Grrrr
“Maximus, come, leave Wenerly be. I already know he’s suspicious.”
Grrrr
“Maximus!”
The dog flinches and darts across the room and sits next to his master’s feet.
Pard rolls his eyes, charming little ugly monster, then they circle Yitch’s office, a room he had hoped he’d never have to enter, and unfortunately his hopes are now dashed as he stands at the precipice, about to get interrogated about the cat he may have played a roll in electrifying the prior night. Pard’s eyes nervously dance around the room, a room so filled with fancy things it’s almost too hard to process in his mind. The office is more akin to a small museum than it is to a headmaster’s office at a private school. Yitch’s office is at least three times larger than anything Pard would imagine as normal for an office. And it is more like the size of one of the small lecture halls on the first floor. Brilliant, shiny suits of armor stand sentry on either side of the door. Portraits and landscapes painted by some of Vetlinue’s most renowned masters hang on the stone or birchwood-paneled walls. Pard recognizes a few paintings from plates in one of the art books he recently read. A Panoramic window looks out over the front of the castle and Greysin Lake, similar to Pard’s view, though this view is as if you are flying in the clouds and the glass fills up a good portion of the entire far wall. Glass display cases full of ancient texts and golden trinkets and ruby-encrusted swords and opals and emeralds are smartly arranged around the room to impress all who enter.
“Set your books by the door and get over here!” Yitch says from behind his desk, a good forty paces away from where Pard is still rooted in place.
Pard places his large stack of books on the floor then creeps forward, glancing at every painting and display case as he passes them by. He heard rumors of the ancient artistic wonders and treasure Yitch kept in his office, and under different circumstances, he would love to visit and see them all, that is as long as Yitch didn’t come with the tour.
Pard raises his foot, about to step on an eight-by-ten foot intricately woven white-and-green rug depicting several family crests intertwined with ivy and flowers.
Yitch leaps out of his mahogany throne-like chair and his eyes shoot open. “Not the rug!”
Pard, his weight already leaning forward, steps on a crest with a castle inside of a shield and intertwined with thorny vines. Pard’s face drops and his leg locks in place, grinding his sole into the fabric.
Yitch gasps. “I said not the rug!”
Pard shifts his weight and lifts his foot, stepping off the rug. Who puts a rug on the floor that you’re not supposed to step on? That’s stupid.
Yitch motions his hand in a circular manner. “Go around it, Wenerly, that’s my rug of Yitch, depicting the lineages of Yitch and it doesn’t need your grimy shoes stepping on it. Now hurry up and get over here, I don’t have all day.”
Pard scoots around the side of the rug and scurries forward as he stares at the headmaster’s desk. He places his hand on the back of a finely carved wooden chair and lowers his body to sit.
“Not the chair,” Yitch says.
Pard wobbles half-bent over and awkwardly rises back to a standing position.
“Wenerly, do you know why you’re here?”
“Sort of.”
“And what sort of do you know? The sort of that you know what happened to my darling Nero last night? A rare breed of Lynxus-grafelinalia that is worth more than ten Pard Wenerly’s. Or the sort of that I now have the evidence I need for your expulsion from the finest school in all of Vetlinue?” Yitch leans forward and growls. “My school.”
“Umm—” Pard lost for words, glances away, fixing his eyes on a painting of a snow-capped mountain. I wish I was sort of on that peak right now, instead of sort of in here with the condor and his stinky jadaisies.
Yitch leans back in his throne and clasps his hands, clanging together two gaudy gold rings, one on each hand. “Indeed umm. You’re lucky the previous headmaster took pity on your kind. I on the other hand don’t pity the unworthy when it comes to station or academics. But in either case, for far to long, you’ve gotten to stay here at Fairstone on a technicality, one that can only be overturned by the student perpetrating a crime or for gross transgressions against the school. And in this case I have grounds for your expulsion on both articles. This is your counseling on the matter so you will understand the process going forward. You will not speak on this matter to anyone outside of the hearing or this office. You will appear sometime next week in my office in front of the Fairstone Council. At that time, evidence will be presented on your guilt and punishment. Once the sentence is rendered, you will be vacated from the school’s premises, forever. Do you understand me, Wenerly?”
“Umm—” Pard, thinking this was only an inquiry, is ill prepared to make a case for his innocence. “Sir, but I didn’t do whatever you are accusing me of.”
“Do I look stupid to you?”
Pard thinks on his answer for a second, wanting to say, yes, but that wouldn’t help his case. “Umm, no, headmaster, you don’t look stupid. But still, I didn’t do the things you think I did.”
Yitch curls his lips in disdain and slides open his desk drawer. He removes a crumpled piece of paper, opens it, and holds it in front of Pard. “Do you recognize this?”
Pard’s heart sinks as he eyes his sketch of Yitch swooping over a Fairstone turret and him shooting an arrow at the headmaster.
Yitch shakes the drawing. “I asked you, do you recognize this?”
“Yes, but—but I didn’t mean anything by it. Every boy in the school draws stuff like that.”
“So you admit you have seen this drawing?”
“Yes—but—”
“Do you know where this drawing was found, Wenerly?”
Pard lowers his gaze as it hits him, Shit, the west wing, I missed it.
“Speak up.”
“I don’t know, headmaster.”
“It was found near my precious Nero.” Yitch’s lips twitch, and he looks over Pard’s head and stares at a portrait of himself holding the fat tabby, a gold chain around the cat’s neck. Yitch dabs the corner of his eye with a red silk handkerchief. “My poor, poor Nero, only a monster would hurt that loving creature.” His face transitions from sadness into a scowl, and he glares at Pard. “What did my Nero ever do to you, Wenerly?”
“I-I—”
Yitch pounds his fist on his desk. “What did my Nero ever do to you!”
“Sir, I didn’t—”
“I have witnesses!”
Yitch’s words hit Pard hard. Blaine and Nox and Sully told—I’m so screwed. “I don’t know, headmaster.”
Yitch sinks back in his velvet-cushioned throne. “I saw you, Wenerly, over a year ago on the Fairstone grounds. You and your little light show. I know exactly what you are and what you did to my Nero. I took precautions in case of just such an event. And now I may have all the concrete proof I need, but I can’t expel you until the council convenes and renders the final decision when all the evidence is presented. Until then you are confined to class, the dining hall, and your room. Now get out of my office. The sight of you turns my stomach, leave.”
Pard sighs and turns around, not looking at Yitch, his eyes lock on the birch floor in shame, he moves forward with choppy steps. His foot touches the edge of the Yitch lineage rug, and he catches himself before stepping on it. Pard jumps to the right, well away from the rug, and then walks along the wall, not wanting to offend Yitch and make his situation any worse. He moves forward, the lonely walk to the door taking an eternity. Pard is lost in his thoughts, unsure of what he will do or where he will go once he’s kicked out of Fairstone. His heart sinks further thinking how disappointed his parents would be in him.
“Watch out!” Yitch says, leaping out of his throne and pointing at Pard.
Pard bumps into the end of a mahogany display case resting against the wall. “Shoot—” Pard’s sweaty palms press flat against the
glass as his body folds over the top. His disheveled reflection peers back at him off the surface, and right in front of his nose, inside the display case, resting on a flat white marble block, a gold locket embossed with a leafless Ida tree.
THE LOWER LORD OF THE NORTH
Pard races through the corridor and away from Yitch’s office.
Ding, Ding—
The Fairstone bell tower chimes.
Nine, dang it, I’m supposed to be in Professor Videl’s class. Pard dodges a group of older boys, each of them quickly jump out of his way to avoid contact, and then they stare at him with uneasy eyes, apparently also hearing the rumor that Pard can electrify them if they get touched.
Pard shakes his head, and is caught between worrying about getting to class on time, his trial, the students thinking he has a killer touch, his expulsion, what Yitch thinks or knows what he is, even though he doesn’t know what he is, and why his mother’s necklace, or at least a necklace that looks like his mother’s, is now displayed in Yitch’s office. Pard bares down on the math class door ahead. Well, on a positive note, the boy’s of Fairstone think I’ll electrocute them, at least I’ll get to class almost on time, so at least I have that going for me.
Pard pushes open the door leading into Professor Videl's math lecture hall and slips inside the room.
All eyes in the back half of the room fall onto Pard and follow him as he moves forward to the front row to his desk. Pard avoids the students’ stares and the whispers and focuses on his seat.
“Class,” Professor Videl says, raising his arthritic finger, “five hundred words on Galen’s law and how it can help you solve Dreegan’s ten proofs. You have thirty minutes, now begin.”
The class groans and a chorus of shuffling papers reverberates throughout the lecture hall.
Pard slides into his seat and sets his stack of textbooks on the floor next to him. Sweat pools on his brow, and he leans back in his chair to catch his breath as he stares at the far wall of the portraits of all the past Fairstone advanced mathematics teachers.
Professor Videl exits through a private door in the front of the classroom which leads to his office. And as if by magic, the moment the professor’s door clicks shut, a wadded piece of paper strikes Pard in the back of his head. Just ignore them, ignore them, ignore them.
“Psst—” a boy says behind Pard.
Ignore them, ignore them
“Psst—” the boy says again.
Pard, unable to control himself any longer, scowls and spins around in his chair. “What do you want?”
A crumpled up piece of paper bounces of the bridge of Pard’s nose.
Pard clinches his teeth, and Nox, condescending, tilts his head to the side, smiles, and waves at him. How the heck did this idiot get into advanced mathematics anyway? Pard turns away, lowers his head, and writes his essay.
A couple hours later, class lets out and Pard makes straight for the sanctuary of his room on the fourth floor. But as he reaches the spiral marble staircase rising from the main foyer up to the upper floors, Miles jumps in front of Pard to block his path.
“Hey,” Miles says.
“Hey what?” Pard says, still climbing the stairs and attempting to slide by Miles.
“I need your help with something.”
“What kind of something?”
“Advanced mathematics.”
“What about it?”
“I need you to tutor me.”
“No.”
“Hey, come on now, why not?” Miles says, continuing to step up the stairs backward and matching every move Pard makes side to side, and still keeping his body in front of Pard.
Pard corrals his stack of books into one arm and swats at Miles with the other. “Because I can’t. Now move.”
“Is this about the electric light and the cat? Because I was just kidding with you. Actually, I think it’s kinda cool.”
“No, and it’s not cool.”
Miles opens his arms. “Then what is it? Come on, I need your help, professor, you’re like the smartest student in this whole school.”
“Find someone else to tutor you. I’m not interested.”
“But I want you.” Miles sticks his arm out and stiff arms Pard in his shoulder to stop him. “You know who I am, right? Who my father is?”
“So what, am I supposed to be impressed?”
Surprised, Miles’s jaw drops, and he lowers his arm. “Well, yeah, sort of. Everyone else is impressed with my father.”
“Then have them tutor you, because I’m busy.” Pard nudges past Miles and ascends the stairs.
Miles, still in shock someone would blow him off, isn’t sure how to react. Then he shakes his head, snapping out of his amazement, and he races up the stairs after Pard. “Hey, wait up!”
Pard peeks back. “Forget about it, I said find a different tutor. I’m not interested.”
Miles grabs Pard’s shoulder and makes him stop again.
A group of boys laugh and joke as they skip down the stairs, then slow and go silent as they reach Pard.
Their eyes glare at Pard as if he’s diseased, and Miles let’s go of Pard’s shoulder and nods at the boys as they pass.
Gor, an imposing boy, towering above his comrades and with red hair making him even more striking, turns around and stares at Pard and then at Miles. “Marlow, the harpastum match is later after arms training, you in? We’re gonna practice on the north field after lunch if you’re interested.”
“I’ll be there.”
Gor gives Pard a quizzical look.
Miles shrugs and flicks his head toward Pard. “Advanced mathematics question.”
Gor nods, Miles’s explanation sufficient, he turns away and descends the rest of the stairs.
Pard seizes the opportunity of Miles’s distraction to escape.
Miles realizes Pard is fleeing and his athletic legs spring forward, propelling his body up the stairs after Pard. Free from a stack of heavy textbooks, it makes it easy for Miles to catch up. He lunges up the stairs two at a time until he is right next to Pard.
Pard glances to the side. “Don’t you ever give up?”
“No.” Miles gives Pard a cocky grin. “I am a lower lord of the North, and we don’t give up so easily.”
“Okay, lower lord of the North, I’m still not tutoring you. I don’t have time, besides, I may not even be at this school much longer the way things are going.”
“The whole Yitch and the cat thing?”
“Yeah, the cat thing.”
“Well, you didn’t do it, did you?”
Pard snaps to a stop and mockingly tilts his head to the side. “What do you think?”
Miles mimics Pard as he scans Pard’s face. “I’m still deciding, professor.”
Pard snorts and turns away.
Miles snaps forward and grips Pard’s robe at the neckline.
“Hey! What are you doing?” Pard jerks away.
“Hold still or it will rip.”
“Let go of me, Miles.”
Miles slips down the neckline exposing the black circular mark singed on Pard’s back. Miles immediately lets go of the fabric and backs away. His jaw drops and eyes widen. “No way, holy shit.”
Pard, startled, stumbles to the side and bounces off the marble bannister, almost falling over and dropping his stack of books. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Professor, you’re a seeros.”
“A what?”
“A seeros. Ha, you’ve got to be joking. The smartest kid in this whole school and I know something you don’t, nice.” Pleased with himself, Miles rubs his chest with his knuckles.
Pard adjusts his books and again ascends the stairs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never heard of any seeros.”
Miles follows Pard. “Dang, so you really fried Yitch’s cat, bummer.”
Pard sneers at Miles. “If you’re so sure, then what makes you think I won’t fry you?”
Miles stutter steps as Pard’s
words hit him. “Umm—” He shakes it off and races up the stairs.
Pard reaches the fourth floor and makes a sharp left turn down the corridor leading to his room.
“Humph,” Miles says, striding with head held high, “so this is what the servant’s floor looks like. I’ve never been up here.”
Pard doesn’t look or respond to Miles.
Miles jumps in front of Pard and strides backward. He tilts his head to the side in an annoying way as if a toddler wanting to play and won’t leave you alone until he gets his way. “So what do you say, tutor me?”
Pard nudges by Miles as he reaches the end of the hallway. “I can’t leave my room except for class and dining hours.”
“And who made those rules?”
Pard slides his key into the lock. “Yitch.”
“So you obey Lord Yitch’s rules and be the nob. Here I thought you were one of the cool kids that didn’t give a lick what he thinks.”
“I don’t.”
“Then tutor me?”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
Pard leans in, mocking Miles. “Well we need somewhere to go in the castle if I’m going to tutor you, lower lord of the North.”
Miles chuckles. “Tutor? In the castle? No way, I can’t let anyone know I’m getting tutored, and especially by you.”
Pard furrows his brow and opens his bedroom door. “And what’s wrong with me?”
Miles backs away. “Nothing, nothing’s wrong with you. But I still have a reputation to uphold and I can’t let people know I’m getting tutored, it’s embarrassing, I should just know this stuff. We have to leave the castle grounds—staying in Fairstone is too risky.”
“What, are you deaf? I just told you I can only be in my room or in class or in the dining hall, and tomorrow is the weekend, so basically I have to be in my room unless I eat. I already agreed to tutor you, which I don’t know how that happened, and now you want me to leave the castle? We can just study in my room.”
Miles scans Pard’s small room. “Hmm, I don’t know, no, no I don’t think so, kinda tiny, and chilly.” He tries a different strategy. “Hey, look, if you leave the castle, no one will see you in the castle, so that means you can be out and about normal as always. See? It works out for both of us.”
The Ruens of Fairstone (Aeon of Light Book 2) Page 5
