40th Spring, 510 A.V. The time was drawing near when the real work of creating the blood-compass for Hrair must begin. If there was a catastrophic failure, he had to have the time to start over and finish before the spring term ended. But in his anal-retentive drive toward perfection, he didn't want to have a catastrophic failure. He wanted instant gratification, or as instant as ten days of work in the laboratory could be, and he wanted to get it right the first time. He wanted it to be better than he had planned it. To this end, he had found a new place to study, sitting under an apple tree in one of the small public gardens in the Old Quarter with its pre-Valterrian architecture. Open in his lap was a book on mathematics -- geometry, to be precise -- and he had a piece of parchment laid over one side, scratching notes into it. Some glyphs would have to be added to the normal protections of the laboratory, and he had to get the angles perfect or the magic would be imperfect. He didn't like imperfect. As he scowled at the words and numbers until his eyes blurred, he did make some progress. When an apple fell from the tree and hit his head, he knew that some unnamed god of mathematics was laughing at him. Proving gravity mathematically was a bit beyond his skill at the moment. That didn't stop him from making a study snack of the apple. |