conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Rich, Academic, Exercises with the genre: Science Fiction & Fantasy, Fantasy?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Academic Exercises'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the first five paragraphs for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Academic Exercises
  Rather more to my taste was the surveying equipment, though I didn't get a chance to look at it as closely as I'd have liked. I watched them loading it, but mostly it was crated up, and one enormous pine box looks pretty much like another. All I could tell for sure was that there was a lot of it, though not nearly as much, by weight or volume, as the weapons. Another bulk item, which came as a surprise, though a relatively pleasant one, was the musical instruments. I was nearly pushed off the gangplank into the Bay by three strong men carrying between them the biggest spinet I've ever seen in my life, followed by other men with harpsichords, violas, cellos, two harps and a tuba. At least, if we were going to suffer, it wouldn't be in silence.
  Don't ask me about the voyage. I wasn't there; at least, my body was, but the rest of me was somewhere else. My body—poor abused, long-suffering flesh—spent three weeks in a tiny box, curled up on a wooden shelf with nothing but a sack stuffed with mouldy feathers between my aching joints and the rough-planed planks. Occasionally someone remembered me and brought me food; rather better food than I'd have had back at High Table, but I didn't want to eat it. Why bother? It wasn't going to stay down very long, and when it came back up again, it just added to the misery.
  I don't suppose I missed very much. The sea is, after all, the sea. From time to time I asked the steward if we were nearly there yet, but he only smiled. Once, after a particularly violent episode in the course of which I was repeatedly hurled off the shelf against the side of the box, I asked him if the ship had taken much damage from the storm. "What storm?" he said. I'd have told him about it, but he chose that moment to take the cover off a plate of scrambled eggs, so of course I was sick all over his shoes.
  There came a day when the ship seemed to have been sitting still for rather a long time. I didn't mind that in the least. The thing I'd been dreading most about the voyage was boredom; how naive I was, back then. When you've been subjected to twenty-one days of incessant torture, with your guts trying very hard to force their way up through your mouth, a prolonged interval of nothing at all strikes you as the sort of bliss reserved by the Invincible Sun for the blessed elect. In fact, for a while I wondered if I'd died. But no. No such luck.
  He, of course, had proved to be a natural sailor. He'd divided his time between standing on deck looking magnificent in gold braid and sitting in his cabin doing precise calculations with mathematical instruments. He looked at me and winced, and covered his nose with a linen handkerchief.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is five more paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: By the time my next letter reaches you, it may well all be over. I do hope so. It's been the most dreary, miserable business. I never thought doing something so well could be so tedious.
  Added in haste; I just managed to catch the messenger before he set off. Excellent news, the best—almost the best—possible. Guess who's looking over my shoulder while I write this. Menestheus; and Aristaeus is standing next to him, drinking cinnamon tea. And Strato's safe at Anassus; he'll join us at the City when it's all over. They didn't want to leave Nico, but he insisted. They say he's been bearing up remarkably well, right up till the last defection—well, the last defection but one, strictly speaking. Then he called them all in and said that the only thing that mattered now was for them to get out and be safe, and the safest place would be here. I'm pleased to say they don't blame him for what's happened.
  Not long now, Phormio, and the five of us will be together again, and then; you wait and see what we'll do. It'll be amazing.
  When I was a kid, they taught me that the custom of blinding illustrious prisoners and banishing them to monasteries, rather than killing them outright, was a mark of how civilised our society is. I thought, that's wrong, it's barbarous. How could anybody bring himself to do such a thing? I guess Dad and the rest of our family thought the same way, or else they weren't taking any chances. After all, it's just a convention that a blind man can't be emperor.
  I'm wandering, I know. Easy to do in the dark. The reason for this letter is, Gorgias came to see me. The emperor, himself. I have to confess, the truly special nature of the honour was wasted on me just a bit. But then, I've always loathed and despised emperors, until now, of course. All the emperors I ever knew before I came here were rubbish.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Reverse the sentences.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: All the emperors I ever knew before I came here were rubbish.. But then, I've always loathed and despised emperors, until now, of course. I have to confess, the truly special nature of the honour was wasted on me just a bit. The emperor, himself. The reason for this letter is, Gorgias came to see me. Easy to do in the dark.
  I'm wandering, I know. After all, it's just a convention that a blind man can't be emperor. How could anybody bring himself to do such a thing? I guess Dad and the rest of our family thought the same way, or else they weren't taking any chances. I thought, that's wrong, it's barbarous.
  When I was a kid, they taught me that the custom of blinding illustrious prisoners and banishing them to monasteries, rather than killing them outright, was a mark of how civilised our society is. It'll be amazing.
  Not long now, Phormio, and the five of us will be together again, and then; you wait and see what we'll do. I'm pleased to say they don't blame him for what's happened. Then he called them all in and said that the only thing that mattered now was for them to get out and be safe, and the safest place would be here. They say he's been bearing up remarkably well, right up till the last defection—well, the last defection but one, strictly speaking. They didn't want to leave Nico, but he insisted. And Strato's safe at Anassus; he'll join us at the City when it's all over. Menestheus; and Aristaeus is standing next to him, drinking cinnamon tea. Guess who's looking over my shoulder while I write this. Excellent news, the best—almost the best—possible.
  Added in haste; I just managed to catch the messenger before he set off. I never thought doing something so well could be so tedious. It's been the most dreary, miserable business. I do hope so.By the time my next letter reaches you, it may well all be over
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the last four paragraphs? Start with the sentence 'I did make some notes of my various experiments in alchemy; but last year I had a huge bonfire out in the meadow and burned the lot'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I did make some notes of my various experiments in alchemy; but last year I had a huge bonfire out in the meadow and burned the lot. So, for example, the only directions for making silver fulminate anywhere in the world are the ones you've just read. The idea is that anyone disturbed enough to want the stuff will follow said instructions and, since there's a deliberate mistake in them, won't survive the attempt. The recipe for gold-out-of-garbage will die with me; arguably no great loss, since I never did find out if it works or not. The only data from my alchemical researches which will survive me is the formula for my great invention, which I sold, along with the business, to a Vesani consortium for more money than anybody could possibly spend in a lifetime. Needless to say, they intend to guard it with the utmost ferocity. It was a term of the contract that I didn't keep a copy of the formula myself. No problem, I told them.
  I'm an honest man now, a pillar of the community. I even pay taxes. In fact, last year alone I paid enough to keep a regiment in the field for a year (now, there's something a man can be proud of, don't you think?). Every Solstice I get a basket of white plums and a case of Faventine red wine from First Citizen Pescennius, who never did get around to holding free and fair elections, and is now practically indistinguishable from my other college chum Phocas, except he doesn't kill alchemists. I eat the plums and give the wine to my gardeners.
  Oh, and last autumn I got married. She's a nice girl; not much to look at but sharp as a knife, and she makes me laugh. She married me for my money and my library. I think I married her because I like someone who gets their priorities right. I still think about Theodosia, of course. After giving it a great deal of thought, I've reached the conclusion that I probably didn't kill Phocas because he had Theodosia executed. I've tried to blame him for that, but I can't. My fault.
  My invention, by which I turned base materials into negotiable gold and assured myself of the only true immortality—Sorry, I haven't been entirely straight with you. My name really is Saloninus, but I changed it when I came to Choris. You'll know me as Longinus Agricola, the inventor of synthetic blue paint.