Numerous homunculi were always on duty at the main entrance of The Scar, and the entrance itself was a Sphinx-model homunculus, designed to analyze those who passed through it. With their capabilities, this exit was tantamount to a solid wall with a deadly trap.

  Esh walked down the corridor, pushing a refuse orb in front of her—a huge, levitating bag that swayed gelatinously and was filled (as one could guess from its name) with refuse. Used paper, a lot of used paper, a mixture of ink and dust, fragments of teaching aids, broken tools, and lost homunculus parts—everything The Scar no longer needed. Ortahn had just added himself to it. In a way, it was honest.

  "If we get caught," Esh whispered. For Ortahn, squeezed from all sides by waste, her voice sounded as if it were coming from the depths of something. "Know that I'm doing this purely out of scientific interest."

  "If we get caught," Ortahn replied, trying to speak more quietly than the rustle of grinding parchment, but from inside the orb his voice sounded like a gurgling growl, "Know that I'm doing it for the 'Wild Roses'."

  "Statistically, your actions are more foolish."

  "Statistically, I've already lived longer than I was supposed to."

  Esh stopped his sanctuary, and Ortahn realized that she had approached (and he had flown up to) their goal—a secondary emergency exit, hidden deep within the utilitarian block. It was usually closed by a simple door and guarded by a pair of homunculi. Ortahn assumed this door was created only in case the main entrance was captured.

  "Refuse into the refuse chute," a low, timbreless voice sounded. Although most homunculi had a female appearance, including the school's Golem-class.

  "The refuse chute is broken," Esh replied, just as tersely. She was capable of even such things. Together with Vitl, they had actually blocked the refuse tunnel in case of an inspection. The combination of Esh's experience in sabotage and Vitl's mechanical skills had made the task almost elementary. "My job is to remove refuse from the premises. Yours is to assist me, as a hired worker of the school. So go ahead and follow the protocol, like a good, functional homunculus."

  "Dreaming... Dreaming..." the same metallic voice announced its thought process.

  Ortahn, quiet inside his hiding place, thought he could hear the soft whisper of the aether—a silent exchange of thoughts between the guards and The Scar's central homunculus node.

  "Logic accepted," the lifeless voice finally responded. "Passage permitted."

  Ortahn heard a dull creak and flew onward. He flew, and flew, and flew... Judging by the improvement in the air quality, with a hint of wind and sky acoustics, they had made it out into the world. Ortahn lay on his back, trying not to breathe louder than his own heartbeat. There was nothing else for him to do, except sweat profusely, but he comforted himself with the thought that the smell added realism to his cover. It distinctly felt to Ortahn as if the entire monstrous mass of The Scar, for some reason in the form of an iron face, was looking at him with disapproval, but not enough to do anything about it.

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  He almost rocked himself to sleep in his trash cocoon, and thus started with his whole body when Esh's hand passed through the envelope and touched his shoulder.

  "That's enough being refuse, Ortahn," she said, and her voice this time was close and clear. "You're bad at being trash, anyway. Too valuable and needed. Get out."

  Ortahn condensed the aether above him into two thin, reflective layers of air, one laid upon the other. This was his own invention, in theory—a way to hide an object behind a mirrored membrane. In practice... he would find out if his homemade magic worked against the orbital eyes. He would find out quickly.

  As Ortahn climbed out into the living air, he looked at the result of his own efforts upon himself and was dumbfounded.

  "Why are you dumbfounded?" Esh asked nervously, glancing around. "Isn't it working? Are they on their way?"

  "This man," a bewildered Ortahn nodded at the reflection in the air-mirror. "Is... me?"

  "Unless you've accidentally punched a window into another world populated by your doppelgangers, then yes, that's you," she snorted.

  Ortahn finally extricated himself from the sticky embrace of the refuse orb and tried to examine himself from all sides in his creation. Although he had recently switched to more human food thanks to Esh's deliveries, the basis of his diet was still the tasteless nutrient paste, which offered no extras. He had lost a significant amount of weight, and the practice had erased his softness, leaving behind the clear lines of muscles. Not so useless after all. His shoulders, naturally broad, were now emphasized by deltoids, his torso was cinched by a corset of abdominals, and his thighs and legs, always strong, now looked almost like Yaron's, but with a healthy appearance. From the old Ortahn, only the sad eyes and the thick brows above them remained; the rest had become harder. He had, of course, seen the contours of his body without a mirror, but the contrast with the image from his memory was so striking that it caused a slight cognitive dissonance. And, admittedly, still being called a "fat-walker" by Yaron had skewed his self-perception.

  Esh watched him in silence, fighting back jocular words within herself and the desire not to say them. She was not only a smart girl, but a wise one.

  Ortahn shook himself, chasing away the stupor. He realized he was wasting time on vanity and decided to continue the mission. But first, he turned back to The Scar. As he had suspected, the building was a one-story, but vast, iron monstrosity from the world of architecture. It lay flat, clinging to a dreary wasteland where a few homunculi strode and the wind swayed sparse blades of grass. To his surprise, Ortahn felt something akin to a kindred warmth for the School of Controlled and Assertive Restraint. The Scar had given him a shelter of sorts during the tragedy of his life. It had given him Tulila, Esh-Faya, the "Wild Roses," and that cozy, secluded archive. His life was forever touched by this coarse, cruel... masculine place.

  They were standing on a small, floating island, moored by a suspension ladder to the side of the canton, slightly below, so that the ugly building spoiled the view only for those who dared to approach the top of the stairs.

  But the city was waiting, and the library even more so. Ortahn decisively pulled Esh to him and wrapped them in the mirrored surfaces, which now reflected their opposite sides, creating an optical shelter. To keep from blinding themselves, he left fractured "corridors" in the construction (for himself and Esh), in which the light refracted, allowing them to see their surroundings through reflections in the facets. To any outside observer, they should have been nothing more than a shimmer in the air. In theory.

  "A very complex configuration for an aetheric object," Esh whispered with both admiration and anxiety in her voice. "Do you have enough energy to maintain it?"

  Ortahn felt the warmth of her shoulder pressed against his ribs, the light puff of her breath on his skin, which made the hairs on his arm stir, and the rapid beat of her heart against his stomach.

  "Enough," he answered without a hint of doubt.

  He stepped forward, pulling her with him onto the rickety planks of the suspension ladder.