Chapter 57: Interim Management
Tolfdir had declined to step into the Archimage's position. Although he'd been happy enough to be the acting Archimage when the Dragonborn was away on her missions, the role had become too burdensome when the Dragonborn disappeared into Sovngarde. The knowledge that Winterhold mages had discovered how to revive the defunct teleport system; the flood of spies, the piles of demands or offers or threats from magic institutions from all over the continent; the vicious politics…
He was 190 years and at the limit of a magic-extended human lifespan. The stress wasn't good for him. After several meetings of the senior staff and department heads, they all agreed to consider the Archimage on an extended sabbatical rather than declare her dead and that they needed an interim archimage until the Archimage Dragonborn could return. The final candidates for temporary Archimage were Faralda, the master of the Destruction Arts, and Urag, the Loremaster.
Faralda's primary disadvantage was that the new Dominion Ambassador was a first cousin. The Ambassador had let leak his family relation to her, putting Faralda on every jarl's list of potential Dominion spies. Her unfortunate cousin, "fair of face, black of heart," was the tiresome cliché; it would only get worse as his true character emerged. Her reputation would be dragged down and cast doubts on the College's trustworthiness. She couldn't have that.
Urag's disadvantages were race and age. An Orsimer scholar was a contradiction, and he was 100. His kind rarely made it past 60 years because of their generally harsh and violent lifestyle. However, he knew more secrets, his scholarship was second to none in all of Skyrim, and he was gaining international acclaim for his work with an Elder Scroll.
Urag took the interim management job with the support of both Tolfdir and Faralda. The Archimage Dragonborn had been an absentee administrator leaving all the work on Tolfdir. As her appointment had been politically motivated rather than her academic excellence (brilliant, but lacked discipline and indepth knowledge), Urag had little problem assuming her administrative and governance duties and the backlog of paperwork. Tolfdir would continue to assist because his diplomacy skills were essential.
"A Dwemer teleport at Skyforge. Well, it was inevitable." Urag put aside Curtis's proposal and personnel and budget requests. "Of course you can try. The problem is all these damn spies enrolled in the College."
"Guess there's no way to keep them out. Tough," said Curtis sympathetically.
"They pay their fees on time, keep current on classes and do the required work — no reason to kick 'em out. Aside from hiring some experienced spellsword guards and adding more security measures, we have to put up with them until they screw up. Sixty percent we've expelled were ones trying to sneak into your chamber. Then there was the group that tried snatching Arniel."
"No shit? What happened there?"
"Nothing too dramatic. Pretty Breton girl from his hometown spent a few months flirting with him. He caught her rifling through his files, so we expelled her. She and her hirelings tried snatching him when he next visited town. Some alert students who'd heard why she was expelled noticed her in town. Seeing she seemed suspiciously busy with a rough group, they notified the guards and Arniel. Arniel played along as a distracted bait and then held them off long enough for the guards to arrest everyone. Her henchmen were executed by the jarl. We questioned the girl and then kicked her out of town. We also sent her superiors at Jehenna's College of Aetherial Arts a nasty letter about academic theft."
"So she flunks out of both colleges. Can't say I've got any sympathy for her."
"If she's smart, she'll find somewhere else to live. If she returns to High Rock, they'll likely kill her for embarrassing them," grunted Urag.
"Was she any good as a student? Maybe salvageable?"
"Competent grades, and no. Her family is in a power struggle with two others for control of their college. Getting your secrets was an important gambit she failed. Her own family would likely be the ones killing her if she returned. Don't waste any more thought on her.
"Instead, concentrate on these." Urag bent to his left to pick up a large box on the floor to drop in front of Curtis. "Students applying for internship under you. Pick out the slaves you think will be useful and trustworthy."
"Slaves. Ha. Ha." He looked at the overflowing box. How many? Over a hundred? "That can't be right."
"It isn't. Over half are students from other colleges and universities outside of Skyrim. You've even got some from Summerset. Some children are being sponsored by their towns. More are still coming in. Past graduates are applying, two junior instructors in the Imperial College, and five Dwemer scholars in active research."
"Filters," Curtis sighed. "Bet you most of 'em will drop out when I make it clear my interns and lab assistants will not be working on teleport technology."
"A fool's bet."
"Hell, I should just do a blanket rejection letter stating that interns will be working on advanced engineering projects I currently have going in Eastmarch, some Dwemer tech may be involved, but none involve teleports. Then, if they're still interested, they can reapply. The ones from children, if their sponsors can pay for them to come to Winterhold, they can enroll in the crafters' college if practical engineering is their aim instead of Dwemer tech."
Urag silently put down two papers in front of him, form rejection letters stating what Curtis had just said. Almost. No mention of Eastmarch. And by the tone of it, he probably asked Tolfdir to write it because it was politer than either Urag or Curtis would've worded it. A deadline for reapplication was also added.
The third and fourth form letters were for those whose application missed the deadline and an invitation to look over the crafters' college if practical engineering and not Dwemer tech was the desired goal.
"Man, you thought of everything," said Curtis with admiration.
"I don't just get by on my looks," grunted Urag. Curtis laughed.
He picked up the box. "Guess I'll start sorting through these. Anything else I can do for you while I'm here?"
"That Elder Scroll reader—"
"Spectroscope," said Curtis.
"—the reader seems to have developed a problem with the infrared frequencies. The problem occurs even when rereading areas that had been clear before. And the ultraviolet area glitches at certain parts of the Scroll."
"Okay, I'll take a look at it." The spectroscope was a cheap, simplified desktop version of the Scroll reader at Mzark. However, that was like comparing a pinhole camera to the latest digital camcorder. The spectroscope could only focus on a palm-size area. The viewer had to hand copy that image onto a same-size paper, making over a dozen images of that area as viewed through each spectrum range. Jigsaw puzzle pieces that had to be carefully labeled and placed.
Another layer of difficulty was that the Elder Scrolls also sang, which was why the Ancestral Moths were attracted to the Scrolls. Like a movie film, there was an optical soundtrack running along it. Convert the sound waves to spectrum light and — bam — there was a secondary multi-level Scroll layer over the first.
All those variations. No wonder Moth Priests went blind. Trying to process all that burned out the visual centers of their brains after one or two readings.
Serana's father, as a vampire lord, had kept his vision. But his sanity and personality had scrambled, leaving him open to the trap laid by Gelebor's brother, Vyrthur, who'd used powers granted by his position as arch-curate of Auri-El's Temple to imp in a false prophecy into an Elder Scroll.
Scrolls were also infamous rewriting themselves as the future changed.
Curtis's people had found the data cubes created from the Scroll made eons back. The Dwemer had scanned the Scroll every hundred years, so there was a crate of precious data. The data cube the Dragonborn had made in her quest to obtain the Dragon Scroll had been recovered from the late Septimus Signus's icy hovel. Urag had the printouts of the first and latest versions. These would not be released for publication because the College was not ready to announce the existence of Blackreach, the Tower of Mzark, and the Library of Mzark to the world. He was criticized for not knowing where the Dragonborn had gotten the Scroll.
So why go through the eye-aching and tedious exercise of a patchwork transcription? Prestige, money, and caution. No other institute of magic had successfully found a way to read a Scroll; scholars were willing to travel to Winterhold and pay for the privilege of working on the project. No way was Urag letting it be known the College already had two fully transcribed versions of the same Scroll. There were too many secrets about Dragons, the Dragonborn, and the immediate future that shouldn't be exposed except by time. The Synod screamed about Imperial Law and the Empire's claim upon all Dwemer discoveries, demanding that the Scroll be returned at once to the White Tower and the machine that read it be given to them. Urag bluntly reminded them that Winterhold College was not answerable to the Imperial College or the Synod, just as this part of Skyrim was not answerable to the Empire. But if they wanted to send spy scholars to help with the drudge work of transcription, they were welcome to come.
Even if clever Synod spies found out about Mzark and managed to get there, the crystals of the Mzark Tower's reader had been removed and repurposed in The Vale. Parts had been scavenged from the reader machinery, and Mzark's contents had been removed to The Vale. Repairing the Mzark reader would be impossible. The Synod had no equivalent machine in the Empire upon which to base their repairs, and the focusing crystal they had created for the Mzult Oculory (the Synod's name for the Observatory) wouldn't work. Comparing a Dwemer crystal to the Synod's was like comparing a purpose-made lens to a water-filled clear plastic bag. A waterbag could work to focus sunlight and start a fire, but it was not a reliable tool for long-term survival. And the Synod crystal had cracked after one use.
Yup, the College used to be a laid-back place with no doors and even fewer locks. Plenty of doors now, magic locks, and a team of professional Telvanni spellswords hired from Tel Windstad in Hjaalmarch. House Mora. The entire town had joined the new Skyrim-based House despite originating from different Telvanni clans and a few Hlaalu and Redoran families. They called themselves Clan Morivanni, and their House badge was the tree of Mora adorned with the triskelion of Hjaalmarch.
Curtis went to his office. Ilya was now Colette's assistant instead of further wasting her potential as his bodyguard, which was as it should be. Sitting at the secretary/guard desk in front of his office was a stern-looking young mer, one of the spellswords, patiently dealing with a line of people trying to get on Curtis's appointment book. Curtis took a deep breath, pasted on a business smile, and headed for his office. He said a few curt "hellos" and shrugged aside those trying to engage him in talk.
He got in his office and was surprised to see a dripping Elden standing in a puddle of saltwater.
"This seems familiar. Did you find a new underwater Dwemer temple for me?" he asked, grinning.
Elden grinned back. "Hah, no. Sorry about the mess, ser. But I found something and knew I had to bring it to you right away. I was at Serpent's Stone and spotted a Dwemer chest just off the shelf of that isle. Got a few gold rounds, a nice mace, these data cubes, and this thing.." He opened the net bag slung around his shoulders and shoveled out three data cubes and a long, dark crystal silver banded at both ends. A propylon index, a teleport key.
He thoughtfully rolled the key between his hands, his mind drifting…
**One of the achievements of the First Council was the development of the teleport system that combined the engineering skills of the Dwemer and the sorcery of the Chimer. When Clan Rourken left, they took the knowledge of teleportation with them. As they traveled to the unknown land they had already named "Volenfell," they shared the teleport knowledge with the clans that had already colonized the western lands.
Clan Rourken's departure wasn't all bitterness. They helped spread the usefulness of the heartstones and opened trade for Vvardenfell. We got wealthy by mining and shipping the heartstones; they got travel assistance and ready resources from established clans by the time they arrived in Volenfell and needed to start building their own cities.**
Dumac's memories of reviewing heartstone orders from mainland clans and calculating shipping costs and taxes was interesting.
He squinted as he examined the silver bands looking for the name the index was created for. There was only brushing marks on the silver. The name had been sanded off it.
What the heck, he thought, and sent some of his magicka in to jiggle it about to test if anything would activate. Nothing. No activation, not even a warning vibration for an incorrect sequence.
Serpent's Stone. That islet had nothing but that standing stone there. It was a frozen chunk of nothing. "Did you see signs of a Dwemer ruin there?" he asked Elden.
"Crumbled chunks of what could be columns or walls. I didn't explore much to see if I could find any pipes that might lead somewhere else. The current in that area was too strong for me to do much swimming."
"Huh. Why were you even swimming there in the first place?"
Elden shrugged, looking rueful. "I was never intending to. I was diving around the shelf at Skytemple when I got swept up in one of those seasonal deep currents from below that we're supposed to be watching for. By the time I was able to ease out of the stream, I was at Serpent's Stone."
"Oh, yeah, the southbound polar Atmora current. Later than usual. Guess the long summer's over." Curtis put down the index to examine the cubes. He'd need to schedule a time to go to Skytemple to use the data reader there. "I hope there's some interesting stuff and not more accounting records like the last bunch of cubes we found," he said.
"Hope so, too. Well, guess I'd better leave you to that frightening box you have there."
"What? You don't want to help me sort through intern applicants?" Curtis cried in mock dismay. Elden laughed.
"Like I know anything about that." His expression abruptly brightened. "Hey, I can see if Joric's free to help you. Maybe the Wyrd Wonder Wizard can point out who's your best bet?"
"Not a bad idea," said Curtis, "I'd appreciate that. But I think you should take care of yourself first." He went behind the partitioned section of the room where he slept and kept spare clothes and came back with a bath poncho and a prepaid laundry service chip so Elden wouldn't have to waste time doing his own laundry scrubbing and drying. "Here. You know where the baths are."
"Thanks." Elden quickly grabbed the poncho and chip. "I'll let the guard know to expect Joric."
X—X—X—X—X—X—X
"So, who are you looking for, kena?" asked Joric, his eyes bright. Curtis grimaced slightly. Starting last year, the new Dunmer students and junior Morrowind teachers had begun addressing him as "kena." It was merely the Dunmer word for "teacher" or "scholar." It was curious that he was the only one singled out to be addressed so. When he asked why, they said it was because he was the teacher of lost arts; it warranted a special designation. This started infecting the other students.
"Got all these applications for interns."
"And you wanted a way to cheat to find the best tools, Elden said. I can try. What kind of job do you specifically want them for?"
First, eliminate the spies, was his first impulse. But he bit it back. Industrial spies could be useful, some evening having desirable skills else they wouldn't have been recruited. Maybe some didn't mean to be spies but were pressured or manipulated into the position.
"You know what I'm working on. None of these people will be working on the teleport system, at least not directly. Some spies might actually have useful skills. But I could do without thieves and backstabbers."
"Hm, still plenty of room for interpretation," said Flavia.
Flavia Romano, an apprentice priestess to Zenithar, had come to Winterhold under orders from her god. The first was to study under Master Tolfdir because he was the top Alterations Master in Skyrim. The second was to make friends with Joric and his god. Joric had talked about her while he was visiting The Vale. Seems Zenithar was interested in building a close relationship with Jhunal. House Mora of Aldmora would be the driving force to revive Morrowind, and they would be bringing the two Divine gods with them. From what Joric let drop, she had been the one to persuade the core Felix Family to commit to a Morrowind-style House association. She was helping Joric to define the message he would deliver as Jhunal's first priest. She practiced debating with him, arguments he could expect from Aedric priests, just as Drevis often challenged him from the stance of Daedric priests.
The Romanos had one marriage in Clan Felix, her second cousin Octavia Romano married Nicholas Felix Senior. Flavia's family had opted out of joining House Mora. But Flavia would formally join House Mora after she became a priestess.
Curtis liked her and the concept of her god. Before coming to Tamriel, he'd been mostly an atheist. Yet he'd regularly attended church because he liked being in the church choir. The choir had been a good bunch, and the music they'd made had been the only thing that had kept him going for so long. The priests and the church community, eh, not so much. But Curtis liked her. The little hammer hanging at her waist wasn't just an ornament and symbol of her faith. He'd seen her use it as she chiseled magic runes into stones and decorative motifs into jewelry. Tolfdir praised her skills and power. He'd have tried to persuade her to become a teacher at the College if she hadn't already pledged to be Zenithar's priestess in the chapel they were building for her in Atmora.
She is also one hell of an artisan bladesmith. She'd enrolled in the crafters' college classes for smelting and knife-making. A popular evening course. She used Alterations magic in smelting metals to manipulate the alloys with almost Dwemer-like skill. Her blends for crucible steel were new to the Nords, and her classmates and other advanced smithing students often paid to have her ingots for their knife-making. Her sense of knife design was exemplary. But when Master Agrund did a course on folded and canister steel (or Damascus steel as Curtis knew it in his past life), her artistry skills bloomed. Even her practice cast-offs and rejects sold well, with her final blades selling at top-of-the-line Skyforge prices.
Too bad she was tone-deaf. If it weren't for that, and if she'd been willing in the first place, Agrund would have happily tutored her in tonal magic. Even so…
But she wasn't interested in learning more about Dwemer metal crafting. Her first vocation was the priesthood. She was happy enough making beautiful knives for insane prices.
"Obviously, Joric and I aren't qualified to judge them, so we'll just go on feelings," said Flavia. "Kena, you should look at their skills. Three piles — yes, no, maybe. Joric, you look over the introductions. I'll look over the references if they have any."
Curtis grunted agreement and added, "My current plan is to send a rebid request, uh, I mean, a blanket rejection with a better outline of the position — including a statement that working on teleport technology is not going to be a possibility — and invite those interested to re-apply."
"Then why invite us to help you with these?" asked Joric.
"I'm just curious. I'm wanna see who will re-apply and what changes in their reapplication. You don't have to do this if you think this is a waste of your time. You don't get anything out of this except me springing for dinner. So, you wanna?"
"I do have lessons I need to concentrate on tonight," said Flavia. "But I can do this tomorrow evening. As for dinner, are you ordering food or making it yourself?"
"Um, I can throw together a couple of pizzas," offered Curtis.
"Vegetarian, please," said Flavia.
"Anything with lots of cheese," said Joric. "So, tomorrow then?"
"That'll be great."
When the kids left, Curtis sorted the applicants into piles — Skyrim/non-Skyrim, students/non-students (graduates, professionals, non-research/instructor professionals). Students get first consideration.
One non-student applicant caught his eye. A Telvanni spellwright from Clan Adrevanni, Mage-Lord Neloth's clan. Adrevanni Nerro Sandhelas, 40, an apprentice to an older cousin of Destructive magic. He desired to end his apprenticeship and study instead Dwemer tech. Nerro's interests were in machines that purified air and water, and he bluntly stated that he wanted to reclaim Morrowind, and he believed an apprenticeship with Winterhold's Dwemer instructor could be useful. He even sent rough plans for giant air scrubbers and water filters based on ones he'd seen in deep Dwemer ruins.
The self-introductory letter was written in formal language. Nevertheless, despite the youthful arrogance, Nerro conveyed a child-like enthusiasm and hope as he wrote of his current projects. What was also clear was he lacked experience in leading a project and, worse, a team project. He worked solo. Typical Telvanni mindset of the noble class.
Curtis grinned. Such an ambitious son deserved an assistant manager job. He was going to enjoy this.
Related Shopkeeper's Wife story(s): #50 Battling Shadow; #75 Briarpatch