Miles to Babylon

Chapter IV: The Bildtrager Reel, part II

        The bildtrager in question was a brass antique mounted on a rolling stand, and had been under a tarp so long that Awen had forgotten what it looked like. Auntie Thea had taken it out only a few times to play recordings of guildlore expeditions, and even a couple of extremely short films; it was too small for the cinemas of the cities. What's more it required a hand crank to operate, making it a rather troublesome old contraption more suited for a museum than modern use. But to the child Awen, it had been nothing short of magic. From the unearthed relics of ancient films to the fleeting glimpses of desert lands and boiling seas, she had felt she could travel the entire world in a single night... but that had been long ago, before Auntie Thea had decided the bildtrager was better left dark.

       Five people made the little study especially cramped. Auntie Thea's papers had been moved off the desk to make room for five hot mugs of tea, cups of cream and sugar, and—once the power shut off for the night—several flickering candles. The floral steam etched whorled figures in the candlelight as Dr Reilow set the bildtrager in front of the desk, centering its eye at the dusty tarp that Miss Lamm and Auntie Thea had draped over the bookcase.

       Like most Faithborn households in Myddvai, Auntie Thea had a nighttime generator with just enough energy to power the kuhlvalt that kept their food from spoiling; with the winter's chill in their favor, however, Dr Reilow had convinced her to repurpose it for the bildtrager. When all was ready, Awen was left to stand beside the desk with her guardian. Auntie Thea was fidgeting—something Awen had never seen—rubbing her palms against her skirt as if they were sweating through the cold. Father Byrnholt had gratefully taken one chair, with Miss Lamm already in the other. By now, Awen knew what to expect; the only reason Dr Reilow would have asked for the bildtrager would be if he had a reel of film to put in it. But as he drew the black roll from its case, Awen felt an odd chill that had nothing to do with the weather.

         After he had wrestled out the film-panel and blown off the dust, Dr Reilow snapped the reel into the mechanism. Thus far the adults had been rather quiet, and Awen was far too confused to break the silence herself; besides, talking would be impolite. But before Dr Reilow could replace the panel, Auntie Thea laid her hand against the old device.

         "Thea?" Dr Reilow looked up from where he knelt beside the machine.

         "Are you certain this is necessary?" Auntie Thea whispered, as if she could hide her voice in the little study. "Beyond that, is it quite appropriate? The girl is barely thirteen."

          Awen felt a twinge. Since when was she the girl?

          "Appropriate?" Dr Reilow mused as he stood. "I certainly hope not. The finest lessons seldom are."

            Auntie Thea looked back upon the grave face of the Father Byrnholt, then at Miss Lamm, who evidently found some part of this amusing. Finally, she dropped her hand and, without meeting Awen's eye, retreated behind the desk.

            Something seemed to charge the air as Awen watched Dr Reilow's face, made no less severe by the soft candlelight; was it fear she felt there, or anticipation? Before she could decide, the alchemist had popped the panel into the machine, his other hand already on the crank. The bildtrager began to rasp and flicker as he forced the handle. Perhaps it's too old, Awen almost hoped—just before a ghostly square of light began to rise from the tarp.