We all heard the story.

“Beyond the mountains and between the trees, in the centre of the frozen tundra. The Ivory Tower stays silent. No one in, no one out, but silhouettes on the windows behind the drawn robes. Protects the occult, the unknown, the artefacts left from others. Inside are stories of joy, sadness, horrors and death. What earth and history has produced is stored safe there, to protect them. To protect us. A place of mysterious mysteries, marvellous marvels, unfathomable dangers and endless wonders.”

I still remember the first time I read the story. It was my second or third year as a student at the Academy, and came in a bundle of fairy tale books, inside of a steamer trunk. It was a gift from a grandfather I’d never met, and who’s my parents refuse to speak about. My book was part of a special edition made for witches. It was a pop-up, and its images rose from the pages, with the details coming to life. In this particular story, the Ivory Tower had risen in the centre, its lights were turned inside, and the aforementioned silhouettes flashed through the windows. I remember piano music playing in the inside of my ears, and not coming from the book. But most of all I recall seeing the small plants, dying in a perfect circle of frozen ground around the tower.

But I don’t remember what happened to the book itself. Perhaps it is still at the Academy, where it will remain until someone opens the doors again. Certainly, I didn’t bring it with me to London, what point would be on taking a children’s book with me to college? It was just that, a children’s book, much like the others on the collection, like “The City of Light”, like “Tales from the Glass House”, a fake-out, a complete fairy tale.

But the fae are real, and their tales alike. This is the point in my retelling when we are reminded about the baseline to every single piece of folklore. It all have some degree of truth in, or between, its lines. If it turns or twists with the passage of time, it’s a completely different story altogether, but these stories always have some truth weaved in it. Much like fae.

It was during the autumn of 1910; on the days I was finishing my last year at the Academy and was making the trips from Cottingley to London to enrol as a student at Dauphin College. In those days I always had a couple of quids with me, to spend on lunch and on the train back. Most, if not all, of the time I had more money in case of emergencies, so I spent three pence in buying The Times at a newsstand outside King’s Cross station.

As with the special editions of books, the Times and much of the newspapers of the time had a similar feature. Instead of publishing two editions for a daily newspaper, they were combined into one. When someone with magical powers touched the coat of arms at the top of the first page, the newspaper changed to our version. Why was I telling you this? Ah, right.

Back in 1910, during one of my visits to the capital was when I received the punch in the stomach. The same everybody on the magical community received.

The Ivory Tower was real.

I couldn’t believe it, and neither did the other magical beings I’d encountered that day. It was a buzzing at Dauphin College and back at the Academy. Everyone was talking about it; everyone but my mother, who didn’t dwell in rumours.

But with the same curiosity as anybody else, I began reading the article. It wasn’t mistakable by any means; it was right there in the first page, in large block-style letters. On the “Special Announcements” area, right below one of the Port of London Authority. It was written by Athenida Industries and said as follows:

“Athenida Industries.

IVORY TOWER FORECLOUSURE.

We like to announce the changing of location of the facility known as the Ivory Tower by the public, and as the Sophia Library Base by its members. The artefacts in its interior will be relocated to a secure location under planning right now. New employee opportunities, as well as information regarding the inauguration of the new facility will be announced to the public via this and other media.

[By order] Daedalus Athenida, Chief Executive Officer and owner of Athenida Industries. 188 Kirtling St, Nine Elms, London. 22nd July, 1910.”

That, however, didn’t happen. It was the only moment when we had any kind of confirmation or news regarding the Tower.

A couple of weeks later I moved to attend Dauphin College. Mainly due to my curiosity, I took note of the address on the newspaper and decided to visit it when I had the time for it. But, as strange as it sounds, the place was no office building or anything of sorts. It was an improvised park with trees, flowerbeds and a couple of benches.

I continued buying the Times, as my two years at the college came and went, but nothing appeared again. I must’ve been one of the last people waiting for something at that point. And, after a couple months working for a motion picture theatre, the pursuit to satisfy some degree of my curiosity lead to me enrolling at Antioch University with their promising Archaeology Program. I had a couple of good years when my mind went to other places outside the fairy tale.

The, well, the Great War happened. Everything changed after that.

Antioch suspended its archaeology program, and, wanting to help with the war effort, I began working for telephone and radio operator. I helped to connect the War Office and the Western Front. During those years, on the anniversary of the first announcement, a second one appeared.

“Athenida Industries

CONSTRUCTION OF RAIN HAS BEEN SUSPENDED

Due to the current state, the Board of Directors of the Retrieval of Artefacts International Network has decided to suspend the operations on the construction of the new facility until further notice. We are sorry for the inconveniences this may cause, but we’ve agreed on devote our energies in helping the Empire and everything it stands for.

[By order] Daedalus Athenida, Chief Executive Officer and owner of Athenida Industries. 100 Victoria Embankment, London. 22nd July, 1915.”

It was during these times when Sir Daedalus Athenida has stepped aside from his position as CEO, owner and speaker of Athenida Industries. He was the face of the MI7 and the War Office. The address from which the second announcement was sent was from a hotel at the centre of the city, which the following year was requisitioned for the use of the government. I saw the face of the man for the first time in a photograph taken with Prime Minister Asquilth, and again with his successor Lloyd George. His voice came first, as it was a constant feature on our boards, trying to contact other offices inside the government or the Front.

But this began to felt as a retelling of Peter and the Wolf. The second announcement also continued without a follow-up. I assumed it was due to Mr. Athenida working for the British Government and not having the time for it.

The War ended at last, hurray, and most of us returned to some sort of normality in our lives. At least, what was left of them. By 1919, when Versailles was signed and I was able to return to my studies, I had no family to return to celebrate with. The new plague, what now refer as the Spanish Flu, left two new tombstones and a sting of pain every time I see the family portrait on my flat.

When I moved back to Antioch, after a bit of debacle, my life there had also changed. A lot of friends and colleagues didn’t return from the battlefields. Some of the ones who did return decided it was better to change degrees to Communications or Nursing, meaning to apply what they’ve learned during the last couple of years. Of the thirty students on my group, seven of us remained. Even those who were well and with no intention of change, were disenchanted with life. Lost generation they called us. Not even the persistent rumour of the Tower was enough to keep us going for much longer. With time, it was becoming again a fairy tale.

And when you think everything that could happened had, well, happened, there was more. In the midst of returning to the Meroe Tower, where the student rooms were, a fire broke out, consuming everything but the artefacts inside.

For those who managed, despite all of that, to finish our studies, the next step was hoping our tutors would recommend us for something. Mine, Sir Murad Joshi, was part time working for the university and his main job was part of the curators of the British Museum. He was in charge of the acquisitions that kept coming from Egypt. Nevertheless, Sir Murad was also one of the bunch of academics that, despite their advanced age, had bolted and left for the other side of the Atlantic. Last rumour I heard regarding him was that he had left to Washington DC with a priceless piece of art. “Fire on the Tiber” by Vernet. Nothing more than rumours. He had vanished like the news about the Tower.

With his absence, I didn’t hope for a recommendation letter or anything related. Not even if he had left one in his forgotten papers at the museum. He had disappeared in the midst of the War, in 1916.

To my delighted surprise, I was offered a very specific job at the museum. Sir Murad had not just spoke about me with the other curators, but had left specific instructions of what my labour should be when my studies were done. I had to check everything sent with the label “ARCADIA”; either to be sent to exhibition at the museum or relabelling it as “Terranova” and wait for someone to come pick them up.

During my trial period I had to face a weird looking man coming for the Terra Nova, loading them to a truck and going away before I had the chance to ask. Also, during that time, I read in the Times the third and last announcement.

“Athenida Industries,

RAIN FACILITY TO OPEN SOON

We are glad to announce the completion of the new facility of the International Network of Artefact Retrieval. In the following days we are sending the invitations to the new promising employees and to those who seek knowledge. We hope, together, we can change the world with the retrieval and research of the world’s most dangerous artefacts. The members of the Board, as well as myself, are thrilled to what this new era of discoveries will entail.

[By order] Daedalus Athenida, Chief Executive Officer and owner of Athenida Industries. Point Nemo. 12th March, 1923.”

In the same first page, there was an advertisement for a cruise line. It would be nothing but another, mixed with ones to the Norwegian Fjords. But something caught my attention. Not just the name, but also how it was phrased.

“HOLIDAY TOURS

By RAIN-FALCON TRANSPORTATION CO.

SAN FRANCISCO, POINT NEMO and TERRA NOVA.

Superior accommodations. Special tour in the following weeks.

Apply Daedalus Athenida and Co., London.”

Not just the name of Mr. Athenida was an obvious sort of clue, but also de transportation company. The RAIN-FALCON. Besides that, another thing caught my attention, which led me to check the boxes in my workshop. Yes, I was right. The boxes for some of the artefacts weren’t labelled Terranova, like I thought at first glance, the place in the Dominion of Canada, but Terra Nova, as in two separate words. Also, the name of Point Nemo was thrown into the mix, which was the new address of Mr. Athenida.

Searching for another clue, I found one in the contract section, also on the first page.

“RAIN-FALCON TRANSPORTATION COMPANY.

The Board of Directors invites CLERKS specialised in the multiple areas of knowledge to apply for the new internship at its San Francisco offices. Resumés can be sent to the London offices and following interviews will be scheduled in the following days.

Clerks must send a complete questionnaire not later than 2 p.m. on Friday, the 16th March, 1923.

Printed forms for the questionnaires may be obtained on the Exhibition not later than on Thursday, the 15th March, 1923.

Rain-Falcon Transportation Company, 12th March, 1923.”

And this last one, sent the reader to the Exhibition part of the newspaper. There were a lot of them, since London was recovering in bulk the damages of the War. But a couple of them stood out, and, of them, one was particularly interesting.

“EXHIBITION of NEW EARTH SCULPTURES,

NOW ON VIEW at the

CRYSTAL PALACE, Crystal Palace Park, South London.

OPEN DAILY, from 10 to 8.”

This was the last piece of the puzzle. “New Earth”, Terra Nova in Latin. Whatever was related to the Ivory Tower was at the Crystal Palace at its park in South London. Didn’t really matter if they threw me out once they saw me sniffing around, I had to know.

I checked early that day, my last day at the trial period. The curator told me they will be calling me in the following days, but I know he was lying. I can always tell.

My name is Blaire Faraday. I was born in Cottingley, England, in 1895. On March of 1923 I decided to go on the search of something that, up until then that moment it was a rumour. A fairy tale. A tale known by everyone. The Ivory Tower.