Resonance
In the end, he didn’t manage to convince Ali to give up on his truant ways for longer than an hour, but it fit Lawrence’s current interests just fine. Plato would have to wait while Lawrence made an attempt to peruse – if possible – the title Lukas had borrowed last. Ali had intrigued him with his recollection of Lukas’s apparent obsession with puzzles. Could it be that the late Veridien student had looked for a cipher? If he traced Lukas’s steps carefully, maybe he would get lucky and discover the key that would crack the shorthand texts in the mysterious notebook wide open.
Under the pretext that he needed to return one of the book he’d been using to write his paper until that moment, he walked over to the librarian’s desk.
The librarian was a woman between ages, with a stern pale face and bags under her eyes. He stopped and waited for her to raise her eyes from the art magazine she was perusing.
“Yes?” she finally deigned him with her attention, pushing her glasses up on her thin nose.
“I would like to return this, and may I ask you about a different title?” Lawrence spoke in a low voice, well aware of how it would carry over the cathedral-like silence of the library if he wasn’t careful.
The librarian took the book from Lawrence and quickly jotted down its return date on the card. “What title?”
“I don’t recall it exactly. Professor Moreau mentioned this particular title, and I found it intriguing. I believe I can improve my work with references from it. Something about architecture and symbolism?” He took a moment as if he needed to struggle to remember Ali’s – not Professor Moreau’s – words.
“We have more than one title on the subject. Professor Moreau, you say? It must be in French.”
Lawrence was about to correct the librarian, then he remembered. Ali and his twin were French, and seeing a title in his native language wouldn’t immediately stick out to him as being an important detail.
“La Géométrie du Pouvoir,” the librarian said, using an impeccable, albeit harsh accent. “Would that be the title you’re looking for?”
“Do you have it?” Lawrence asked. He didn’t know if that was the book, but it sounded like a good choice to start.
The librarian stood and began searching through the cards behind her, neatly smoothing down her charcoal skirt before moving. Lawrence observed her and noticed the stiffness in her shoulders right away.
“It isn’t here,” she said, rather clipped.
“Does someone else have it?” Lawrence asked.
She didn’t reply.
“If you can tell me the student’s name, I could pester him--”
“We do not supply such information,” the librarian said, cutting his words short. She returned to her desk, her eyes lowered, a small tremble in her hands that would’ve most likely gone unnoticed if one didn’t know where to look.
That had to be the book.
“Of course. My apologies,” he said courteously and turned to leave. “If you’d allow me just one question. What is the complete title?”
The librarian shot daggers through her glasses. Poisoned daggers. “That would be,” she said in a frosty tone, “La Géométrie du Pouvoir: Symbolisme architectural dans les institutions européennes.*”
“Thank you. You’ve been most kind,” Lawrence said with flourish.
The librarian’s face softened a smidge. “You’re welcome.”
An interesting topic for Lukas in the light of what seemed to have been his object of study before his death.
If the book was gone, where might it be? Had the von Kellers taken it by mistake, believing it was one of Lukas’s possessions? But library books came with a stamp, so they couldn’t easily be misappropriated by accident. Of course, Lukas’s parents had the benefit of the doubt, seeing the state they must have been in when emptying their son’s room of his things.
Lawrence returned to his studies. Still, he believed the von Keller family was the sort to act with the utmost deference toward the academy’s property.
In the off chance that they hadn’t been the ones to take the book, where was it? Lawrence’s hopes to find it were slim. However, he had a confirmation that Lukas was trying to find a link between the white oak and certain symbolism.
Veridien was old. Lawrence placed his hands behind his head to stretch and work out a kink in his back. His eyes searched the tall ceiling, but the numerous desk lights made the darkness above appear infinite until his vision adjusted.
“Working hard, Garth?”
Abelard’s grating voice interrupted his musings.
“Hello, Abe,” he said, knowing that calling Anton’s dog by his nickname would annoy the living daylights out of him.
To pay him in kind, Abelard sat on the desk directly, grabbed Lawrence’s study books and began leafing carelessly through them.
“You can join me if you want,” Lawrence offered pleasantly.
Abelard closed the book he was holding and threw it on the table. “Anton wants to see you.” He didn’t look at Lawrence but above the rows of desks to the front where the librarian stood guard.
“I’m a little busy, as you can see.”
“Now,” Abelard said, pretending to be deaf to his excuse.
“What about?”
Abelard sucked his teeth, quite noisily for being in a library. “About the vulgar display you’ve been performing. Did you know that,” he added, leaning forward, “centuries ago, peasants who stared too long at anything that wasn’t the dirt underneath their fingers lost an eye or two?”
“Hmm, I don’t recall that particular history lesson. But I understand your not-so-veiled allusion. How does absolute obedience work in your case? Klein**,” he added, staring straight at his opponent, knowing the effect his remark would have. “I suppose Anton’s protection might make you feel like a bigger man than you are.”
Abelard made a face like he’d been just forced to swallow a snail. Uncooked. “Come,” he said brusquely, getting off Lawrence’s desk.
He didn’t look to see if Lawrence was following. If this were his school, Lawrence would let the bully come to him, but Anton was a wildcard, and he wanted to keep His Dark Eminence in his sights.
However, he didn’t hurry to follow Abelard. First, he dropped his books off with the librarian and exchanged a couple more words with her.
Abelard was waiting by the door, his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his uniform jacket.
“I heard you were ill. Are you still?” Lawrence asked casually, to see if Anton had instructed his dog on synchronizing their lies.
He had to give it to the man. Abelard didn’t flinch. “I have a sensitive stomach,” he said.
Somehow, the way he said that, with a short, suffering sigh, made it sound true. Indeed, Abelard looked like someone who suffered from some mysterious recurrent condition. Definitely not the same as the hardy breed favored by Veridien.
“Could it be,” Lawrence decided to needle further, “that you don’t know how to swim?”
Abelard turned sharply. “Anton didn’t tell you that.” He even looked pained at the possibility he could have been betrayed by his master.
Lawrence put his hands up. “It was just a guess. Seeing what Lustratio involves.”
“Hush,” Abelard hissed at him, his eyes slid by Lawrence as if he were afraid someone was listening in. “They are sacred rituals for a reason.”
Lawrence nodded. “Not sacred enough if you can skip one.”
“You are despicable,” Abelard whispered, now trembling with fury.
“Just an outsider,” Lawrence supplied courteously. “I respond when provoked. Please bear that in mind from now on.”
He didn’t intend to make enemies, but he didn’t plan on letting people like Abelard walk all over him, either.
“Fair enough,” Abelard said after a moment of silence, surprising Lawrence. “But I will not go easy on you.”
“A great man always assumes responsibility for his actions.”
“Who said that?” Abelard asked, walking rapidly down the empty corridor, with Lawrence on his tail.
“No one in particular, and many men at the same time. The sort that don’t always make it into the history books.”
“I see,” Abelard said. “A sword can cut both ways. Remember that, Garth.”
His guide could very well only want to mock him or unsettle him with clever quotes of his own. But Lawrence tended to believe that he was being included in a sophisticated dance, which meant that he needed to learn the steps, and fast.
***
Anton’s room came as a surprise, not by location, which Lawrence had guessed correctly, but by design. While the same scarce furniture appointed Anton’s quarters, the additions weren’t anything like Lawrence had imagined.
Apparently, the Sun King’s main advisor enjoyed his comfort. The bedding was of the best kind, and several blankets, all in rich red – apropos much? – lay stacked on top of each other on the coverlet. A couple of extra pillows ensured that the occupant of the room would enjoy reading in bed, as long as they offered the required comfort.
The bookshelves were heavy with tomes bound in leather, their spines imprinted with golden letters. Lawrence let his eyes wander over them briefly. On Anton’s desk, he noticed a heavy brass lamp, adorned with a beautiful green glass shade; the cord carefully covered in cloth, signaling that the piece mostly qualified as an antique, as old as such a thing could be. The pen, left on top of an opened notebook, must have cost a fortune, too. Anton was a man who loved life’s not-so-little – or at least not-so-inexpensive – luxuries. Lawrence had to wonder why he’d imagined the young von Strassberg’s room as bare and minimalistic.
“You asked for me,” he said out loud.
Anton was by the window, biting slowly on his unlit pipe and staring outside. What could possibly be holding his attention at that hour? The courtyard was lit, but not enough to allow proper supervision in the event something interesting was taking place there.
He was out of his academy uniform, opting instead for a light cashmere sweater the color of dark wine and dark grey pants. The sight of the fluffy slippers, however, gave Lawrence a small pause, enough to bite his lower lip so he didn’t laugh.
“You can leave us, Abe,” Anton said, without turning.
Abelard seemed to hesitate.
“I won’t attack your master,” Lawrence promised.
Abelard scoffed. “See you later, Erbe***,” he told Anton, ignoring Lawrence.
“What did he call you?” Lawrence asked, once he was alone with His Dark Eminence and his unlikely fluffy slippers. Though he had to admit that despite their innocuous design, Anton still managed to move in them like a slightly sinister character.
Anton smiled thinly, holding his pipe like a man older than him by at least fifty years. “Not keen on German? Surprising.”
Lawrence bit his tongue. He knew enough German, but he wanted to hear an explanation along with the translation.
“We like to give each other nicknames here,” Anton said.
“Ali told me as much. He believes it’s a proof of love,” Lawrence said, daring to look innocent enough to have his words taken at face value.
“Ah, devotion can be romantic, of course. The way the classics would define it,” Anton commented. “Can you guess why I asked for you, Garth?”
Anton didn’t invite him to sit, but seeing how he was also standing, his behavior didn’t come across as severely impolite. Lawrence stared his host in the face.
“I have an inkling. Plus, your pet dog bit my heel hard enough to warn me.” He let that sink in, but there was no sign in Anton’s eyes that such words would warrant a response.
“Abe can be a little too devoted. I’m sure you have it in your heart to forgive him.”
Lawrence shrugged. “I’d rather not leave such behavior unchastised. It leads to misunderstandings.”
“Speaking of misunderstandings,” Anton perked up, “I am certain that you possess an intelligence far greater than what your overall appearance might suggest. Bastien--”
“Yes, of course, it is about him,” Lawrence cut Anton’s words short. “Bastien does as he wishes, and this should be no novelty to you. If you expect me to kick him out the door, I’ll have you informed that such a thing will not happen. He doesn’t bother me, and I see no point in antagonizing him only because his Royal Court disapproves of his choices.”
Anton stared at him for a few moments, then he began chuckling. He leaned against the desk, crossing his ankles.
“What a bold statement, newcomer.”
“Not a smidge bolder than your choice of indoor footwear,” Lawrence replied promptly.
After a short quizzical look thrown at his guest, Anton looked down. A surprisingly boyish laugh was his immediate response, but it died out quickly.
“Do you know what a kingmaker is, Garth?”
“I must be looking at one,” Lawrence said. “Don’t worry. If twenty years from now, some tabloid comes knocking in search of a salacious story involving a certain leader of our day, I will deny any involvement. In case this sort of thing doesn’t let you sleep well at night.”
“Ah, good. You’re an honest man, aren’t you, Garth? But you are a bit off the mark. The only thing I’m asking you is to treat Bastien well. For as long as this little wandering of his may last.”
Lawrence shrugged. “Are you sure this is the reason why you wanted to see me?”
Anton cocked his head. “What’s on your mind?”
“You are all treating Bastien with kid gloves. You’re asking me to do the same thing. But he’s of a different mind. Have you ever wondered if your loyalty overrides basic compassion?”
“Are you lecturing me? On my friendship with Bastien?” Anton couldn’t have looked more outraged if he wanted. He was even squeezing his pipe to the point that he risked breaking it.
“I am an outsider. Yes, that is true. But Bastien wouldn’t seek my friendship if he was receiving it, the way he needs it, from you. You and the others.”
“Yes, I’m certain it is your friendship that he wants, not that big thing you have--” Anton caught himself in time. He pursed his lips and frowned. It seemed that Erbe didn’t usually get so worked up. Lawrence found it interesting, but he needed to dial down his own aggressiveness to manage His Dark Eminence’s reactions the right way.
“I will treat Bastien kindly,” he said, allowing Anton the required respite for both of them to glide past the earlier insult. “He’s been very kind to me, and I am the sort who believes in reciprocity.”
Anton seemed to have gotten his bearings back. “Is that why you’re going head-to-head with Abe so much?”
“Your pet dog likes to bite. In a pack, weaker dogs aren’t punished whenever they’re put in their place by the stronger ones. That guarantees their survival. As I’m sure you know.”
Anton’s toothy smile was the only confirmation he needed. Hierarchy. Power. People understood such things here more so than in other places.
“Very well. It looks like we can understand each other, and that is all I want.”
“If that is all--” Lawrence started.
“Have you found what you were looking for?” Anton asked abruptly.
Lawrence didn’t move a muscle on his face. “What do you mean?”
Anton looked at him through his eyelashes, his head tipped back in superiority. “You are always looking around, as if there is something you need to find. Were you abandoned as a child? Do you feel the need to control your surroundings?”
“I had no idea you studied psychology. Or that such an unlikely discipline is taught here, in the realm of ancient classicism at its finest,” Lawrence replied.
They were all trying to chip away his armor. But these rich boys had no idea what his life had been like thus far. He wasn’t so easy to rattle.
“Oh, we don’t care,” Anton said, waving magnanimously. “As long as you’re mindful of other people’s things.”
Lawrence scoffed and crossed his arms. “Are you accusing me of stealing?”
“Far from my mind. I’m only saying that if you happen to borrow something, just let the owner know. Or at least return it. That helps avoiding unnecessary complications.”
It was difficult to keep the knot in his throat from moving under Anton’s scrutiny. Did he know about Lukas’s notebook? Was this a roundabout way of telling him that he knew? But why should Anton consider it necessary to play games?
“Or just let us know what you need, and we will help you. Despite our rigors, let’s call them, we can spare a bit of generosity.”
Anton could just be shooting in the dark. It was too early to suspect there was more to his behavior than that. Lawrence was, however, acutely aware of the imperative need to control his reactions. Of course, his investigation was supposed to be very hush-hush. But what if the von Kellers had talked about it to the wrong person? Lawrence preferred not to suspect Marius Vassier of such a lapse in judgement. His uncle was out of the question; he knew the importance of having Lawrence at Veridien undercover, and he risked quite a lot by getting his own nephew involved.
“I will keep that in mind. I assure you that I have everything I need,” Lawrence said in a tone that sounded too wooden for his liking.
“Very well. Also, I appreciate your taking the initiative in letting me know that you won’t develop a sudden appetite for writing your memoirs once our beloved king reaches maturity and becomes a prominent figure in the world.”
Beloved king. They were truly playing that card. And there had been no mentions of memoirs, but Lawrence understood too well. Anton was only willing to give him this much of his time and his magnanimity, the way he saw it. He bowed his head slightly and bid his farewell in the fashion expected of him in a place like this.
***
Bastien had arrived late and in a listless mood. He refused to tell Lawrence anything, but he accepted his bed partner’s embrace, cuddling against him and falling asleep in minutes. For some time, Lawrence listened to the groaning of the pipes in the walls, a sign that someone was using water on the ground floor, as late as the hour was.
Anton’s words haunted him despite his knowing better than to let anyone get to him. It gave Lawrence an uneasy feeling; he could easily suspect that they were aware of who he was. Even if the von Kellers hadn’t blabbed about Lawrence’s secret mission to anyone, having a stranger in their midst had put the academy – at least some of its students – in quite a state. They were curious and needed to know who Lawrence was. And they seemed to have no difficulty in finding out, at least by reading the new transfer’s file.
He wouldn’t be deterred in his investigation for as long as he could keep it under wraps. As a future cop and detective, he needed to deal with frustration, too. Not all cases could be solved. But Lawrence had seen enough of his uncle’s haunted eyes to know that some cases never closed for the people who got involved, no matter the outcome.
“Sleep, Bear,” Bastien murmured, shifting in place. “I’m so tired, and I can still hear the little gears in your head spinning.”
“I don’t usually fall asleep fast,” Lawrence said as means of apology. “Why were you upset tonight?”
“Trifling matters,” Bastien said and yawned. “I apologize if I got your hopes high about fooling around together.”
“It didn’t cross my mind,” Lawrence lied. He pressed a small kiss against Bastien’s naked shoulder. “It’s all right if we just sleep.”
Bastien rolled onto his side to come face to face with him. Like it was the most natural thing in the world, he began kissing Lawrence and snuck one hand between them.
“I love how you’re always ready,” Bastien sighed dreamily in his ear, while handling him firmly. “Do you like me or are you usually like this?”
“I like you,” Lawrence said solemnly. He could only do this much to keep himself from moaning.
“Don’t lie,” Bastien murmured, peppering his face with kisses.
Once more, Lawrence felt as if Bastien was getting off on giving pleasure more than on receiving it. But he wouldn’t have it. In Bastien, as strange as that might sound to the wrong ear, Lawrence had found a person who resonated with him in ways that others had never done before. Hurt wasn’t the right word; maybe it was just weakness, and Lawrence was going mad, imagining things that weren’t there.
A familiarity. Yes, that was the better word. He and Bastien recognized a certain aspect in each other, going beyond personality and personal history.
Or again, he was just going mad.
He must have been begging for some time, inefficiently struggling to cup his hand over Bastien’s cock, because his bed partner shut him up with a long deep kiss.
It was enough for both of them, it seemed. Despite his clumsy attempts, Bastien was wetting his hand, while he did the same over the aristocratic hand handling him.
“Ah, much better,” Bastien said reverently. “We’re getting into a habit, right, Bear? But it feels good to go to sleep like this.”
“I went to see Anton earlier tonight,” Lawrence said. It wasn’t an impulse. He needed to breach the subject with Bastien, not tiptoe around it. “He summoned me, I should say.”
“Ah, as expected,” Bastien said. “Did he insult you? Please, tell me he didn’t. He usually knows better than that.”
“I’m not easy to insult.”
“Not what I asked.” Bastien sounded cross.
Lawrence had no intention of making Anton look bad in his king’s eyes. “He cares a lot about you. He only wanted to warn me against treating you badly.”
To his surprise, a derisive snort followed from his bed partner. But otherwise, nothing.
“Um, no comment on that?”
Bastien sighed and pressed his cheek against Lawrence’s chest, shifting a bit to find a comfortable position. “Well, he hasn’t been so particular about such things in the past.”
“What do you mean?”
Another sigh. More pressing against him. “I suppose the local gossip will reach you, eventually. Let’s say that Lukas and I… were a bit stormy sometimes. Very rarely. But it’s enough that the wrong person saw it, takes it out of context, and things get blown out of proportion.”
“What did you two fight about?”
“The future, mostly,” Bastien murmured. He seemed to be drifting off. Lawrence knew he couldn’t insist too much without appearing insensitive. “I wanted him in mine,” Bastien added, after a few moments of silence. “I’m not sure he wanted me in his. Not in the same way, at least.”
Bastien could very well be serving him a nice bowl of lies. But were lovers’ quarrels truly enough reason for committing murder? The more he got to know Bastien, the less inclined Lawrence felt to agree with the von Kellers’ suspicions.
“But I don’t have to worry about such things when I’m with you. You’re only here for the year, right? Then, your world will be pulling you back to it.”
“No future to worry about then,” Lawrence said. Bastien’s warm breath tickled his chest. He pulled the blanket over, a little unpleasant chill sneaking in bed with them.
“Yes,” Bastien replied simply. “Although it would be merciful of me to warn you.” His voice had turned playful. “I get easily attached. What am I going to do when you’re gone?”
“The same as before,” Lawrence said. He was slowly caressing Bastien’s back.
“How strange,” Bastien commented. “I feel more like myself with you than with people I’ve known for years.”
To a degree, Lawrence understood. That resonance. Could it be that Bastien felt it, too? Or was he only fooling himself, trusting delusions?
“Carpe diem****,” Bastien said. “Do you agree?”
For now, he did. It was easier not to think about the future when the present felt so good.
TBC
*La Géométrie du Pouvoir: Symbolisme architectural dans les institutions européennes (French) – The Geometry of Power: Architectural symbolism in the European institutions.
**Klein (German) – small.
***Erbe (German) – heir.
****Carpe Diem (Latin) – seize the day.
Author's note:
Thanks a lot for reading!
@Derek - the academy is definitely a sinister place. The questions you're asking are starting to crowd Lawrence's mind, as well. Throughout, he'll have to remind himself that he must keep an open mind regarding the reasons behind Lukas's murder. Thanks a lot for all the support!
@Geoffrey Fox - Thank you :) I'm happy you're enjoying this story and these two guys!
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