Page 14 of Florescentia

He flinched and avoided my hand.

“Sir, it is a pigment disorder. It is no more different than freckles. The chemicals being used wouldn’t cause any—”

“Please remove your hand, miss.”

It was becoming harder to keep up an unbothered facade, but I conceded.

“Will you allow a demonstration? I’m ready to make the appoint—”

“I don’t think this meets the standards for patentability. There’s a lack of novelty.”

“Oh, I understand the standards. If you read about the product results, they should speak for themselves. I have samples—”

“Many people come to patent what they think is a new invention. I understand you might be upset that your invention may not be as groundbreaking as you believe it is.”

“Will you let me present my case properly, or will you continue to speak over me and skim not even the first page?” I stood from my seat. “My film is one of a kind, never been developed before. I have proven out a whole new wavelength unseen to the eye, and you won’t even give it a proper glance?”

His eyes went wide, his mouth opened and closed, gaze darting from his lack of preparation that someone else might speak at this meeting.

“Let me do a demonstration.” I snatched the folder and lab book from his hands, tucking it under my arm. “I will make an appointment with your secretary.”

He gave a defeated sigh, facing his palms up as if obliging a hostage taker.

“Thank you for your time.” I tipped my head pointedly at him before exiting the room.

The Patent Office seats were all taken, hopefuls packed shoulder to shoulder, while some had to stand to await their appointments. Dozens of men waited in their black-tie attire and firmly starched collars, hoping for their big break, a physical manifestation of their years of research—or years of copy stolen from interns or female peers. Who could say? Anything was possible in the Patent Office.

“Leaving already?” a voice asked.

“Not now, Mr. Crickston,” I muttered, the formality meant to tell him I wasn’t in the mood to speak.

“Too busy to entertain a bored mind?” Calum laughed. “Even for a friend?”

Calum leaned back in his chair. His desk faced the waiting area, where his careless attitude for his job was on full display for the applicants to see. Pencils were scattered to the side next to stacks of paperwork amassed from just this morning. His blond hair was bright, swept back to show his slightly tanned face. He was always out and about and skipping his shifts.

If only he applied himself, he could break free of his floating associate position between departments. For now, he was bound to reshelve books, push pencils, or even tend to custodial work when the need was there. While his position could have been due to budgets, his low-drive aspirations didn’t help his case.

Poor Calum always wanted to be part of exciting things, but didn’t want to have to be the one to create them.

My shoulders slumped as I held my satchel in front of me. “Next time,” I pleaded.

“Did it go that terribly?” He leaned forward, a dip in his brow as he focused his attention.

I nodded regrettably.

“That can’t be right.” He stood, reaching his hand out for my papers. “I could do a reapplication?”

“Later—the wound is fresh.”

“Ah, well, tell your brother we are going to Vaccaro’s at noontime for lunch.”

With a lazy nod, I departed.

I exited the patent and copyright wing, turning abruptly down into the main Treasury. Maxim should be here today; I would steal a book from him to sort out this failed ritual business, and all would be well again.

I walked down the long hall to the lobby area, which broke off into a three-way split, if you didn’t include the building exit. The middle path led to the Treasury Library and Archive. The one I came from was, most obviously, the Patent Office. The last path led to miscellaneous municipal offices.

While the Treasury was an important, stately building, it wasn’t funded as well as it could’ve been. It ran on donations, tourism, and whatever rations the state could spare.