by wildbow
It was the same problem I’d had with Rick. We could be manipulative, we could poke, prod, bait, and mislead, and if we found any give at all, we could capitalize on it.
No give here.
“Professor Hayle told us to run an errand, and report back at the earliest possible moment. If you don’t let us past, it’s going to upset him.”
“I’m willing to take that risk. You’re being irritating. Go home.”
“This is our home,” Helen said. “It’s my home.”
The man studied her, up and down. Helen didn’t look like a proper student.
“Helen Ibott,” she said, extending a hand for him. “Yes. I am his daughter.”
The name carried weight. I saw two men behind our obstacle exchanging glances.
“He’s not married,” our antagonist said, unmoved.
“I’m still his daughter,” Helen said, without flinching.
One of the two spoke up. “I could just run over to Claret Hall and—”
“No,” the man said. “There’s no need.”
It was so stupid. Such a waste.
Mary stepped back a bit, until she was standing to one side of me. Her voice was soft, “I don’t think they’re very good at fighting. I could try something, make a distraction, and we could slip through.”
“Too messy,” I murmured.
“I thought so.”
“It’s interesting that you think you could win against ten people and ten stitched,” I said.
“I don’t think I could win. I do think I could get us inside and slip away.”
I nodded slowly. Interesting. Gordon couldn’t do that, and Gordon could probably beat her in a scrap, but she did have techniques and talents.
Everything about the group fit together, a larger puzzle of talents, strengths and weaknesses. Every element was a thing I could potentially use or a thing I had to account for.
“You’re Vernon,” Jamie said, cutting off Gordon mid-sentence. “Cornet?”
Our barrier to entry nodded, frowning a little. “That’s my name.”
“You were working on the group project last year, Claret Hall, the kit. Smaller, lighter pack for field care of soldiers and stitched on the battlefield.”
Vernon didn’t respond, but his frown deepened.
“It didn’t go well, I heard,” Jamie said.
“That wasn’t my fault. The others dropped the ball.”
“But it was such an unfettered disaster that your classmates talked about it, and I heard about it, and I remember hearing about it. A year later.”
“What went wrong?” Lillian asked. I suspected it was out of genuine curiosity rather than an effort to play along.
“They took it on themselves to develop a smaller, lighter pack. A basic failure would be producing something smaller and lighter, but less effective,” Jamie said. “But when you design by committee, and you somehow produce something heavier, bulkier, and less effective, a failure on every count…”
Vernon suddenly looked exceptionally unhappy. “I said it wasn’t my fault. Why even bring this up? You think I’m going to let you in because of it?”
“No,” Jamie said. “I’m not that cunning. I remembered and thought it was interesting.”
I picked up the slack. “But if you’re trying to earn brownie points by pulling volunteer duty standing guard, and being a problem because you’re trying too hard to do your job, well, the professors are going to get upset we weren’t able to report in…”
I trailed off, letting someone else pick up. Gordon for that note of authority and command, perhaps.
“We might have to drop your name, Vernon Cornet,” the ‘daughter’ of Doctor Ibbot said, instead.
Just as good.
Vernon looked over his shoulder, “Go find one of the professors and ask if the kids are allowed in.”
“Hayle,” Gordon said.
“Hayle,” Vernon corrected.
We settled in for a wait.
☙
Claret Hall was the rare sort of building that was entirely grown. The wood had been given a deep red color as part of the growing process, it had been shaped every step of the way, and made into a veritable work of art.
It was the starting point and end goal for most members of Radham Academy. Students took their introductory classes here, Lillian included, and those who climbed the ranks and proved their mettle ended up as part of the administration, elsewhere in the building.
The guard had gone in and found Hayle, then reported back to us with his location.
As a group, we entered one of the faculty-only rooms.
Professors Briggs, Sexton, Hayle, Fletcher and Reid were all present, in black lab coats. They sat in chairs, stood, or leaned against the tables around the perimeter of the rooms. Though it was summer, a fire blazed in the fireplace opposite the entrance. Two plates with only morsels of food remaining on them suggested that some but not all had eaten their dinners. The wine glasses were full, the firelight catching the contents and making the deep reds into something bright.
The other professors didn’t pay us much mind as we approached. The glances they deigned to give us were almost disinterested.
Briggs was the one to impress. He ran Claret Hall, and through that position, he was the head of the Academy, controlled much of Radham, and a fair portion of the surrounding area. He was older but not old, and unlike Hayle he had colored his hair and rejuvenated his skin. He looked as if he’d stretched himself a half-foot taller, but retained the same body weight, making him into a living caricature of the man he’d once been. His fingers were spidery, one hand holding a wine glass, the other on the desk, pads of the fingers pressing down so the fingers themselves bowed.
The armless, crimson-tinted glasses that were perched halfway down his nose were purely for show, but they caught the firelight as he stared at the source of it.
It might have been my association with Hayle, but I tended to have less respect for those who’d gone so far to alter themselves with medicine and surgery. Professor Briggs was an exception. It was hard to disrespect a man who could terminate the Lambsbridge project, or terminate the Wyvern project and me with it.
He was, in an indirect way, responsible for the existence of the Lambs, for Dog and Catcher, for the Hangman, Gorger, Foster, the Whelps and all the rest.
His pet project, however, wasn’t out and about, hunting for Whiskers.
Hayle wanted to prove our worth as a group. This was where it counted.
I touched the small of Gordon’s back before he could say anything. He didn’t give any indication that I’d done anything, but he did remain silent.
“Insurrection,” I said, as we drew close enough to be in earshot.
That turned heads.
Briggs, however, was unfazed. “We expected something in that vein.”
“Reverend Mauer. He’s got Dicky Gill and Mr. Warner at his back.”
“Gill was already restless, suggesting something was wrong.”
“That something is the Reverend,” I said. “He’s probably been laying groundwork for a long time.”
“Since he arrived in Radham three years and two months ago,” Jamie said.
Briggs nodded.
“He told a crowd that two people were killed by the experiment,” I said. I looked at Jamie.
“Upper-west part of Radham. Oscar and Martin Meadows?”
It was Sexton who answered. Young as professors went, pale, with blond hair neatly parted, he had a shadow on his chin that suggested he hadn’t had time to shave earlier in the day. “We didn’t hear about that, and we should have.”
“It was probably a lie,” I said. “And if he can lie about that, he’ll lie about other things.”
“Useful information,” Hayle commented.
“Of course you think so,” Fletcher said. “They’re yours.”
“I prefer action to information. Unless your children removed the problem, Hayle?” Professor Briggs asked.
“If they didn’t, there was a good reason for it,” Hayle said. “Gordon?”
“We couldn’t reach him, and we thought we should ask, just in case. Mauer is surrounded himself with people, and he’s preparing them as soldiers. The crowd nearly rioted.”
“We can handle a riot,” Briggs said. “It’s poor timing, but if he’s determined to be inconvenient about this—”
“He’s not,” I interrupted.
Briggs frowned. He finally turned away from the fire and looked at me. When he spoke, however, he remarked, “Six, Hayle? Are they multiplying somehow?”
“Mary over there, with the ribbons and brown hair, is a new addition to the Lambsbridge program.”
“I didn’t authorize the increased budget.”
“I didn’t use one. It was Percy who developed her. I simply took over guardianship of her after he fled.”
“Brilliant,” Fletcher said, under his breath.
I suspected the man was quite drunk.
“You told me I had discretion to manage the project as I saw fit,” Hayle said, in a tone that was overly clear and calm. He was trying to frame it all so that if Briggs spoke out, he’d sound unreasonable.
“If you aren’t misappropriating funds, I don’t care,” Briggs said. “The project has yet to impress, I don’t see how seven disappointments are much worse than six.”
Seven?
Oh. He was counting Evette and Ashton in the number.
Insulting them.
Considering that I’d never even met them, I felt a surprising degree of loathing for the man who’d insulted their memory.
I must have been giving some indication of what I was feeling, because Jamie bumped into me, his hand finding mine, clutching it hard.
“If your children are incapable of dealing with the Reverend, Hayle, then we can have the Hangman accompany them to the church. Once they point the way, the Hangman can deal with the Reverend. Kill the problem at its root, then deal with the peripheral concerns, it’s a matter of time before we find our escaped project.”
“That won’t work,” I said.
“Sylvester,” Hayle said. “If you could show Professor Briggs an appropriate amount of respect by not interrupting him or jumping in to correct him, I would very much appreciate it.”
He put emphasis on ‘very much’, in a way that insinuated Hayle might have me put down if I didn’t shut up.
“I’m showing Professor Briggs respect by not letting him make a mistake that would reflect badly on him.”
Hayle didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes promised consequences.
“Why wouldn’t it work?” Briggs asked.
“He knows very well who you are, what the Academy is, and what you’re capable of. He’s clever, and he’s positioned everything in such a way that you’ll pay in spades for anything you do to him. Kill him, and you martyr him.”
“As I said, we can handle riots.”
“And as I said,” I pointed out, without missing a beat, “He’s not concerned with being inconvenient. He’s set on making himself convenient, entirely essential to the smooth running of Radham.”
I didn’t dare look away from Briggs, in case he took it to mean I was weak, but I was pretty sure Hayle was ready to kill me. One didn’t generally debate with Professor Briggs. He had the clout and power to handle most problems in a direct means. He probably could handle this situation by throwing everything he had at it, and he wouldn’t regret the aftermath, messy as it might be.
“Explain,” Briggs said.
It was Gordon who explained. “He’s been planting seeds and nourishing them in key people. Yes, if you have him killed, you’ll have riots. But things don’t end there. He’s reached some of your students. He’s reached major figures across the city. He’s playing a game of chess, and he’s laid out the board so you can’t take one of his pieces without his taking two of yours.”
“We have more pieces,” Briggs said. The man didn’t even flinch.
He was fully prepared to wage a war if it came down to it.
“We have more pieces, but he has an agenda,” I said. “He’ll spread word to other cities, other Academies, because that’s how he can hurt you best. He’s already telling people about the special projects. Word might leak out in other cities, they might have problems now and again, they might even have a riot now and again, but if he makes everything go wrong, lets all the information slip, he could make Radham look like a joke.”
Looking at Briggs, he most definitely didn’t like that. I wondered if it was concern for the problem or the implication that Radham could even be a joke.
“I have to say,” Fletcher said. “One thing I like about Dog and Catcher is that they don’t talk so much.”
“The Lambs aren’t like Dog and Catcher,” Hayle said. “They are, I should stress, much better equipped to solve problems that brute force won’t answer.”
“So you say,” Professor Briggs said. He pursed his lips a little.
It looked like he was going to say something, but the doors opened.
A man in a grey coat strode into the faculty room. The room was large enough it took him a few seconds to get into earshot.
“Word got out,” the man said. “About three more escapes.”
“Three more?” Sexton asked, voice arching.
“Only one we know of, but it was visible. Large enough to be seen as it climbed the wall. Bullets wounded it but didn’t stop it. Citizens are talking about there being three, which—”
“Is a lie,” Hayle said. “Our Reverend is in full control right now.”
“How very fortunate that we had your Lambs to inform us what was really happening,” Briggs said, with a note of sarcasm. “Lambs. You can do this?”
“Yes,” Gordon said. And he was exactly the right person to say it with utter confidence.
“I’ll need some things,” Hayle said, “to better coordinate.”
My eyes widened. I jumped in. “We need two things.”
Oh, the look Hayle gave me there. I’d promised to be good, but I suspected I’d never get another chance.
“Two things?”
“Hayle might need more. But for us… badges. A way to get past the blockades and general interference.”
“Hand written notes,” Briggs said.
“With something permanent after?” I asked.
I was testing my luck, considering the tension I felt from my fellow Lambs, Hayle, and Briggs, and the incredulity on the other professor’s faces.
“Possibly,” Briggs said. “What else?”
“We need an adult,” I said.
Previous Next
Cat out of the Bag 2.6
“I will be with you shortly,” Hayle said. “Cecil, if you’d wait a moment?”
“Yes, sir,” was the answer. Cecil, then, was the doctor who had entered the faculty room to deliver the news about the false escapes.
That said, our supervisor shut the door to the faculty room with more firmness than it deserved. Where Claret Hall had been grown, the windows and doors had been put in by ordinary means, and the door chosen for this particular room was big and solid enough that it could have shattered any arm caught in between it and the frame.
It made a good slam. Hayle was not happy with me.
Our group stood out in the hallway, some of us shuffling our feet. The doctor that stood off to one side was looking at us with curiosity, but didn’t venture to say anything.
“That could have gone worse,” I commented.
There was no response.
“Professor Briggs was in an uncharacteristically good mood,” I said.
The awkward silence lingered.
“We’re going to get badges,” I said, because things were reaching the point where annoyance or anger would have been preferable to the non-answers.
I didn’t get annoyance or anger.
Silence.
“We waste so much damn time on stuff we shouldn’t,” I said. “It was a chan
ce to stop doing that. Step up our game.”
I looked at each of them in turn. Gordon was giving me a level stare, Helen seemed more preoccupied with fixing scuffed nails, and both Jamie and Lillian were avoiding my eyes. Mary looked a little confused.
This was an egg I could crack. Mary was the most obvious go-to, but I felt like going that way would stack the deck against me. The others would see through what I was trying to do, in part because it would be as transparent as all get out, and then they’d side against me. Me and maybe Mary against the four of them.
I’d lose any points I’d won with Mary if I put her in that situation.
“Helen,” I said. “You know the badges make sense. I know that you have to go through a lot of checkpoints to see Professor Ibbot, depending on where he’s working at a given point in time.”
“I do,” she said, looking up from her nails.
“Don’t engage him,” Gordon said.
“I’ll do what I want, thank you very much,” she said. Prim and proper of tone, and fully capable of using that tone as a weapon on its own. She turned her gaze to me. “You forget that in dealing with Professor Ibbot, I have to deal with very capricious personalities. I know what it means to deal with powerful people.”
You mean you have to deal with his personality.
“I didn’t forget,” I said, sullenly. “I was trying to downplay that part of things.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “Professor Hayle is more reasonable than most. He can’t blame you too much.”
“Too much,” I said.
“Can I ask?” Mary cut in. “Why is everyone acting like Sy is going to die or something?”
Thank you for forcing some discourse, I thought.
“You can ask, but we’ve got company,” Gordon said, indicating the man that Hayle had called Cecil. “It would be unwise to go into details.”
Damn you for shutting down said discourse.
“Excuse me?” the man asked, archly. Teacher, doctor, gray coat, whatever we called him, he’d grown accustomed to a general degree of respect. Being shut out of a discussion between children was a few rungs below where he was used to being.
“Beg pardon. We’ve been asked to keep silent on certain subjects while we do errands for the faculty, sir,” Gordon said. He feigned a lack of confidence. “If that’s okay?”