Ceremonial Burial
They were sneaking through the inner courtyard, Ali in the lead, holding a bag filled with incriminating evidence thrown over one shoulder like a burglar, a gay spring in his step. Lawrence had preferred to carry the rest and walked carefully, paying attention to any noise that might give them away.
Like the night he’d inspected Lukas’s room, no one else but a few solitary birds kept them company. The wings of an owl fluttered, followed by the ominous call of the bird as it perched on a nearby wall. The frigid air was no longer a surprise; though the calendar might show sunny, warm days, the nights told no lies about the approaching winter. Lawrence could see the mist rise before his eyes with each breath as the wan courtyard lights guided their steps.
It looked like Ali had a certain destination in mind. Somewhere on the grounds, there had to be dumpsters that were regularly emptied to keep the well-oiled machinery running flawlessly.
They walked farther and farther, past the cloistered garden. When Lawrence caught the strong smell of manure, he understood where they were. Would they use the stable dumpsters in the back?
It didn’t look like it. Ali stopped when they were only a few feet away from the stables. A sleepless horse snorted once, wary of their presence.
“Ali,” Lawrence whispered, “what are we doing?”
“We need to find a proper burial spot,” Ali replied promptly.
“Here? Are we going to bury it?”
“He, Larry, not it. Of course we will bury him. He was a great man. Still is, since he lives on through his philosophy and teachings.”
“Who are you talking about?”
Ali put down the bag he’d been carrying. “Socrates, of course.”
Ah, Lawrence recalled. The unfortunate philosopher who’d died for his beliefs. And suffered another indignity by having his statue – a replica – destroyed in such a reckless manner.
“We don’t have a shovel. And don’t you think a hole in the ground would draw attention? Ali, I understand that Veridien’s passion for rituals is deeply ingrained in your bones, but let’s be practical.”
“I am quite practical, my dear Larry. They do garbage disposal every morning. To hide all the broken pieces, we would have to split them up between different garbage bins, and it will take us a lot of time and energy. And what did you say about a shovel?” In quite a dramatic fashion, Ali went around the stables and returned with the required tool in his hand.
The moon watched them curiously. It was the only witness, so it had the right to be curious about what two students, dressed in light jackets and sensible shoes, were doing at midnight, out in the open like that.
The ground was soft and easy to excavate here. Ali had given him the shovel and went to get another, so between the two of them, a shallow grave, unfit most likely for someone of Socrates’s intellectual and historical value, soon appeared.
“Let’s spread out the pieces,” Ali advised.
They didn’t speak as they worked quickly. Lawrence stepped on the dirt, packing it down. If even a single large piece resurfaced, there would be questions. He didn’t think they had the time to cover up all the evidence of their crime. As a new transfer and the inhabitant of a room located close to the former location of the statue, he’d become an immediate suspect. And while he could appeal to Bastien’s kindness to get him out of that mess, he knew that it would carry too high a risk. Was he starting to regret listening to Ali’s unusual plan of hiding the broken statue?
Not really. Ali had a point. No suspicion should attach to him, regardless of how deep he got into the investigation of Lukas’s death.
“If anyone gets curious enough, they’ll be able to tell something happened here.”
Their chosen place was behind the stables, so not many people might wander through there. But in a way, that was worse, because they didn’t have the advantage of many people stepping over the place where Socrates’s replica rested and would rest, with a bit of luck, for all eternity.
“No, they won’t,” Ali said. He straightened up and brushed his hands against each other. “It will snow soon.”
Lawrence stared at the clear face of the moon above. Almost a full moon. He’d thought the sky was clear, but now he noticed clouds, white and fluffy, their tops shining blue.
“Do you think so?”
“It smells like snow,” Ali replied. “I’ve been here long enough to know. Now, we should say something. Any ideas?”
“Not really. But if it pleases you to conduct this ceremonial burial, think of a proper quote to fit our extraordinary situation.”
Ali nodded solemnly. He took the shovel from Lawrence and put it back, along with the one he’d used. Then he returned and linked his hands in front of himself, his chin to his chest, the very impression of piety, as far as his manners went.
Lawrence imitated him for the sake of the theatre play they were enacting. The wind had slowly calmed, and the clouds, heavy with snow, stacked up over the moon, making the darkness around them even deeper. The horses paid them no mind, caught in their own dreams of vast, boundless pastures and who knew what else.
Just when he was about to conclude that Ali was reciting the ritualistic words he’d chosen for the occasion only to himself, he heard his partner speaking.
“Initium ut esset homo creatus est.”(1)
Lawrence didn’t hide his surprise. “You do know he was Greek.”
“Yes, of course. But this is for us, not him.” Ali turned toward him. In the dark, Lawrence could only guess what Ali’s face looked like. Like other people forced to live with poor eyesight and not using help to see better, Ali moved naturally in poor lighting conditions by instinct alone. Plus experience. He’d been at Veridien for a bit more than three academic years. “You came here, and I finally have someone to count on for starting a real investigation. The others keep forgetting that we owe it to Lukas.”
“What do they think happened?” Lawrence asked. The temperature was dropping quickly, and he was starting to feel the cold. Ali’s premonition about the snow that would soon fall didn’t seem so far-fetched anymore.
“They don’t think at all. That’s the problem,” Ali said. “They are too scared, because once they start thinking, they might get ideas. You know, the kind they’re not supposed to have.”
“You are quite cryptic tonight, Ali.” Lawrence pulled the collar of his jacket higher to protect his throat.
Ali let out a short non-committal grunt. “Socrates drank poison. He could’ve run away or begged for forgiveness or a lesser punishment, but he brought the poisoned cup to his lips and drank.”
“I am aware of the circumstances of his death.” Lawrence didn’t yet know whether Ali was giving him a history lesson or if there was another purpose for all this talk.
“You wouldn’t have been admitted here otherwise,” Ali said. “Hemlock. Such a strange thing, you know. State-sanctioned poison. Socrates was aware of his own death while his body was failing. But none of those convulsions, terrible digestive symptoms and all that, according to the historians reporting on it. A clean, noble death.”
“It must have been,” Lawrence agreed, concealing his reluctance. This wasn’t the time to start a debate on whether the recounting of Socrates’s death must have been embellished to protect the philosopher’s dignity or not. The obsession with form must have determined the Ancient Greeks to opt for such devices. While he was no expert in poisons, he doubted Socrates went away as nobly as he lived. Had that been a grim satisfaction for his enemies? Had it made his disciples and those who loved him suffer more?
“He didn’t go against the law that wrongfully condemned him. Doesn’t that annoy you?” Ali continued.
“Even if it does, it serves no one what I think. Socrates, in particular,” Lawrence pointed out.
“I have principles. I believe in truth,” Ali announced. “Do you believe in truth, Larry?”
“I do.” He no longer felt the need to shift in place to prevent the stiffness in his limbs.
“Then let Socrates’s ceremonial burial, which we just conducted, be the start of our work. Now let’s get the replacement and be done with this. I can’t feel my nose anymore. Or my ears.”
Lawrence chuckled. Ali was surprisingly down to earth for someone who must’ve been taught the purity of form and the beauty of ritual. He couldn’t have asked for a better partner.
***
The room where the statue replica they were searching for was kept was located in the part of the castle dedicated to a small museum, which Lawrence hoped to visit at one point. There were several chambers no longer in use where stacks of objects were being kept, all vestiges of the old Veridien, but mostly replicas. Ali delivered this information in a clipped manner, while they navigated through cabinets with small artifacts, old maps rolled and propped against the walls, and a sundry of storage options.
Lawrence caught his nose, so he didn’t sneeze. These rooms were seldom visited, so dust and cobwebs had been slowly taking over the fading glory of the castle.
“Do you know where it is?” he asked Ali in a whisper. They were using the flashlight Ali had provided, since Lawrence didn’t want to appear a little too well-equipped for an investigation.
“Not precisely. But everything of value has a few replicas.”
“How do you know that?” Lawrence asked.
“I have the habit of sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong. I can’t see well, but it was Bastien who remarked one day about how the originals had been replaced all over the school. Though not in the Rector’s office. Everything you see there is real.”
Interesting detail. Lawrence decided to note it down later; it could or couldn’t have anything to do with Lukas and the way he’d left this world. But definitely, Veridien wasn’t as shiny and pure as it tried to make people believe.
“Ah, there they are,” Ali said with satisfaction.
Rooms with many doors, giving into other, smaller rooms. Lawrence could picture himself exploring the place at length, but the current circumstances didn’t allow them to dally.
Statues and busts stood aligned in neat rows. The light of Ali’s flashlight, which Lawrence was holding, brushed over the crowns of their stone heads. A silent army, ready to be brought to life like a band of robots waiting to become sentient.
Ali was moving through the rows with the nimbleness of a cat. “Socrates, Socrates, where art thou?” he declaimed with a flourish.
Wouldn’t it be a bummer if they came all this way only to find that a similar replica of the broken statue was no longer there?
But if the replicas were here, where were the originals? Lawrence stopped.
“Hey, a little more light over here if you please,” Ali called.
Lawrence dutifully obliged.
“Ah, there you are. You are my favorite, just so you know,” Ali conversed with the statue, which he embraced with both arms.
“Give it to me,” Lawrence warned.
“Him,” Ali insisted, stepped aside and let Lawrence handle the delicate, yet strength-demanding task of lifting the statue from its place.
“Lead the way. And be on your guard. If we’re caught, I only fear expulsion. But in your case, you might end up in detention under Herr Becker’s supervision for the rest of the year.”
“True, Larry, true. Leave it to me. I’m your faithful partner.”
“Don’t you mean trustworthy?”
“Yeah, that too.”
Lawrence moved slowly between the rows of statues, careful not to disturb them. Only when they were outside did he carry the statue over one shoulder for easier transport.
“I should have called you Atlas,” Ali said. “We could carry it together.”
“Let’s not make this take longer than needed. Feel free to call me whatever you like.”
“Really? That’s progress, Larry.”
“If you say so.”
***
It was almost two in the morning when they finished. Lawrence felt tired to the bone, which said something about fieldwork, particularly the kind his unofficial investigation entailed.
Ali knelt in front of the heater, huddling like a kid.
“Ali,” Lawrence called out. “Come on, let’s get you to your room.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea. I’m going to wake up Felix.”
“Do you share a room with your brother?” Lawrence wasn’t surprised that a pair of twins did that, but he hadn’t heard of other than individual rooms until now. More surprising, however, was that he had yet to learn where Ali’s room – and Felix’s – was.
“Yes. I know. Just because he’s my brother, he thinks he needs to keep me in his sight so I don’t stray.”
“If that’s his plan, it doesn’t seem to be working very well. You’re straying plenty, I’d say.”
“Yes,” Ali admitted with a heavy sigh. “I’ll go sleep in the library.”
“Where exactly? No, just stay put.”
They had used one of the blankets to carry the replica, and now it lay on the floor. Ali reached for it and wrapped it around his body. “Perfect. It’s nice here with the heater and all.”
Lawrence sighed. “Get in bed.”
“Larry, I’m not kicking you out of your own bed.”
“We can share it.”
“No,” Ali said, the only word uttered sounding like a shocked whisper. “Bastien will give me evil glares for the rest of the semester.”
“Don’t be silly now. We’ll sleep back to back. Your dignity is safe with me, I promise.”
“Unlike Bastien’s, I bet.”
“You imp,” Lawrence said. “I’ll give you some clean spares, though they will definitely be too large for you.”
“No need,” Ali said brightly.
Lawrence narrowed his eyes. “I hope you don’t plan on sleeping naked.”
“In this kind of weather?” Ali replied in kind. “I have my pajamas on me.” He pushed the blanket away and shimmied out of his jacket and sweater, revealing a grey pajama top.
“It feels almost like you planned to sleep in my room. Seriously, people, one would think that this room is inferior in every way to those you and Bastien have.”
“Not at all. This one has you in it,” Ali echoed, unknowingly, Bastien’s words. “And I haven’t had a sleepover in ten years or so.”
“We’re going to sleep, so don’t get any strange ideas,” Lawrence warned.
“Fine by me.” Ali removed his footwear and pants, after which he padded in his pajamas to Lawrence’s bed. “I’m so tired,” he said with a yawn. “By the way, why did you want the names of my songs?”
“Because you’re my alibi. I told Bastien you insisted that I listened to your music. Which, at the time, I didn’t know it was truly yours as in you being its creator.”
“Impressive. You truly know how to cover all your angles, don’t you, Sleeper?”
“I’m training to be a spy, so I suppose the only answer I can give you is ‘yes’.”
“Good, good. You won’t even feel that I’m here.”
Lawrence decided to take that promise at face value as he turned off the light and snuck in bed, his back to Ali, as promised.
***
At least one of them seemed incapable of keeping a promise, because the first thing Lawrence felt at the break of dawn was something heavy weighing on his legs, making it impossible for him to move. It took him a moment or two to realize that Ali had somehow managed to end up on his back, snoring, and throwing his leg over his bed partner. His hand was planted on Lawrence’s head, and his fingers twitched from time to time, tickling Lawrence’s scalp.
“Ali,” Lawrence said groggily. He needed a cold shower to wake up. “It’s morning. You should go to your room before your brother starts wondering where you are.”
The snoring stopped, but Ali refused to open his eyes.
“If Herr Becker finds you here, what am I supposed to say?”
No answer.
“If your brother comes looking for you, what then?”
No reply whatsoever.
“Bastien is going to find you here if you don’t wake up right now.”
Ali straightened to a sitting position like a vampire rising from his coffin. “I’m awake. You don’t have to invoke his name to exorcise me from your room.”
Lawrence laughed. “I found your weakness.”
“Don’t overuse it,” Ali warned him. He moved quite nimbly for someone who’d been busy the night before digging graves for philosophers dead for millennia. In a single move, he jumped over Lawrence and started dressing.
The urgent knock on the door made them both freeze. Ali began making signs, and Lawrence did the same, but it quickly became evident that neither of them knew sign language. Lawrence opened his armoire, pushed a few things aside, and then grabbed Ali, who was protesting by mutely gesticulating. He placed his partner in the armoire, stuffing his arms with the clothes he hadn’t managed to put on and his shoes. Ali gave him an alarmed look as Lawrence closed the double doors, leaving him in darkness.
Unless the chambermaid was there, no one had any business searching the armoire, so it was the safest place for Ali, who, luckily, didn’t take up a lot of space.
Lawrence turned the sink faucet and made a few splashing noises, quickly washing his face. “Right away,” he shouted to justify his tardiness.
“Don’t you look relieved?” Bastien said once he finally got the door.
“Trust me. I have reason to,” Lawrence replied. “Ali’s here.”
Ali opened the armoire doors with a bang. “I can’t believe the first thing you thought of doing was to tattle on me,” he reproached Lawrence.
Bastien, fresh and already dressed in his uniform, his cheeks rosy from the cold, threw Ali a sour look. “Tell me you didn’t sleep here.”
“I slept in there,” Ali pointed at the armoire.
Bastien scoffed. “As if I’d believe such a ludicrous thing. Lawrence offered his bed, I’m sure.”
“Well, he did. We slept together,” Ali said promptly.
Lawrence grimaced. Ali really knew the meaning of payback.
Bastien, who was now in the middle of the room, turned to stare at him. “Really, Sir Galahad? I should have made you swear fealty to me.”
Lawrence closed his eyes in pure suffering. “You two should stop this charade. Obviously, nothing happened. I just didn’t have the heart to take a sleepy Ali through the cold back to his room last night. And you, Bastien, should know better. Both Ali and me.”
“He’s so serious, isn’t he?” Bastien asked, his eyes on Lawrence. They were glinting with mischief.
“He is,” Ali chimed in, aware that the question was addressed to him.
Lawrence noticed the coat folded over Bastien’s arm. Its lapel shone with small ice crystals. “Is it snowing?” he asked. The sun hadn’t been the one to wake him up, but habit. Now he noticed the grey sky outside, lying behind the window, impassible and cold.
“Yes. It’s not so surprising. We were lucky to get a full sunny day for Lustratio.”
“Lucky, sure,” Ali agreed. “The sun always shines over Veridien.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in such things.”
“When it suits my purposes, maybe I do,” Ali replied, brushing by Bastien and struggling to put his shoes on.
“You two are fighting like siblings,” Lawrence said out loud. “I hope neither of you minds, but I need to start shaving.”
“I can help you with that,” Bastien offered.
“Be careful, Larry,” Ali warned. “He’s not all sugar, as much as he’d like you to believe so.”
“I don’t mind putting myself in Bastien’s hands,” Lawrence said, as he opened the small cabinet above the sink and started brushing his teeth. “But I wouldn’t want him to get shaving cream on his clothes. So he’ll have to wait around and watch. Don’t you want to keep him company, Ali?”
“No, definitely not. I’m leaving,” Ali announced like a scorned royal who hadn’t received the deference he was due. “Goodbye, Larry,” he said pointedly.
“See you,” Lawrence said.
Bastien said nothing, refusing to acknowledge Ali’s leaving just the same. Whatever had happened between the two of them, it couldn’t be that bad. For starters, they spoke when circumstances required it. And their quarrel wasn’t bitter. Whatever it was, Lawrence believed that it would work out eventually.
He started shaving. “Feel free to berate me. I promise not to retaliate since I don’t want to cut myself by getting too excited for a fight with you,” he said, his back to Bastien.
“I won’t scold you.”
“You sound like you’d love to scold me.”
“Restraint is a superior quality.”
“Cultivated at Veridien like mezereon at its gates,” Lawrence replied in kind.
“You have a sharp tongue for a knight-errant.”
“I had no idea the two excluded each other.”
“Hmph.”
Lawrence could bet Bastien looked awfully cute while getting mad over such petty things, but he really needed to pay attention to his shaving. Not because he was worried he might cut himself, but because he wanted to make sure not to miss a spot. He’d never rival Lukas in looks, but the least he could do was to give himself proper grooming.
“Well?” he asked, after he finished.
Bastien was sitting at his desk, his chin in his palm, looking wistful. There was something unbearable in that look, the sort of thing that could sneak inside a heart and break it from within. Lawrence could only think of how much he wanted to kiss him.
Their eyes met. It was maybe odd, and there were no other signs, but Lawrence foolishly thought Bastien thought the same about him.
“Do you like it here, Lawrence? So far?”
“It’s all right,” he replied, feeling his lips twitching in a teasing smile.
“Then be careful.”
“About what, exactly?”
Bastien looked around the room, as if his eyes couldn’t decide where to land. “The faculty are imbeciles,” he said, surprising Lawrence with the bluntness of his remark. “Not all, I suppose, but most of them. Don’t hold back. I’ve noticed how you try to restrain your knowledge and intelligence as if you might risk offending someone if you happened to be better than most.”
“There is such a risk,” Lawrence said.
“Yes. But mediocrity receives even less leeway at Veridien. Examination doesn’t happen according to the same schedule as in other schools. We get, let’s say, surprise tests. Be your absolute best, Sir Galahad. I want you here with me for the entire year.”
“Ah, so it’s a selfish act, you telling me about this?”
Bastien stood, arranging his coat over his arm fastidiously. Lawrence took another step and held his palm open, only to experience that sweet, almost painful satisfaction of having the beautiful Hawthorne heir rest his cheek in it, while giving him a smile that transformed his entire face.
“Of course, it is. A king demands,” Bastien joked.
“Would the king demand a kiss, too?” Lawrence moved his thumb to rub it lightly over the corner of Bastien’s mouth.
“Yes,” Bastien said in one long exhalation.
He should have breathed in instead. Because Lawrence caught his lips in the kiss that had been on his mind since Bastien had stepped inside his room.
TBC
(1) Initium ut esset homo creatus est (Latin) - That there might be a beginning, man was created. This quote belongs to Augustine of Hippo; more precisely, it is from his work The City of God. It is worth noting that while the translations available use the word ‘man’, the more precise meaning of Augustine’s choice of word is that of ‘human being’.
AN: I lost internet connection just as I pressed submit... I hope I can recreate the answers I gave you the first time.
@Geoffrey Fox - thank you! I'm happy you're enjoying the story! And poor Ali, indeed. I like him so much.
@DavidB - according to the teachers of the art of crafting, a successful murder mystery should have a cast large enough to create a lot of potential suspects... Lawrence's and Bastien's love story will continue!
@Derek - the list of suspects is getting longer... As my story comes together, I begin to believe that more than the identity of the killer, the 'why' will come as more surprising - and satisfying in the context of a murder mystery.
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