em orson (bear) wrote in cm_logs, @ 2009-11-07 23:00:00 |
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A lifetime of habit and some measure of discipline meant that Edgar was an early-riser. Grotesquely so in some people's estimation -- considering how he could complete a substantial amount of work before most had managed to lose the rawness of sleep from their voices, he could see their point. The only thing that changed on the weekends was that his children, rather than paperwork, comprised the bulk of the pressing matter that got him out of bed, for he was possessive of their time together, and pulled them from sleep in order to make them the sort of breakfast Camilla was always too busy to cook, before planning out the rest of their day together.
This weekend was a little different. Instead of Camilla and the children, Edgar had a certain Aludra Wilkes to care for. Setting the woman up in his daughter's room had initially required a certain steeling of his sensibilities -- but in the end, he couldn't very well toss this sort of abductee into the cellar, and so into Eleanor's girlishly decorated room Aludra went. He would be damned if someone who was only indirectly (as far as he knew) connected to Alice's disappearance, if Frank's cousin, was needlessly maltreated on his watch.
And so, as he had done for the past few days, the clock striking eight and sending its low-pitched peals throughout the house heralded the knock of Edgar's knuckles on Aludra's door. "May I?"
Aludra's time was spent mostly in silent contemplation; where once it had been resolute acceptance of the worst possible fate, her interaction with Frank had left her certain she would not die (at least by his hand). This left her with very little to do but flip through Moby Dick, a gift from the otherwise anonymous Caradoc Dearborn, for a third time. She knew that she ought to resist the urge to entertain herself with muggle literature, but there was so little else to do but smoke, and sit, and flip through the pages, that she could scarcely resist. Had she been anywhere near as dull as she led others to believe, this might have been quite the pleasant abduction, but as Aludra was considerably brighter and more dissatisfied than her façade implied, she attached herself to the nearest distraction and exploited it.
Towards thee I roll, thou all-destroying but unconquering whale;
She would not admit the perpetually rising sadness at Frank's betrayal. To do so would be to admit that her own betrayal was wrong, and it was not. It was for the good of the country and the good of their families, at least in the long term. Aludra would have given anything not to feel in this cool room, not to indulge in what she considered such a feminine weakness (the worst kind). Yet, she had nothing to pull her attention away but this book, which she no longer wished to read.
to the last I grapple with thee;
With quiet resolve, Aludra lit another cigarette, a grim shadow of a smile at her lips. Dearborn had warned her that he would be kind so long as she didn't do anything foolish. She was tempted now to do something foolish, perhaps out of desperation but more likely out of spite. She thought the sheets on the girl's bed behind her would burn well. She, too, would burn well.
from hell's heart I stab at thee;
Smoke poured from her lips and she set the matches down without another murderous thought. Instead the book she'd been given was re-examined, assessed. No apology lingered in her eyes as Aludra opened it and carefully removed the back cover. It was separated, smoothed, and laid flat upon the table beside her with a meticulous eye. Next, pages were torn and set, one atop the next. Two, five, seventeen, until at long last she had thirty two pages, dusted with print, with which to work. The bulk of the text was set aside.
for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee.
The smell of smoke had all but evaporated from the room by the time Edgar's knock was heard at the door, and upon the book's cover, now beset with blackened squares from careful use of matches and cigarettes, stood small figures, shaped from pages and patience. The pawns stood all in a row, awaiting instruction, and as Aludra lit her victory cigarette, she quietly set down the last, carefully constructed piece of her paper chess set. It was a testament to her creativity, to her sense of detail, and, most importantly, to her inability to face the emotions that so aptly defined her.
Sink all coffins and all hearses to one common pool! and since neither can be mine let me then tow to pieces, while still chasing thee, though tied to thee, thou damned whale.
"Come in."
The smell may have faded by the time Edgar stepped into his daughter's room, but such was the relative stagnancy of the air that a singed undertone remained. The door was pushed open, and immediately Edgar's attention landed on the creation that had taken so much of Aludra's concentration and time. A quickly swept gaze -- at once both possessive and protective -- around the room was taken to assure himself that nothing else had gone into the construction of this admittedly remarkable thing of hers; and when he was satisfied that everything else was as it should be, he hunkered down to get a closer look at the chess set.
"Sleepless night, then?" he asked, even as he reached out to tap Aludra's cup with his wand. It immediately refilled with the brew he'd prepared in the kitchen, tendrils of steam rising into the air as he studied the individual pieces... and then the surface on which they were placed. Caradoc's book. "I'm afraid," was said in a dry tone as he straightened and reached for a nearby chair, "you've just made yourself a lifelong enemy."
The teacup was appropriated with relative swiftness; she had long since abandoned her desire to wallow in her misery by drinking cold tea, and the warmth was a comfort. Regarding Edgar with a stare of cautious indifference, she used both the cup and the cigarette as distractions from her curiosity. There was no real reason to sit unless he had questions -- questions she had no intention of answering, even if they were in the realm of her knowledge. Frank may have wished to provide her reassurance that her safety was not in question, but she doubted the motives of the other two who had visited her sporadically over the days.
Of course she'd had a sleepless night. Sleep was vulnerability, and she was too strung up on nicotine and strong tea to take her rest here, in any account. She would sleep when she was safe at her flat, when she was in Atticus's arms and no one would dare touch her. The thought was a bitter comfort, for she did not revel in her dependence on man to assure her safety -- but there was no amount of pride that could shield the very real fact that she had little in this world to assure her anything. That she was captured at all proved as much.
"There will always be other books," she said smoothly, nudging forward a chess piece on either side as if Edgar's presence was barely a concern.
Edgar had enough of the courteous, dyed-in-the-wool pureblood left in him (from a childhood that was more similar to Aludra's than his own best friend's) to let a beat of moment pass with the offer of a seat extended to her -- and then, when the woman did not move to take it, he tugged at the expanse of fabric covering his knees, giving the legs of his trousers a slight upward hitch before sitting down.
"It's the principle of the thing," was his reply. Another small motion with his wand brought him his own cup of tea, its saucer held easily in the breadth of his palm. "I find there's something quite inherently savage about the act of burning a book."
"You'll forgive me," she said in an instant of realisation. "I have been sitting for days." But she took a seat across him, regardless, some small internalised victory at finding her own seat rather than the one offered, and set down her teacup. The cigarette remained clenched in her hand, a vice that she would not give up for the sake of polite company (as this could hardly be considered such, given the circumstances).
"I see little savagery that can be done to a book written by savages," came Aludra's crisp reply, "at the very least I have improved its structure."
There was very little humor lingering in the baritone of Edgar's laugh. "Exactly the sort of narrow-minded piffle I've come to expect from everyone up on the first floor," he said, pausing to take a taste of his tea. "... we have a history of thinking the French are savages, do we not? Why not burn their books too? Hypothetically speaking," he added, a smile filtering briefly across his face as he reached into his pocket for his own supply of cigarettes.
Aludra's lips tightened into a line, and she eyed Edgar with a look of disaffected nonchalance. "I hardly meant that books ought to be burned without cause. I have merely taken my resources and put them to use. I feel no guilt in putting a muggle creation to better purpose. Would you have preferred me to make use of these little girls' possessions?" She gestured behind her with the cigarette-laden hand.
"No, and my daughter and I thank you for sparing her things. However." -- and he paused to extend his hand to her, palm up and fingers open. "If you have any matches left, I would ask that you give them to me. Now that I know your propensity for arts and crafts, I'd rather not run the risk of a creative fire during the rest of your stay with us." His words were transparent, the meaning behind them clear: he was not here to discuss her release, for her release was not (yet) to come about.
Aludra's eyes widened. His daughter's room. He was keeping her in his own house. She had no idea what to make of that revelation -- of if she should make anything of it. Either he was extremely careless or he wasn't used to kidnapping. Her mind raced, even as she reluctantly smoothed thin fingers over the matchbook. "I wouldn't do anything like that," she said quietly, but there was an obvious propensity for obedience as she pushed them in his direction, despite her argument. Pretences or not, she had no reason to fight him. If he wished to take her one comfort away, she couldn't stop him.
He certainly was not in the habit of kidnapping people and holding them hostage; keeping Aludra here had been a calculated risk, as Frank's home had been deemed unsuitable for various reasons, while Edgar's immense flat lay empty for most of the week - and who would ever suspect such a high-ranking Auror of the kidnap of a Ministry official? Keeping her here perhaps wasn't the most ideal scenario... but their options had been limited, given the Order's current resources and the haste with which they'd take their captive.
He took the matchbook, stopping only to strike one stick and light his own cigarette before vanishing the matches. "If you want to light up," he said through a lungful of smoke, "let one of us know."
Aludra rubbed her forehead compulsively, careful not to singe her hair as she reacted to the stress of the situation. She knew the psychology of kidnapping -- perhaps too well, given her line of work -- give and take. Reward and punish. She knew what she'd done was wrong, and now she was paying for succumbing to impulse. Her own fault. This was no place for pride. It was a mantra she attempting to soothe herself with, to apply some sort of predictability and control to the situation.
"All right," she murmured, no longer looking at anything but the tip of her cigarette as it continued to burn down. "I'm sorry."
Edgar's acceptance of the apology went unsaid, indicated only by a short downward tuck of his chin as he set his cup and saucer on the chest of drawers placed behind him. He studied the woman as he took another pull of the cigarette, noting in her expression the markers of a sort of boredom. It could not be helped -- and they certainly hadn't been keeping her occupied with any real interrogation, because Aludra Wilkes wasn't selected for having any useful information.
Still, he would be amiss if he allowed this experiment in abduction to run its course without any real questioning. "So tell me," he said conversationally, "what you think about this whole business with Alice Longbottom. Why did she disappear, do you think? It certainly doesn't fit the pattern we've been seeing recently."
Aludra's gaze drifted back to Edgar's, knowing that were she to continue avoiding it she might appear dishonest -- and she did not want to appear dishonest. Stupid, maybe. Passive and dull. Sedate. But not a liar. She tapped her cigarette and then watched the magical ashes whirl into nothing in he periphery before finding a suitable answer. It was an excellent question and one she'd put little thought into before -- it wasn't as if she'd have to write a news article about it, or discuss it with the media, and any conversations she and her cousin might have had regarding Alice's disappearance would likely not be focusing on why.
"Well, I have certainly been given time to think about it." It implied she'd been thinking during her stay here, which Aludra did not like to confess -- but she would be remiss in suggesting that in the several days since she'd been here she had not given her cousin's wife an ounce of thought. "I thought it made sense, given my own abduction, until I saw," her jaw tightened a bit here, and she rubbed her lip for a split second, "until I saw Frank was involved here. He would never do that to his wife," (even if he'd do it to me went unsaid). "I thought, then, that perhaps she was taken as part of the poisoning plot that we were warned about, but that too makes little sense as she is not in the minister's office -- though I cannot remember without my notes whom the supervising officer of that investigation was, so she may have been targeted."
Rubbing her face, again, Aludra collected her tea and had a sip of it; exhaustion was lining the rims of her eyes and pulling down the corners of her mouth, even as she tried to counteract it. She would not sleep here. She didn't care if they kept her for months, years, decades... her small catnaps would be taken sitting and nowhere else.
"Perhaps it is because she is something of a blood traitor. Perhaps they are targeting purebloods now. Perhaps it is completely unrelated, I don't know."
The matter of Frank was one that admittedly sat ill with Edgar. Were they already so deeply embroiled in this war that they had to deliberately strike out against those that were considered family? Not yet, he thought (and not ever, the idealist in him hoped), for Aludra had simply been the right person in the right place at the right time. He saw how the strain in her face thickened as she mentioned her cousin's name -- and beyond that, the exhaustion, a combination of fear and weariness tightening the lines of her face. It was not pity he felt like a cold fist in his gut, but it was definitely something that approximated it.
"Supposing I believe this ignorance that you lay claim to," he said; and here he leaned forward, bracing himself with his elbows dug into the surface of his thighs, pulling the cigarette from the clench of his lips and gripping it lightly between the pads of his thumb and first two fingers. "Let's then follow that last theory -- completely unrelated. Someone with a grudge, maybe? You see, my problem with a great deal of this is that she was seen going to that meeting with the Minister. I have an entire dossier with eyewitness accounts." Never let it be said he did not take care of his own. "As Aurors go, she's a prolific one. Ticked off the wrong people maybe?"
Aludra's patience began to strain, further and further. Weariness did not help, nor did her caffeine-burned nerves, her tight lungs, her pounding heart. She wanted to launch herself across the table and hurt Bones, and scream at him that she was innocent, and make him believe her. Her eyes burned in the steam of the tea, and she closed them, fingers pushing against eyelids to wipe away some hints of dampness as if they were unseemly. Tears were frequently excellent tools for manipulation, but now she didn't have the patience. She was embarrassed, frustrated. Keeping up a charade became increasingly more difficult. She was having trouble processing what he was saying.
"I have been at the ministry for three years. Three years during which I have had to endure the scorn of my parents, the questionable looks of society, the never, never ceasing complaints of the public, and the constant harping of the media. All because I care about this country. Because I believe in the ministry. I may not face the difficulties of an auror, but I do not have to sit here and listen to you act as if everything I say is suspect."
"I don't know what happened to my cousin's wife. I don't know where she went between her desk and the minister's office. What I do know is that there are no interns in the minister's office who saw her. I did not see her. My fiancé did not see her. She wasn't there. I don't know who she's angered, except those she's prosecuted over the years. Is it not exceptionally more likely that someone she has pursued as part of her career is seeking revenge? More likely than accusing ministry officials who have dedicated their lives to making things better."
"-- this would all be very convincing if not for the fact that she went off the grid in the Ministry itself." There was now an edge in his voice that had not been there previously -- how was this detail not one that made someone as intelligent as this Aludra Wilkes clearly was (despite her attempts to seem blandly otherwise) suspicious? Edgar did not fool himself by thinking that everyone who worked in the Minister's offices was involved (because simply being aware of what had happened equated to be involved), but this woman's attempts to run circles around him with her various suppositions, all of them summed up with a forlorn complaint about how difficult the job was, did little to impress.
"All right." Another pull of the cigarette, white smoke billowing from his nose as he then reached across and set the half-smoked stick of paper and tobacco on his saucer. "Lucky for you, we don't actually suspect you of anything. You're just a means of sending a message."
"Luckily for me," Aludra replied dryly. "I told you I don't know what happened to Alice. One cannot apparate out of the ministry, so obviously someone is lying. I know who I trust, and you apparently disagree." She moved a chess piece and tapped her cigarette, willing herself back into the passive state that exhaustion was rapidly shoving her out of. Her voice dipped back into the low, her fingers fell away from the chess set, and she put out her cigarette, taking the tea instead as her only possession.
"I apologise that you have found me so unhelpful. I hope that Frank's wife is returned. Our family does not deserve more loss."
"It's too bad--" that she didn't know, although it would have been so impossibly neat and tidy and convenient if she did; and to her latter statement, he simply responded with, "Does any?"
Frustration was as blatant on his face as exhaustion was on hers, but Edgar could appreciate that this woman had nothing else to give. While others perhaps would insist on a more thorough interrogation, he had no reason to turn to harsher methods, especially when one considered that she was the cousin of one of his dearest friends. And so, instead of using his wand to forcibly extract some grain of truth from her, he used it to refill her tea, steam billowing out once again, fed by the smoke of a supplementary cigarette that he lit and set across her saucer. "I would suggest you sleep if I knew it wasn't wretched advice for someone in your position."