Twig

by wildbow

  ☙

  We left the dining hall, and Lillian was hugging my arm with both of hers. She seemed to bounce as she walked. I’d been unable and unwilling to interject as she and her mother talked. My shoulder hurt while I held the coats with one arm, but it was a minor price for the feeling of her so close.

  There were nice things about girls, things the older orphans and mice talked about when they wouldn’t be overheard and they wanted the group to validate their burgeoning manliness. Skin and underwear and all manner of body parts, lewd words and acts. So often, I tuned it out and didn’t even listen. I didn’t get it.

  This was what stirred funny feelings inside of me, seeing Lillian genuinely pleased and happy, her stresses forgotten. On other days, teasing her just to see the relief when I stopped or the smile when I made the tease worth it, turning an annoyance into a compliment or whatever else, it sufficed. I liked to get reactions of all sorts out of her, to make her squirm, laugh, or vent her feelings. But seeing her in a naturally good mood was maybe the best thing. Better than her body parts or underwear.

  It was probably because I was screwed up and stunted that my priorities lay where they did. Like Jamie had said, we were all twisted when it came to our relationships.

  She hugged her mom, who looked just as happy as she did. She then hugged her dad, who remained an ominous storm cloud.

  “Say good things about me,” Lillian said.

  “We will,” her mom said. “We want what’s best for you.”

  I stayed with Lillian as we watched them walk to the stairway.

  “Now I’m terrified,” she said.

  “You’re allowed to be terrified,” I said.

  “You got my mom to open up. You did that on purpose?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “Because your dad tried to get her to quiet down? Because of you?”

  “Whatever your reasons, I think I learned more about my mom tonight than I did in the whole rest of my life. It started off rocky, but it ended up nice. Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome,” I said, somberly.

  She bent down just a bit to give me a brief kiss.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t win over your dad. I don’t think he would’ve let me, no matter what I did, and if there was a way, I would’ve made myself ugly in your eyes.”

  She gave me another brief kiss.

  “I take it that means you’re okay with it.”

  “Remember how you hugged me earlier?” she murmured. “Holding my arms down, painfully tight?”

  “Sorry. I sort of needed a hug.”

  “No, no,” she said. Her voice dropped another degree, “I think I need that sort of hug right now. Come back to my room? I’m going to be so nervous about that meeting and about my presentation tomorrow, I don’t think I’m going to be able to sit still. It would be nice if you were there, and you could hold me tight in that way, make me be still, so I didn’t have to worry about not sitting still. And we could talk.”

  I looked over in the direction of the stairway.

  She touched my cheek, turning my head so I faced her, and gave me a kiss on the tip of the nose.

  “Ah-hem!” a woman in a gray lab coat had made the exaggerated noise, giving us a pointed look. We stepped away from each other, until we were separated by one armspan. The woman carried on her way.

  Lillian turned her head and stuck out her tongue at the woman’s back.

  If I went with Lillian now… could I even leave like that? Break away to catch the tail end of the meeting between Hayle and her parents, get the general synopsis?

  Probably not.

  Could I leave at all? I felt unsteady inside, the holes left by Jamie and Gordon leaving feelings and beliefs unstable, threatening to fold in on themselves. I’d slept in the bed with Mary and Lillian and I’d been unable to sleep, the unsteadiness and the memories keeping me up all night. I had no idea if tonight would be different, but after seeing how happy she had been, talking to her mom, I felt like it could.

  “Please,” she said.

  But tomorrow? If we had a mission and if I had to watch another Lamb die?

  “I want to more than anything,” I said. “But I sort of made other plans.”

  Wyvern helped her to hide her feelings. It had always been a weakness of hers. Still, I knew her too well for her to throw up a mid-level poker face and fool me.

  “Soon,” I said. “I won’t be long.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Do your homework and refine your ideas on that project. I’ll find you after. Then I’ll give you that hug.”

  “Okay, Sy. I look forward to it.”

  I helped her put on her jacket, and then gave her my coat too. She shot me a curious look.

  “I’ll be quick enough in getting from A to B that the cold won’t touch me, and I’ll have to come get my coat, so you know I’ll be there later. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she said. She smiled.

  I watched her walk away.

  Before she was out of earshot, I said, “Heya.”

  She turned to look at me.

  “I love you, dum-dum.”

  The smile was genuine this time, a silly, goofy smile. “I might love you too, Sy.”

  “Might?”

  “I don’t know yet. Never been in love before, to compare this feeling to.”

  “Good enough, then.”

  I watched her leave. The smile was on her face, each time she glanced back at me.

  Through the custodian’s office, down to the cellar. There was a channel that led from Claret Hall to the bowels. There was also a fixture attached to the boiler, where corpses and bodies could be stashed and quickly incinerated in an emergency, with levers and chambers attached, controlling how the contents of the fixture were treated and where the smoke went.

  The Academy had several mechanisms in place to handle crises. One of those mechanisms had to do with this boiler. There were vents and ducts throughout Claret Hall that helped to move air around, but by throwing the right switches, this fixture would burn something noxious and spread a poison through the entire building, killing people within. I could see the terminal, and I saw the spaces for the switches, each one like a key, only operating if it had a specific construction.

  But other switches were always in place. There was one that would let the smoke from the fires that fueled the boiler flow through the vents. It served as a means of handling things if and when the boggy climate of Radham led to flies and small insects collecting in Claret Hall, and with the windows open in the summer, the smoke would be allowed through with some poisonous cedar left to burn, killing off the worst of the pests.

  Throw the right switches, and smoke would flow into the side-chamber, and flow from the side chamber to the vents. I shucked off most of my clothes, neatly folded them, and set them aside, on a shelf where anyone who came in wouldn’t find them. I pulled levers slowly, eliciting metal-on-metal squeaks as I opened the way from side chamber to vents. That done, clad in only underwear, I climbed into the incinerator and braced feet against either side, making my way up the chute to the vents.

  The vents were wood, treated for pests, and, inconveniently, they were layered with about two inches of dust, whole walls of cobwebs, and punctuated with nails that the dust did a good job of hiding.

  I had explored these routes when searching for a way to get to the records room and get the individual files of the Lambs. For all my trouble, cumulative days of shuffling along these miserable corridors, dodging rusty nails and feeling spiders and academy-designed creatures climb over me, I had learned that Hayle kept those files near him at all times.

  The remainder of the trick was finding my way to the room Hayle had mentioned, which was on the top floor, meaning a lot of hazardous climbing. My memory wasn’t good, but Claret Hall had a lot of big rooms, and it made for less places to check.

  Moving slowly, adjusting my weight to squirm forward more than I pushed myself wi
th hand or knee, I approached the room where the meeting was being held. My hand cleared away dust, and I laid myself down, eye and ear on the vent that opened into the meeting room.

  I listened to the first clear sentence they’d uttered since my arrival, then the second.

  I listened, and a not insignificant piece of me broke.

  Previous Next

  In Sheep’s Clothing—10.6

  “With formalities and opening statements out of the way, I’d like to set the tone for our conversation today. Mr. Garey, we talked over the phone. For the sake of our discussion here, would you tell us if you would strenuously object if Lillian Garey was taken off the accelerated path to professorship?”

  “I would not strenuously object, Professor Hayle. As matter of fact, in our prior conversations, I’ve requested it.”

  “Good. Let’s give the record takers a second to finish—there. Alright. Why did you request this?”

  “I’m aware of the climate, Professor, and I know my daughter. In terms of politics, in what you’ve said about the cutthroat academic world, the recent war and outfighting and the continued unrest, I feel that it would be setting her up to fail. She’s young, she’s a girl in a setting dominated by men… I notice that my wife and the stitched over there taking notes are the only women in this room… and things are uneasy everywhere. My primary concern is that she would be targeted or used as a scapegoat, a fast ascent, a faster fall.”

  “And your secondary concerns, Mr. Garey?”

  “Every time I talk to her or get a letter, she tells me that she’s skipping ahead. She didn’t have to take a course because she studied well. She didn’t have to write a paper because the teacher or professor told her that her practical knowledge learned in the midst of her involvement in the special project would be sufficient. She missed classes and traveled, and you pulled strings to ensure she wouldn’t be dropped from the course.”

  “The ‘you’, for the records, is referring to Professor Hayle.”

  “Yes. Sorry about that. I’m worried that she’s moving too fast, and she’s leaving behind the fundamentals. My daughter is leading a whirlwind life, all movement, excitement, time with friends, time with boys, rushed completion of projects or clusters of tests because she was away or preoccupied.”

  “The mention of boys is one thing we can come back to in a moment,” Hayle said.

  “Ahem. Yes. For the purpose of the records, this is Professor Reid now speaking. Those here should be reminded that, much as we stated at the outset of the meeting, that Lillian Garey’s grades have ranged from significantly above average to exemplary.”

  “Thank you, Professor, but I think the thrust of Mr. Garey’s argument here isn’t about her grades or competence. Mr. Garey?”

  “I didn’t study as an Academy student or anything of the sort. I went to an ordinary school and learned my maths, cursive writing, biology, and dry sciences. There were stretches of it that were dreary, pedantic, and mind-numbing, but that dreariness and pedantry taught me skills, patience, and ways of thinking that made me a proper adult. I won’t say that being a professor is dull, by any stretch of the imagination, but it strikes me as something ordered and quiet, disciplined and stately. I don’t think she’s had an exposure to the environments or skills she needs in order to navigate this particular environment, to sit among you and maintain her place and your respect.”

  “I see what you mean now, Mr. Garey,” Reid said.

  “I envision her future, and I can’t help but see her rushing down this accelerated road to one of the highest positions an Academy scientist can hope for, and finding herself unprepared, struggling to find allies in a very political and cutthroat environment, and hitting a wall of sorts. I had dinner with her tonight, and I worry about how she acted. I almost didn’t recognize her.”

  “Mrs. Garey? You looked like you wanted to say something.”

  “I wasn’t sure if I should speak. I liked the Lillian I saw tonight. As we had tea over dessert, I remember thinking that she really did seem like someone who could and should be a professor someday. She was assertive, quick, passionate, and focused.”

  “Headstrong, narcissistic. There was something off about her mannerisms, around the eyes and the hands.”

  “She’s taking after you, Jonathan, when it comes to the eyes, the hands, and her stubbornness. There was none of the self-obsession either, she clearly cared about Sylvester, and she showed interest in me. I think she is balancing schooling and life very well.”

  “The manner Mr. Garey took note of may have been the result of chemicals.”

  “Chemicals, professor?”

  “Mind-altering drugs. Or a mind altering drug. Supplied by the boy she had dinner with.”

  “Oh, lords.”

  “Professor Hayle, do you meant to tell me—”

  “Hold on. Please. As we stated at the outset of this meeting, there are certain realities and projects that we cannot elaborate on. You’re welcome to stay, and we’re happy to have you participate in the discussion and represent your daughter, but please allow me to speak. I’d like to think about my words so I may balance what you need to hear with our need to keep certain things confidential. The alternative is to have to ask you to leave.”

  “As you wish, Professor.”

  “Thank you. The substance she imbibed is one that students across the Academy take. I’ve taken it myself, as have several of my colleagues here. We strictly moderate the use of the drug, but we do provide it to students on a controlled basis. Sylvester, by virtue of his particular focus, has access to a greater supply.”

  “Poisons and, what was it? The mind?”

  “Yes. We can’t know how long Lillian has been taking it, or how much she has been taking, but we have good reason to believe it’s well above the dosage that other students take. This is concerning.”

  “Especially,” another old man spoke, “Given a prior case, which Lillian Garey is fully aware of, where another young woman on track for a position as professor was found to be abusing the substance.”

  “The less said about that, the better. It’s possible or likely that she has been abusing the substance for some time, but her use of it has escalated to the point that she’s under its influence while meeting with her own parents in a casual setting. Giving her access to the substance was a test, and it is one she appears to have failed. We have to wonder about her performance up to this point, and whether she’s equipped to handle things, as Mrs. Garey seemed to think she was.”

  “If what you’re saying is true, then—I’m appalled, professor. I’m sorry to speak up.”

  “Not at all, Mrs. Garey. Speaking as the person managing the program and mentoring Lillian on her accelerated path, I remain both apologetic and disappointed. Unfortunately, this is only one of the two big concerns I have about her conduct as of late.”

  “There’s another?” Mr. Garey asked.

  “You already raised attention to it. The boy, Sylvester.”

  “You complimented him at dinner.”

  “Much of what I said at dinner was accurate. Sylvester is an asset. He’s clever and resourceful. He’s also something of a knave, and I have little doubt you were able to pick up on that aspect of his personality.”

  “I was able to, yes.”

  “If I were to tell you the whole truth in front of your face, then he would take offense and make himself a nuisance. I’m sure you were able to pick up on that, as well?”

  “I see your point, but I don’t see why you would go to that trouble to maintain a working relationship with a subordinate.”

  “With the best professors, the best students, and the most promising projects, there are compromises and accommodations that must oftentimes be made,” Hayle said. “Again, this fringes on the confidential. For now, we’ll have to leave it at this: I held my tongue to keep him cooperative.”

  “I’ll take your word, then, professor.”

  “He’s smart, capable, and valuable to us, an
d Sylvester has benefited from his relationship to Lillian. Lillian’s relationship with Sylvester has had its positive elements. They collaborate well. This sums up much of what I said when I spoke to you earlier tonight?”

  “Yes, Professor.”

  “Lillian’s relationship with Sylvester has its negative elements, and those elements likely outweigh the positive. That it happened in the first place and that it’s ongoing is a mark against her in her long-term prospects. The group received a lot of freedom, and they used that freedom to fraternize.”

  “Fraternize? You mean—”

  “I can’t say anything for certain. But questions have been raised, and the individual in charge of looking after the bulk of the group has obliquely remarked that the young adults have not always been sleeping in their own beds in the morning.”

  There was a fair amount of murmuring, where nothing was said to address the room.

  “I am gravely sorry for the conduct of my daughter.”

  “Universally, parents seem to blame themselves when trouble arises, and take it on themselves to levy punishment. In this case, however, I don’t think it’s fair. The Academy has raised her as much as you have.”

  “That’s true, but it doesn’t feel right to place the responsibility at your feet. She’s our daughter and our responsibility.”

  “I appreciate that, Mr. Garey.”

  “Is all of this a prelude to your dropping her from the special project?”

  “Dropping her from the special project would be costly, I think. We recently added two other students to the project, and recent months have taught us just how much there is to learn. Lillian is extraordinarily capable and arguably irreplaceable. A better idea, I think, to restructure the special project.”

  “This is Professor Sexton speaking. How are you thinking of restructuring the group?”

  “We already split it into two groups. It’s a question of light juggling to separate Lillian from Sylvester, and to keep one group away while the other is home. They’ll maintain things in a long-distance fashion for a time, and we can observe carefully to ensure they cannot reconnect. With luck, the relationship will die on its own.”