Chapter Two
If the incident with the spy was a surprise, what awaited me in the headmaster’s office was a shock.
As soon as we entered the gothic confines of the main hall, the dean maneuvered me around so he could push me across the polished marbled floor, instead of dragging me. Teachers and students, none of whom I could call friend, stopped and watched as I was marched up the grand stairs. The hall echoed with the buzz of whispered comments and the hiss of gas lamps. The sound reminded me of a hive of angry bees.
The stairs split at a landing with the double doors of the headmaster’s office being directly at the top of the left hand flight. As we approached, Ambrose propelled me forward. Stumbling, I slammed against the doors and clutched the large brass handles for support, but my momentum drove them down, releasing the latching mechanism.
As I fell, I heard the double crash of the doors striking the walls and the cursing of Dean Ambrose. I glimpsed Headmaster Hunninger in the gap between the two high-backed chairs that sat in front of his desk. The expression on his face was that of someone who had been caught with his hand in the mince pie as he anxiously slid a leather pouch from the desktop. Then my chin struck the hard wood floor, sending a lightning a bolt of pain through my skull.
I couldn't see the headmaster from my prone position, but I heard him mask his anxiety with indignation. “Dean Ambrose, what is the meaning of this… this intrusion?”
“It’s Fallon, sir. I found these in his room.” I heard the dean slam the papers onto the desk. "They’re pages from some Solarist propaganda!”
I raised my head enough to see the dean standing in the gap between the two chairs.
“And how could Solarist propaganda get within the walls of the Mount?” It was a woman’s voice.
The dean was as startled as I. He turned to his right and looked at the chair from which the voice had emanated.
“I apologize, Headmaster. I did not realize you had a guest.”
“A very distinguished guest, Ambrose. Missus Grier from Primacittá.”
Grier? I knew the name held rank in Primacittá, which was the oldest and largest settlement on Neworld, as well as in Agricittá, the settlement where the Mount was located. Built on the very rim of the Basin, Primacittá was several days distant from Agricittá. She must be on important business to have come so far.
“I beg your pardon, Madame.” Dean Ambrose bowed awkwardly to the guest then timidly backed away from the desk until he was behind my range of vision.
When I gathered myself into a kneeling position, I saw the woman. She was elderly, maybe 40 cycles, and stern looking. She had turned and was glaring down at me through dark eyes set into what might best be called an alabaster face. Judging by her attire and bearing, she was a wealthy city dweller — a very wealthy city dweller. You’d expect the face of such a person to be pale, but something about her looks did not fit. Her silver hair was unusually short, almost mannish in its cut, and her face was etched and weathered by the elements as if she were an agrarian from the fields.
The woman turned back to face the headmaster. “May I look at those?” All I could see was a tight, beaded sleeve of her black satin dress and her bejeweled hand gesturing toward the sheaf of papers on the desk. Another detail didn't fit. Her nails were trimmed short like those of a manual laborer.
The headmaster handed the lady the sheaf. As she leafed through the papers, she said, “This is the very boy about whom we spoke, is it not?”
“Yes, Missus Grier. This is the boy you want. This is Fallon.” The headmaster, who was a short, stout man, half-stood, then leaned forward across his desk and addressed me. “Get up, boy! Show Missus Grier what a healthy, strapping young man you are.”
As I struggled to my feet, the headmaster resumed his seat and spoke past me. “You are excused, Ambrose.”
“Well… um… of course, sir. I dare say.”
“And close the doors behind you.”
“Yes, sir.”
When the doors clicked shut, the headmaster leaned back in his chair. He smiled broadly at the lady. “If you approve, he’s yours.”
“I’m what?”
“Quiet, Fallon. Let Missus Grier have a look at you.”
“Have a look at me? I don’t understand.”
The woman set the papers on the desk as she rose from her chair. She was my height, held there by the rigid confines of her corseted dress and diamond choker over a high lace collar. She had all the intimidating trappings and superior manners of a person of position. Yet there was something in her level gaze, not a threatening something, but something reassuring, that silenced my protests.
Missus Grier made quite a show of examining me. I use the word "show" consciously here, because that's what it seemed to be.
"He's almost reached manhood," said the headmaster, sounding like a salesman of used carriages.
"He'll be eleven in half a cycle."
She felt my arms and shoulders.
"Sixteen annums, if you prefer the archaic account."
She examined my teeth.
"He may be troublesome at times, but, I assure you, he is a hard worker.
Finally, she inspected my mop of brown hair for lice.
"And we've taught him the basics, of course. Reading, writing, a bit of calculating."
Yes, the Mount did teach me the basics. I had to steal the rest of my education. And I kept my theft a secret, thinking it would make me more valuable as a spy. I would even take the term-end exams and surreptitiously slip them into the grading stacks under the name of A. Newman — a surname name unknown on the world. It drove the faculty crazy over the years whenever the non-existent student ranked with, and sometimes topped, the high-honor students. I relished the overheard discussions of the faculty and students as they contemplated who A. Newman was. Of course I had the advantage of only "taking" the classes I was interested in. Although I hadn't taken an exam in two school terms, the debate as to A. Newman's identity raged on.
The woman retrieved the sheaf of papers from the desk. “And what about these, young man? How did this Solarist drivel come to be found within the walls of the Mount?”
Let’s face it. The dean was right. I am a wizas. But only to bullies like the dean and fools like the headmaster. Missus Grier was neither a bully nor a fool. There was no way I could wizas this woman.
“I found them, ma’am.”
“Where?” the headmaster roared.
“Behind the bushes along the west wall, sir."
The headmaster grunted like a rutting pig.
"By Below, I swear it's the truth! It was shortly after visitation day. Perhaps some family sneaked them in then.”
“Our families are some of finest in Neworld. Our students will be heads of franchise boards and government officials. I doubt…”
“That is of little consequence,” said the woman, dismissing the dean with a demeaning gesture. “What matters is what you think of this propaganda, young man. Do you believe any of this nonsense? Do you believe Neworld is not the center of the universe? Do you believe there are humans on other worlds? That we are their descendents?”
“No, ma’am. I don’t believe it.”
“Good boy,” said the headmaster. His fist hammered the desktop, “Praise be Below, you are not a lost kon.”
“I do not believe it, ma’am,” I continued. “But I have no reason to think it's drivel either. At least no more reason than to believe or disbelieve what we all learn about Below and the Fount of Life. I have seen proof of neither.”
The headmaster sprang to his feet and leaned forward, supporting his weight on the knuckles of his clenched hands “Faith does not require proof, Fallon. With proof, you lose faith. And when you lose faith, you have lost your kon.”
Missus Grier turned to the headmaster. “You are right, sir. The boy will have to be taught the difference between proof and faith. On my honor, I will make that my prime responsibility.”
“Then he is acceptable, Madame?”
“Quite acceptable, sir.” She paused, gave me a fleeting glance, then said, “And the price? Was the sum sufficient?”
Images flashed through my mind: the leather pouch, the headmaster's pudgy hands, the guilty look on his face. I had just been sold like a dog. I should have been upset. By Below, I should have been outraged! But I wasn't.
The headmaster’s face turned scarlet. He stared down at the desk as he spoke. "We will miss you, Fallon." I guess he couldn't look me in the eye and lie. “Get your things from your room and meet Missus Grier in the front hall.”
The woman turned to leave. “Young man, do you have valuables or something you need in your room?"
"Just my clothes, ma'am, and a few grooming items."
"Those I can replace." The headmaster could not see the kindness in her dark eyes as she spoke. I turned, opened the doors and, with a grand bow, gestured the lady through. I followed at her heels like an obedient puppy.
I did not shut the doors behind me.
– End Chapter Two –
