Interlude: Numbers and blades - Part 2:

The door was knocked thrice, and before he could respond, two older students opened the door of the room assigned to Theodore.

Of course…
These people hate nothing more than a show-off brat.

As the two entered, he imagined all sorts of jokes to be made of him, names he would be called… as brilliant as he was, Theodore was inexperienced, and very often would things not go the way he expected, or wished them to.

The taller of the two walked in, speeding towards Theodore. Silently, he pushed his shoulder next to the wall, almost breaking either.

The other took a knife out of his pocket, and suddenly, the feeling of safety that he had felt throughout his stay at school degraded.

“Didn’t see that coming, did you?” said the knife holder.

“I’m sorr…” he said out of desperation, only to be interrupted by a kick that set his insides ablaze.

“I don’t know who told you what we’re doing here and how they knew it,” he held Theodore by his hair as he spoke, “If I ever catch you speaking again, you fucking cockroach, I’ll feed you to my dogs.” He passed the edge of his knife on the child’s left eyebrow.

The other punched him in the face and brushed his hand mockingly, as though he had some dirt on it.

The two left the room.

I’m not hurt…
I’m not hurt…
I’m not hurt…

The cold mixture of blood and tears tasted of iron in his mouth

My book…
I want my book.

“You just sat there and let them do with you as they wanted.”

Who are you?
My book is on the bed.
Please give it to me.

Of course, he did not speak, hence she did not hear him.

He felt a cold hand on his cheek.

“Of course you did, look at you, you’re so weak and miserable.”

He saw her face with his still-open right eye.

With one hand on his cheek, her second met his left hand. However, it was not empty. She handed him something he could not recognise only by touch.

“You want something, don’t you?”

Yes, I do, my book, please.

“And I can give it to you, can’t I?”

Yes, you can. It’s right there.

She put his fingers around whatever she handed him, and as she slowly raised his hand, he was able to see what that was. The moment he saw that he was holding a gun in his hand, Theodore’s breath grew faster, wilder, as he trembled in terror.

“It’s alright,” she said in a calm tone, “this takes away all the pain.”

Who is this… she’s crazy… help.

He looked at her blue eyes, and no less than half a dozen of cursed names that belonged to witches with striking beauty, ones who seduced and killed foolish men. As a child, he never really understood why they always had to fall for it.

No matter how beautiful the witch, it’s never worth your life… right?

Her hand left his face, joining the other one in tightening her and his grip around the gun. As her hand no longer supported his head, the latter dropped like a rock; he suspected his neck was broken and could no longer hold his head’s weight.

“The bastards… my neck… my neck.” He cried, his breath growing faster with each second.

Maybe if I cry so intensely, I’ll pass out.
Then I’ll wake up in this room, calm and healthy.
Maybe I’ll scare this maniac away, too.

…

Who am I kidding?
Even when I want it the most, my brain never lets me rest.

The cry stopped; it neither gradually faded like a baby’s squeal, nor did it get replaced by anything to fill its place; it was just gone.

“My book, please.” He finally spoke.

She took hold of the book, opened it on a random page, and slowly read by spelling, as though each letter was a challenge.

After listening for no longer than a moment, he extended his hand, held the book and read what she was struggling with aloud. Although rare were the children of nobles who could neither read nor attend school, nothing about this particular one seemed to match the common image. Theodore gave on understanding who, or what she was.

After about an hour of reading, he closed the book and sat in silence and awkwardness; the flow of events made him forget that he was sitting with a girl of his age, one whose name, to say the least, he didn’t know.

“I need you to do me a favour.” She broke the silence.

He did not answer, so she continued, “You see, my father will be murdered this week.”

Despite his best efforts to remain indifferent, Theodore’s look shifted into alarm.

She nodded and kept talking as she smiled, “I know who the murderer is.”

“Then who don’t you…?” He asked the obvious question.

She drew near him to whisper something in his ear. Startled, he withdrew. In response, she pulled his shirt, forcing his ear where she wanted it.

“So that I can get both out of the way, obviously.”

“What’s… the favour?”

“Right, the murderer wants to set the school up; he will try to hide the evidence. I have no way to prove it to be his doing.”

“So, you need me to find evidence that he is the murderer?”

She nodded, satisfied, and spoke, “My name is Eleanor, of course, for you it’s Lady Thornwood.”
She held the book once more; this time, however, she read it plain and clear.

She was acting.

Amazed, Theodore smiled.

There was the sound of a chariot. Theodore stood up and limped his way towards the window.

Out of the chariot got a handsome, tall man with a sword around his waist.

Eleanor joined Theodore, “That’s your killer there; My brother Leopold.”