Amelia brought them to the opposite end of the manor, where Beck recalled her saying the living quarters were. He caught glimpses of the rooms through a few open doors, which didn’t look any less lavish than the ones in the main building. Though they were less grand in size, the furniture within made it seem like even the servants lived as high class.
The room Amelia stopped at was anything but extravagant. Staring past the threshold, one could easily make the mistake of thinking they were no longer in the manor. The suite was the same size as the other ones that Beck had passed, but had the appearance of a country cottage. While most of the building looked newly minted, the items past the door were antiques. A bookcase opposite the entrance was diminutive compared to the ones in Rowan’s office, containing only worn, blistered spines. The sofas that clustered around the center of the space, the fire crackling in the red-brick hearth, the lacquered hardwood floor, everything came together to give the room the appearance that it existed outside of time.
Next to the fireplace was a woman that looked as old as the rocking chair she sat in. She looked up from her half-finished knitting when Amelia leaned through the door frame. “What is it?” she demanded.
“Nora, do you have time to settle Beckham in?” Amelia asked.
The old woman scrutinized the man standing in the hallway. “The young Barclay is here already, is he? No one bothered to let me know as usual, I see.” She spoke in an accent Beck realized was an Irish brogue. It didn’t provide much comfort to hear a voice from a region close to home though, especially when the person speaking it stared him down with an impenetrable scowl.
He raised his hand in a hesitant greeting. "Hello Ms. Nora, I'm Beckham Barclay."
"I figured that out when Amelia introduced you," she snipped. Putting down her work, she stiffly rose to her feet and shuffled over to them. "He's politer than Rowan at least," she commented to the assistant.
Beck frowned. "You shouldn't talk about your employer like that."
Nora snorted, closing and locking the door behind her. "He knows how much of an oaf he can be, and at least one of us around here needs to keep his manners in check. Otherwise I'll be interrupted like this at all hours because he can't keep his schedule in order." She turned to Amelia. "Speaking of which, does Rowan have any other surprises I should know about?"
"Nothing that wouldn’t also be a surprise to me,” Amelia replied.
“A normal day, then. Come along,” Nora said as she started down the hallway.
They followed behind the housekeeper, matching her sluggish waddle. Eventually she brought them back out to the great expanse of the entry hall. The afternoon sun was starting to wane, casting elaborate patterns across the floor. It still hadn’t set in for Beck that this was going to be his home for the next couple months. His surroundings gave him the impression of a castle, and he wasn’t used to being royalty.
“I thought we were just in the staff wing. Am I not staying there?” he asked.
“If you were already told that, then you should also know the main hall is for guests. It would be best if you stuck to the main building for your stay. We don’t want the annoyance of having people wandering around the West Wing. I suppose if you are looking for someone specific, that’s an exception. The East Wing is strictly off limits," Nora explained.
"That's where my uncle works, right? Won't I need to go there for tutoring?"
She gave him an incredulous look. "Are your ears blocked? What did I just say?"
Before Beck could sputter a response, Amelia said, "There's a lecture hall next to the library, we'll be using that for your lessons. Don't give me that look, Rowan is very particular about who he lets into his inner sanctum and there are a lot of delicate tests that shouldn't be interrupted in there."
"There won’t be any reason for you to stray from the main building anyways since everything you need will be provided here. Meals will be served on the promenade — that’s the balcony overlooking the main hall — at the hours you would expect. If Amelia hasn’t mentioned it already, you can make use of the telephone here if needed,” Nora said, motioning to the one resting at the top of the stairs. “You can let me know if there are other amenities you want, but don’t expect me to cater to your every need.”
“It should also be mentioned that if you want to go anywhere in the city you’ll need one of the estate’s drivers,” Amelia added as they passed out of the entry again.
“Yes. Don’t bother with taxis. They couldn't find the manor if it was the only building in the city. I don't believe anything else has slipped my mind, right?”
“The greenhouse.”
“Ah, yes. There’s a conservatory at the back of the estate where we grow exotic plants. Needless to say, you aren’t allowed there either.”
“Is there anywhere that I am allowed?” Beck asked.
“There’s no need for cheek, young man,” Nora glowered at him. “Given how busy Mr. Barclay is, you should count yourself lucky you’re allowed on the premises at all.”
“That should be all the critical information. Now if you'll excuse me I should make sure Rowan is on track for tonight," Amelia replied as they approached the library.
Beck turned and gave her a silent plea, which she patently ignored as she broke off and entered the room. Without comment Nora continued ambling past, turning the corner and revealing the end of the hall. A set of imposing doors stood at the far side, similar to the front entrance. A sole doorway branched off before reaching them.
“Since you’re bound to ask anyways, that leads to the East Wing.” She pointed to the large doors. “This other room is where you’ll be staying. Its vicinity to the building next door isn’t an excuse to bother anyone coming or going from it. If you do become a nuisance to any of Rowan’s associates I’ll find out, and then I’ll move your quarters to below the kitchen sink.”
He simply nodded, and without further ado Nora unlocked the smaller door to his suite with a key. She motioned Beck inside with all the warmth of a jailer.
A small corridor led into the main space. The walls throughout were covered with a faint floral pattern; Nowhere near as fancy as the ornamentation he had seen so far, but good enough to give the room a homely feel. And the room was small, the smallest one he’d seen yet. Beck wasn’t sure if he should have been disappointed by that, but he also didn’t know what he would do with a court-sized bedroom anyways.
It wasn’t shabby by any means though, in fact he hadn’t seen a view as nice as the one that greeted him outside the bay windows. They overlooked a portion of the garden that had been delicately manicured and gave the illusion of being inside a meadow rather than in the heart of a metropolis. In front of that was a solid mahogany desk that housed a lamp and some stationary, and a luxurious bed rested opposite.
These indulgences weren’t what caught Beck’s eye, but rather one of the decorations. The end tables, the vases and the pastoral painting on the far wall seemed normal enough. It was the cushioned chair in the corner, only large enough for an infant, which made a prickle of unease run to the base of his neck.
“Ms. Nora, what on earth is that?” he questioned, gesturing to the creature taking up the seat.
It wasn’t living, as far as he could tell. A squashed head perched on top of a rotund body, which was covered in fur that resembled the bark of an oak. The limbs dangled from the chair as though it were a person. Beck realized it was a stuffed animal of some kind, but instead of a teddy bear it had the proportions of the real animal, giving it an uncanny effect.
“That’s a doll, a special kind that protects the occupants of the room.”
Beck entertained the idea that this was a practical joke that had been concocted for him, but it didn’t seem like a smart idea to question Nora about that. “It’s a bit creepy,” he said instead.
The housekeeper rolled her eyes. “Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder I suppose. You’ll need to get accustomed to Patch, he’s been a part of the estate for as long as I have been here.”
“The doll’s name is Patch,” he said impassively. It stared at him with dark, glassy eyes.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
“That door over there leads to a washroom,” she continued. Beck turned his attention to the opening next to the oddity. “It is fully stocked right now, but additional supplies can be found in the pantry.”
He peeked in. Light from a small window near the ceiling didn’t reveal anything out of the ordinary, but the claw-foot tub seemed excessive for a guest room.
“Any questions?” Nora asked as Beck turned back to the short entryway.
“Rowan’s library overlooked a courtyard of some kind; Am I allowed to explore the grounds of the estate?”
She curtly nodded. “Yes, any of the outdoor areas are free to use barring the conservatory, but that isn’t an excuse to find yourself in a place you’re not supposed to be. Obviously anywhere out in the city is not under our jurisdiction.”
He nodded, hesitating. “Can the doll be removed from the room?”
An exasperated expression covered Nora’s face. “No! Patch stays, and you won’t mess with him if you know what is best for you.” With that, she shuffled out of the room.
----------------------------------------
The lecture halls Beck remembered being in at university all had a grandiose air to them. You could feel the history seeped into the wood grain of the seats and in the dimpled slate of the chalkboard. There was a palpable reverence that the pupils and professors paid to the hallowed halls many renowned scholars had passed through before. It was an energy that Beck latched onto when he started his degree. All of the faces and places he had encountered at university were a blur in his mind, but it was that atmosphere that whisked him through his courses and sent him across the ocean to his uncle.
The lecture room he was currently in could easily pass for a closet. At least, in comparison to the rest of the manor; it was the smallest room he'd encountered yet, a corridor-like space with only one window at the end and containing only an easel and a battered table.
After Amelia retrieved Beck and led him here, he was sure there was some kind of mistake. When he heard about a lecture hall, he'd imagined the Barclay version of that would be a grand amphitheater with a lectern. If he was a visiting academic and this was where he was deposited, he'd start to have second thoughts about visiting.
But given that Beck was family and the Barclays had more important people to impress, he gave Amelia what he hoped was a sure smile and waited as she went to fetch his uncle.
He wasn't remotely surprised when Rowan did not show immediately; from his brief interaction it seemed the man was easily distracted. After five minutes Beck started to tap a rhythm into the table with his fingers. Later on, he wished he had brought a watch with him to make sure he hadn't been brought here too early.
When Beck was about to get up, his uncle appeared in the doorway. Rowan paused upon seeing him, as though he uncovered a new puzzle.
"Oh, you're already here." He scrambled over to the easel and selected a short crumb of chalk. Hesitating, he studied Beck for a long moment. "Tell me, what have you studied in your schooling this far?"
Beck frowned. "As I’m sure you know I've primarily been focusing on psychology. I've studied Freud’s and Titchener’s work, and delved a little bit into Behaviorism as well. Recently I’ve been researching how the human psyche is utilized in art and literature.”
“Sounds like the standard well-rounded curriculum I’ve seen from many universities. Freud’s analysis on unconscious drives will be helpful here, but Structuralism will be a bit worthless.” Rowan stared at Beck for a few uncomfortable seconds, before scowling at the chalk in his hand like it was an unfortunate new development. “Regardless, we’ll need to start at the start. The work we do in the manor doesn’t have any analogues to others’ theories, although the basis has some commonalities.”
He swiveled to face his nephew, “First off, it’s imperative you remember this sequence: lintel, parlor, ivory, mammoth, extinction.”
Beck looked at him funny. “I don’t understand what any of those have to do with — Is this some sort of mnemonic?”
“I think so?” His uncle thought for a moment. “No, it isn’t. But it’s still critical that you have it memorized! Please repeat it.”
“Lintel, parlor, ivory, mammoth, extinction,” Beck said with barely disguised confusion.
“Very good.” He scratched out words on the easel’s chalkboard with a practiced flourish. When he stepped back the phrase “Cognitive Psychology” was scrawled across the full width of the slate.
“This way of viewing the psyche is examining the actions our minds undertake; how we perceive the world around us, the processes that go on behind the scenes, the various methods that control what we do. It is about exploring the primal parts of us we didn’t know existed until they are brought to our attention. The goal of your tenure here will be to recognize those instincts and learn how to...”
Rowan trailed off as he noticed Beck’s raised hand. For a brief moment Beck felt uncertain as his uncle looked at him in a way he couldn’t describe.
“There’s no need for the formalities,” Rowan said. “You can go ahead and ask if you have something to ask.”
“I didn’t want to interrupt you mid-lecture,” Beck said sheepishly.
“No need to worry, this isn’t a lecture. Those involve significantly more people,” he said, gesturing outward. “It’s just the two of us; this is a dialogue.”
“Okay, then. I was wondering if this ‘cognitive psychology’ isn’t just psychoanalysis?”
“Yes! Good!” Rowan shouted, Beck flinching back in his seat at the sudden outburst. “Jumping right to the main question! If you’re implying that both methods look at the same brain patterns, then you are correct. It’s the application where the two differ tremendously. Think of the brain as some unfathomably complex machine.” He drew a box on the board with a single line branching off from its left side. “As of the present we don’t know what the inside of this machine looks like, we can only guess. Freud looks at its outputs and tries to rewire the machine to get the desired responses. While effective, what downsides can you see with this?”
Beck thought for a minute. “Using the same analogy, I suppose if someone fiddles with the inner workings of the device without understanding it, the structure of the machine is still a mystery.”
“Indeed. That viewpoint is only concerned with what comes out; the modifications and products imply the inner workings.” Rowan slammed his hand down on the table, startling Beck again. “What’s the sequence?”
“Lintel, parlor...” he trailed off, bewildered.
“What instrument is common to parlors?”
“Pianos?”
“And the piano keys are made out of?”
Beck sat in silence for a moment, then continued, “Ivory, mammoth, extinction.”
”We’ll need to work on that. Anyhow, back to the topic at hand. Every machine is initiated by some outside force.” He added a few lines connecting to the right side of the box. “There are always one or more inputs to get the process started.”
“So by controlling these inputs, you're saying the mind can be run the way you want it to?” Beck asked. “At least, to some extent.”
“As you said, only to a certain degree. But because we are focusing on changing what feeds into the brain rather than what comes out of it, we are liable to find inputs we didn’t know were separate from the other ones. Through stumbling across these divergent inputs, we can discover functions of the mind we never knew existed.”
Rowan flipped the board around, scattering chalk dust. On the other side was a lithograph of a house. It looked to be from the prior century, a two-story cottage surrounded by prairie.
“Now watch closely.” Rowan grabbed at where the entrance to the house was, revealing the door was attached like a tab. He pulled it all the way back, revealing the hint of an interior behind it.
Beck wasn’t sure what he was meant to be paying attention to. Staring at the entrance, he couldn’t tell what was beyond it. He leaned forward. When his head came to a stop, the house continued to gradually grow in his vision. It didn’t seem out of the ordinary, until he noticed the sides of the print slowly recede.
The scene became more distinct. Wood grain and blades of grass became more clear, details that should have been too minute for ink strokes. Now the house took up everything, the portal inwards the only way forward. In the dim lighting inside Beck began to make out the outline of something. His vision drew closer. It was the boxy frame of a piano, a figure hunched over it whose hands moved with slow, deliberate precision. No sound came from the instrument, only the faint crashing of waves and the cries of gulls.
His uncle closed the door. He blinked. The lithograph only showed a house resting in a prairie.
“What the devil was that?” Beck exclaimed, jumping from his seat.
His uncle gave the image a quick glance. “It’s a fairly standard print, wouldn’t you say?” Rowan said, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“What kind of illusion are you using?”
“I can’t take credit for anything; based on your reaction, I assume that your perception was changed in some way.”
“No that can’t be! I don’t know what happened, but it felt too real to just be something my mind orchestrated.”
“Almost like a new sense you didn’t know you had?” his uncle pointed out.
Beck grew silent as he let the implications of what he’d just heard and seen sink in. “But if such things exist, how does no one else know of them?” he eventually asked. “Surely this would be revolutionary, espoused by every scientist! Why would this only now be brought to my attention?”
When he turned to Rowan however, his uncle was lost to his own mind. He was craning his neck towards the ceiling, looking perturbed like he heard a creature scurrying above the plaster.
“Uncle?” Beck prodded.
Rowan snapped his attention back to his nephew. “My apologies, I’ll need to cut this discussion short. Something’s come up.”
“But we only just started!” he complained. Beck estimated the lecture couldn’t have lasted more than ten minutes.
“Don’t worry, we’ll pick this up later. But before then I have an assignment for you.” He reached into his suit, pulling out a small, engraved key. The embossing on it gave the impression of a topographic map.
“This key is hidden, and your task is to find it. You will not need to leave the manor to do so. Be vigilant for any alien urges, and seek them out,” Rowan instructed before depositing the item into his breast pocket.
Beck had anticipated his work here to involve research and papers, and was wholly unprepared for the possibility of a scavenger hunt. He tried reasoning what this had to do with his education. “If I wanted to find it, couldn’t I just follow you to see where you stow it?”
Rowan turned an eyebrow at that, pulling his pocket inside-out. Nothing fell out.
“Huh,” was Beck’s only reply to that.
“Now what is the correct question?” his uncle asked.
Beck wore a look of concentration as he thought for a moment. “What does the key open?”
Rowan gave a smile of approval. “This one opens your mind,” he said, then strode out of the room.