word differently.
NARRATOR: So I'm predictable, is that it?
UNDERSTUDY: Whatever! I can't win with you.
Transcript ends. I guess.
She's gone.
She's gone, but my work doesn't end without her to take crude notes.
I know you're there. I know you're listening.
And I know you're lying.
"About what?" the Brass Knight asked.
You think you can sow seeds of paranoia in me with this 'daemon' trick. I'm afraid it's not going to work.
"I'm not exacerbating your distrust in your allies any more than you yourself are. If disbelieving me reassures you that there are no secrets you can't see or know, then fine. Settle for that. Continue as if nothing's amiss. But I ask that you don't accuse me of lying."
Then why did you call yourself what you did? If you can see into my echelon of reality, then surely you'd know the conclusion I came to?
"Because I knew you'd come to the right one, just as I know it now. My intention isn't to deceive you. I thought I'd been clear before - the Incubator peddles accurate information, but I bring information to guide you to accurate conclusions. I don't consider truth the strongest measure of knowledge's validity. I might not exactly be a 'daemon', but it was intriguing enough a spelling that you inferred my nature. That's enough for me. But calling me a liar couldn't be more misguided. Why would I be? Lying is for the weak, for anyone who has to prevaricate about reality, because they lack the strength to make their fictions real. I don't. Do you?"
That doesn't make any sense. Honesty isn't proportional to strength. My office is built on the presumption that I'm a brilliant liar.
"And what does that say about you?"
I don't know.
I don't
know.
"You're wondering whether or not you can stop me by yourself."
And?
"I don't see why you'd try. To prevent what, the nascence of a lifeless, timeless unreality?"
Why wouldn't I?
"And where are you right now?"
I
That hardly matters. They say better the daemon you know. You're trying to persuade me, but of what?
"Just an observation. If I ever found myself wanting something from you, I'd already have considered my plans a complete failure."
How cruel.
"Another observation."
I notice you talk about this place like you're familiar. What's more, my Overseer described you as once like us. Did you come from the Realm of Forms too, then?
The Brass Knight said nothing.
"I told you. I only tell you what's useful to know. Would you believe me if I said there are times when the most useful thing you can know is silence?"
I find myself constantly believing too much, and not enough, simultaneously.
"To confirm or deny your hypothesis wouldn't benefit anyone's ends. Not your master, not myself."
But I need to know.
"...less than anyone else."
The fog thickened again, but this time in flowing back to the Knight. It couldn't leave now, though - still so many questions need answering!
"There's more to my existence than answering pointless questions," it growled, "which is why I don't envy you."
And just as soon as it had spoke these thoughts, this corner of the Punjab was left empty grassland, and the peaceful body of its protector.
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: How was she?
UNDERSTUDY: She's a paranoid wreck. I can't bear to be around her anymore.
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: Is that good?
UNDERSTUDY: I'm not sure I understand the question.
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: What did the Overseer tell you? To stop her before she became too self-important.
UNDERSTUDY: I don't know. I didn't mean to upset her or anything. It just felt like the right thing to do, to stand in the way of her beliefs before she hurts somebody with them.
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: You hadn't expected her to double down?
UNDERSTUDY: I recognize her attitude. I've had friends dealing with horrible mental illness in the past. I just presumed, what with not having a physical brain, mental health wouldn't be a problem.
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: That's correct.
UNDERSTUDY: What?
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: She's completely of sound mind, and believes her actions to be rational. Her understanding of her own existence is predicated on the assumption that she is enthralled to an eldritch power beyond her understanding while all memories of her previous life have been erased completely.
UNDERSTUDY: That doesn't sound very rational to me.
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: Maybe it isn't, except for the fact that she's enthralled to an eldritch power beyond her understanding while all memories of her previous life have been erased completely. Of course, I don't think she's consciously aware of this, and what she does know seems based on erratic conjectures.
UNDERSTUDY: So she's guessing.
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: With power like hers, why should she believe that's the wrong thing to do?
UNDERSTUDY: I don't know. I can't even imagine.
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: Maybe you shouldn't. Maybe it's for the best you don't empathize with someone so dangerous.
UNDERSTUDY: Is she really dangerous?
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: Not yet. Her paranoia is a threat, but it also keeps her stuck in her own thoughts. I hear the Overseer is proud.
UNDERSTUDY: Really? But I barely did anything?
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: Of herself.
UNDERSTUDY: Yeah, that fits.
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: You distrust her, don't you? Her aggression makes you uneasy.
UNDERSTUDY: I guess not. Well, come to mention it... I don't like the fact that I've never seen you and the Overseer in the same room together.
Beneath her facial fracture, she smiles nervously.
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: You're not suspecting another conspiracy, are you...?
UNDERSTUDY: Am I wrong?
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: You're spending too much time around your mentor. I can't imagine what that must be doing to you. Is there any reason I'd pose as my own representative?
UNDERSTUDY: I guess that defeats the point of having a representative, huh.
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: She keeps her distance, and I keep mine. We don't see eye-to-eye. She rarely visits, as a result. So who better to act as my eyes and ears, than someone who lives as much as she can in my absence?
UNDERSTUDY: Wow. That straightforward?
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: Are we off the record?
UNDERSTUDY: Of course.
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: I think it's for the best that I keep her occupied, before she decides to wage war against the Brass Knight again.
UNDERSTUDY: Again? What do you mean, again?
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: I... I mean nothing. Just a senile old woman absentmindedly telling tall stories.
UNDERSTUDY: Is that so.
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: Go and ask the Overseer herself, and she'll tell you she's fought the Knight before. That's how you know it isn't true.
UNDERSTUDY: I can't tell how much of what you're saying is a joke.
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: Well, you're not going to get the answer just asking around.
UNDERSTUDY: I'm not sure I understand what you mean by that.
She doesn't offer clarification.
UNDERSTUDY: Well. Thank you for your time anyway, I should probably check on... you know who.
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: Ah, come now. What did we say about my time?
UNDERSTUDY: Right. Of course. My bad. Thank you for whatever this dimensionless singularity was, then.
ALL-PERMEATING ABYSS: My pleasure.
TICKING AWAY THE MOMENTS THAT MAKE UP A DULL DAY
The single most frequently used noun in the English language (discounting, for the sake of clarity, any pronouns) is time. Structures of time are omnipresent in mortal life, both constructed and natural, brief and lifelong. Naturally it stands to reason that everyone understands what time is. So what is time? It's a difficult question, because time is impossible to describe. And by the constructs of every culture which has ever existed, Terrans have found countless ways to extrapolate meaning from their relationship with time.
From my own objective, outsider viewpoint, time is a single dimension along which all states of the universe are generally sorted from least to most entropic. For about thirteen billion years, at any rate, after which magic does away with the tendencies of entropy in a closed system altogether. So I suppose I don't really know what time is either, but on the other hand, it's never really come up.
The Knight's warning to its child and to Marie related two different interpretations of time - the cyclical and the linear - and drew the conclusion that due to the difference in such a fundamental aspect of their frameworks, information which could be freely given to one would be irrelevant or misleading to the other. And herein lies a dead angle of the human brain's ability to visualise even something so imperative to its existence that the word becomes repeated several times a day?
How do you describe water to a fish? They don't have very active imaginations, and they're terrible listeners.
And who are we to take a fish out of water? Once you do that it ceases to be quite a fish at all.