The Rectodus Society did not appear in any history book, nor was its founding charters filed in any public registry. It existed in the negative space of the world, a secret brotherhood of men who had chosen to live without deviation. Their creed was simple, carved into the marble mantelpiece of their sole meeting place—a windowless room behind a fake wall in a decommissioned clock tower in Prague:
Aldous Vane’s face, a granite cliff of a face, did not move. “Then we correct the records.” the rectodus society
A ripple went through the assembled men. To ignore the heart was, to them, the highest compliment. The Rectodus Society did not appear in any
“The founding axiom is a mis-translation,” Crispin whispered, in the clock tower’s main hall, where every chair faced due north and the chandelier hung from a single vertical chain. “Then we correct the records
“That’s your problem,” Crispin said, stepping toward the center of the hall. “You think life is a line. A to B. But look at the space between the doors. Look at the floor. It’s a plane. You can walk diagonally. You can walk in a spiral. You can stand still and dance.” He turned his back on both doors and walked toward the window—a window that was, the Society had ensured, bricked over. He placed his palm on the cold stone.
He brought his findings to Aldous Vane.
Aldous Vane stood. He was tall, and when he spoke, the room became a tomb.