A newspaper stand disturbed the anachronism of different archaic goggle prototypes.
Ted noticed the big, screaming headlines about an airship accident and his good mood returned once again.
They came to the room that had the Worthgul machine. The machine was marvelous.
Knobs and little cogs made out of valuable metals decorated a base of wooden, movable parts. The machine would be opened after a short while, exactly at midday, and its capacity in calculation or whatever Mad and the other madmen called it would be tested. This made Ted want to wait around longer than was absolutely necessary, even with the threat of eastern spies.
The moment came, and a complex equation about something related to comets, planets and their angles was given to the machine by its guardian, a stylish woman in her forties. She explained the exact mechanism, but it was either a bad explanation or a case of Ted being a bad listener at that moment.
He heard the clicking and hissing from the insides of the machine. He was absolutely intoxicated.
This had to be the most valuable thing Sennas had to offer, yet there were only a few people watching the sad museum auntie do the demonstration. The machine could deduce on its own, just a few pulls of a few levers were needed, so, naturally, Ted wondered where the outrageous fanatics were.
This should have been the stuff that lasted from one century to another.
"I will not have this," Ted said.
"Have what?" Mad asked. "Is there something wrong with the machine?"
He sounded almost hurt by the implication.
At least someone had some sense in his head.
"This has accelerated our technological development so greatly, yet we forget about it and let some woman who – excuse me – looks like a washed out librarian wipe the dust away from it. I know I want to be above others, but I do not want my nation to be this lowly. Worthgul left it for us, the people of Sennas. It has to mean something."
Ted had a thought. He toppled over one of the newspaper stands and took a big bunch of advertisement leaflets into his hands.
"Occult – a science," he explained. "Meteorology – a science, too. Physics, flying, floating, everything we have, everything we are, the scientific approach made it all possible. I will not stand and watch those efforts go to waste."
He went outside the machine room to explain to every single person that the Worthgul Machine could predict all things in the future if the correct premises were given and the question was presented in a logical form. Sure, this was inaccurate enough that Mad huffed his way into the museum coffee shop, and some people passed Ted by, but he was able to fish out a dozen of those who showed interest to this apparatus – it was like magic, much like magic, and everything about magic could be reduced to a science that no one could yet fully understand.
The washed out museum lady gave Ted free souvenirs and looked as happy as a person could ever be. Extra demonstrations were arranged.
Then Ted felt the wound on his neck, that little nick from the assassin's knife. It was pulsating in a way that not even the nastiest of paper cuts could cause.
He had been poisoned. So, that was why he was feeling so elated.
He had to see a doctor, or, more likely, Mad.
"I am not going to say I am sorry, because I am not," Ted told him. "I need a smart man to find out what is wrong with me. I have been poisoned, with a slow-acting poison that goes into the victim's head…mother of worms, I hate that word, victim. Can we say recipient of poison?"
"Sounds like corna to me, but corna would wear off so much more quickly that I do not…" Mad shook his head. "It is something more exotic. We would ideally go to a proper doctor, well, a healer would do, but that isn't possible right now, is it? How long has it been since you were cut? A cursed long time. Mother of worms…"
The name of the Mother was repeated many times in a fancy hotel room as Mad attempted different quick detoxifications for a slow poison. Ted felt like he needed to urinate, then he felt like he never needed the restroom again, he felt good, bad, he felt all kinds of ways and a few emotions more.
"This is a complete mystery to me," Madorn said and downed the rest of the latest herbal concoction.
It had not worked, so, it was fair game, really, but the scientist did seem a little off after drinking what was either a really strong tea or a really mild medical-strength antidote.
Eknie was not nearly as nervous as Ted would have liked her to be, he wanted a little dramatic flair to his strange state, and he decided to simply poke her with his travel cane.
Then the woman laughed.
"You have been so out of it, so glad to see you returning to normal," she said, slapping her knees with both hands. "You were…I have no idea how to describe it. Manic?"
"Bloody manic," Madorn shouted from the restroom and made a peculiar vocalization. "Oh MOTHER!"
"What is it?" Ted asked, worried that the genius was hurt or dying.
Ted did not much like losing valuable assets.
"The coffee in the coffee shop…it was a bit too much," Madorn revealed. "They put some stuff in the coffee that caused me a heartburn. I will not die, even though I wish for oblivion right now. I need something for the pain."
"We'll just send Eknie out for some paw." Ted smiled – the problem had solved itself.
The paw did not help with nausea, but it could help with the pain.
Soon enough, the two men were sitting on a clean hotel bed and staring at the fancy brass-colored clock on the wall.
"I don't hate you," Ted told Madorn.
"Thanks."