The Golden Circle
Lawrence was barely back in his room when another knock interrupted his sketching work. Choosing for now to hide it under a few empty sheets of paper, he called for the intruder to come in.
He managed to hide his surprise with some difficulty when he came face to face with Herr Becker again. Maybe the housemaster was there to talk about the matter of the heater. For all he could brave the cold if need be, Lawrence preferred to enjoy basic comfort when possible.
The housemaster stopped before taking one step more than necessary inside the room. But his eyes were already observing, taking in everything, searching – without a doubt – for all the signs that the new transfer student was putting his mark on the place more than allowed.
Lawrence always kept his things in order. However, he waited patiently for Herr Becker’s perfunctory appraisal to be over.
“The Rector will see you now,” the housemaster said, already turning on his heel without waiting to see if Lawrence was following him.
***
The Rector’s office was located in the old keep, above the administrative offices where all the paperwork was handled, along with other chores, and underneath the belfry. Lawrence couldn’t shake off the thought that this part of the castle had to be the oldest and also the least to have suffered extensive renovation. Modern-life amenities must have been installed, he concluded, because it seemed counter-intuitive to house the most important man in the entire academy in a place that didn’t come with all the things that made life comfortable.
It didn’t appear that way as he climbed a narrow staircase, right behind Herr Becker. Even the air was staler here, making Lawrence’s nostrils flare unpleasantly. He wasn’t the kind to be easily put off by bad smells, but he could hardly keep his face schooled in a neutral expression.
When they reached the landing, it got better, and he inhaled slowly. Strange, he thought, how warm the air seemed to be here. The cause of it was quickly identified: concealed heaters kept the corridor at the ideal temperature. What Ali had told him before about the common spaces not getting the benefit of heating didn’t apply to the top floor occupied by the Rector’s office, it seemed.
The brass plate on the door proclaimed only a single word – RECTOR, written in bold italicized black letters against golden metal.
“He is expecting you. Go right in,” Herr Becker instructed him, already on his way. The housemaster was a busy man. Without a doubt, he must’ve cut a piece out of his valuable time to fetch the new transfer.
Lawrence knocked and waited. It felt ridiculous to go right in, as had been indicated by Herr Becker, but waiting for too long would make him appear unused to the rules of the place. With a shrug, he put his hand on the handle, opened the door and walked in.
The room had a ceiling so tall that Lawrence had to tip his head back to take it all in. The only outside light came through a narrow window and fell on an old, massive desk. Because of the office’s strange layout, Lawrence had to walk in a semicircle to position himself in front of the desk – and the man behind it.
Guarded from behind by stacks of shelves that rose close to the ceiling, in which tomes of wisdom jostled against each other so closely there was no room for a single pin, the Rector waited. His body posture suggested that he’d waited long enough. With eyes like steel and iron-gray hair, he appeared at first as immobile as a statue. He sat with his hands steepled in front of him and watched Lawrence over them. The conservative cut of his dark suit, like Herr Becker’s, suggested that the Rector wasn’t the kind of man to change his clothes according to fashion trends.
“Mr. Garth,” he said in a voice that sounded as grave as a whisper in a cathedral, “welcome to Veridien. I’m Helmut Reichenau.”
“Herr Rector,” Lawrence said politely, inclining his head a smidge.
The Rector didn’t invite him to sit, which meant that the meeting would be short.
“Is everything satisfactory so far? Should you encounter any difficulty, remember that your housemaster is your first point of contact. Despite what the title might suggest, there are no masters here. Our noble duty is to facilitate your success. Please, take a seat.” A hand, dry as paper, gestured for him to obey the spoken invitation.
So much for getting out of this quickly. Lawrence sat gingerly on one of the two lavish armchairs facing the Rector’s desk obliquely. Since it would cause too much trouble to adjust the armchair, he chose to sit at an uncomfortable angle so he could continue to face Reichenau.
The Rector moved slowly, with precision, and for now ignored Lawrence in favor of the folder open in front of him.
“Your file makes an interesting read, Mr. Garth. An inclination toward languages, history, and archeology. And then, one year at the police academy. Quaint, I’d say.” The sharp eyes raised from the papers documenting a half-true, half-fabricated educational background for Lawrence.
“Useful,” Lawrence countered. He had expected this interrogation. “For what I’m training for.”
“Training,” Reichenau commented, his lips twitching in amusement for one moment. “We educate here, Mr. Garth. We do not train.”
“An unfortunate choice of words,” Lawrence hurried to cover his mistake. Three years at the police academy and the earlier four at the specialized high school had bent him a certain way. He needed to be more careful from now on.
The Rector stood and walked slowly toward the wall with the window. Lawrence noticed that Reichenau was staring intently at a framed quote. “Do me a favor, Mr. Garth. Translate this for me.”
Lawrence had no choice but to follow him. He stopped by the Rector’s side and read carefully.
Monstra sunt quae nos admonent
His pulse quickened slightly. Of course, he was being tested.
“Well, Mr. Garth?” the Rector pressed on.
Lawrence took a moment. He wasn’t eager to become the teacher’s pet, but he needed to provide the proper answer to achieve the desired result. Impressing the Rector, at this point, was essential for his success at Veridien, and he wasn’t thinking about academic success.
“Omens exist to warn us,” he said slowly, as if he needed some deliberation to come up with the translation.
“Oh,” Reichenau commented, “omens. Are you sure?”
“Yes, Herr Rector. We must understand language beyond seeing a string of letters and words. Its spirit lives in the correct interpretation.”
His answer appeared to please Reichenau. Lawrence would be lying if he didn’t admit that he felt relief when he was invited to return to his seat.
“No room for vagueness. That is what ancient languages teach us. We are wrong to consider ourselves mere interpreters. You will receive the necessary education to succeed in your pursuits. Herr Becker will see to all your needs.”
Lawrence understood when he was being dismissed. With a short bow – which he hoped didn’t seem too military-like for the Rector’s taste, he got up to take his leave.
“One more thing, Mr. Garth,” the Rector called after him, just as he was about to turn on his heel and escape the oppressive room. “Since you’re interested in studying Classical Greek, you’d do well to remember that Ancient Greece will always remain in history as the birthplace of exile.”
“Of course,” Lawrence said. He understood a veiled threat when he heard one. Ostracism could be his lot if he made mistakes. These people definitely weren’t receiving him with open arms. Like Herr Becker, Herr Reichenau intended to make it clear to him that he was and would remain a stranger, only temporarily accepted among his betters.
He’d do well, indeed, to remember this odd meeting. Ali had offered his friendship, but Lawrence was well aware that the student’s quirky, easygoing façade could very well be hiding someone with a mission, one that involved learning Lawrence’s secrets, should they exist or have the potential to become dangerous for the academy.
Only one single person appeared keen on getting to know Lawrence without ulterior motives. Bastien. But was he truly as disinterested as he appeared? People like him made redoubtable enemies because their appearance and the effect they had on others seemed so benign.
Being summoned by the Rector meant he’d have less time to prepare to meet the Golden Circle. But he would be ready for them and their questions, without a doubt.
***
Ali had showed him the door to the library earlier that day, so Lawrence’s curiosity had already been piqued. As a man with scholarly inclinations, he harbored a secret wish to explore Veridien’s many dusty tomes. Of course, he wasn’t here to satisfy his academic appetite.
The double doors posed no resistance as he went through them. Just as in the Rector’s office, the height of the room took his breath away for a moment. A heavy chandelier hung from the ceiling, making the spines of the leather-bound volumes neatly arranged on the shelves gleam faintly. The golden light added to the romantic flair of the place which, despite its high ceiling, was rather intimate and picturesque. Lawrence could only surmise that this library wasn’t the only place where books could be found at Veridien.
It seemed more like a place where meetings and social gatherings took place, and it had the glitzy shine to prove it.
At a round lacquered table, Bastien and Anton sat, their bodies almost disappearing inside two enormous armchairs. In comparison, the seats in the Rector’s office seemed austere. Waste and lavishness were two words that came to Lawrence’s mind while taking in the picture-perfect image before his eyes.
Bastien was laughing softly at something Anton must have just said. His Dark Eminence, as worthy of the nickname Ali had given him as he could be, also smiled, only his lips were stretched thinly in the way only a man who smiled little would smile.
They had partly abandoned their uniforms. Their suit jackets had been replaced by warm wool knitted vests that offered them greater freedom of movement, and all in all, the atmosphere appeared relaxed and friendly. At lunch, Lawrence had numbered seven students at Bastien’s table, himself' included. Of course. Lukas must have been the eighth.
A short look around assured him the entire Golden Circle was in full attendance. A couple of young men were standing in the shadows at the end of the stacks to the right, congressing quietly. Lawrence noted their shared similarity in passing. Another student was slowly going through a heavy tome, which he balanced in one hand despite his otherwise apparently thin, frail frame. His glasses appeared to have the bad habit of sliding down his nose, and he kept pushing them back.
Behind Bastien’s armchair, Lawrence spotted the soul of the party. Had Ali used to be part of this select group? Because the student laughing at Anton’s words and sharing Bastien’s gaiety was, personality-wise, a dead ringer for Lawrence’s newest friend. The shocking part was the pair of headphones hanging around his neck; someone was either trying to imitate Ali or…
“You came,” Bastien exclaimed, standing abruptly and interrupting Lawrence’s quiet observations before he had the time to list all the members of the Golden Circle present. Quickly, he took note of a large young man, leaning against the stacks with a dark expression on his face. There had been someone he hadn’t managed to examine properly, and now he was nowhere in sight.
Anton’s mood soured visibly. His lips set firmly in a grim rictus, while the young man standing behind Bastien opened his eyes wide, as if wanting swallow Lawrence whole by staring at him alone.
Other pairs of eyes examined him just as closely. Lawrence ignored them and walked toward Bastien to meet him half-way.
“Friends,” Bastien said, taking Lawrence’s hand and pulling him along, “you must meet our new transfer.”
Anton now looked like his stomach ached fiercely. “How punctual you are, Mr. Foreign Service,” he said and drank from a crystal cup on the table. Red wine, it seemed.
Either Ali had blabbered or everyone with a penchant for learning secrets at Veridien had read Lawrence’s file already. In a school that sheltered one hundred and twenty-some students, he was in a room with the seven most important people.
“I take punctuality seriously,” he replied.
“Of course, you do,” Bastien said and unceremoniously pushed him into the seat he’d been occupying until moments ago. He himself chose to lean against the table, standing close enough that his knee brushed Lawrence’s thigh. Like in the Rector’s office, Lawrence discovered that it would be difficult to move from his current predicament. Certain endowments that matched the rest of him – something he wasn’t particularly proud of, though that was the norm among young people like himself to brag about such things – prevented him from closing his legs tighter to allow more room for Bastien. He tried anyway, only to have his gracious host invade his space again.
None of that was lost on Anton. A glance in his direction assured Lawrence that Bastien’s right-hand man – he had to be that if the way he staked claim on Bastien was any indication – stared at the scene before his eyes with unconcealed disgust. It surprised Lawrence to a degree; Anton must have known the nature of the relationship between his friend and Lukas von Keller. That begged the question: was he put off by the open display of familiarity or only by Lawrence’s presence, since the new transfer didn’t belong in their gilded surroundings?
“How’s the outside world?” Bastien asked, his eyes glinting in an unhealthy, feverish way. He seemed to have trouble standing still; his body trembled slightly.
“Should we really start with that?” Anton scoffed to show his disapproval. “The man barely arrived.”
“You’re right, as always, Red,” Bastien backpedaled. “Let’s start with some introductions. Gather round, people,” he called out. “Don’t make me come get you.” As he said those words, he grinned at Lawrence.
If Lawrence hadn’t known it were impossible, he would’ve thought Bastien was beyond happy to have him there. Since he never dallied over such impossibilities, the only possibility left was the most obvious: Veridien rarely received transfer students, and the Golden Circle was curious about him to the point of making it uncomfortable.
Bastien seemed to have the power to make all the others come out of the woodwork. From different parts of the room, they gravitated toward him at once. The object of attraction, however, seemed oblivious to this. Anton, on the other hand, smiled as if such small triumphs were his.
The energetic student resembling Ali according to Lawrence’s assessment was the first to introduce himself. He leaned over Bastien to extend his hand.
“Vivien Voss, at your service,” he said with flourish.
He was, indeed, a version of Ali, but more of a pale shadow. His features were plain, and his forced vivacity seemed to tire him. The dark circles under his eyes told the tale, though they could be the consequence of long hours of study.
“Call him Viv or Double V,” Bastien said and gestured for the next Golden Circle member to come forward.
It was the large young man Lawrence had noticed earlier. His handshake was strong and vigorous and half-way to breaking his.
“This is Norris,” Bastien said in the guy’s place, since he chose silence as his means to let Lawrence know he wasn’t welcome to their tight circle. “Norris Duval. What do you think, Sir Galahad? Would you be able to take Norris in physical battle?”
Lawrence knew his own strength but never underestimated others based on that. “He’d make a fierce opponent,” he said.
“I’d love to see that,” Bastien quipped. “Eldric, are you done reading? Your eyes will only get worse from this point onward if you insist on reading in bad light.”
No surprise there. Eldric was the frail young man in glasses. His movements weren’t unsure, however. He offered Lawrence an honest handshake, without saying a word.
“Eldric Lemoine,” Bastien insisted on saying his friend’s full name. “If you ever need help with a paper, he’s your man.”
Lawrence couldn’t help but wonder if Eldric would offer his help so readily to just anyone asking. But the scholarly student’s face remained immobile and unfazed by Bastien’s direct recommendation.
“Okay, back to your books,” Bastien said, waving his hand and dismissing Eldric, who bowed politely and returned to the tome he’d been perusing.
“Abe, where are you?” Bastien called with affectation. His eyes continued to keep contact with Lawrence’s, as if he couldn’t tear them away from him. A soft rustle of clothes made him look away, above Lawrence’s head and to the side.
Lawrence had to lean forward to see the one called Abe. He was standing behind Anton’s armchair, making clear where his loyalties lay. An angular face in which pale grey eyes looked as if they belonged to a hypnotist created quite the effect on anyone staring at Anton’s errand boy. Ugh, he was starting to think like Ali, giving people nicknames and judging them. At least, Ali had the excuse that he knew these people. Lawrence barely held back a small, unpleasant shiver. Abe reminded him of the keen, concealed violence of a reptile.
“This is Abelard Klein,” Bastien said. “Shake hands, Abe, don’t be so stiff.”
There was nothing that could be called that in how the soft hand let itself fall inert briefly in Lawrence’s handshake. Abe appeared to be suffering because he had to walk over to do even that.
“Nice to meet you,” Abe said in a voice just as wet and soft as the rest of him.
“The pleasure is all mine,” Lawrence replied politely. He wanted to wipe his hand on the fabric of his pants, but that was out of the question.
“And where is our Catus?” Bastien said, seemingly keen to make all the introductions.
That was an unusual name. It had to be a nickname. It appeared that Bastien, like Ali, enjoyed that kind of game. In all fairness, Lawrence enjoyed his, or mostly the way Bastien’s lips moved when calling him Sir Galahad. He shook his head. The young man was right in front of him, yet he was having wide-eyed dreams about him.
Bastien’s usual spells could very well be interpreted as curses.
A soft giggle, coming from somewhere between the stacks, made Lawrence pay attention.
“Come out already,” Bastien said aloud.
Lawrence would swear a shadow was moving through the library. It was just a feeling he had. Maybe there was a bit of gut instinct inside him, after all.
“Tell the new transfer to come find me,” a voice, cheerful and mischievous, replied.
“Seriously now, Felix,” Bastien said in an annoyed tone. “We don’t have time for your games.”
“Why? Because you want your knight in shining armor all to yourself already, Bastianus?”
Lawrence touched Bastien’s elbow gently and pressed a finger against his lips while getting up slowly. Felix, who also went by the name of Catus, loved games, it seemed. A future cop should be able to catch a cat, and quite easily.
It had nothing to do with wanting to show off in front of Bastien; or with how his stomach fluttered at Felix’s teasing of Bastien involving his person. He needed to remind himself that according to the von Kellers, Lukas’s boyfriend was the most likely to have murdered him.
He couldn’t see it. Maybe it was the lack of gut instinct which he suffered from, but he just couldn’t believe it.
An open mind. Keep an open mind, he told himself, while he moved slowly and silently, assisted by Bastien, who began to chat loudly with the others to mask his movements.
For a place that wasn’t very large, the library offered a few hiding places. Lawrence moved along the stacks, careful to listen for any sounds that would give away Felix’s position. He crouched suddenly when a small swish reached his ears, but there was no sign of anyone on the other side.
He moved out of the way almost one moment too late. The attack, as it happened, came from above.
Lawrence stared at the student at his feet, who had landed in a crouching position. From down there, a pair of green eyes stared up at him.
A pair of eyes he already knew.
“Ali?” he asked, intrigued by the whole thing. But how could—
“I can’t believe you mistook me for my brother,” the student scolded him, finally standing like a normal person. “Felix Martel, at your service,” he said with a sophisticated bow. “Alistair is my twin brother.”
Lawrence was starting to understand less and less. If Felix was Ali’s brother, why weren’t both included in the Golden Circle?
Felix leaned forward, his hands behind him, batting his eyelashes. “Who’s prettier? Ali or me?”
“You’re exactly the same,” Lawrence replied. So much the same that it would be difficult to tell them apart. How had he missed noticing Felix earlier at lunch? Without a doubt, he must’ve been too engrossed in watching Bastien.
He truly needed to stop doing that.
“Was that a polite answer or a diplomatic one?” Felix asked. With exaggerated ceremony, he took Lawrence’s arm. “The Sun King awaits. Let’s not dally.”
The Sun King. Lawrence looked to where Bastien was standing, still leaning against the table, staring back. He was true to his nickname, with his golden hair, and a cohort of people gravitating into his orbit like cold planets in need of warmth.
TBC
Author's note: Thank you for reading!
@mario - thanks a lot, and yes, it would be quite the mise-en-scene, me thinks!
@Derek - jealousy is such a great motive for murder... in novels, I mean :D But this plot will get so entangled and soon. Your good impression of Bastien is well shared by Lawrence!
@Geoffrey Fox - thank you! As for the poison, we'll see if it's a red herring... or not! But I always aim at not including details without purpose...
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