Damian was disappointed, but not surprised. The intense light of the early afternoon entered the laboratory from two big windows on one side, and, aside from him, the room only had one other occupant: it was a woman, maybe in her sixties, who alternated watching him and reading something on a cini book. He imagined that she was supposed to be some kind of supervisor, to make sure that students wouldn't mess with the equipment in the lab.
The strand of white fibre he had carefully placed on the circle that he himself had drawn on the desk with chalk, despite all the professional tools and materials provided by the lab, still refused to react how he wanted it to. Not that he expected anything different, but he had allowed himself to hope nonetheless.
On the desk lay several tools tipped with different kinds of metals and gems, a small blue flame contained in a portable brazier, the vial he brought from home, containing a few strands of a pale fibre, the result of his home experiments, and a few booklets with his personal notes. The only notebook that wasn't open was the one he had used that morning, for the notes inside weren't relevant to his current work. That morning, most of the time had been spent on the biographies of prominent Alchemists from past eras, their achievements, and their personal philosophies. Aside from a few anecdotes, nothing that had been said that morning was new to him, which is why a portion of his notes consisted of a rough sketch of a smiling Clelia. If he was to be compared to a trained artist, his work wouldn't impress, but he had firm hands and a good eye, making his efforts at least recognisable, if unrefined.
He smiled a little thinking about the way his wife kissed him before he got out of the house that morning. He then sighed and his expression embittered again. Maybe he could just ask her to help his experiments with her magic? That would be the easy, straight solution, but the mere thought of actually doing it made his stomach churn with guilt. How could he face her with a similar request when, mere days prior, he had still been dead set on stealing her magic? Of course, his original plan had now been thoroughly abandoned, to the point that even just thinking about it made him contract his shoulders almost to the point of hurting. But he still wanted, no, needed results in his research. If he didn't get those results, he wouldn't be allowed to do what he really wanted with his life.
A calm, raspy voice snapped him out of his reflections. "What is that? Cotton?"
Startled, he turned to face the source of the voice. It was the woman who had been sitting next to the entrance, reading on her cini book. She was dressed in a sand coloured plain skirt with a matching suit jacket and a white button shirt underneath, a string ribbon knot as neckwear. An odd outfit for a woman, incorporating elements of male fashion. Her hair was unusually short for a woman, not even being able to reach her shoulders, and almost completely white, except for a few surviving dark strands. She had a sleek pair of silvery glasses.
"Yeah, it's cotton. I've been trying to alter some of its properties," he hesitantly answered.
Her eyes still focused on the desk rather than him, she nodded. "Are you trying to achieve something specific?"
"Yes. I want to make it hydro-repellent."
She furrowed her brows. "That's a little odd. Why would you want to achieve that?"
"Cotton is used to make very light and soft articles of clothing, comfortable to wear and doesn't hinder movement. Waxed jackets are currently the best at providing protection from the rain to their wearer, but they're hardly comfortable, let alone elegant. If I could alter the cotton fibre to become hydro-repellent, we could make clothing that doesn't ruin in the rain, is comfortable and elegant, and effectively protects its wearer."
Her face relaxed in a subtle display of disappointment. "I see, so that's why you're here."
"Pardon?"
She raised her eyebrow. "The vast majority of new enrolled students in the faculty, this year, have been young women. Seventy eight out of eighty five total new students are female. It's a record year, but the trend leading up to this point has been building up for a while. All… well, most of the few young men have been rejects from the faculty of Wizardry."
"Except for… me?"
"Indeed. And you're the son of a pretty well known family of industrialists too, so it was a little puzzling why exactly you would choose Alchemy over Wizardry, or any of the modern sciences, like chemistry, engineering, and physics."
Damian leaned against the backrest of his chair, crossing his arms. "Well, it's true that Wizardry covers a lot of traditional Alchemy, and modern sciences have been applied to great effect to create the modern industrial world as we know it, but that doesn't mean that Alchemy isn't a worthwhile subject to delve into. I'd like to prove that."
A glimmer of interest sparked back into the woman's eyes. "There are a lot of products of Alchemical research that are now common and widespread in their usage, from the convective lamps to the cini system. Why would you think there's a need to prove Alchemy to be worthwhile?"
"Well… er…" He couldn't think of an answer that wouldn't be awkward to speak aloud to a woman's face.
She nodded again. "Professor Hegenhauer from the Wiemer faculty of philosophy said it best. 'It would be a mistake to confuse modern Alchemy with the noble art that was practised in academia only a couple of generations ago. Everything worthwhile that Alchemy had to offer, in its contents and in its methods, is now covered by wizards and scientists. The revolution in our systems of communication has been the swan song of Alchemy, a field now overrun by women, which, predictably, led it down a path of decadence and profoundly unserious research.' And, to put it in less academic terms, Alchemy is now popularly known as the sissy science."
It was now very clear to him that this woman was no simple supervisor, she had to be a professor, though he didn't recognise her. "Something along those lines."
She pointed at the materials on the desk. "May I take a closer look?"
Damian scooped over a little to make way. "Yes, of course."
The professor examined the tools he used and the circle he drew, then she took one of his notebooks and skimmed over its content. "You're subscribed to the Official Alchemical Gazette, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am. Why? Is there something wrong with that?"
She closed the notebook and handed it back to him. "That's what I thought. Your approach is very old school, for better and for worse. The Gazette is a valid publication, but it is limited in its scope, so I can usually tell when a new student comes here after getting the basics from that library."
He uncomfortably massaged his shoulder. "What do you mean by old school?"
"Tell me," she responded, "why do you think that public opinion on Alchemy changed this much in only a few decades? What do you think is the reason for a lot of young women to, after the Education Edict from King Alberto Camillo opened up the doors of academia to the working class, flock to our discipline specifically?"
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"Isn't it because of Sandra Fiumicini's achievements? Her story is an inspiring one, given how she managed to succeed in spite of the difficulties she met."
She smiled. "That story does have something to do with it. It started things, but one story alone isn't enough to create the effect we saw on the discipline. Especially if you consider how much luck its protagonist had."
He blinked a few times. "What do you mean by luck?"
She took off her glasses. "I never would have been able to climb the ladder of academia before the Edict on my own, you know? I came from an aristocratic family, and I had influential friends on my side. If my circumstances had been different, I wouldn't have been able to discover the principles that allow the cini system to work, and even if I did I wouldn't have been able to publish them. My achievements are a product in equal part of my personal efforts and of the luck that allowed such efforts to pay off."
Damian suppressed a gasp. "So you are… Professor Sandra Fiumicini?"
She extended her bony hand with a raspy chuckle. "In the flesh. Nice to meet you."
He got up on his feet and obsequiously reciprocated the handshake. He knew that Sandra Fiumicini herself taught in the Taurasia faculty, but he never actually saw her in person, nor did he expect to be able to have a conversation with her.
"I-it is an honour to meet you," he stammered. "I'm just…"
"…Surprised that I'd volunteer supervising you during your scheduled time in the lab?" She completed. "I like taking some one on one time with students that catch my attention. Today may be the first time you attended in person, but in the meantime I have already done this with several of your peers. Your background did catch my attention, and I want to see whether you're here on a whim or if you're really dedicated to the subject."
"I love Alchemy, I really do. I have for years." He replied.
She put her glasses back on. "We'll see. Anyway, we're getting sidetracked: we were discussing why there was a cultural shift in Alchemy towards women rather than men. I'm honoured to have gotten that ball rolling, but only one woman cannot cause that massive a change on her own. What else is there, then?"
His eyes darted around the room, as if seeking the answer in his surroundings. "Um… I'm not… sure?"
"There is no shame in admitting ignorance," she calmly stated. "I won't provide you with a complete answer, I'd like for you to start observing the academic world by yourself and for you to come to your own conclusions. But there is one topic I'd like to discuss that is connected to the reason I was alluding to: what do you think is the difference between a wizard and a witch? There aren't many examples of female wizards and male witches, but they're not unheard of either, so, if sex is not the determining factor, what is?"
He stroked his chin. "Well, wizards have to study the fundamentals for years, they need to have a deep understanding of various occult subjects, from astrology to demonology, and they require technical know-how to be able to convert that knowledge into power. Witches gain their powers by making a deal with entities that have a connection with the ethereal plane or, as they call it, the dreamscape. It might be with faerie creatures, demons, spirits, or even gods of the land. Wizards are academics, witches are… I don't know, there is a wildness to them."
Professor Fiumicini listened intently, then replied, "Wizards don't just convert knowledge into power. They too, like witches, often borrow power from ethereal creatures. There is still a big difference between the two, however, and in this difference you can find one of the reasons why men choose wizardry over witchcraft more often than not."
He scratched his head. "Uh… witches are usually only tied to one or two entities at once, while wizards have extensive networks of ethereal collaborators?"
Her head wobbled in both directions, in a display of hesitation. "Eh… not entirely untrue, but a little limited."
Damian raised his arms, defeated. "I'm sorry, I have no clue."
The professor adjusted her glasses in a way that reminded him of a more confident version of Clelia. "Think about fairytales. One common theme you can find in them is the hero outsmarting ethereal creatures like dragons, demons, and fairies, often by beating them at their own game."
His eyes narrowed at that, focusing intensely on her next words.
She continued, "There is a particular kind of heroic fantasy that this appeals to, and wizardry taps into that heroic fantasy. A wizard may, for instance, use his knowledge in demonology to outsmart a demon, creating a bond where the authority is firmly in the wizard's hands. Witches, on the other hands, usually have to accept the creature they're making a pact with as a mentor, sometimes as a master, on rare occasions as a peer."
Within his stomach, Damian could feel something gnawing at him, screaming to call for his attention, but he ignored it, intent on listening to her.
She raised her brows and shrugged performatively. "Who wouldn't want to have the upper hand in a deal, after all? Especially when ethereal creatures are involved, with their aura of mystery and power. Finding oneself in a position of power over them is very tempting. That's what wizardry promises."
The young man was speechless. "I… never thought of it in those terms."
With a warm smile, she took a small notepad from the inner pocket of her jacket. "Don't take my word for it, young Neumann. Look at the world around you and try to reach your own conclusions. The time I could dedicate to you is coming to an end, but I hope we can have another conversation at a later time and, perhaps, by then you will be able to tell me the conclusions you reached."
"On why Alchemy is becoming a woman dominated field?"
She scribbled something on her notepad, tore a sheet and handed it to him. "On that, and on any other subject you may think is relevant. This is a smaller publication, compared with the Gazette, but it's more in touch with the current landscape of Alchemy and the ways our methods changed over the last couple of decades. I highly suggest you get a hold of a cini book and have a read. It won't only help you understand the conversation we just had better, it will also help you with your future classes, once you get past the history lessons."
"I don't know how to thank you for dedicating some of your precious time to me." Damian bowed.
"Think for yourself," she replied in an admonishing tone. "I told you a lot of things today, and I want you to question everything. If you can do that and reach some interesting ideas, that will be thanks enough for me."
After she was gone, he sat back down at the desk again, staring at the piece of paper she had given him without truly seeing it. That whole speech on the heroic fantasy, somehow, cut real deep for him. He couldn't shake the feeling that it hit very close to home, but his mind was in too much of a buzz to be able to focus on why. He had just spoken in private with the most famous Alchemist alive, the one whose achievements he had admired for such a long time. The one who had inspired him. He could hardly believe it himself.
The past two days had been incredible for him. It was only the day after he first experienced what it felt like to have romantic feelings being reciprocated, and now he also casually met one of his biggest personal heroes. Did he really deserve it?
His shoulders fell. Did he really deserve it? It was that question that finally made it click for him. Why did that speech on the heroic fantasy cut so deep? Once he understood, he was unable to shake it away.
As if someone had turned on a stove beneath his chair, he shot up and frantically started tiding up the desk; putting the tools he had been using back in their place, gathering his stuff, cleaning up the chalk marks from the smooth wooden surface. He left the lab in a huff, hugging his briefcase almost as if it had been a stuffed animal.
A few minutes later, he was resting on a bench in the inner yard of the academy building. He took a familiar notebook out of it, his hands shaking hard enough to make the process laborious. For maybe the hundredth, maybe the thousandth time he opened it on the star reading that had started it all. His eyes darted on the little dots and shaky lines connecting them that he had traced a long time ago. Fortunately he was sitting, because his knees became weaker and weaker each second that passed.
Damian allowed his head to dangle back, completely crestfallen. Reading the stars wasn't an exact science and even experts could get things wrong. In more recent times, he had also become aware of the fact that reading individual destinies in them was usually a waste of time.
His reading, the one he had clung on so tightly all along, was flimsy. Now he could see it clear as day: his interpretation had been nothing more than the overenthusiastic and self-indulgent fantasy of an adolescent. He had based his entire plan, the one he accepted the wedding over, on the same heroic fantasy that Professor Fiumicini had told him about. He had pictured himself outsmarting a fairy and using her magic to achieve his alchemical breakthrough.
With a sigh and a bitter chuckle, he shook his head and, once again, put everything back in his briefcase. Maybe, it was finally time for him to confess everything to Clelia.