Paul Pettigrew (epistle_of_paul) wrote in lightning_war, @ 2009-01-05 19:39:00 |
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Current mood: | guilty |
Early Thursday afternoon, 17 September 1942, in the Headmaster's Office of the Royal Academy...
“Mr Pettigrew,” said Parsival Mathers, shaking his head as he opened his door, “is something wrong? I am surprised that you are away from lessons at this hour. Can I be of some assistance to you?” Despite his smile, there was something unpleasant about Mathers’ expression.
Paul Pettigrew sucked in a deep lungful of air, and stood up straight. “Professor Mathers, I wish…” His heart was thumping and his chest ached, but he knew he needed to do the right thing. “I fear my recent report to you was…flawed.”
“How so, Mr Pettigrew?” Mathers gave him a calculated Kindly Smile, and showed him to a chair in front of his desk, which was covered with small artifices and magical toys. “Do sit down, and have a cup of tea.”
“Thank you, sir.” Paul settled into the armchair before the great desk, which looked so much more comfortable than it was, and swallowed hard. “In wartime, sir, reports come into the field station constantly, and it is the messenger’s job to relay them up the chain of command to HQ.” Paul tugged at his collar, working a finger in between his throat and the top button so he could breathe a little more freely. “In my haste to deliver those reports, I forgot the other job of the messenger service is to verify, to his best ability, the veracity of those reports. Just so he does not clog HQ with erroneous or pointless traffic.”
Mathers raised an eyebrow. “That’s an interesting and atypical pattern of speech for you, Mr Pettigrew. Have you been speaking to Sir Lucian or one of the other soldiers?”
“Another ex-military personage and I exchanged…words, earlier.” Paul scratched his nose and swallowed again before looking up at Mathers. “I now think I have been duped by one of my sources, sir. The information I provided you about Mr Forrester and Miss Malaspina was in error.” Paul waited for the crackle of a spell, but Mathers did not reach for his wand.
Instead he looked up at Paul, frowning. “Indeed,” he said. “So I am to understand they were not engaged in fornication during the drill, and she was not observed in a state of undress?”
Paul blushed. “No sir. I do not believe so. I now believe that was a snide and dubious report given to me by someone with less than honourable intentions, and—like a fool—I did not verify it. Perhaps, because the whole drill was a massive error in the making, I was more than willing to believe it. In truth, I do not honestly know what they were doing in the moments before the drill—her shirt was untucked is all I know with 100% honesty.”
“And how do you know that, if you did not see her personally?” Mathers asked, frowning.
“I was…informed…of that by someone with whom I have a reason to…” fear, Paul thought, but what came out of his mouth was, “trust.” He didn’t want to tell Mathers that Valeria had knocked the sense back into his head, because he knew that would only make more trouble for her. And while he didn’t like Forrester and was never going to, Valeria Malaspina seemed much too honest to be guilty.
“Very well,” said Mathers with a slight curl of his lip. “Who told you that Miss Malaspina was observed in a state of undress?”
Paul was quiet. He didn’t really want to admit to listening to rumours, but could think of no way out of it. “It was Owen Dearborn, sir. I thought I could trust his word. I am sorry, sir.”
“I will have words with Mr Dearborn,” said Mathers in a dark voice. “This will not go well for Caerleon. I will have to write a letter to Magistra Chattox and inform her of the truth, of course.”
“Yes, sir. I am sorry, sir.” Paul hung his head. “In the future, I will endeavour to honour my prefect badge with a little more diligence.” He rubbed his nose again, slightly. “I certainly understand now what kind of effects misinformation can produce and I am appalled to have been a part of it, however unintentional.”
“You may wish to visit the infirmary,” Mathers said diffidently. “Your nose appears to be bleeding a bit. I trust Miss Malaspina’s explanations were persuasive. I will not call her out on it, because you would be humiliated, but I should like to point out that she may not have been fully truthful with you.”
“Thank you, sir.” Paul frowned, remembering that Valeria had told him that Mathers was a mesmerist, and tried to occlude his thoughts the way Professor Bettony had taught him to do. “I honestly did not intend to besmirch her reputation, but students being what they are at the Academy…well, supposedly secret information flies like the wind around here.”
“Yes,” said Mathers in a sober voice. “It is a rather serious problem.”
Paul sniffed a little, and dabbed at his nose with a handkerchief. It was bleeding a little, all right. “Well, sir. I will be off to the infirmary, if that is all?”
“I trust you will check into your stories a bit more carefully before you pass them on?” Mathers asked, raising an eyebrow. He was not smiling now—not in a kindly way nor any other way.
“Yes sir.” Paul was sure that his face was glowing. It was hard to admit he was wrong in front of a man he respected, but Valeria was right—this was the best thing to do. He knew a good officer did not spread misinformation. That was one of the reasons why he disliked the rumour-mongers in the academy. The girls of Avalon College, of course, were noted for starting rumours, but he had to admit, the rumours they started were not usually about each other.
“You have disappointed me,” Mathers intoned. “Kindly do not do so again. However, I accept that it must have taken a good deal of bravery for you to come to me and admit your misdeed. You may go. After you have seen Madam Lindsey, send Mr Dearborn to me, please.”
Paul nodded, unable to say anything else. He turned and made his way out of the Headmaster’s office. He desperately hoped that he would not run into Tom Forrester.
parsival and epistle_of_paul