ABOUT FIVE YEARS AGO
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“Our potions, Brun!” the Duplicated Children exclaimed. “Look, there they are!”
So, Brun opened his eyes and there they were, exposed in front of him, just a few feet away. Several glass bottles, the tiny finger-shaped ones, filled with the radiant white potion, placed side by side, surrounded by the icy steam that billowed from the huge apparatus in which they were embedded, a machine that resembled an opened fridge.
And when he looked up to see where he was, he was surprised. There were many of those men who dressed fancy and always smelled good, those who invested a lot of money, as he heard old Bernardo say, and there was also the strange bald woman with blue skin, the same one who managed to give him goosebumps even more than the snow he watched from his window in the lab.
“This is the last vial,” she said and delicately placed one of the potion little bottles in the only available hole in that refrigerating machine.
And suddenly, the woman caught her breath, and narrowing her eyes, looked here and there as if something had alerted her.
“Something wrong?” asked a worn voice that Brun recognized immediately.
Of course, if the fancy men and that woman were there, old Bernardo wouldn’t be far behind. There he was, along with the other doctors. Holy—! Was he old! He no longer walked with his cane. Now he was sitting in a wheelchair and carried by one of the men-nurses who had once taken care of him.
“I sensed something,” the woman responded to old Bernardo, “We’d better hurry.”
Well, none of them knew, but while Brun was cradled in the Night Nebulae, no one could see him or touch him… Although that woman could feel him, at least something.
Two of the fancy men, away from the rest of their group, were whispering among themselves.
“Brun, get close to them,” one child said. “We want to hear what they say.”
“Yes,” said another. “Maybe we’ll know if there’s any other potion out there.”
More of them? Brun wasn’t very sure. Are these not enough?
“No, Brun. They shouldn’t keep any of them, understand? They do not deserve it.”
Okay, okay, he agreed and went to hear what those two were talking about.
“It’s a shame to have come to this,” commented one of them, a husky man. “They should have gotten rid of that brat a long time ago. Look at us now! Hiding the last doses in the vault, like scared rats, because the cat ate the ones we left as a lure ahead of time.”
The cat? Who’s the cat? Brun wondered.
“They’re talking about you, Brun,” said one of the Duplicated Children.
The other fancy man, a tall and thin one, made a noise with his throat. “We thought it would work,” he said.
“You thought that. I always opposed that stupid idea,” replied the bulky one. “We now run out of decoy doses, and we are in danger of losing the ones we have left, putting the future of the project in the balance.”
“You don’t need to remind me, Gerard,” said the other man. “A building collapsing in a flash of light is not news that can be easily covered up. I’m paying a lot of people to minimize the impact this might have on us, and as if that were not enough, I have the most illustrious members of the Order breathing down my neck, asking for explanations of why we sacrificed those doses and how two Vicars lost their lives while trying to protect them.”
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Most illustlious members? Vicars? What’s that?
“Shush, Brun,” the children asked for silence.
“Bah! Those living papyri could learn to keep their mouths shut,” said Gerard, and even though his companion made a sign asking him to lower his voice, he continued; “They were the ones who decided not to finish off that brat when it was time.”
“It’s just that you don’t bother the bear if you’re not sure you can measure yourself against it,” replied the other.
Bear? What bear?
That Gerard man shrugged. “I wouldn’t now,” he said. “He has become more powerful and cunning. If he was able to find the dose Rotanev kept in his lab, I wouldn’t be surprised if he found our vault.”
The thin man watched as the doctors closed the refrigerating machine.
“We’ll only have to wait a few hours,” he said; “They have gone in search of the Binaries. Templeton will do the protein binding there in the vault. We’ll finish the project today.”
“And the old men of the Order? Did they say something?”
“They don’t know yet, but they will understand. Besides, we’re only a few days ahead of ourselves. Oh! And now that you’ve mentioned it, Gerard, let me tell you something. They say that Jules Rotanev lied, that the dose he kept was not consumed by Brun, but by that monstrosity he has for a bloodhound, and that’s why they had to get rid of the entire console board because it had his dirty fingerprints all over it.”
Hey, he mentioned my name! They are talking about me!
“We told you, Brun.”
“Monstrosity?” the robust Gerard fussed. “It was my scientists who worked on that monstrosity, and I can assure you, his program works just fine. He looks for the ones that are scattered and then he reports their location. He does not consume them.”
“I’m sorry, Gerard, but don’t you find it odd that no cameras have caught Brun breaking into Rotanev’s lab? I thought maybe you, as his partner, would have something to say.”
“My friend, I don’t like what you’re implying.”
“I’m only saying what I’ve heard,” the thin man excused himself.
“No matter what anyone says, security footage or not, that console board disappeared along with the dose, and there can be no other culprit than Brun!”
Me?! What did I do?! Brun got upset.
“See? We told you, Brun,” one of the Duplicated Children pointed out. “These people are unworthy. They believe they are the true owners of the potions and that they can do whatever they want with them.”
It was true. The Duplicated Children had not lied.
So, determined to take back what was theirs, Brun parted the Night Nebulae as if it were the curtain of a theater and entered the stage. Everyone was speechless. Some sighed in astonishment and fear; he was already used to that reception, though; it always happened when he showed up. Maybe because everyone was dressed very well, and he was in his pajamas?
The old and decrepit Bernardo began to shout from his wheelchair, moving as if he wanted to stand up; he looked… Brun thought about the word they used to refer to him, what was it? Pathetic?
Some guards with weapons, the kind that the old man loved to have by his side, ran toward Brun. The woman also approached him. Yes, she did it with more caution, though. But it didn’t matter who or how many they were, he needed those potions, and he would take them all. His body demanded it, and besides, they were his.
He extended his hands toward the fridge-machine, ready to take as many bottles as he could get his hands on, and a shot grazed his face.
Startled, he stopped for a second. They had never tried to hurt him before! Had they? He turned to the guards in shock, and from his gaze a river of light sprang out toward them, erasing them in a sea of crackling sounds. The river of light went a little farther, reaching some of the fancy men, among them, those two who, until a while ago, were talking about him.
Damn! He hadn’t wanted the light to take them away, but like so many times, like the Night Nebulae, his light used to act by itself, as if it had a life of its own.
The bald and bluish woman—she too tried to stop him from drinking the potions, but she received a slap of light across the face, so hard that she was thrown far away, against one table. Had that also been the work of his own light, or had it been the work of the Duplicated Children?
“Drink them, Brun!” they repeated, smiling. “Drink the potions before they take them away! Drink them fast!”
And despite old Bernardo’s screams, he drank them.
Those had been the last remaining potions and, it seemed, for him to drink them was all the Duplicated Children wanted from him because after he had done so, the children gave him their Night Nebulae so that he could sleep among them, and they left.
He was left alone, without company.
Drinking the potions had worked. He had become stronger and more cunning; it was true what that Gerard man had said.
But if that was the case... why he couldn’t find his brother?