It had taken Tibby all morning to achieve the same organised chaos that she had enjoyed in her office at Mers. The passives, Alioe bless them dear little things, had come in their drones holding boxes upon boxes of books. Her bookshelves was plentiful, but could only contain around one third of Tibby’s collection. The rest were stacked in various places; piled high on her desk, around the desk, lined up on the floor. Ethics books were of the highest quantity of course, but they were sprinkled in with a dash of fiction, a dab of history and a small smattering of tomes.

Tibby’s handmaiden, homley thing that she was suited Tibby rather well she thought. Christine was a quiet timid creature, who shook like a hand shy yoffel and had a poor little ugly face, broken nose, an eye sewn shut and scarred skin, cappilaries broken in places giving pale skin a purplish tint. Tabitha imagined that the matron had taken one look at Tibby and her face being the way it was and made the match. At first, Tibby would admit that she would have course enjoyed having something pretty to look at as she went about her day.

The Matron had seen Tibby’s grimace when first presnted with Christine and had added hastily, “she’s a good worker. One of the best. But I can change her if you like- if her looks offend ye Ma’am” all this in front of the poor dear passive! Tibby had felt quite dreadful of course, what right had she to be offended by the way anyone had looked? She’d accepted the passive and not thought a minute more about the girl’s appearance.

Around the room there were pots of white and red orchids brought from Mers, once lovingly tended by Cleo when she visited Tibby for their lunch dates in Mers; cook’s finest salads or light pastries in tupperware containers filling the office with a delicious homey smell while they lay abandoned, Cleo still just in her undergarments, hair spilling down her neck as she watered the plants. Tibby had detailed instructions for Christine regarding the orchids, written in careful handwriting, her orchids needed the uptmost care if they were to be maintained in the new environment. Tibby would miss Cleo’s delicate hands cupping the orchid’s flower dreadfully. She would also miss the smell of her perfume wafting over the air, the smell of her sex as they nestled together on the red chaise longue now in the corner of the room or hunched into one of the three chairs arranged around a Bastian coffee table, Cleo on her lap running hands over Tibby’s stained cheek.

But no matter.

There were paintings to be put up; some dreadfully interesting pieces from Mugroba- naked breasted dark beauties fixed on the wall next to elaborate, glamorous paintings from Bastia and some rather interesting abstract pieces Tibby had found in Anaxas. The sculptures she placed on her desk and cabinets were gloriously phallic- old human fertility symbols that Tibby found terribly interesting, not just for anthropological merit but to watch the stuffy Bastian professors squirm and stare as Tibby served coffee!

Her beloved, dangerous typewriter sat on the desk too, loaded with ink and paper- poised to write more, practically calling to Tibby to fill that blank page with new ideas to be shared, new stories to tell. For her next great novel Tibby intended to tell the story of a galdori socialite, a dutiful politician’s wife and a mother, as well as her dramatic fall from grace catalysed by an accidental trip to a brothel and a night of the most instense passion with a young human girl set out in careful, lurid prose. It would be most scandalous! It would be terribly modern.

The door to her new office was, as was her way in Mers- unless Cleo was paying a visit, left open. It let in the light, made the room look bigger and allowed passers by to poke their head in and nose at the new ethics professor. Tibby did hope that a few of the faculty or the students would pop in to say hello from time to time! Her door would always be open, to student and teacher alike and Tibby hoped desperatley that Mers and Brunnhold were not so different, hoped she would have many conversations with many interesting people in this office about music and literature and ethics and any passing whim in the world!

“Christine, dear. Would you prepare a pot of coffee, I rather hope I may have guests soon…and tea I suppose too since they all still drink the dreaful stuff in Anaxas.”

The young passive nodded, Tibby was not looking forward to getting back into tea drinking…the very thing even sounded twee! A modern woman drank coffee, cups and cups of the stuff! And good quality wine, of course, to which Tibby had stashed in an alchohol cupboard along with Crème de Menthe, Gin and a few other, terribly feminine drinks.

The new room crackled like the field around her, and though there was no familiar smell of perfume there was the fresh smell of oppurtunity. Tibby drank it in and smiled.

It was only an offhand remark from one of his interns. They were talking to each other, about some new teacher that had just come in from... where was it? Mers, in Bastia. It really didn't matter. Upon hearing that someone was moving in, he had forced himself upright, took his cane in hand, and declared he would visit the new professor.

The look of abject shock the interns and junior instructors in the department when he rose up and declared his intent to visit her was registered with a small grimace of delight. Afterall, why would old professor Sturmvos want to meet anyone new?

The answer was a simple comparison of values. Currently, his department was infested with fools as it was a work day. On the other hand, a small walk would mean he could legitimately only deal with one fool, as opposed to a roomful. Besides, years of binge drinking hadn't really killed Elihu's curiosity, merely dulled his interest in the discoveries he found.

All he had needed from the surprised intern was a room number. Elihu's mind contained a perfect scale model of the university. Not one detail was off. He navigated the environment like a trolley attached to its cable. This also meant that when a passive custodian left a bucket in the middle of the walkway, Elihu always, always, fell.

Hoisting himself up was a laborious task, but with the help of his cane and the offending passive, he got back up, and with minimal damage. Still, his hand had been gashed open and was bleeding freely. Carefully keeping it off of his clothes, he closed it tightly and continued on, leaving a trail of blood as he went.

Finally, he counted off the seven hundred and twelfth step, marking him at the exact position of the new professor of ethics, Tabitha Gauchey's apartment.

With his good hand, he rapped the beak of his crow headed cane onto the door.

“Do come in,” called Tibby from the depths of her room. Lost apparently under a volume of normative ethics held at her front, she hastily placed the books onto the floor. Only a few more boxes to go, thank goddess.

Smoothing her skirts, Tibby straighened up and moved into view, straightening a canvas as she did so. When her eyes fixed on Eilhu, she beamed- bowing low as was customary in the presence of elders. It had been such a long time since she’d seen the elderly male professors of Anaxas, despite the odd quirk or eccentricity here and there, they did tend to dress that same way that screamed of academia. How Eilhu reminded her of her father! Arnam would have poked in on an new teacher almost as soon as the passives brought the boxes to their room and sized up their sense of humour , vocabulary and card playing skills within the first three minutes.

The man was vaugely familiar to Tibby, though it had been such a long time since she’d been any where near Brunnhold, he could have been one of her teachers or the guest at one of her mother and father’s dinner party but she couldn’t tell. Time had rather gotten the better of Eilhu, thought Tibby, but hadn’t it of everyone! Her mother’s hair had changed from streaked grey to out and out grey and Tibby seemed to be growing crows feet overnight.

“Hullo, I’m Tabitha Gauchey- new ethics professor. Making sense of the moral maze, untangling ontology and sorting right from wrong…if right and wrong exist at all! But if I get onto cognitivism now we’ll be here for weeks!”

Tibby practically bounced as she spoke with her usual impossible energy. “Won’t you sit down?” She gestured to a chair where Cleo had once sat, naked as the day she was born, writhing and moaning in ecstacy- the thought of Eilhu sitting there giving Tibby a little more delight than was necessarily usual. “Christine has just made a pot of coffee, and tea if you like it though I can’t abide the stuff. I wonder if it isn’t too early for the wine as well…but I haven’t had time to celebrate getting the job yet I wonder if I ought to,” she grinned to herself as though remembering an old joke. “Ah, the Is- Ought debate Given knowledge of the way the world is, how can one know the way the world ought to be?”

“You mustn’t mind me sir, I do this a lot,” she said coming to her senses. “Go off on my own ethical tangent, why my w-” Tibby stopped herself short and felt something stinging in her nose. She’d almost said ,my wife always says…as she was so customed to do at dinner parties and around company, Tibby had always been so proud of her dear Cleo. But this new Tibby, Tibby Gauchey reborn and nor Tibby Tournus had no wife. There was no one to always say, any more. “Well, I know more than a few people to have complained about it….Christine!”

The broken faced passive seeped out from seemingly the shadows, her dead eyes glazed over as she poured coffee and cream into a fine china cup, before melting into the walls again. Tibby sighed into her cup before collecting herself once more.

Eilhu had not time to blink before Tibby started again, “Well, I must say this is wonderful. It’s been so long since I’ve been back at dear Brunnhold, I’ve been in Mers for quite some time now. What did you say you taught again? Biscuit?”

Elihu eased himself slowly into the old chair. His mind started to compare what had been gained and lost in this endeavor thus far. On the one hand, this chair was considerably more comfortable than the one at his desk at the archives. On the other hand, by the gods, did this girl ever shut up?

He squinted at her, hmm... Gauchey, Gauchey... the name was familiar. His eyes passed over her, doing the same measurements his mind did reflexively. Brow depth and breadth, length of femur, size of ears, size of eyes. A few particular things were ringing bells in his memory. Then it came in a flash.

"Hrmm... you are most likely Arnham Gauchey's daughter, aren't you? You have his hands, they had inordinately long fingers. Also, eye shape is similar. As to my particular field, I never told because you never asked, and because I had no place to speak as soon as your mouth opened. Elihu Sturmvos, Egregious Professor of Post Ronic Anthropology." The next sentence was forced through his teeth, but his tone was unchanged. "It's a pleasure to make your aquaintance."

Another thought registered as he looked down. "Excuse me, could you get me a towel or gauze? I am bleeding on your floor, which I'm sure neither of us want."

Tibby smiled sheepishly as the comparisons were drawn between herself and her father. He had remembered! And of course he would, Anthropology and History both had their place in the humanities along with Ethics. Tibby had never taken the subject as an elective herself, which explained why Elihu was only dimly familiar, but she’d had quite the keen interest in cultural anthropolgy- especially after her travels with Cleo.

But her smile faded as Elihu made his incredibly odd, and more than a little macabre request. “I beg your pardon?”

She glanced at the old man, who was bleeding and sat smoothly into her chair, taking a small sip of her coffee. Had she been in her mother’s mould Tibby may have paled or fainted or something silly like that- as it was, Tibby nibbled the corner of a biscuit thoughtfully. It wasn’t a callous action, dear me no, and Tibby was of course suitably concerned by Elihu’s current predicament, it’s just that modern women were phased by very little and did not faint at that sight of blood.

“Professor Sturmvos, you’re hurt,” she said finally- the coffee really was delicious. “Well golly gosh! Hang one one moment, I ought to have a first aid kit around here somewhere. Christine, darling…if you could….” What Christine could wasn’t specified as Tibby only finished with a flapping of her hands- all the same, the little passive vanished wordlessly out of sight, the sound of rummagging audible.

“How in the world did you manage to do that to yourself?”

The writer in Tibby was already piecing together some daring adventure- not a romance, oh good lady no! Not the saggy old man in front of her. But still, something exciting- not the reality, which was probably tirelessly dull. “Christine shouldn’t be too long….You're right of cause, Arnham Gauchey was my father. The reason why I became a teacher in the first place, and after his accident I always meant to come back to Brunnhold- to continue his legacy, or something terribly noble like that. I feel sometimes like I have some rather big shoes to fit in that respect..."

Tibby patted her hair, her breezy manner faltering ever so slightly as she remembered her father. "Tea? Coffee? Wine or Brandy? And if there’s anything at all you need, holler. We must make you feel comfortable.”

She smiled at Elihu like one would do to a well loved, slightly senile grandfather, and not a bleeding, embittered anthropolgy professor.

Elihu looked at her, humorless craggy face carved in pale stone. "A bucket was put in my path. I am an old man, Miss Gauchey, my eye sight is failling and I bleed easily. Therefore, buckets are more than a minor hindrance for me."

Upon hearing the request for what he'd take he shook his head slowly. It was a common misconception that Elihu didn't know how to act in polite company. He merely just didn't care. Still, the young professor's continuous chatter wasn't as grating as the idiotic questions of the post grads who worked in the archive. Really, their ineptitude made him cringe. And it was pleasant here. Warmer than the office, and this was an excellent chair. "Your hospitality is... abundant, Miss Gauchey. As it is, I cannot handle solid food easily, and I have brought my own refreshment." Waving his bottle of fortified wine, that he held tightly with his bloodied hand, he took a long gulp from it, then thought for a moment. "... I would request a glass, still, as I am in someone's house, and not merely at work. Hmm, Arnham Gauchey. I only knew him vaguely... as I recall, he was rather beholden to the truth, so he was by far not the worst to have ever worked here. I can only hope you shall follow in his footsteps, though I must admit I cannot see what truths Ethics may glean from this world."

It was a bit callous to say, perhaps, but he was never one to bite his tongue. And besides, curiosity, that little worm that burrowed through his brain, was pushing him to see what this girl was made of. See if she had any substance behind those words she used so freely.

It didn’t take Tibby long to realise that her ethical chops were being tested. It was bound to happen, by student and facaulty alike, she was still young, new and had yet to prove that her appointment had been a good one.

“Well that all depends on your interpretation of the word truth, I suppose Professor,” said Tibby, helping herself to another cup of coffee. “ I mean, so many people find the truth incredibly important and assume that "the truth" is a good in of itself. Perhaps It wouldn’t be wrong to suggest that in today’s scientific climate that many academics hold the truth and the search for ultimate persuit as one of the noblest of endeavours, you agree?”

Tibby put two fingers to her lips as she tried to best phrase her argument. It was something of an old favorite of her Ethics professor, Truth and Ethics and she must have set the essay more than a few times in her day. But that wasn’t to say Tibby’s eyes didn’t light up as she found the words coming to her, the editor in her brain trying to make sense of original ideas, notes taken from text books written by men and women who were far cleverer than her and even from the essays of students who weren’t.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” It was a token gesture, Tibby didn’t care very much if Elihu minded. It was her office and she wanted to smoke. Before starting again, she pulled her silver ciggarette box from her jacket pocket and struck a match before continuing, words slipping out coated in smoke.

“If I were to put it to you another way, are things wrong only because they're not true? Say if you held predjudice against me because I have red hair- not that you would of course. If your predjudice is wrong just because science proving red heads as inferior is wrong, then what happens if we are able to prove with science that some red heads are ,say, more likely to be stupid or prone to bouts of anger? Is predjudice against all red heads then justified?”

The right or wrongs of predjudice. By wading into this particular moral quandry, Tibby had not only raised the bar for herself but she had begun to test Sturmvos. If she were to replace the example of red heads for humans or passives, what then? The mona, of course had it’s place in the normative ethics of the world, whole systems of right and wrong were based around what the mona saw as a ‘noble uses’ but how far could the mona stretch towards justifying predjudice? Tibby hoped dearly that Elihu would pick up on this particular line of thought. How wonderful and modern it was to argue that perhaps passives ought not to be gated- not her own opinions, of course! But stil lovely and scandalous.

“I’ve met many in my time that adopt the belief that "sometimes the truth hurts" but they rarely think of the consequence of this attitude.” Tibby continued, another sip of coffee to help with the drying of her throat. It was a problem she sometimes experienced after talking for too long, the occupational hazard of a lecturer and as such at Mers she had always taken care to bring a flask of coffee or cold drink in summer to her classes.

Sometimes Cleo left little love poems in the cup.

Her poetry was dreadful.

At the time Tibby had always thought it charming, a wonderful symbol of her wife’s affection.

But upon reflection, they were really just dreadful.

This then, must be what it felt like to have an ex-wife.

“And I suppose if we look at it from that point of view then, yes, maybe it is difficult for ethics to gain any truth from this world. Some time ago I studied a philosopher from Hox named Mosaic that argued Ethics, and in particular moral judgments, in a strict logical sense will never follow from statements of fact or 'truth' as you would put it.

If were to return to my example and say that in future science proves that some red heads are stupider than, say, a man with black hair then this could legitimise persecution of all red heads, meaning people with red hair are harmed. Is finally learning the truth about red heads ‘better’ than avoiding persecution. Should the red headed victims of such a truth then acquiesce in face of the discrimination we would surely face?”

Her eyes flickered over the old professor, checking he hadn’t drifted off or something dreadful like that. Tibby always adored ethics, so even after so long of teaching it always shocked her that students could sit in her class and not pay attention, or not do any of the reading she set, or worse still attempt a particularly fun essay she’d picked out for them.

“That is of course, not to say that there is no good to be found in evidence and the truth. If I were to suggest that I believe my father in all his glory as a historian would rise from the dead and deliver me an almighty wallop. Certainly undermining 'bad ideas' by criticizing their evidence is an admirable way to weaken harmful arguments- but this isn’t always possible. It’s my belief that if evidence proving something to be ‘true’ is the only judgment whether or not they are harmful, then we're in for a world of hurt since the best evidence for something might, and often does, completely contradict our ethics.”

By the time she had finished, Tibby had smoked her first ciggarette into a stub and Christine, silent spectre that she was had returned with gauze for Elihu’s wound. She thought nothing of lighting a second and sat back, watching the man infront of her, something in her body language even more relaxed than before- as if pulling all of those words from her brain had been some great relief. “My father always said I could talk a blue streak.”

Elihu raised his eyebrows as the cigarettes came out. "You cannot destroy my body and further than time has decided to, so by all means."

He closed his eyes as he listened to the young professor talk. And talk, and talk, and talk. This prejudice thing again. Always the students talked about old prejudices, about whether or not they were founded, on proven inferiorities and convenient half truths and such. It was tiresome, but he had to give her that she at least knew what she was saying, which, once again, made her company that much more bearable then the young fools his post forced him to work with.

"Mmmm, indeed. Prejudice. Worthless, like any institution ever created. Miss Gauchy, I think you misunderstand what I meant. I do not believe that Ethics can glean any pertinent truths, because so far, I have only found one truth in all my studies. Just one, and it has been discovered, rediscovered, disseminated, explored, and plumbed to the point of reaching the status of rigamarole. And yet, know one seems to heed it. Miss Gauchy, the one and only truth I have been able to glean, after a life time in the Academy, is that everything dies. I will die, you will die, the ideas that built up and destroyed countries will fade away. The only thing that has been true of all the specimens that have been brought to me for analysis is that... they are all dead. And that is that. Yet... here we are, at this place, where so many try to find immortality, in structures and ideals and treatises. Yet none of them will ever find it, not ever. Truth, Miss Gauchy, endures. And the one true inexhaustible state of all, is that of death. Therefore, it is the ultimate truth."

The monologue had tired Elihu, and he slumped back into the chair and drank deeply from his bottle again, now from his newly bandaged hand. "This is a very comfortable chair, by the way. But what of your line of thinking, Miss Gauchy," At this, he looked into Tabitha's eyes, so very like her father's. He remembered when he had tried to strike the same conversation with a much younger Anthropology professor then the one that sat before his daughter. And at that time, Elihu asked the same question. "Conjecture always seems interesting to those who practice the humanities, but I'm far more interested in what lies in your head. What are your opinions, specifically on this prejudice subject that seems to hold interest with you?"

“Yes…I’m very fond of that chair,” Tibby supressed a giggle- goodness she felt fourteen years old again! This was not acceptable behaviour for a woman of thirty five.

“The problem with being an ethics teacher, professor, is sometimes I feel I’m paid not to have opinions on such things- or centianly not to show them too strongly in a class. If I consistantly try and teach the student’s my own beliefs then they’ll never learn to approach things in their own way. I try to keep my mind as open as possible, and it’s very important I keep well versed on both sides of the argument. Why, I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve had to play devil’s advoacte. That is not to say I’ll avoid the topic.” Tibby grinned slightly wickedly.

“In many instances I have problems with a Utilitarianism system; where the greatest good is for the greatest number of people. But when dealing with passives in particular I find it’s the most useful application of an Ethical system that we have for the problem. Statistically, about one percent- it is about one or two percent isn’t it, I’m afraid I’m no expert- about one percent of magical births are passives, so we have to admit that the potential threat they pose to the population as a whole does justify that they be contained in some way. The greatest good for the greatest number of people.”

Tibby felt her eyes fall on strange little Christine. There were no passive handmaidens at Mers, and it was odd to think that there was a creature in their midsts that could possibly go up like a forest fire at a moment’s notice. It didn’t scare her though, in fact it was exciting…almost a reminder to live each day as it came. Perhaps with Christine at her side Tibby would be spurred on to finish her next novel!

“As for humanity and wicks, well. It isn’t for me to say the intention of the mona- people far more brilliant than I have fail in that endeavour every day . But from my personal experience and studies, there is a significance to be held in our ability to converse with the mona and the inability of the lower races- what it is I know not. But the galdori holds so much store by the mona, it’s influence in ethics is undeniable. There are many that belive the adhearance of the noble uses is the ulitmate good, that our relationship with the mona around us reflects on our character. I’ll not comment on that…only say that the mona does seem to hold us to high standards, the mona lets us know when it is displeased. The humans don’t have this…so you can argue that humans find it far harder to grasp right from wrong.”

And they didn’t smell particularly nice either, thought Tibby, dunking a biscuit into a fresh cup of coffee.

“Now, you’ve said something that interests me greatly Professor,” Tibby grinned and crossed her legs. “Death. You claim that death is the end. I’m right in assuming you aren’t a circlist then? No antelife or afterlife for professor Sturmvos? You must wear yourself out dear professor, living each day as if it were to be your very last on vita!"

"I have lived life in the exact manner that I have wanted to, Miss Gauchy. I didn't say death is the end, merely that death is the truth. I shall let the priests argue about what comes after, and whether or not I am to be damned. No, the afterlife, antelife, these hold no pull on me. I have lived for an inordinately long time, and have no idea why. I shall die soon, I am certain. And then, my bones will go, and my memory, and I will never have existed here. So allow me to amend my statement, in this world, death is the only truth. Of any other world after this, I have no idea."

All right, enough of this, this girl was going to talk him into a coma. And while he wouldn't object to a mid afternoon rest, his dim eyes had picked up some shapes around him, interesting things. Paintings, by the look of them. And sculptures as well. His curiosity burrowed deeper down into his head. Straining to get up, he finally pulled himself out of the chair's welcoming hold with his cane. "Errrgh. I must apologize, Miss Gauchy. Unlike you, my words are exhaustible. If you would not mind, I think I shall take a look at these hangings you have arranged." Hmmm, forty minutes so far, and this new teacher was not as insufferable as one would expect of one so young. As long as his post graduate staff hadn't fouled up the archives and generated more work for him, this visit was performing its intended utility quite well.

He tapped his crow head towards one of the paintings. "Mugrobi, is it not? Hmmm... appears to be an older work... Fourth cycle from one of the northern nomad tribes, I'd say... mmm yes." His expertise had always rested with examination of bodies, but the cultural anthropology professor was a worthless girl who had no head for numbers and often begged Elihu when a particularly old specimen was found that she could not identify. It allowed him a little more substance in the realm of salon talk, as for whatever reason, the younger professors were rather interested in old tatters and bits. He wondered how long it would take him to titre of this girl's company. So far, it was only mildly grating. Her interest in attempting to shock the old man with her statements and decor was almost darling.

“That’s right. I spent a few seasons in Mugroba in my late twenties…picked up the odd trinket or two. The fertility symbols are a particular favorite of mind, for purely aesthetical reasons I can assure you,”

Tibby laughed lightly at her joke before realising that it had been somewhat tactless for her personally. Alfie’s child. Poor thing, what would it have been like, had it been allowed to grow into anything at all? The fertility symbol had not been wanted in that instance, if her eggs had been shrivelled like prunes then she would still have her dear Cleo and her dear Alfred and her dear students at Mers.

“And I love Akua by her hut.” Tibby nodded to the bare breasted Mugrobi. “Painted by a wick, would you believe it? I find he captured her beauty superbly… although the breasts I found,” she tipped her head with a grin, “were far more extraordinary in real life.”

Cleo had gone into a tremendous sulk for the rest of that day, she’d enjoyed the harsh cold of Hox to the heat of Mugroba. The climate left her lethargic and she moaned that the sun did not agree with her complexion, all though Tibby had found the light tan of Cleo’s skin contrasting the pale areas where she’d been covered up more than a little alluring.

It was unseemly to have so much nudity in one's office, Cleo had said. And Tibby had snorted because her wife had been naked at the time. Nothing more was said about it…but it had been the first clue that Cleo and Tibby saw things so differently, before The Tribulations of Dionne had even been completed.

“I would have liked to stay longer in Mugroba, but the climate didn’t agree with my…hem…my travlling companion.” She would go again, now Cleo had left her, Tibby thought firmly. Stare at those gorgeous girls from the Muluku islands all day and bring back a hundred pictures of naked Mugs for her office. “Have you ever been? I’d imagine that the anthropolgical merit would be wonderful…I heard tell that the dry, desert weather makes preservation far superior to anywhere else.”

"Mmm." He took another look at Akua. "Well, I suppose most people enjoy the sight of them. Whatever enjoyment I had in such things have dried up along with the specific serums my body must make for me to do so. I suppose one could call me an old husk."

"Now as to travel. As an analyst, I prefer that the specimens to come to me, as opposed to the other way around." He hobbled over to the desk and took a look at the fertility statues there, before looking back at Tabitha, his eyebrows raised. Not in surprise, not in disgust, but merely in a tired "I realize what you're trying to do here," look. "Mmm. Yes, nothing like an array of phallic statues to greet new guests."

He picked one up and ran his fingers along it. He was sure any professor watching him fondle the thing would be appalled at what he was doing, but it had a practical purpose. "Hmm, this is quite a collection, Miss Gauchy, but did your realize this one was a replication? I ask, because the other ones are legitimate and quite old. This one was done in an old style, but the wood grain isn't right for the region. The grain is too widely spaced, therefore the tree had more water than it would have in the northern region."

He put the offending statue back down. "If this truly interests you, I am the caretaker of the Academy's archive. I have many worthless trinkets like this, and I must repay you for getting me away from the idiots in the office." He looked to an old clock in the corner. Hmm, almost an hour now. He wondered how long until the interns started looking for him.

Tibby pursed her lips as Elihu spoke. Alioe strike her down before she ever stopped enjoying dirty novels and excessive nudity. Poor Elihu, no wonder he was so cantankerous- were she a doctor, Tibby would have prescribed a healthy doseage of modern adult literature at once. Lacking specific serums indeed.

Polite company, elderly company- the Cleo in her head reminded her and Tibby went back to watching Eilhu molest her Mugrobi penises. That could possibly explain while he wasn’t interested in Akua and her bosoms anyway. Tibby smirked into her coffee before looking longingly at her typrwriter …homosexual trysts in the classrooms, that could make for a rather steamy subplot for the new novel. Not that Tibby was sure how to write that...or the logistics of that sort of thing- Tabitha Gauchey could never call herself an expert of male anatomy- but it would surely come to her with research and a little imagination!

Tibby found herself lost in a world of prose and coffee grinds before Elihu denouncing one of her statues fake ripped her from such a pleasant place. “Little shysters!” she exclaimed in disbelief. “That must be the one we bought from those wicks by the side of the road. I told Cleo that it wouldn’t do to encourage them, but she never listens and we ended up with far too many trinkets!”

She realised she had uttered her ex-wife’s name in a sentence, the casualty of having such a quick mind full of so many words and ideas was that often they spilled out unchecked and occasionally uncensored leading to some terrible awkward moments. It wouldn’t do it seemed to have a mind so full of sex and ethics and ex wives and lost babies.

“But really, you don’t enjoy travel? I adore it,” said Tibby, smoothing out the creases of her having mentioned Cleo with ease. “It can be wonderful to shake off the dust and see a new corner of the earth. Perhaps if I had been of a more athletic type I would have considered the career of explorer…how dreadfully exciting that would have been…almost like an adventure novel! But alas, I only ever made it to ethics teacher…an adventure in itself of course, guiding young students through the dense jungles of the mind, negotiating moral ravines. The noblest of all professions!”

Tibby beamed as she rememebered her father expressing his love of teaching. Surely Elihu would be the same. These elderly professors so enamoured with their topics that they stayed at brunnhold long after their salad days had shrivelled into dry old lettuce leaves.

Elihu just rolled his eyes as the young professor talked about her "noble profession". By the gods, she'll fit right in here with the other fools. Well, it seems he'd finally come to the point where he tired of the professor's company. One hour, twelve minutes. Very good, now to see if the interns hadn't killed the archive with their weak minds and clumsy hands. "Well, Miss Gauchy, I thank you having me, but I really must go back to the Archive. I fear the interns have destroyed my life's work. Once again, if you would like, I don't care if you come to look. Just promise to take one of my staff with you around the archive, it will give me one less to deal with."

He started to hobble off, but all of a sudden his lungs seemed to catch on something and he began coughing violently. It felt as if something was cutting them with each hacking cough. "Hraak! Hmmm." Bemusedly he looked at his handkerchief. Blood again. He seemed to be losing more and more of it with each passing day.

"Miss Gauchy, my body is not agreeing with me. Would you mind accompanying me back to the archive? The last time I passed out, it was a few hours before one of the passive staff finally took me to the infirmary."

Tibby stood apruptly as Elihu coughed seemingly part of his lung into a handkerchief. Bleeding on her carpet, coughing about the place- it was fairly obvious that the elderly man was not at all well poor dear! She flittered besides him, placing a light pale hand on his arm. “Are you quite al-“

Tibby wished she hadn’t had her mouth open in his immediate vicinity. One could get drunk from the fumes. “Fff…Professor Sturmvos, you reek worse than a brewery!”

Tibby didn’t mind alchohol, not at all. Spirits were high when the actual spirits were in high quantity and there was nothing like a glass of wine or two in bed or at dinner or during a good novel. But really, the quanitites that Sturmvos must be drinking and the strength…which judging by the smell was at the levels of pure anti freeze. No wonder Elihu’s body wasn’t agreeing with him, it was drowning in ethanol!

“You must have taught students today!” Tibby gasped. Regardless of the discrepancies surrounding her private life, Tibby would never ever dream of behaving so improfessionally. It was one thing to enjoy a drink, a late night, the company of a beautiful young thing and pure filth. But to bring it into the classroom was morally abhorrent. Her mouth set into a very firm, thin line- were Sturmvous a student, he would have been about to receive a very stern telling off. Maybe even an essay or one hundred lines ‘I must not teach sozzled’

“Maybe you ought to go straight to the infirmary" Tibby spoke more to herself, not caring about Elihu's opinion on the matter "…or eat a slice of bread perhaps. Can't have you wobbling about Brunnhold like it was Old Rose Harbour. Would fresh air help any?” She put another ciggarette in her mouth slightly negating from the fresh air in the room puffing out tendrils of smoke. “Is this a regular occurance?”

Elihu held onto Tabitha's arm and steadied himself before resting his cane on the floor. "Mmm? Well, it's been happening more often, but considering the chronic poisoning by body has undergone, it's more surprising that I haven't died yet. Though it seems my body is now tolling it's last bell." Elihu took a moment to take another swig, only to realize he had finished the bottle. Did he have any more back in the office? Hmm, no, but there should still be half a jug back in his apartment, meaning he would have to work another two hours without booze. He almost started shaking in anticipation of what it would be like to be without alcohol for a twelfth of the day, but still. Someone had to keep the archive organized, and thus far, he seemed the only one in the entire academy who had the necessary skill and inclination.

"As to the bread, the infirmary, and whether or not I have taught drunk... Hmmm." Elihu took a moment to gauge if his body could handle anything. It had been about half a day since he had eaten, and even in his condition of mouldering stasis, the body needed sugars to function and such. "I do not think I would object to a sandwich. I'll have an intern send for a suitable meal when I get back. No I do not need to go to the infirmary, as I already have an appointment to see a Healer Ixbridge on the eventual cause of my death, and I have taught... A student today. So there you are. You will find my post is more that of a curator here, I maintain the archive. A post, I will add, that I have done for longer than you have been alive, with an impeccable record, and I have never been sober for any period of time doing it. So I'd rather not have a young green professor scarcely older than some of my underlings lecturing me."

The final bit was an afterthought. It wasn't him lashing out, it was merely a warning. He had told her that anything she said from here on out on the subject would be ignored. If she wanted to waste any more wind on it, it was her loss. Then again, Miss Gauchy seemed to be a more inexhaustible source of wind then the thermals that rose off of the sands of Mugroba.

“I wouldn’t be overly facetious, Professor Sturmvos,” frowned Tibby, pursing her lips as she watched him take another sip of his drink. “Regardless of how close you are to death and my age- and I can assure you professor I’m far from green, it is possible that I know more than you’d think and yourself (without any disrespect of course) less.”

Good lady, he spoke with all the self assurance of a petulant student! And it was terribly hard for Tibby not to treat him as such. Of course, she could punish students- drunken members of the faculty might be harder to deal with. “Sit down again, Professor and I can have Christine send for some food,”

She puffed out her cigarette again and stared at him. As sad and frustrating as it all was, it was also terribly interesting. Alcohol addiction could sometimes be terribly romantic, the man drinking away the memories of his lost love. She could feel the subplot of her novel developing – though maybe another vice to be addicted to could be replaced, something slightly more dangerous and modern.

“Good Lady, you’ve been a drunk a very long time…why on vita would you chose to?”

Elihu looked at her. Didn't say anything, just wanted to convey with his eyes how severely put upon he was with this line of questioning. Did she look like she'd let this go? Sigh. Of course not. So clocking earnest. It amused him to no end that she seemed to think her little lecture meant anything to a man not merely set in his ways, but blocked in by the rut his ways had made. How very like an ethics teacher.

"I shall stay and eat, but I really must insist on going back to the office soon, Miss Gauchy." He slowly made his way back to the chair he'd occupied and situated himself after a few moments of agonizing bending of the back and knees. "So, it seems that you, like any new professor who first meets me, wants to know why I have this particular thirst." He lifted up his bottle in show. "It really is quite simple, Miss Gauchy. At the age of fourteen, I realized that by and large, people are fools. And not just fools like one would think of someone who was a bit simple, but really, blind, deaf, screaming, ignorant, animals. Completely cut off from the rationale that comes with observing the way that we interact with our world. It wasn't just one people, it was across the board, and it seemed concentrated here in this academy. So, one day, I turned to wine. It's an imperfect medicine, it kills me very surely, and I am well aware of its affects. But for whatever reason, maybe just a lack of inhibition I had prior to imbibing, I am not particularly affected by the stuff. Oh, physically, certain enough, and perhaps my mind has warped a bit with the constant intake, I haven't a clue. But I am functional, I can do my work, and the alcohol dulls my anger at the world. Quite frankly, I drink so that I do not turn to murder."

Finishing, he laced his crinkly old fingers together and looked at her. "And I trust you have some disaproval for this fact?"

“You’re damn right I do!” said Tibby. “So if I understand correctly, at fourteen you stumbled on this grand secret…this amazing philosophy, that people have been searching for from the time of the ancients…that people are awful and you should never exert any effort ever?”

Without quite knowing she was doing it, Tibby sat behind her desk and pulled a piece of paper from her type writer and fished a pen and inkwell from her drawer, scribbling hasty notes in carefully learnt short hand. She could write an essay about Elihu, send it in to the ethics review- they always gave a nice amount of pocket money. She could write a novel about a Professor who had lost all hope and watch it burn at the hands of golly groups.

“Have you never thought of turning your anger in to something productive? Professor, I’ve seen it before. Students coming to their own conclusions of the world from the pages of textbooks to be found in these narrow walls, closing their minds to the world because a certain philosopher has outlined the pure… arbitrary nature of human existence. They’re children and it breaks my heart- I would rather an angry student over an indifferent one any day…and you cloud your mind with that stuff. “
Christine brought in bread and cheese, a few pieces of fruit and some cold meats she could forage. Tibby didn’t touch the plate herself, just twisted in her chair and leaned over her desk at the professor, smiling through cigarette smoke as though she found the professor’s drinking habit wryly amusing.

“And I suppose the rest of us are imbeciles, Professor Sturmvos, those of us who find love in another person, those of us who derive joy from our professions. Ignorance in the world is born from indifference, I have always believed. If you so despise these blind, deaf, screaming animals tell me, why did you become so intent on making yourself one of them?”

Elihu raised his eyebrow at the tirade coming from Tabitha. This was getting tiresome. Still, it seemed that she was holding him hostage. It would only be the act of a moment to get up and leave, but then what? Well, the girl wanted to keep going down this line of questioning, and the passive had brought him some food.

He didn't speak for a moment, and instead started picking at the plate. He kept away from the cheese and meat, as he didn't feel up to it. But he had the grapes, two apple slices, and had a piece of bread. He ate grimly, as he was indeed eating for no other reason but for base nourishment. There was no pleasure in the act, just a mechanical motion of mastication and swallowing.

He took a few moments to not say anything. Ah, so this was silence. He hadn't experienced this since he'd walked into this apartment. "Mmmm. Well, Miss Gauchy, I should start by saying that I think you may have things a bit wrong about me. Let's start by saying I have never read a book of philosophy, or even ethics in my life. I am, and always was, a statistician. I gained my post not by knowledge in my field, but in an ability to classify, to quantify, and to monitor patterns. This was how I noticed that people are the imbecilic animals that yes, I truly believe them to be."

Elihu coughed again. It was not as violent as before, but more blood was yielded from his lungs. "Eech. As to becoming ignorant, deaf, blind, and screaming to the heavens, I have done all I could to do the exact opposite." Elihu pointed out of the window. "Your apartment is exactly seven hundred and twelve feet, eight inches from the doorway to my office. The fake fertility symbol on your desk," he pointed to it. "Is eleven inches and some change long. A bit excessive, I might add. The wood grain averages at five thirty secondths of an inch thick. It takes your passive servant... eight steps. Eight steps to go from this chair to the room into your... kitchen? The archives I keep are quantified in much the same way. I have a talent for numbers, and I have used it to make my small monument to the truth in the Anthropology department. In them, are the history of so many nobodies. Wick tribesmen and Galdor lords and human peasants, there bones and teeth all telling stories in such differences in depth and breadth. It is welcome for all to learn from, but none seem to want to. Ah well, it is life. I have pieced together my philosophy in much the same way. The pattern of humanity is one of predictable delusions of grandeur, the raising of high indeals, the onset of chaos, and the subsequent disappearance of each in due time. All makes its way to the abyss eventually. Which finally, Miss Gauchy, leads me to people."

"I do not mind that people are idiots. The works of a genius and the idiot, they are exactly the same when you pull back the framework of time enough. Which is to say, they are meaningless. So I have no problem with the fools. I do not mind what they do, as it shall all be nothing in due time. They are free to love or hate, destroy or raise up. Let them do as they will, it shall all crumble to dust, as my archives will eventually. No, Miss Tabitha, I have no problem with fools." He picked out a few more grapes and popped them into his mouth. "I just hate them."

The love of my life was five foot six inches. We were married for six years and one hundred days. The tribulations of Dionne sold 50,000 copies and I carried my best friend’s child for almost two months. The numbers were souless, told nothing of the joy and sorrow found within those figures. Tibby realised as she watched Elihu that for her, to be condemned to such a life- to see nothing but mathematics in the world would akin to a death sentence.

“And what of things which refuse to be quantified? A woman may weigh one hundred and thirty pounds but that tells us nothing of the way she kissed, the way her body would feel pressed against another, how she played piano and made her mother proud. These things are fleeting, Elihu, I will agree with you on that- and they will one day become dust. But it does not make them any less valid for me.”

She beamed again and leapt to her book collection. “Oh but I must rememdy your claim that you’ve never read a philosophy or ethics book! You speak your own philosophies so eloquently for such an irredeemable wino,”she laughed lightly and flung herself into a pile of ominously large, dusty volumes. “And they are philosophies. Letsee…I won’t lend you something I’ve published. I’m afaraid you’ll have to buy that- goodness knows we do all we can to supplement our salaries as academics.”

She flashed Elihu a mischevious wink, “I’m always sure to put three or four things I’ve published on the required reading list for my students, keeps me in coffee and phallic symbols I can tell you.”

Swift, light fingers dancing over the spines of books she found what she was looking for and gave a triumphant, a-ha!

“You’ll like this. A very cynical ethics book indeed. I can’t stand it myself! But I teach it all the same, got to stay impartial.”

"I have worked in my archive for over fifty years on my teacher's stipend alone. Then again, I have no need for much besides the obvious." The fruit was doing him a world of good, a settled stomach seemed to bring strength to his limbs. He finally got up with his cane's assistant and hobbled over to the younger scholar. He held his hand out not to take the book, but to push it back.

"I shall decline your offer of a book that I would have no intention of reading. You need not bother lending out a book that will moulder on my desk. Nonetheless..." curiosity now had a firm hold on the old man's brain. "In an effort to escape from the postgrads of my department, you may see me sit in on one of your classes. One group of fools is no better or worse than another, but I find that variety helps keep my contempt from distilling. And besides, it's a bit odd I've been at the university for so long without taking an ethics class." So saying he started towards the door. "Now then. I am sad to say I have grown tired of the meeting, Miss Gauchy. And no doubt, you have probably grown tired of the stench of my wine. Until next time, I really must go back and attempt to salvage my archives from my assistants' sabotage. I will hold nothing against you if you don't give me a hand, though I do ask if you find my body on the side of the sidewalk, do call a porter."