Fast Cars
Lawrence stopped in front of the vending machine, slowly counting the coins in his pocket. He should have known that lending his ear to local gossip would most likely lead him nowhere, but there had been something unsettling in the postal worker’s manner as he told his tale. An intensity. Yes, that was the word. And Lawrence believed it to be enough of a hint that the villagers in general didn’t trust ‘Veridien people’ much, whether they had anything in common with the made-up history of the place or not.
The shrill whistle of a train conductor cut through his thoughts. He didn’t turn but hesitated before pushing the first coin through the slot. His usual reasoning returned in full force; distance was necessary for a clear head. Still, he fed the machine his next coin and pressed the required button. Without looking to see if anyone was observing his moves, he removed the foil-wrapped packet from the delivery slot, calmly put it inside the pocket of his coat, and walked away.
Both his uncle and Marius Vassier were correct to look at Veridien and its denizens. But wasn’t it an oversight to eliminate an outside force? After all, Lukas hadn’t died within the confines of the academy’s walls. What if he was meeting someone that night? An outsider?
A good detective would cover all angles, he told himself. At the same time, he needed to acknowledge how much his involvement with Bastien would affect his ongoing investigation. Aware of his wishful thinking, he still needed to follow the leads necessary to uncover the truth.
Villagers like the postal worker and Herr Schneider recognized both the privilege and the flaws that came with it when they looked at Veridien students. Still, and the thought made Lawrence smile, they’d be dumbfounded to learn that they ate more fulfilling meals than the people they so much envied and despised.
The postal worker’s tale had to be imaginary and born from wishful thinking. Waldwilen had ambitions to become a tourist destination, and clutching onto the possibility that the nearby castle had been at the center of an international conspiracy involving royalty was a way to pad the travel brochure they had so painstakingly put together to draw more visitors.
Lawrence snorted as he recalled the postal worker’s story. In broad strokes, the Grand Master’s curse had both come to pass and hadn’t. Philip IV and Pope Clement V died within one year of Jacques de Molay’s demise, facing God’s tribunal, just as the curse dictated. And Philip’s sons died without heirs, as well. But the Capetian dynasty, through its prominent branch, the House of Bourbon, lived on.
He looked up. Snow kept falling. Lawrence blinked a couple of times, catching snowflakes with his eyelashes, a game he remembered having enjoyed as a child. It would get dark and cold in the days to come. Having been part of Lustratio Sol seemed now like a distant, almost unnatural memory. To praise the sun in a place like Veridien bordered on being a joke. But maybe it was the longing for the warm days that made the people there so enthralled with their object of worship.
Bastien had only been kind to him since his arrival at Veridien. Lawrence preferred, as much as possible, to be a logical, practical person. Yet he had to admit that it wasn’t easy to remain his cool, balanced self whenever he was in the presence of the Sun King.
He let out another low snort. They were all playacting. Didn’t Anton find it mildly irritating that his nickname placed him, historically speaking, a generation before the ‘king’ he was serving? They all filled their own shoes so well. Maybe that was the true privilege they enjoyed. They could be whoever they wanted without doing as much as blinking.
After all, Bastien looked nothing like the Sun King in history books. Anton, just the same. It was all a bit self-aggrandizing, selfish. They had it all, so they needed a goal to adhere to. So they were rehearsing for the roles they were being prepared for.
Lawrence brushed one hand over his face, enjoying the cold, firm sensation on his skin. His coarse hair came with advantages. He rarely used a hat, but here, he’d have to change his habits. Marius Vassier had forced him to pack a couple of wool caps, but they were in his armoire at Veridien.
That reminded him that it was about time to go back. At first, it had unnerved him greatly that his door would remain unlocked when he wasn’t there; now, he needed to remind himself that his treasures were at risk of discovery the more time he spent away from his monk cell.
The book delivered by the mysterious statue-destroyer would be a safe bet for perusal. Herr Becker had seen it, and Ali was his partner in solving crimes. Still, seeing how it’d been delivered, Lawrence didn’t hold his breath regarding the value of its contents. If he were to follow all of Lukas’s pursuits of knowledge, he might end up with an enormous quantity of useless information on his hands.
Nonetheless, if the slightest connection existed between Lukas’s perfect rendition of the white oak and The Geometry of Power, it was worth investigating. Lukas’s notebook was still a mystery, and one Lawrence didn’t yet know how to approach.
With that thought in mind, Lawrence walked over to the cluster of taxis parked in front of the station.
***
This time, the driver was different from the elderly man who had taken him close to Veridien on the day of his arrival. A vivacious man in his forties, heavyset but nimble for his size, he kept shifting his weight in the driver’s seat as he talked.
“What is it like to study up there?” he asked Lawrence directly, without any introduction.
“A grueling business,” Lawrence replied.
It was the answer that seemed capable of pleasing the man the most.
“Indeed, indeed. These roads at night,” he commented. “They’re a pain. But still navigable. Once winter comes, things change a lot. And winter comes fast here.”
Lawrence’s eyes followed the numbers rising on the taxi meter, while the car trudged along, shaking slightly from time to time. “So I won’t be able to count on your services?”
“Not so much. I like being a taxi driver, meeting new people, but a patch of ice is all you need to end up wrapped around a tree.” The man waved at the window, the glint of his wristwatch reflecting briefly on the glass. “Trucks are a different thing. Even so, the people up there stock up for the winter, just in case the delivery trucks can’t make it on some days.”
Isolation. What made Veridien a tough place to lay siege to in the past would work against it in modern times.
“Have you made many friends so far?” the taxi driver asked. “Snotty kids.” He blew air hard through his nose. “Having a death wish and all. Don’t climb in with them.”
Lawrence met the man’s eyes briefly in the rearview mirror. The wan light overhead must have made the taxi look like a fleeting torch moving through the darkness from the outside.
“What do you mean?”
“Their fast cars. They’re reckless.”
“Wait. Are you telling me they have their own cars? At the academy?” Lawrence had seen the garage. Nothing but the faculty’s Mercedes parked there.
The driver grinned, pleased with knowing more about the inner workings of the elite institution than the new transfer student. It made Lawrence wonder briefly about how fast news traveled in a small, tight-knit community like Waldwilen. Unlike the postal worker, the driver already knew he was studying at Veridien.
“They sure do. That Lamborghini Countach.” The driver paused for effect and whistled. “You know, it’s not that fast. But I bet it feels fast.” He took a hand off the wheel to exemplify the trajectory of an arrow, accompanied by a suitable sound effect. “She’s a beauty. But that boy will end up wrecking her, I’m sure. Along with some of his internal organs, just in case he’s lucky enough to live.”
A Lamborghini Countach. Lawrence had seen such a car in the streets about five times in total. It was one of those things that made him aware that rich people lived in a different world than the common folk. Was the taxi driver fantasizing now, just like the postal worker, about conspiracy theories involving royalty and the Knights Templar? It seemed unlikely.
“Do you know who’s driving it?”
The driver shrugged and clutched the wheel as the car veered on its own for a moment. To his credit, he didn’t appear in the slightest disturbed by the mishap. “I wouldn’t know. It’s all very hush-hush how they handle themselves up there. We don’t get to know much about whoever goes there. Except that boy. The one who fell and broke his neck.”
“Lukas,” Lawrence supplied right away.
“Right. German name. Aristocrat, I heard.”
“Would it be too much if I asked you to describe the driver of the Countach?” Lawrence insisted.
The driver half-turned in his seat to give him a stern, paternal glare. “You’re not thinking of asking that young man for a ride, are you? It’s suicide.”
“No, of course not,” Lawrence lied through his teeth. If he got the chance, he’d get inside that car. That was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for him, and even he couldn’t help feel a little giddy at the thought of being close to that kind of beast.
“He’s tall, but not as tall as you. Actually, I think he’s average in height. Also, a little bony. And, I don’t know, a bit sickly? You wouldn’t expect someone like him to have the speed bug.”
Sickly? Lawrence couldn’t help thinking of Abelard. But there were more than one hundred students at Veridien, and others could fit the sparse description the taxi driver had provided.
***
“Where have you been?” Ali began interrogating him as soon as he arrived.
“Do you really love my room better than yours?” Lawrence replied in the same manner as he removed his coat.
He was remotely thankful for Ali being there, because he’d turned on the heater, and after the cold he’d braved earlier, it felt good to return to a pleasant, cozy room.
Regardless of how nosy and bothersome his current guest was. Ali had found The Geometry of Power and was rifling through its pages, looking bored.
“I believe that was delivered to me,” Lawrence said, picking up the book and stealing it from Ali.
“To us. Since we’re partners.”
“Did you go through my things?”
Ali winced. He knew how to look guilty in a way that inspired pity. “I was curious. And I draw a line at dirty socks, you know?”
Lawrence didn’t plan on falling for it. So he gave Ali a stern look. “You practically searched this place to find it.”
“Yes, but all your secrets are safe with me. I mean, if you ever feel inspired by your muse to start writing poems--”
“Ali,” Lawrence said in a reproachful tone.
Ali’s head was so low between his shoulders, and he folded into himself with such efficiency, he must have reduced his height by half. “I apologize. That was rude of me. And you don’t have one dirty sock.”
“No one does. I bet the chambermaids here have noses as good as dogs. I’m not against having clean clothes all the time, but frankly, they embarrass me.” He had no intention of being or staying mad at Ali. He’d know if anything important was moved from its place. And Ali knew about the book, anyway.
Ali snickered. “Yes. Though they are careful to remove our dirty laundry without us ever seeing them.”
“That doesn’t stop me from feeling embarrassed. Where I come from, we do our own laundry.”
Ali sighed. “Rub it in my face more. I know I’m spoiled. We all are. Maybe it’s because I’m spoiled that I don’t understand how Lukas could’ve found such literature anything but boring, mind-shattering nonsense.” He pointed at the book in Lawrence’s hand.
“He was the best in the school, wasn’t he?”
“Yes. He was extraordinary.” Ali looked away.
“Was he in love with Bastien?”
Of all the things he could have asked, he was going for that. Handling this investigation would definitely be delicate.
“They were in love.” It was a quiet, yet not so strong a confirmation as not to invite additional inquiry.
“Who loved who more?”
Ali leaned back on the bed and linked his hands over his belly. “I think it was Bastien who loved Lukas more. Like all extraordinary people, Lukas didn’t truly need anyone else. And I’m not talking only about Bastien. About having friends, too.”
“Was there anyone who was closest to him, besides Bastien?”
“This is for our investigation, correct?” Ali checked with him, lifting only one index finger.
“Of course. It helps us paint a picture of his life. I mean me not us, since you knew him well.”
“Not so well,” Ali said. “He kept to himself a lot. If I think about it now, it was only because of Bastien that he became friends with the rest of us.”
“Really? A guy like him?”
“I suppose he would have made friends anyway. But he had such an obsessive mind, you know? When something caught his attention, he could ignore the entire world. And yes, before you ask, even Bastien. Bastien, who’s like a cat, always needing affection but never asking for it.”
Lawrence could see why that description would fit Bastien, and it made him smile. Oh, he needed to stop, or he might develop an obsession too, but the opposite of whatever motivated Lukas to neglect his lover. And his friends.
“But he must have been in with Anton’s crowd,” he insisted.
“Anton didn’t exactly like Lukas.”
“I don’t like Anton much, either, but I don’t think we should just make him into a bad guy. It would narrow the perspective of our investigation if we don’t keep an open mind.”
Ali didn’t say anything. He stared at Lawrence, grinning. “We’re really doing this. We’re partners. I’m sure we’ll find out who killed Lukas.”
“Easy, partner. We don’t know someone did it for sure.”
“But we do,” Ali argued. “Lukas was way too practical to be the sort to kill himself.”
“It could have been an accident,” Lawrence pointed out.
“You don’t believe that or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“True.” Lawrence placed the book on the desk. “Now, on to more pressing matters. Who drives the Countach?”
Ali’s wide-eyed shock made up for the rummaging through his stuff. Almost.
“How do you know about the Countach?”
Lawrence hoped his triumphant, all-knowing grin counted as payback. “I have my methods.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, really.”
A staring contest ensued, with Ali pouting the longer it went on, only for them to be interrupted by a playful knock.
“Come in,” Lawrence said, still keeping contact with Ali’s pointed glare.
“Ah, you’re not alone,” Bastien remarked, doing nothing to hide his disappointment as he walked in.
“Hello to you too, Rose Bud,” Ali said, he, too, sticking to the staring contest without blinking.
Bastien smacked his lips in displeasure. “Lawrence, I truly hope you don’t believe all that comes out of this turncoat’s mouth.”
“What did I say?” Ali protested. “You’re delicate and untouched, just like a rose bud. Larry’s words.”
Lawrence didn’t remember having used such words.
“Too bad. I’m far from delicate. Or untouched, unfortunately. What exactly are you two doing?” Bastien eventually noticed their weird behavior.
“He knows,” Ali declaimed in his most accusatory, theatrical voice, “about the Countach.”
“And?” Bastien asked, obviously not impressed.
Ali lost the staring contest by turning his attention to Bastien. “That is supposed to be a secret.”
“From who?”
Lawrence and Bastien smiled and exchanged a glance, amused by their shared question.
“Everyone,” Ali exclaimed, opening his arms wide.
Bastien shook his head in mirth. “Do you truly believe that the Rector doesn’t know about Anton’s secret weapon?” He said the last words with endearing judgment.
Anton was tall indeed, but sickly? He didn’t fit the taxi driver’s description. Maybe he allowed Abelard to drive it.
“Where is this amazing car?” Lawrence asked. Since the chances of him returning to Lukas’s notebook were slim, as his room was overtaken by foreign forces, the least he could do was have some fun on Saturday night with the aforementioned forces.
“Don’t tell me that is the sort of thing you like,” Bastien expressed his disbelief.
Lawrence couldn’t help but smile giddily. “Do you think Anton would let me see it?”
Bastien lowered his eyelids and seemed ready to roll his eyes, when his face relaxed. “Why not?”
“I know what we should do,” Ali said, snapping his fingers. “We could race down to the village.”
“Race? Wait, how many illicit vehicles are on the premises?” Lawrence asked.
“Bastien has his Porsche,” Ali recited, “and Norris his Ferrari.”
Lawrence stared at his guests, searching for signs that they were pulling his leg.
“All right,” Bastien said with a small huff. “But we don’t race,” he warned, looking at Ali with narrowed eyes. “I suppose a bit of fun wouldn’t hurt anyone.” He emphasized the word ‘fun’ as if he meant its opposite. “And Lawrence rides with me.”
“I’m coming with you two.”
“There’s barely any room in the back, and Catus,” Bastien said squarely, “will definitely want to come, too.”
Ali snorted. “Felix and I shared a womb, Rose Bud. That surely tops sharing the backseat of your vehicle.”
Bastien turned his suffering eyes to Lawrence. “It will be like traveling with children. I didn’t precisely purchase the Porsche with the idea of turning it into a family car.”
Lawrence gave Bastien a sympathetic shrug. The ‘no racing’ rule the Princeps had invoked suited him just fine. Although his bets would be on Norris’s Ferrari, anyway.
Observing Bastien’s interactions with Ali confirmed his vague suspicions that were now starting to solidify. Was curiosity the only thing leading the Golden Circle – with its outside addition – to gather tightly around him?
He was an investigator. Acting skittish would only make them look closer. So, putting on a smile he knew would make Bastien pay attention, he wrapped an arm around the Sun King.
“Search my coat’s right pocket,” he whispered in Bastien’s ear.
“I heard that,” Ali announced. “Did you bring any sweets?”
Lawrence had come back prepared. He moved to take his bag. The look on Ali’s face was priceless as he let a bunch of brightly colored, kid-friendly snacks rain onto his lap. That also helped obscure Bastien for a moment, which was all it took. When he turned and met the Sun King’s eyes, he read approval in them.
“What did you buy Bastien?” Ali asked, ripping open one of the bags containing disgusting gummy frogs.
“His favorite,” Lawrence said, keeping a straight face.
Bastien’s soft laugh tickled him the right way. “Amazing intuition, Sir Galahad.”
“Not so much intuition, as paying attention,” Lawrence replied smoothly.
Ali put a jelly frog in his mouth and pushed it outward with his tongue, pressing his lips around it. He looked like a toddler still too attached to his pacifier.
“A practical, much-desired gift,” Bastien commented. He wrapped one arm around Lawrence from behind and made faces at Ali.
Who seemed pleased enough with his sweet treat not to respond in kind.
“When and where are we going?” Lawrence asked. “I believe I missed dinner.”
“It was a dull affair,” Ali said, now pushing the gummy inside his cheek. “The gatekeeper would have a fit if he knew what I’m having right now.”
“Is Herr Becker so set against innocent snacks?” Lawrence asked.
“He is against anything that counts as remotely fun,” Ali made clear.
“So how come you guys hide not one, but three cars on the premises?”
“Eh, it’s not so complicated,” Bastien said. “Because they know they can’t enforce iron discipline without having at least some of us rebel or break, they pretend to close their eyes to what they consider sanctioned recklessness. And our families wouldn’t bear the thought of having us rely on only the official transportation available at Veridien, should an emergency occur.”
“What kind of emergency? Those vehicles are hardly fit for snow and icy roads.”
Bastien ignored his common-sense remark. No matter how anyone put it, it raised questions. Lawrence doubted all the students at Veridien had personal vehicles. There were layers to privilege and status even here. Or especially here. And having an entire fleet of cars on the grounds was impossible.
What kind of emergency, Lawrence’s brain echoed his unanswered question, would make a student flee the academy behind the wheel of a fast car?
TBC
Thank you for reading!
@Derek - I know people are thinking the boot print would make Earnest... but I don't fear spoilers when I say: it doesn't belong to him. As for the disco... Lawrence will get his chance to hang out with the guys.
@Geoffrey - each of them hides something, benign or not so much, hence the difficulty to read them!
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