We had been living in Jonton for almost a week, with Mr Bishop helping out at a cemetery, clearing disputes within families so that loved ones were able to rest in peace. Jonton was a big town, centred around the university. Many families and students lived and worked here, creating lives that I imagined to be infinitely more magical and purposeful than mine.

One afternoon, the undertaker wanted to meet with Mr Bishop to organise a magic show. Although we were done with show business, I knew Mr Bishop found it more exciting than our current work, and it would be a tempting opportunity. I had to show up in the late afternoon to help out, but I had the morning free so decided to sneak a walk into town.

Jonton was such a lively town. The streets were full of the bustle of students, intellectuals, artists, and inventors. Cafes overflowed with fresh patisserie and coffee, writers writing, students gathering, and in one cafe, the most beautiful piano singing from the heart beckoned me to step inside. I opened the blue door of the cafe, to feel the sound frequencies dance with my heart even stronger. I took a seat in the back corner where I could watch the young man’s fingers dance over the keys, and a young cafe apprentice came to take my order of a black coffee. I was completely mesmerised by this musician. He was clearly practising his gift. I could see in his mind the greatest sense of freedom, and even humility, as he did what he was born to do. After a while the musician found his music naturally coming to a close as he slowed down, and he let the final chord ring out. I had to call him over.

“Hello!” I waved. “That was simply beautiful. Can we talk?”

“Sure,” he said as he pulled up a chair behind me.

“That was amazing. The best playing I’ve ever heard. The best music I’ve ever heard!” I was telling the truth.

“Thank you. I’m not really a musician. This is just for fun.” He wasn’t sure what to make of this unexpected conversation. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Arcadia, nice to meet you.”

“I’m Josh.”

I smiled. He was a pianist, alright. “If you’re not a musician, what do you do?”

“I’m a cosmologist. I’m in my third year at university here. What about you?”

I could tell his question to me was only out of politeness, as he was feeling awkward in this conversation with a stranger, so I avoided answering. He has cosmology in his blood, but his true gift was sound art. Not only could I see it in his mind, but I could feel it with every bone in my body. I felt a connection between us. Heart to heart. I had to find out more.

“I’m an apprentice myself,” I said, not wanting to get too specific. “Tell me more about cosmology. I’ve never been to university. What’s it like there?”

From there Josh opened up to enthusiastically tell me about his studies of cosmology, how the universe works, the universal laws, and even more interesting, how university works. I found out that university is just like apprenticing, but instead of working for someone and doing what they want, you get to hone your gifts, surrounded by others doing the same. It sounded like a dream.

“So how did you get into the university, Josh? Did you just walk in and start? Did you get to choose which professor to apprentice with?”

“Because my parents are cosmologists, they knew this professor already. My parents create new technology in the cosmic fields, and Professor Junior had bought some of their equipment, so I just kind of walked in there. I study under Professor Junior, and do my own research at the university. It’s worked out really well.”

“Do you live at the university?” I saw in Josh’s mind that his parents lived in a different town, so I wondered how accommodation works here.

“I’m in a cottage nearby. Where did you say you were from again?”

I had to know more about Josh, so I could no longer avoid his questions.

“I’m staying here in Jonton at the moment. We move around a lot. But I think I like the sound of university. I really quite think that I could go there. How does one get in?”

“What do you wish to study, Arcadia? One cannot just get in. You need to know who you are and what your gift is. Then you can find the right professor for you.”

“I think mathematics is right up my stream,” I was kind of right. The art of magic and mathematics are deeply entwined as they both rely on the laws of the universe. “I know about the laws of the universe. I play in that field. One could even say I am an expert. Mathematics can take you so deep into this field that you almost get stuck. Do you ever find that?”

“Yes!” Josh was getting drawn into our little world that seemed to be forming. “I know exactly what you mean. Playing in the field of mathematics is like playing in the aether, and sometimes you get taken through all manner of twists and turns, you may as well be walking in parallel to the rest of the world, or in another dimension in space.”

Josh was describing what it was like for me to read people’s minds. He was describing what it was like for him to play music. He was describing the laws of the universe. And although we had different gifts from each other, and although we were both choosing to express different gifts from our special gifts, they all came back to the same thing – quantum mathematics. The field in which the aether interacts with itself and the particles of the cosmos. This was the mathematics of magic.

When I peered into someone’s eyes, I saw flashes, visions, movie reels, thoughts, concepts, feelings - everything. When I would see these flashes in my mind’s eye, I knew it was real. It was the mental interpretation of the brain and physiological frequencies of the particles of the human body.

When Josh quietened his mind to allow the frequency of the energy of his heart – his very essence – to move forth from his core, through his blood stream, through his brain and synapses, and through his fingers, his body was creating a physiological response to the harmonic frequencies of the universe. This was all heard perfectly through the reverberations in the piano from the keys being pressed at the right time.

The measurements of these frequencies were represented in simple universal geometry. This was the basis of life. In fact, this was the source of all life, and all art. It was all so simple. So real. So very very tangible.

The theory of quantum mathematics did not come naturally to me. My gift was in the practical application, specifically in the dark art of mind reading. Perhaps, just perhaps, I could put my old life aside, and specialise in the light art of mathematics. Pure, unadulterated, useful, helpful, beautiful mathematics.

I felt myself sinking into Josh’s eyes as he continued to tell me about university, about the professors, his friends, their research into the cosmic arts, their development of simple quadratic equations to explain the matrix, and the practical application of this to develop society with expanded intelligence, awareness, technology, travel, and universal oneness. To consciously pluck the strings of the universe would be a most honourable use of my magic.

I wanted in. But I had to get back to the show and I was running late.

“Josh, I’m so sorry. This is a great conversation, but I have to go. I’m running late for my boss.”

“Do you want to pick up some paperwork from the university to see about joining?”

“Later. I have to go.” I stood up fast to shake Josh’s hand, “So nice to meet you Josh.”

“You too, Arcadia,” he said as he stood up.

I saw him return to the piano seat as I hurried out the door. Once I was out of sight, I sped up to a run. Mr Bishop would be frantic with me being late. I was never late. He did not allow me to talk much with locals in case they found out about his past, so we could be out of here before I could see Josh again.

I made it back to the cottage, and climbed in through my window. A quick change of clothes and hair brush saw me out the front door and into the workshop.

“You’re late, Arcadia,” boomed Mr Bishop from behind a shelf. “Quickly, get your things. Someone is trying to sabotage us.”

“Sorry Mr Bishop,” I tried to settle him, “I got held up at the grocer’s. Let’s just do the show and see how we go.”

But it was no use. I could see Mr Bishop thought I was deliberately held up and that someone was trying to capture me in order to trick him into staying on location in Jonton so they could catch him for some of the dark magic he had done.

“No one held me up, Mr Bishop, I just took longer than expected. I’m sure no one is planning anything. We can just do this show and –”

“Arca, this is dangerous stuff we’re meddling with here. People are onto us. They’re onto me. We can’t even take our show gear with us. One bag each. I’ll meet you out the back.”

I ran back to my room, packed my meagre belongings into my weathered yellow backpack, counted my forty-five coins I had been saving, and found Mr Bishop hiding in the shadows near the back fence of the property.

We climbed over the fence, walked in a straight line directly east into the forest, and that was it for Jonton.

I would never see Josh again. I would never get into the university. I was, once again, on the run, on the road, and bound to Mr Bishop. The invisible threads of time, obligation, and defeat, pulled me along through the trees, over rocks, and through streams, as our shadows lengthened before blending into the evening. I gazed up at the stars as we found ourselves climbing through fences, farmland, and wide open plains. We stole some apples from an orchard to keep us going through several small towns until dawn. The sun gently warmed my face as I thought about the simple geometry of the Earth and the cosmos. The perfection of it all felt peaceful. I could see the angle of the sun meeting my forehead, lighting up my face, and the warmth spreading throughout my body. I thought about the geometry and equations in action as the warmth from my face connected with my nervous system to wake me up a little, to spark a seed of hope inside of me, to for fire up my gift, and spur me on to use it for good. And then, in the blink of an eye, that seed of hope connected with my seed of despair when Mr Bishop broke my train of thought.

“See those buildings up on the hill there Arca?” he said, pointing northeast to a row of barns, “That’s the outskirts of Fleeting Hills. I know the librarian there. She can help us out with accommodation for a while.”

I nodded and sighed, and followed the invisible thread that connected me to Mr Bishop, and Mr Bishop to the librarian of Fleeting Hills.

We made it to the small town just as the cafes were opening, so we stopped inside one for tea, bread, and chocolate. We sat at a table by the window so we could watch the morning people do their morning things. Although my legs were grateful for the rest, my eyes were feeling dry, and I slouched over my baguette. The people were quiet. Fleeting Hills felt like a calm country town to catch our breath and allow Mr Bishop to figure out what he wanted to do next.

After breakfast, we left the cafe and walked straight down the main road, past grocery shops, bookshops, and a newsagent, before coming to the only two storey building on the street – the library. Inside the foyer a directory listed children’s books and fiction downstairs, and reference books upstairs. The old wooden stairs creaked and groaned, but once upstairs we were greeted by a bright freshly painted room full of new bookshelves stacked full of glorious books.

“Mr Bishop! Mr Bishop!” called a high pitched voice from behind.

“Miss Berry, so good to see you,” greeted Mr Bishop before they kissed on each cheek. “This is Arcadia. She’s my apprentice.”

As we did our greetings I looked into her eyes and saw what a kind person she was. I was happy to be with her, and looked forward to our stay here.

Miss Berry showed us her library, which was filled entirely with her personal book collection. I was impressed. She wanted her books to have a good life, so decided opening a library would be the best use of them. I loved both her collection, and her connection to her work. I felt honoured to be in her presence, and although I knew we would not last long here, I would relish my time in her space. Her library had a fabulous basement, where touring poets had poetry nights, comedians filled it with laughter, and all manner of transients, such as ourselves, performed.

After a brief tour of the library, Miss Berry took us out the back to a small two bedroom cottage. We were used to being spread out and having our own space, so Mr Bishop and I would have to get used to feeling cramped while we were here. Our cottage had a small kitchen and dining area with a large welcoming fireplace. The bathroom was tiny, and I was not looking forward to sharing it. I put my bag on my small bed, and sat down in the dining area while Miss Berry prepared tea for us.

We had three shows a week booked for the library’s basement, which kept us busy enough. When we were not preparing or performing, I enjoyed quiet time in the library. Still curious about university and the idea of studying mathematics, I was happy to see a reasonable range of books in the library on basic geometry, geometric psychology, and quantum physics. While I didn’t understand the more technical theories, I could grasp the overall concepts, which was enough for me to know that university was definitely within my reach.

One afternoon Miss Berry seated herself across from me as I was nose deep in correlation analysis of sound waves and time waves, and passed me a peppermint tea she had just made.

“Thought you could use a break, Arcadia.”

“Oh?” I looked up. It was nearly closing time. “Thank you. I guess time flies when you’re having fun. Are these really all your personal collection?”

“Absolutely. You know, my grandfather was a time physicist. He passed on all his books to me. I read them all, although I didn’t really understand much. I'm impressed that you can get through them like this.”

I could see she did not think magicians were capable of understanding mathematics. She thought of mathematics being closer to science than art. She did not realise the art of magic was no different to the art of mathematics. A poet herself, she was more drawn to words than numbers. She did not see what I saw – that before words there were numbers, and before numbers there were concepts, outlined in geometry. Mathematics is life and art, intertwined. Mathematics designed the concepts of beauty, the elements of language, and the harmony between them.

We talked a little about poetry and magic. I didn’t want her to catch on that I was considering university. She was a kind person, and I hoped we would not end up wronging her.

“Sorry, I don’t want to keep you past closing time,” I said, which was partly true, but mostly I wanted to wind up the conversation.

“Not at all!” she said, “You’re welcome to take some books out and read them in the cottage.”

“Thank you, but no thanks,” I didn’t want Mr Bishop to notice my new interest. “I focus better in the library, surrounded by all this wisdom. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

I walked downstairs into the pokey little cottage, and got my notebook out. I had not thought of any words of worth to write in my notebook yet, but I had a plan to map out.

I started with a list.

Map

Food

Quantum maths. textbk.

Proposal for U.

The list was shorter than I expected. Mr Bishop was out, so I figured now was as good time as any to map out my proposal for entry into university. I did not want my life as a magician to have anything to do with my new life as a mathematician. No one would know. I would bury this transient life of deceit and start afresh. My proposal would have no mention of magic. Only pure mathematics.

History:

Geometry parents. Sculpture?

Apprentice with a sculpture teacher.

Need broader knowledge of mathematics.

Study and research geometric lines from conception → thought concept → life → art. Quantum mathematics as applicable to art.

It was true, my parents were both sculptors, specialising in the human form, micro-specialising in the human face, and exploring the concept of the makeup of an average face versus individual faces. They died before my earliest memory, and shortly after my maternal aunt had raised me to be old enough to understand how to get by in a small village, she died too. After that I immediately went to work for Mr Bishop, with no plan other than to get by. My parents died from a poisoning of the local river waters, allegedly from a local magician wanting revenge on local farmers. Unfortunately the whole water supply was poisoned, and many people from our town died. My aunt understood my gift as a mind reader early on, so although she did her best to introduce me to magicians I could learn from, it felt wrong to her for me to fine tune my gift in the dark arts, lest I turn out to be a monster like my parents’ killer. She tried hard to hide it from me, but no one can hide from a mind reader. She killed herself once I was old enough to fend for myself. The trauma of my parents’ death, and the thought of me being a magician was too much. I saw her battle with this for years. Once I started apprenticing with Mr Bishop, when I was just a little girl in a pigtail and a smock, I left my old life behind. No family. No friends. Just me. Arcadia Guzmata. Magician. Apprentice of the dark arts.

Once again, I found myself sitting on the cusp of a new life. Just me. Arcadia Guzmata. Mathematician. Student of the light arts.

I went to bed, closed my eyes, and fell asleep thinking about the possibilities.