CHAPTER 9: A Droid Versus A Beautiful Mind

Every sunrise, the beastie buddies habitually rushed to greet Prince, pecked on his cheeks, like a flock of wild doves swooping down to snatch a bite, and let him take the roll call, so the girl followed their practice.  The beastie buddies loved Prince, and so did she.

“What should we do with Bulb?” whispered Bass to Prince.

“Fear was once the food of his moulding.  Fear also kept him from embracing his own identity as a magical creature, one of a kind.”

The Magic Journal

Chococo overheard the conversation and jumped in, “We shouldn’t take the evil droid with us!”

“It’s too dangerous!” squealed Bianca, “We don’t know when he will turn ferocious and attack again!”

“Bulb has changed somehow… he is joining us to the quest for the magic spell,” demanded Prince, “we’ll teach him some manners in order to stay with us.”

Bianca’s eyes desperately searched for Chococo’s.  Their expressions both turned sour.

It took a little navigating from the Bamberg Bahnhof to the heritage centre.  Bulb rolled along with the group precisely following every instruction Prince had given.  One of the interesting gentlemanly rules was to walk on the kerbside of the pavement and to stand by in case of emergencies such as any ghostly wagon splashing dirty water off the road.  Rocky’s chins trembled with silent laughter at Prince’s teaching of the old-fashioned escorting etiquette from the Middle Ages.

Bamberg survived two world wars.  The town was topographically divided into two parts, the secular district (the Inselstadt and the Theuerstadt) and the ecclesiastical district over the red sandstone hill.  The medieval layout was preserved, with the churches of St. Michael, St. Stephan, St. Gangolf, and St. Jakob keeping watch at the four cardinal marks of a cross imprinted on the urban landscape.

Among the noisy tourist flocks, the beastie buddies were forced to split as they were approaching the Altes Rathaus, which was built on an artificial island in the Regnitz River.

“Gather round after crossing the bridge,” Prince’s voice was drowned.

Prince and Bass were jostled by travel fanatics pushing their way towards the Obere Brücke, where the upper bridge provided a good spot to gaze at the most published details of the Altes Rathaus up close.  The Altes Rathaus was Gothic in essence, renovated and remodelled in the style of the Baroque and Rococo periods according to plans by Johann Jakob Michael Küchel.  As they walked past the gate tower, the beautiful frescoed balcony and the coat of arms relief appeared above their heads one more time.  The façade allegorical mural paintings were originally created by Johann Anwander and rebuilt by the painter Anton Greiner.

On the Untere Brücke, Rocky and Don were planning a swimming race to the Gothic half-timbered Rottmeisterhaus.  Served as accommodation for the guards of the guards, the structure was precariously balanced on the minimal stone foundation above the water.

On the count of three, Rocky dived in and disappeared cleanly into the water leaving no splash at all.

Don knew very well that he was no match for Rocky, the rockhopper penguin who conquered the Drake Passage, but his athletic cells were hungry for competition or a test of endurance.  He raised his pudgy arm, glided into the water and out, repeated the powerful rhythmic stroke with another arm, and so on and so forth.

When Rocky bubbled to the surface a few moments later, he deliberately slowed himself down and let Don catch up with his demonstration of how a swimmer manoeuvred in the swirls of cool water as turbulence was generated from the little dam not so far away.

“Rocky is a good teacher and a good friend, isn’t he?” remarked Bass, watching the happy swimmers and the white-fringed waves splashing against the stone foundation encrusted with fungi.

Prince nodded, but deep inside his heart, cliché inspirational stories were both hated and envied.  Yes, it was, to a large extent, still motivational.  The meaning of the magical journey was to find the magic that led to a happily-ever-after moment of a lifetime.  And what then?

The chatterbox trio stared at Bulb in dismay, knowing it was their turn to look after him for the rest of the afternoon.  Chococo and Bianca remained extra vigilant.

Earlier in the morning, Flora read the in-train magazine about the must-visit attractions of Bamberg.  It was about the charming Rosengarten in the inner courtyard of the Neue Residenz and she expected to be surrounded by pink and red roses any minute then.  She made sure the piglet and the bunny did not run lost to defer Prince’s castle search.

The big group finally came together and walked up the hill to Domplatz, situated right at the cross intersection of the city axial planning.  Domplatz, also known as the Cathedral Square, was surrounded by the Bamberger Dom, the Alten Hofhaltung, and the Neue Residenz, reflecting a mishmash of different architectural styles, particularly the Romanesque and the Gothic.

On the cobblestone square parked rows and rows of modern automobiles.  The shiny vehicles had four wheels each, leaving scratches, burns, and bites within the ancient walls.  The girl was expecting to see some busy horse-drawn carriages.  She did not hop on one in Weimar and had hoped for a second chance since.

They arrived late, a few weeks late.  The roses had withered, and the garden sculptures retreated to gabled wooden boxes to hibernate for the winter.

“We’re late,” Flora started to whimper.

“We are one hundred and ninety-three days early,” came Bulb’s estimation of the next blossom by extrapolation from prior data, “It would be my honour to return to Bamberg with you later.”

Bulb sounded like a precocious little brat.  With an analytical and data-driven mindset, the droid, as he also believed, was designed to perform a routine of work and sleep of the pre-set target.  No errors.  No more experiment either.  A perfect replica.  For the first time, he made a comment to his liking, not his target’s.  His target Ms Yilton was fond of roses according to the database, but she did not love roses that much to return to a travel destination just to see roses bloom.

Bulb stood there gawking at his incredulous audience, as if question marks were etched on all over their faces.

Indeed, stereotypical, motivational stories, just like Rocky’s adventure, were the most popular genre that the beastie buddies usually chanted about triumphing over evil, overcoming appalling adversity, and conquering a stronger rival.  It followed a simple and easy-to-copy formula to success that “If I can do it, so can you!”

Bulb’s transformation from the myth of evil intention into a beautiful mind was perhaps not his mage’s planned artistic creation.  It appeared that the fear of being replaced by machines of artificial intelligence bred the little monster in the magic journal.  Bulb’s giving up his task implied conceding defeat and quitting by the droid’s default.  However, yielding brought him to think and speak in passion, not out of fear or duty anymore.  Fear was once the food of his moulding.  Fear also kept him from embracing his own identity as a magical creature, one of a kind.

Prince longed for victory.  It was just a natural response to the world’s competitive culture by osmosis to condemn defeat.  Bulb showed him a new, quite the opposite actually, approach to breaking free from the magic journal bondage.

The visitors crammed in a stuffy state apartment, where the human guide recited the history of the palace construction and the different styles of the interior decorations.  Prince slipped away as discreetly as he could before they reached the stunning state galleries.  Bass was sensitive enough to notice his departure and soon followed.

“You know you can’t get rid of me,” assured Bass, “Let’s go find your magic spell.”

“Silly Bass.”

The girl did not shudder at Prince’s claw anymore and jumped on his back swiftly.  “I’ll back you up, too.”

“When did you?” Prince did not get to finish his sentence before the girl sat comfortably on his back, assuming Bass a pillion passenger.

They rose gently up into the air and to the former Benedictine monastery on the Michaelberg, where it was built on high ground with a panorama of the surrounding land of Bamberg.  The twin towers stood mute in their grandeur, while the girl sang an operatic pop to keep her friends entertained.

Soon they soared over the Altes Rathaus and followed the Regnitz River to the Altes Schalchthaus, then the medieval half-timbered houses of the Klein Venedig, nicknamed Little Venice.

Along the riverbank of Regnitz, the rickety buildings of the former fishing village dating to the 17th century were tightly packed together, with wobbly boats floating by the front yards.  To their surprise, roses were still blooming in their charming little gardens.

All of a sudden, Prince heard a voice resonating, if not exactly speaking to him, “Claim the treasure you seek.”

“Hush!  Did you hear that?” queried Prince, alert with his ears up.

The girl stopped singing immediately, frantic with worry.

“Hear what?” murmured Bass, listening carefully again.

Chilled, Prince felt a runny nose.  He wiped his nose on the furs of his right forearm and could not care less about his royal manners.