The House of Grey- Volume 3

by Earl, Collin

  “What does Baroty look like?”

  Casey’s eyebrow shot up in a perfect replica of Monson’s signature expression. “Why do you ask?”

  Monson had to wonder if he always looked that stupid when he did it. “Well, if he’s one of the founders of The Baroty Conglomerate, then he was one of my grandfather’s partners.”

  “Yeah, that is certainly true.”

  Monson checked the immediate surroundings just make sure that no one was listening. “Beyond that I just want to see a picture of him. You know? Maybe seeing his face will jog my memory.”

  “Hmm…,” said Casey, slightly perplexed. “Well, I guess it couldn’t hurt. Let’s take a look.”

  Casey pulled up a browser window on his phone. The home page of iGoogle loaded and he tapped on the images link of the search engine. Once that page loaded, he typed in “Christopher Baroty” and tapped search on the mini-keyboard.

  Many images came up-thousands in fact. Casey started choosing different ones at random. “You know what’s odd?”

  Monson’s head shook from side to side. “No, Case, what?”

  “Now that I think about it, I’ve never seen a picture of-”

  “You won’t find anything, Casey.”

  Apparently finished with his phone call, Artorius caught up to them in time to anticipate the rest of Casey’s thought.

  “Why’s that?” asked Casey, sounding a little befuddled.

  “Christopher Baroty hasn’t been seen in public in, like, ten years-ever since his partner, who we now know to be Monson’s grandfather, left the business.”

  Monson and Casey gawked at the new information. “What? Why? And how is it possible that someone that high-profile hasn’t been seen in public?”

  “It’s actually not that hard to believe,” said Artorius, his eyes now back on his phone. “The Baroty Conglomerate is part investment company. Yeah, the guy is loaded, but who isn’t these days?”

  “I’m not,” answered Monson wryly. “And neither are most of the other seven billion people on this planet.”

  Artorius scowled. “You know what I mean, Grey. Baroty isn’t like the Oprahs of the world. He makes his money not on public exposure but through serious business practices. Actually, I’d assume that a certain amount of discretion would be desirable.”

  Monson harrumphed. He guessed that Artorius’ explanation was as good as any. What did he know about the business world? Still, the idea that there was not a single photograph available made Monson very suspicious. It made Monson feel like Baroty was hiding something.

  “I still don’t understand why you care so-whoa now!”

  Casey and Monson split apart as Ignace came barreling around the corner, moving like a poltergeist running from a priest. The girl was obviously distressed. She halted just before she crashed into them.

  “Whoa there, little darlin’.” Monson grimaced; he hated it when Casey used that stupid accent. “Better be careful, now. Wouldn’t want to have an accident, now would ya?”

  Ignace shook her head as if the thought of even speaking would cause her to lose her lunch.

  She stepped through them and left without saying a word.

  The three boys watched her go, disquieted by the event.

  “You know, she’s a bit of an odd one,” said Casey as they started again.

  “That’s rich coming from you, Case,” answered Artorius as he once again started to play with his phone.

  “Shut up Arthur.”

  “How many times do I have to ask you not to call me Arthur?”

  Casey contorted his face which gave him the appearance of an irritated weasel. “At least once more.”

  “Hey guys?”

  “Cassius, I think it’s about time I give you that beating that you are so desperately in need of.”

  “Guys.”

  “OK, Arthur. I would destroy you and you know it.”

  “GUYS!”

  “WHAT GREY?” they answered in unison.

  “Have you guys seen my phone?”

  Casey and Artorius stared at him, then glanced at each other. A huge grin broke out on Artorius’ face and Casey sighed.

  “I know you had it this morning. Remember I updated your firmware with a new operating system?”

  Monson struggled to remember. Which he found difficult because although he was awake, he was not really present. His mind was on other things.

  “Are you sure you didn’t leave it in Ms. Blake’s class?” asked Casey.

  Monson’s lip dipped and his head tilted. “I suppose that’s as good a place as any to start looking. I’m going to run back and see if I can find it.”

  Artorius and Casey nodded and continued walking, though Casey did yell after him: “You’d better hurry, Grey! Professor Masters isn’t exactly forgiving when it comes to being late.”

  Monson threw up a wave acknowledging Casey’s words. He ran back towards Ms. Miranda Blake’s classroom.

  ***

  Monson arrived to find the door closed. Stupid. He should have expected that. There was probably another class in the room. He cursed his luck. Now not only could he not look for his phone but he would have to do push-ups in front of the whole class for being late to Professor Masters’ class. Brilliant. It was turning into a really sucky day.

  He sighed. Maybe he really would ditch class, go back to his room, and sleep.

  In a last-ditch effort to salvage the trip, he looked through the small square window in Ms. Blake’s door. If he was able to grab her attention, just maybe she would be willing to help him out.

  He peered through the window of an empty classroom.

  “Nice,” said Monson aloud. He popped open the door and moved back towards his seat. He searched around the desk and immediate area. No cell phone. Now that was a problem. That phone was probably expensive; it was not like he had tons of money to replace it.

  No, it’s too early to give up, Monson thought. Think. Where could it be? OK, let’s consider the possibilities.

  He knew that he had his phone this morning. Casey was sure of that. So if he had his phone this morning, he knew that it was not in his room. That only left a couple of different options. One, he had dropped it along the way from The Barracks to The GM’s dining hall or from the dining hall to Ms. Blake’s classroom. Two, he had left it in the dining hall and it was still there or someone picked up from there. Or three, he had left it here and someone picked it up.

  Would someone have stolen it? While the likelihood of someone in a rich school needing to steal a phone was remote, he had to consider the prospect. He did have both Cyann’s and Taris’ contact information in there. There were more than a few people who wanted to get their hands on those little tidbits of data. But he did not want to automatically assume that one of his classmates had stolen his phone. Instead, he decided to go ahead and assume that someone picked it up for him and just put it away.

  A glimmer of hope boiled from within. He sprang back into action, ran over and rounded the corner of Ms. Blake’s desk. Teachers had offices elsewhere on campus but if he was lucky he would-

  Monson pulled open the top drawer of Ms. Blake’s desk and sure enough, there was his phone.

  He beamed as he picked it up. Finally, something had gone his way.

  He froze, as voices outside the classroom grew louder. A group of people, a large one from the sound of it, was coming down the hall. The voices sounded adult, most likely teachers. No-there were too many to be just teachers-class was already in session.

  Monson listened carefully. At least two of the voices, maybe more, sounded familiar, but who were the other blokes? Blokes? Where did that Cockney word come from? He rolled his eyes. Casey and his stupid accents.

  The voices were closing in on the classroom where he was standing with his hand in the teacher’s desk. The teacher’s desk! Holy crap, he was so hosed.

  “Calm down,” whispered Monson to himself. “You haven’t done anything wrong. OK, maybe going into Ms. Blake’s
desk without permission was not one of your top ten smartest moments but it was just to look for your phone.” He was not trying to pry or steal anything or something like that.

  Regardless of that fact, Monson hid. He hid like a child trying to avoid a spanking. He threw himself under Ms. Blake’s massive desk, landing against a cluttered box of what appeared to be wigs and other costume items. It was a good thing he did, too, as a half-second later the door to the classroom swung open.

  “So this is your classroom?” A familiar voice, heavy and husky, peppered the air as a weighted set of footsteps struck the floor. Many other sets of footsteps followed, including the clip-clap of a woman’s heels. Ms. Blake was with them. It was her classroom, after all, and she always wore heels. Monson thought it probably made her feel pretty, Ms. Blake and her small black dress with her bright red shoes. Taris always said it was important to have that splash of color.

  The reality of the situation sank in and Monson almost hauled off and smacked himself. He was hiding under a desk in a teacher’s room after ditching class and rifling through said teacher’s desk. Yet, instead of thinking about what he was doing and how much trouble he would be in, he was thinking about splashes of color and shoes. Stupid, stupid, stupid-he really was an idiot.

  “Yes, this is my classroom.” The clip-clap of heels came closer to the desk. “But you already know that. You know where I work. What’s the real reason you’re here?”

  The man with the heavy voice chuckled. “What else? Business. My plans have been pushed back because of the disaster last May. Now that my brother has…relocated, we have to order our affairs-first the mundane, then the special interest projects. We stick to the business plan. You know how these things work.”

  Ms. Blake sounded both concerned and unsure. “I suppose, but to come all the way here? It’s dangerous, you know. I assume you heard what happened to the Diamond right under our noses. Even with the security team here. What are you going to do if you’re attacked?”

  “Attacked? Me? Don’t be silly. There isn’t anyone who can hurt me. I’m at my peak.” The man with heavy footsteps made his way towards the desk.

  “You’re at your peak? I find that hard to believe. The incident at the bridge left you weak and you know it.”

  “That was then, my dear. You know what they say.” He didn’t know why, but Monson thought the way the man placed a heavy emphasis on the word they was as if he was referring to another species. “Time heals all infirmities. But enough about my health, let me see your latest work. I’m excited to see what you’ve accomplished. I hate to see all my investment go to waste.”

  “As you wish, but we must hurry. The assembly is soon and Ms. Green is dying to meet you. Just let me get a few examples from my desk. I keep the various pieces in different locations for obvious reasons.”

  The clicking of Miranda Blake’s shoes was like the sliding snap of a twelve-gauge shotgun. He was screwed. Totally and completely screwed. She was going to catch him and flay him alive. Well, at least his appearance could not get any worse.

  “STOP MAKING JOKES!” flashed through his head.

  Stocking-covered legs came into view as Miranda stepped behind her desk. She moved closer to the opening in a very ladylike way. She started to squat down, bending at the knees and leaning forward. Her entire body minus her head was visible now, but she was jittery like she was under a huge spotlight. Nevertheless, a hand very slowly reached towards him.

  Monson froze. Of course, whatever the heck she was searching for had to be under the desk. His head fell to his knees. He was not sure how much more of this he could handle.

  He closed his eyes and waited for the explosion that was surely coming.

  Nanoseconds turned into seconds, seconds turned into minutes. Nothing happened. Did he dare open his eyes?

  What could he lose at this point? His eyes opened slowly, moving the width of an eyelash at a time. He was being melodramatic, he knew this, yet he felt inclined anyway, as the image of Ms. Blake reaching out a hand to touch scarred, cracking skin or her staring in from the front of the desk consumed him. Ironically enough, in hiding under the desk, he had chosen the one course of action that would make this situation go from bad to worse. If Ms. Blake found him, best-case scenario was him earning the title of pervert. Worse-case scenario… never mind, he did not even want to think about the worse-case scenario. In a single moment of either bravery or stupidity-Monson was not sure which-he fully opened his eyes.

  He almost started to laugh.

  The situation was about the furthest thing from funny possible. He was skipping class, in a classroom without a teacher, trapped under a desk, holding a stolen item. A thief and a pervert-that’s what they would call him, a thief and a pervert. He wondered if he could land a jail cell with a window.

  Monson actually said a prayer of thanks to that ever-so-elusive god. He had two reasons to be thankful. First, he did not laugh. Praise them all, Allah, Buddha, Christ, and every other one that he could think of. Second, for the scandalous dresses sold at the Coren Valley Emporium. Maybe he should write a letter to the CEO.

  Ms. Blake was struggling, contorting her body like a snake on a pole. Monson watched in fascination as she dipped and undulated in her kneeling position, trying with all her power to obtain an object that lay just beyond her reach. This was not the reason that Monson almost started laughing, however. Not in the least. His reasoning was much simpler and probably more childish. Monson almost broke into mind-numbing laughter because of the obstacle that Ms. Blake was currently facing while trying to search for something-her dress. She apparently could not find a way of bending over without flashing the group watching her. Before now, on more than one occasion, Monson wondered how Miranda Blake managed to avoid this sort of trouble, considering her style of dress. Not that she was a poster child for modern-day debauchery; far from it. The woman was just a bit too pretty for her own good. Being as attractive as she was made her choice of clothing a bit more suggestive than it might be on someone else. Now, however, Monson was shouting the praises of whatever perverted Coren University board member let that one pass, even if her writhing figure made him feel the need to avert his eyes for the time being.

  Ms. Blake struggled for a few more minutes, during which Monson found himself blushing furiously. Then a heavenly voice played over the intercom, nourishing his ears like manna from heaven.

  “Attention, all staff and students. Please make your way to the Coliseum for a special assembly. Attendance is mandatory. Detention for violators-no matter the reason. Thank you.”

  “Shoot,” said Ms. Blake snapping her fingers. “Well, I’ll have to show you a bit later.”

  The heavy-voiced man grunted as the others of their party grumbled in low irritated tones. Heavy Voice sounded amused. “Whatever you say, Miranda.”

  They did not waste another second. Ms. Blake stood up, smoothed her skirt, and walked briskly to the door, clip-clapping the whole way there. The others quickly followed. The door closed with a slam.

  Monson let out his pent-up tension. He jumped, bumping his head, when his phone rang.

  Monson made a mental note to change his phone settings to vibrate for like the rest of eternity. He didn’t want to think what would have happened if the phone rang while he was still under the desk.

  Monson answered the phone, rubbing his head as he spoke. “Hello?”

  It was Casey.

  “I see you found your phone.”

  Monson rolled his eyes just as they started to water. “Thank you, Captain Obvious. Do you have any more morsels of information for me or did you just call to cite the obvious?”

  “You said obvious twice in one sentence.”

  “Casey!”

  “Chill dude, I was just wondering where you are. So I ask the question: Where are you? It’s about that time. You aren’t going to want to miss this. Supposedly they’re going to tell us what the heck is going on. ”

  “Whatever, I’m on my way. Save
me a seat.” Monson ended the call.

  He did his best to remove himself from under the desk, but quickly became frustrated. He closed his eyes as he stood up. He was stressed, irritated, and now his head hurt. He kicked the box of wigs. It slid out from under the desk, but only barely.

  Why was it so heavy?

  As so often happened, his curiosity flared and overcame his aggravation. He debated with himself.

  You just missed a close call. Do you really want to take a chance getting caught doing this?

  Oh come on, nobody is going to know. They’re all going to the Coliseum, right? Just a little peek isn’t going to hurt anyone.

  Yes it is, you should get out of here right now-

  Shut up you pansy.

  Monson knocked his forehead a few times then shook it vigorously. He was arguing with himself. Wow, the evidence that he was crazy sure was stacking up.

  He decided that there could not be any harm in just a quick look.

  He slid the box out and placed a hand on one of the wigs. That group did not come here to see a bunch of wigs. So there had to be something besides the wigs, which also explained why the dumb box was so freaking heavy. He pulled the hair away in one jerky movement.

  He gazed curiously at the remaining contents of the box. Dolls. The box was brimming with dolls. But not just any dolls; delicate statuettes, perfectly painted in the likenesses of their life-size models. Soldiers from every era-Greek, Roman and Egyptian, just to name a few-and animals of every size, many real but most mythical, were in the box. While the miniature replicas of Roman gods and goddess stood out the most, all of the pieces sparkled with breathtaking detail. Monson made to grab one when another of the dolls caught his attention.

  It was a miniature copy of a schoolgirl in a Coren University uniform. The detail was absolutely exquisite. Monson wondered if Ms. Blake made these they were under her desk after all. If she did make them, why was she not teaching Art instead of English?

  Monson grabbed the statuette, intending to examine its dark hair and tawny eyes.

  Unexpectedly, something zapped him like a spark from an electrical outlet. To his own horror, he dropped the figurine. He tried to grab for it, but his reaction was slow and the small statue landed in the box.