The Septenary Bureau (septenary) wrote in lightning_war, @ 2009-03-24 12:07:00 |
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Current mood: | frustrated |
Early Thursday evening, 17 September 1942, at the Royal Academy...
Jezebel Walsingham had nearly given up on her primary mission. After spending the day conducting interviews with students—interviews that would hopefully still be of some use after the school was closed; after all, simply moving the students but keeping the same sadly incompetent people in charge would hardly count as an improvement, she’d finally caught the Dashwood boy. He was leaning against the common room wall, watching his college-mates gather their things, and there was no dearth of prefects. She had been asked to assist with the evacuation, so he had no excuse not to talk to her. And he was with Kyteler’s son as well—the opportunity was too good to pass up. “Ah, gentlemen, I wonder if I could have a moment of your time to ask you some questions about what has been happening here lately?”
“You’re Emmeline’s aunt,” said the boy, before Kyteler’s son got his mouth open. He had a decidedly pointed expression. Kyteler’s son had his arm around him and was giving her a dark sort of look.
Jezebel wondered why he’d mentioned her niece—an unfortunate case, but it did sometimes happen even in the best families. “Yes,” she said, puzzled.
“Fine,” said Dashwood, his nostrils flaring a little. “You can always ask. But I don’t promise to answer.”
Jezebel smiled serenely. It was so annoying to have to conduct interviews like this in public places, instead of the seclusion of Dr Taverner’s offices. “Well, then. I’m sure you’ll agree this has been a most eventful few weeks here at the Academy. The teachers seem to be quite overwhelmed by the situation. How do you think they might have handled it better?”
Dashwood snorted. “What is the use of my telling you that? You won’t tell Dr Taverner what I’ve said; it’s exactly the opposite thing from what you want to hear. I’ve heard all about you, Mrs Walsingham.” His eyes narrowed, and then he looked shocked, but just for a second.
Kyteler’s son thought it was funny at first, but he managed not to laugh. “Who’s Emmeline, darling? I thought I knew all your friends.”
“My cousin,” said Dashwood. “She didn’t meet the admission standards here, so they’ve sent her all over.”
The Kyteler boy blinked, clearly shocked, but he didn’t say anything more.
“I’m sure they’re doing the best they can for her,” Jezebel said, not letting her smile slip a hair. “And I assure you I will take careful note of anything you say. Surely you have some concerns about the way the school is being run?”
“The school is being run?” Dashwood snorted. “That’s news to me. Goyle is competent, but he relies on idiots. And I am sure you’ll take note of anything that I say. But not in anything even remotely resembling the way that I’d like. You lot from Taverner’s office are worse than the Herald reporters that way, so forgive me if I don’t choose to give you new raw material.”
“You’re quite right, it is being run badly,” Jezebel said smoothly, though she wondered why he was so hostile. Had Kyteler warned them against her? It wasn’t as though people generally knew what she really did in the office. And he was Gwenllian’s nephew after all, which ought to have counted for something. Not to mention Maria Dashwood’s younger brother, and Maria had known her well—oh, she was glad her Willy had dodged that bullet, though Willy of course was not. “That’s why I’m here, of course, to find out ways to keep things from getting so out of hand again. Now, some of the other students mentioned that they’d had rather disturbing visions in Divination, and yet the teacher dismissed them out of hand. Has anything like that happened to either of you?”
“We don’t take Divination,” said Kyteler’s son, frowning.
“Well of course visions aren’t limited to those with training. And there are other ways to attempt to learn about the future as well.” Jezebel paused hopefully, and then continued, as if it had been the teacher’s behaviour and not the visions that had been her primary concern. “But it is rather disturbing that a teacher would simply refuse to listen to her students.”
“Rather typical, you mean.” Dashwood looked at her in disbelief. “They don’t as a general rule listen to ‘children’ here.”
The Kyteler boy was now scowling; it was an unfortunate expression, and it made him resemble his father. He stroked Dashwood’s hair. “We were going to go upstairs for a moment, Mrs Walsingham,” he said, with a soft emphasis that made it perfectly clear that his father had told him who she was and something of what she did. “Endymion is not feeling well, and he was going to lie down until his friends were ready to take us to supper. But of course we can’t do either, because of the evacuation. And my father has told me that we’re not to give interviews to anyone who works with Dr Viresh Ayyar.”
Jezebel smiled again, but inside she was seething. She’d learned nothing from them, other than that Ayyar had fucked up and told them enough to make them suspicious.
“A word to the wise, Mrs Walsingham,” Dashwood hissed through his teeth. “People talk to each other. I know Emmeline. I know Verity and Prudence. And I’d say I know your daughter Jessica, but I honestly don’t think anyone knows Jessica, she’s so afraid to have opinions—”
“Darling,” said the Kyteler boy. He’d already developed that soft warning tone of a spouse who knows his life-partner is about to say something regrettable. It might have been amusing in another context.
A girl about their age pushed past Jezebel just then, armed to the teeth with a gun on each hip, dressed in leathers. “Vilém and Stepa say they need you,” she told Dashwood. “If you’re all right…?” She blinked.
“I’m ready for anything,” Dashwood said grimly, and pushed himself up the wall, his languid demeanour replaced by something much solider. Jezebel hadn’t noticed before, but he wasn’t half so willowy as his fine features and long, flowing hair might suggest.
“Only if I go with you,” said Kyteler’s son, looking very alarmed.
“Your funeral,” said the girl, and finally acknowledged Jezebel with a badge in one hand. “Junior Inquisitor Popescu,” she said. “We’re impressing these two for the rest of the evening.”
Jezebel thought about asking what they could do that they were worthy of impressment, but of course the girl wouldn’t tell her. “Of course. Please, don’t let me detain you.”
“Thank you,” said Kyteler’s son, and offered his arm to his partner. Dashwood took it and they followed Popescu back up the stairs.
Jezebel watched them go. She’d learned nothing, it was true, but this was only a temporary setback. She just needed to find a new approach; Dashwood couldn’t hide his secret from her forever.
fairlight, hadrian, jenica and septenary (Jezebel Walsingham)