Mezereon
The way the lunch attendees were seated in the large refectory told Lawrence that schools tended to be the same everywhere. The faculty enjoyed their lunch at a table elevated on a dais, remote from the din of the room. Cliques were evident, everywhere he looked, and normally he would’ve picked a quiet spot so he could enjoy his lunch alone. It wasn’t that he didn’t prefer the companionship of others when available. Friendships didn’t come easily to him. The only two close mates he’d let know he’d taken a sabbatical to study abroad – a lie as convenient as any other – wouldn’t write him long letters. They were good guys, but that was the extent of it.
However, he wasn’t alone this time, and Ali seemed keen on dragging him along until they reached the place his new mate had chosen for them.
“Ah, I’m famished,” Ali said, rubbing his hands together and then shrugging off his jacket.
Lawrence had only himself to blame for not changing into the Veridien uniform that had been sent to him before coming here. Caught up as he’d been in exploring the old castle with Ali as his guide, they had to hurry here when lunch hour came. Without being in uniform, he wouldn’t be able to blend in with the mass of students.
Their table was right in the middle of the left row. Although the arrangement allowed eight students at each table, Ali’s attitude seemed to chase away whoever made the slightest attempt to join them. Lawrence wondered whether Ali was the resident black sheep and what the reason – or reasons – could be for that. It would explain his eagerness to befriend the new transfer.
His presence didn’t go unnoticed. It was ignored on purpose, but the stolen glances in his direction assured Lawrence that many of those present were wondering who he was.
His eyes didn’t search for him, yet they somehow found the table where Bastien Hawthorne was seated. Anton sat at his right, his stance relaxed, one arm thrown casually around his friend’s chair. Their table was the closest to the dais where the faculty lunched. Location, like generally in society, mattered.
The other students at their table appeared to be cut from the same cloth. It didn’t surprise Lawrence in the least that Bastien would be surrounded by people of the same status and wealth. Because Bastien hadn’t noticed him yet, Lawrence allowed himself to stare freely. The young man he’d met earlier that morning seemed to have little in common with this carefree, exuberant even, version currently entertaining his friends. From time to time, a laugh made Bastien throw his head back, exposing his lovely throat, making the others follow his every move. Lawrence knew he needed to tear his eyes away. The spell Bastien Hawthorne seemed able to cast anywhere he went was too strong, even from that distance.
“Ah, he caught your eye. I see,” Ali said, using an annoying, lecherous tone on purpose.
“It is difficult not to notice him,” Lawrence said simply. “His family is extremely rich, and his face has been in the papers.”
He regretted mentioning the last part. Ali frowned, and his face darkened. If Lawrence didn’t wish to be considered a complete oaf, he needed to tread more carefully even when approaching the topic of Lukas’s death. The student body appeared at ease and not much different from other schools Lawrence had been to – if one took away the money and privilege that marked the place and its inhabitants. However, the way Bastien and Ali both behaved – swinging between sadness and forced cheerfulness – suggested otherwise.
“Yes, indeed,” Ali commented, his eyes drifting to Bastien’s table. He stared intently, and somehow, his staring seemed to cause Bastien to look over.
It was too late to avoid eye contact. Lawrence turned his eyes away and pretended to be absorbed by the high-quality linen tablecloth and the beautifully painted porcelain plate in front of him.
“Hmph.” Ali’s noncommittal grunt could mean anything.
“So, what should I expect?” Lawrence asked, eager to change the topic. He did need to get close to Bastien in order to investigate the case, but he needed to do that after he decided how to approach the wealthy heir without feeling like his brain was slowing down to the speed of a worm or that there was a big dry lump in his throat that prevented him from speaking normally.
“What do you mean?” Ali finally turned his attention to him.
“Lunch,” Lawrence replied. Great. Bastien was across the room, meaning at a good distance from him, and he still lacked the ability to form full sentences. It was unnerving. Truly unnerving.
“Ah, I guess you’re used to a more common fare,” Ali said with a flourish. “Don’t worry. I’ll guide you through. Don’t feel intimidated by the portion size.”
Lawrence looked at his new friend. “Don’t tell me they serve meals here like a hunting lodge.”
Ali laughed, seemingly more at ease now, to Lawrence’s relief. “No. I guess the outside world,” he gestured lightly, “would consider them minuscule. You’ll see.” He was about to add something, but his expression soured, making Lawrence look for what could have caused the mood change.
Bastien was there, standing close to their table, hands behind his back, smiling like a benevolent king.
“Knight-errant,” he said, leaning forward to catch Lawrence’s eyes, “would you like to join us at our table?”
Lawrence needed a moment. Or a full minute. It was downright absurd to have such reactions in front of Bastien, the main suspect in the case he was supposed to – investigate – observe. “Um,” he started.
He truly needed to work on this problem. It was getting out of hand and fast. His uncle had often scolded him about going out more and spending time with people his age, doing whatever people his age did. What was happening now was a direct result of his negligence and inability to interact properly in a social setting.
“Lawrence,” Ali said, his voice tight and grating, “is having lunch with me.”
“Lawrence,” Bastien said his name slowly as if he intended to taste it like he would an exotic, curious food. “I see. Have you nothing to say for yourself, Lawrence?”
Ali’s intervention had given him, thankfully, enough time to get a grip. “I apologize,” Lawrence said primly. “But as you can see, I have already made arrangements.”
“Of course,” Bastien said cordially. “Bon appétit, then. Lawrence, Alistair,” he added in a tone that matched Lawrence’s stiffness to a comical degree.
He didn’t dare stare after Bastien, as he took his leave. But he was dying to do so, and it went beyond all his comprehension as to why he was acting so unlike himself.
“You can’t be serious,” Ali whispered, his face stretched into a grin. “Did you just turn Bastien Hawthorne down? After he invited you to join the Golden Circle’s table?”
“Come on,” Lawrence scoffed. “Are you telling me they call themselves that? Why?”
“I asked a question first. You have a weird habit of dodging important inquiries, it seems,” Ali teased him.
Lawrence relaxed and smiled at Ali. “I told the truth. And it would’ve been polite of him to ask you to join them, too.”
Ali nodded, wiggling his eyebrows. “You’re good, Sleeper. And incredibly, stupidly brave. Now, wait a minute… why did he talk to you like he knew you?”
There was no point keeping it a secret. “I met him this morning, on my way here.”
Ali’s eyes widened. “No way. Where?”
Where his boyfriend died. It wouldn’t bode well to say such a thing, Lawrence thought. “Close to the entrance. He was with Anton.”
“So you met His Dark Eminence, too?”
“It would be a stretch to say that. We only exchanged a few words,” Lawrence insisted.
Ali shook his head and stared openly at Bastien’s table. Lawrence preferred not to do the same.
“Why do you call Anton that?”
Servers had already started moving gracefully and quietly about, placing the first course in front of the lunch attendees.
“Because he’s the mastermind behind everything that happens around here,” Ali replied promptly. “Ah, just look at him. He’s pouting,” he said with a smirk.
Obvious animosity existed between Bastien and Ali. Lawrence had a hunch that Ali wouldn’t hesitate to fill him in on all the drama. While he had no intention to begin taking sides – he still needed to get close enough to Bastien to observe him – he needed to learn all the details of the intricate net of relationships at Veridien if he wanted to uncover the truth about what happened to Lukas. Drama was rarely insular; that was something he’d gleaned from his many studies on murder. People who looked away, others who stoked a fire when they shouldn’t have, all those things together created the conditions required for the unthinkable to happen.
If Lukas had decided to hurt himself, so be it. Lawrence had promised his uncle to consider all angles, regardless of what they felt tempted to think about the case. But even if that were the truth, and the verdict were suicide, there could still be culprits, people who had either neglected the young man or even pushed him to do such a thing. Either way, Lawrence was in the service of truth, and he would find it.
“You two don’t seem to get along,” he said matter-of-factly.
Ali gave him a surprised, confused look. “I’m not a pariah, Larry.”
“I didn’t say that.” Lawrence frowned, unsure of what to make of Ali’s reaction.
Ali huffed and straightened in his chair. “We got into a fight, that’s all.”
“What about?”
A server in impeccable attire placed the first course in front of him, interrupting their conversation for a moment. Lawrence stared at the small bowl in disbelief. Inside the clear broth, which must have been strained several times to achieve such limpidness, a single dumpling floated, surrounded graciously by a few vegetable squares, cut to the same precise size.
“Oh,” he barely managed. He should’ve stuffed his luggage with snacks before coming here. Enough to last him for the entire week, preferably, until he could go down to the village to send his first correspondence to his uncle.
“I’ll tell you one day,” Ali promised and touched his hand briefly, reaching across the table. “That one,” he added, pointing at the medium-size spoon placed by the side of the dish.
“Thanks,” Lawrence said. He’d had no idea that hunger would be a problem while investigating this case. If all the courses were like this, it was no wonder everyone seemed to be so thin here, compared to him, at least.
“Do you know what Bastien is called?”
“No idea,” Lawrence replied, staring with regret at the clear soup. “I bet you’re the one who’s giving everyone nicknames, though.”
“Really? What gave me away?” Ali joked. “Anyway, just so you know, Bastien’s codename is Rose Bud.”
Lawrence could see why. He was that beautiful, and Ali, for a change, seemed not to have employed his usual wit and sauciness when choosing this one for Bastien.
“Do you know why?”
“Because he’s… like a rose bud?” Lawrence ventured, lifting the soup spoon carefully to his lips.
“Because that’s what his asshole looks like. Waiting to bloom,” Ali said promptly.
Lawrence was lucky he hadn’t yet attacked the dumpling. That would’ve been a waste of one third of his lunch.
***
In the end, lunch did prove nutritious, even if not served in the usual quantities Lawrence was used to. He still needed to seriously consider stocking up on non-perishable foods, just in case. Ali’s help during dinner had been invaluable. As of now, Lawrence was capable of dining with kings and queens without making basic etiquette mistakes.
Marius Vassier had warned him about the complicated layout of the place, so Lawrence took out his drawing pencils and utensils. He’d make a map for himself and mark places of interest, such as the door with the white oak. Ali said it had to be an exit into the garden, but Lawrence wanted to check on his own.
Another map he’d start creating would display the relationships at Veridien. The Golden Circle, which included Bastien and Anton, interested him the most. Ali was a free agent, apparently.
The problem still remained. Where would he hide his illicit study materials while away from his room?
His careful perusal of his room had been interrupted earlier by Ali, but his new friend was now reluctantly attending the rest of his lessons for the day, so he was finally alone. First things first, he needed to identify multiple hiding places. With unhurried moves, Lawrence began feeling along the wooden paneling covering the walls until one gave slightly under his fingers. The space gained this way was large enough to stash his sketches.
Next, he explored the old armoire at length. Even if he discovered that the thing had a fake bottom, he wouldn’t use a space that was most likely known to the staff. Since students were forbidden to do their own laundry – Ali had been quite adamant on the topic – Lawrence couldn’t hope that a few dirty undergarments would discourage the chambermaid Herr Becker would send to take care of the new transfer’s room.
But the armoire had buckled slightly over time, which caused it not to sit perfectly flush against the wall. That made for another great hiding space.
Lawrence checked under the sink. While the pipe housing was as unobtrusive as the academy standards had to allow, a small door could be operated from the outside for plumping work. However, he didn’t consider this place a good option; if a pipe broke, his notes would be destroyed, and questions would arise.
What he didn’t write down, he’d remember. It wasn’t an easy feat; teachers and other grownups had always shown how impressed they were with Lawrence’s ability to recall more than the average student, but the trouble was that such memories didn’t last long before they fractured. It worked when studying overnight for an exam that was going to take place the next day, but that was all.
He’d have to find a place in the village where he could sit and write down whatever he didn’t manage to write down in his room, due to being too sensitive in nature.
Other things, of course, would do well with hiding in plain sight.
Since today was still a free day, he’d go on a bit of exploration by himself.
***
Beauty was mandatory at Veridien. Lawrence took in the ornamental bushes that cinched the entrance wall like a belt. Early frost hadn’t yet blighted the red fruit, so it still clung aplenty to the twigs. Lukas’s toxicology report had been clear: no alcohol, no known narcotics, and no identifiable poisons.
However, the forensic pathologist’s notes had made an interesting read – slight inflammation of the throat and signs of mild gastric irritation. The way nutrition was treated at Veridien, like an exact science, made Lawrence believe that the subtext of the state of Lukas’s digestive tract at the time of death needed more looking into. Of course, the mentioned symptoms alone could have various causes. Lukas, stressed by the need to perform academically, could very well have suffered from heartburn.
Lawrence caught a single beady fruit and tore it from its bouquet. Though his knowledge of toxic plants was limited, he did remember distinctly having been warned against eating such things as a child. Slowly, he crushed the fruit between his thumb and forefinger. Past its ripeness, it seemed, yet it still left a vague burning sensation on Lawrence’s skin.
“Mezereon,” someone said right behind him, making him turn.
People at Veridien clearly knew how to sneak up on others. Lawrence would swear Bastien hadn’t made a single noise while drawing near.
“Does anyone take attendance at this school?” he asked, opting for a harsh opening to prevent himself from falling prey to the attractive young man’s spell once more.
Bastien smiled. Lawrence avoided his eyes but then remembered his manners – and the purpose of his investigation. “Sorry,” he said, stretching out his arm. “We haven’t properly met. I’m Lawrence. Lawrence Garth.”
Bastien’s smile turned into a grin. He took Lawrence’s hand, but not to shake it; he cradled it in his and then removed a handkerchief from the pocket of his uniform jacket. Slowly, he began wiping Lawrence’s fingers. “You should be careful. If you get any of that in your mouth, you might not have a good time.”
Right. Lawrence had been about to wipe his fingers when Bastien had caught him unawares.
“What did you call it?” he asked.
Bastien raised his eyes. He looked at Lawrence from below, his eyes clear and passionless. “Mezereon,” he repeated. “Ingestion leads to poisoning. Not fatal if treated in time, of course.”
“Is it such a good idea to have it growing everywhere around here then?” Lawrence asked.
Bastien shrugged. “Its flowers are beautiful. Its fruits, the same. And all its parts are poisonous. I suppose Veridien enjoys a good metaphor.”
“And what metaphor does an ornamental shrub offer?” Lawrence questioned. His fingers were clean, but Bastien didn’t let go of his hand. He didn’t pull it away, either. Bastien’s hands were warm and dry.
“Look but don’t touch.” Bastien angled his head, giving Lawrence a sheepish smile. “Proceed at your own peril. Hmm, let me think… what else?”
“Be careful what you eat?” Lawrence volunteered.
Bastien laughed, throwing his head back in that graceful, carefree manner Lawrence had noticed during lunch. But that wasn’t the real Bastien; he had seen a truer version of him that morning. Lawrence doubted Bastien had wanted it to be seen at all.
“I won’t tell anyone,” he said. “About this morning.”
Bastien’s laugh died down. “Why not?”
A disarming question required a disarming answer.
“I don’t think you’d want people to believe you associate with me.”
Bastien released Lawrence’s hand only to move closer and invade his space. “You’re a bad liar, Sir Galahad.”
Lawrence didn’t dare to take a step back. That put him in a vulnerable position, but he needed to endure it. Not only he had no choice but to stare into Bastien’s eyes from up close, but he could smell the scent of his skin, witness the softness of his lips, and understand that powerful spells worked only because the bewitched allowed them to.
“Is this some sort of initiation?”
Bastien stopped. “I am not bullying you, knight-errant.”
“Are you sure? I’m about to fall over a shrub of toxic fruits and meet my end.”
“So dramatic.” Bastien chuckled. Good, a joke told at the right time worked wonders. “Let’s meet later. We don’t often get new people, so all my friends want to make your acquaintance.”
“Now who’s a bad liar? I know at least one who doesn’t.”
“Anton? He’s a lamb,” Bastien drawled playfully. “And you’re a bear,” he said, slapping Lawrence’s upper arms with the energy of a military commander assessing his troops. “Bears don’t fear lambs, do they?”
“Don’t let my imposing figure fool you. I am civilized,” Lawrence continued in the same vein, encouraged by Bastien’s attitude.
“Oh, you are? That’s too bad,” Bastien joked. “I was counting on you being untamed by the norms of society. It gets so boring to play by the rules all the time.”
“Then I will disappoint you. I am a stickler for rules.”
Bastien chuckled and pressed his forehead lightly against Lawrence’s shoulder before moving away. “I will try not to yawn much during our little get together this evening. Come to the library. Eight o’clock sharp.”
He began walking away. Lawrence wished he could keep him a little longer. “What should I bring?” he asked, not knowing what else to say.
“Your lovely self will suffice,” Bastien threw over his shoulder. Then, he turned and walked backward for a bit, smiling and giving Lawrence a once-over that felt like a physical touch.
TBC
Thank you for reading!
@Geoffrey Fox - oh, if you think these guys are strange... wait for the rest of the cast :D
@Derek - Ali will be a central character... Lawrence is navigating treacherous waters, so caution is advised (for readers, too). Anton will show facets of his personality, too. Herr Becker... maybe not so much.
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