The Invisible People
The first thing Lawrence did after waking up and getting ready for the day was to ignore Bastien’s order about not taking the empty pot back to the kitchens or express his gratitude in any way. To prevent curiosity and questions, he had wrapped it in the same cloth, along with the spoon that had been provided with the meal. It had been a hearty dish, allowing Lawrence to go to sleep in a good mood, but now he was back to being the investigator in charge of uncovering the truth about what had happened to Lukas von Keller.
Orienting himself proved more difficult without a guide. As much as Ali could very well be a spy, he’d been good at offering Lawrence much-needed information about the layout of the place.
After a few fruitless attempts, he decided to walk out into the cloistered garden. A man in grey clothes was slowly sweeping the dead leaves from the short grass growing between the bushes, benches, and old statues. He seemed to be of an uncertain age, and Lawrence had to walk closer to determine more about the gardener.
To his shock, the man was younger than his slow movements suggested. Hearing Lawrence’s steps on the graveled path, he raised his eyes and rested his hand on his tool.
“Good morning,” Lawrence said out loud.
The young man – he couldn’t be older than twenty-five – nodded briefly at him, examining him with cautious curiosity. Hopefully, he wasn’t a mute. His face was rather dull, pale eyes, pale hair, but he didn’t appear to be suffering from any impairment, physical or otherwise. The clothes he was wearing seemed a size or more too big for his thin frame.
“I was wondering about where the kitchens might be,” Lawrence continued.
The gardener’s eyes darted to the parcel in Lawrence’s hands. Uncomfortable silence stretched.
Lawrence decided to take his leave. “My apologies. I’ll ask someone else.”
“You will have to go through the back,” the gardener called out to him after Lawrence had already taken several steps.
He turned and looked at the young man, who was gesturing slowly with one arm.
“Through there,” he explained, pointing at the end of the garden. “Once you’re out of the hallway, you’ll see the stables and the horses. It’s beyond that. You’ll have to walk for a bit.”
The gardener talked like someone who wasn’t used to talking much. His voice trembled slightly, and he chose his words carefully.
“Ah, that’s very helpful,” Lawrence said, smiling politely. “I’m Lawrence, by the way,” he added, stopping before the young man.
“You’re in uniform,” the gardener said, once his shock at this stranger’s unusual behavior wore off some. “You’re a student here.” That was probably as close as he got to shouting, and it still came out unsure and soft.
“Yes. I’m a new transfer,” Lawrence explained, without pulling his hand back.
The gardener hesitated but took his hand. “Earnest.”
“Pleased to meet you, Earnest.”
“You come from the outside.”
Could it be that Earnest had been raised speaking a different language? His word choice was odd, and that was a generous assessment.
“Yes, from outside,” Lawrence confirmed.
“We don’t go there much. I’ve never been.”
“Not even down to the village?” Lawrence asked.
Earnest shook his head. He stole nervous glances around, as if someone might see them talking and jump to the wrong conclusions. That alone convinced Lawrence that Earnest really meant it when he said that ‘they’ didn’t get out of Veridien much. But who did he mean by that collective pronoun?
“Maybe we can go together when you have some free time,” Lawrence suggested.
The head-shaking intensified. Then Earnest froze like a hunted animal hearing noises in the forest. It lasted only a moment; the next, he started sweeping dead leaves with renewed vigor, without giving Lawrence another glance.
There seemed to be no need for such an abrupt change in behavior. However, Lawrence casually looked around; was someone hiding behind one of the colonnades supporting the hallway ceiling going round and round the cloistered garden?
Without a doubt, he was being watched. But his outside status offered him leeway; at any point, he could blame any missteps on not being aware of the complex etiquette governing the place. Of course, it wouldn’t serve to invite close scrutiny, or closer than needed, at least. He walked in the direction indicated by Earnest, without looking back. To anyone spying on him, it might look like he’d done nothing but exchange a few words with the gardener. Someone who couldn’t afford his studies would be forgiven for trying to fraternize with the help.
***
The kitchens were precisely where Earnest had told him, at the end of a large field, which appeared to be reserved for letting the horses roam free. A few stable boys were shouting at each other, getting themselves and the animals in their care ready for the day. They paid Lawrence no attention, though a couple of them glanced at him from afar.
Good thing that he’d waken early and well before breakfast and his first lessons. The grounds seemed larger here, though walls were protecting them from all sides. Behind them, he could see the mountains, tall, snowy, unforgiving. One could only imagine the chasm stretching behind the walls. Lawrence experienced a strange sensation of being trapped, even more so than in his small room. If Earnest never got out of Veridien, what about the others? Or the horses? Was that enclosure the only version of freedom they knew?
An impressive one-floor red-bricked building housed the kitchens. Lawrence counted three chimneys and examined the façade briefly. A bit more austere and it could have counted as its monastic counterpart. However, the moment he stepped through the front door, he was greeted by the sight of modern appliances, stainless steel countertops, and an atmosphere that could easily compete with any high-end restaurant in the land.
Everyone from the chef bellowing his demands to the last kitchen helper moved as if guided by a graceful, elaborate choreography. The smells made Lawrence’s nostrils flare and reminded his stomach that it would be better if he didn’t skip breakfast the way he had dinner the previous evening.
Tiny plates were arranged on a long countertop, and a short, energetic young woman wearing immaculate white clothes and a cap that hid all her hair, counted them, moving her lips fast.
“Sorry,” Lawrence said, hating that he was interrupting her counting.
She stared at him in obvious shock. Unlike Earnest, however, she frowned. “What are you doing here? No students are allowed in the kitchens.”
If that was a rule set in stone, Lawrence didn’t know, and he was sticking to it. “I wanted to return this.”
She stared at the pot in his hands. “Did Bastien forget to tell you someone would get it from your room?”
So, he was exactly where he was supposed to.
“No,” he said smoothly. “I wanted, however, to give my compliments to the cook.”
The young lady narrowed her dark eyes. Her Mediterranean complexion made her an exotic addition to Veridien, but Lawrence was very much aware how out of place he looked, so who was he to judge? Bastien hadn’t lied when saying that he had friends here; the young woman obviously didn’t consider the Sun King her better or some similar nonsense.
“We have a chef here, not a cook,” she said, turning upside down what he thought of her. She appeared to be just as full of herself as many others at Veridien, be them students or personnel. “And I won’t disturb him for such nonsense. Shoo, Lawrence. Breakfast is about to be served.”
“It’s a bit unfair that you know my name, but I don’t know yours.” If he’d hoped he’d make friends among the invisible people at Veridien, he hadn’t started on the right foot at all.
“It’s Esperanza. Happy now? I have a breakfast to organize and a tight schedule.” She put her hands on her hips and gave him a hard stare.
“I could help.”
She grinned. It made her look younger and far less stern. “That’s why he calls you knight-errant. Don’t even think about it. Leave now before anyone notices you.” This time, like Earnest, Esperanza stole a nervous glance at her colleagues.
Lawrence placed the parcel on the edge of the countertop and Esperanza grabbed and made it disappear underneath. She went back at counting the plates, letting him know he was dismissed.
***
Ali spotted him from afar and waved at him. He was at the same table as the day before, which meant that Lawrence would be able to observe the Golden Circle’s moves better than before when he didn’t know who was who.
“Lawrence!” Ali shouted, making several heads turn in his direction. “Come! You won’t believe what happened to me!”
He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t look for Bastien with his eyes from the moment he set foot inside the refectory, but apparently, he was no longer in charge of his own volition. His eyes fell on the beautiful face that had appeared, briefly, in his dreams the night before. Bastien was staring directly at him, his expression giving nothing away.
An unpleasant and unfamiliar sensation made its way into his chest. His purpose here wasn’t to get close to Bastien that way. He had made a mistake, a stupid mistake, and now Bastien most likely despised him—
“Oh, I see,” Ali’s voice brought him back to reality.
Since he hadn’t stopped walking while staring at Bastien, dumbstruck and confused, he had managed somehow to reach Ali’s table. And his, presumably.
“I heard that you met the Golden Circle last night,” Ali said, pursing his lips so hard he looked like a dry prune.
“And I met your twin brother last night. Evening,” Lawrence added, “it was only eight.”
“So? Who’s prettier?” Ali asked, batting his eyelashes.
“Seriously,” Lawrence said with a grunt. “You could’ve told me. Do you also enjoy jumping on people from tall bookshelves?”
Ali seemed to consider. “Not really, no.”
“How come your brother is part of the Golden Circle and you’re not?”
He would not look. He’d made a promise to himself. Talking to Ali should provide enough of a distraction that he wouldn’t meet Bastien’s eyes again. The kiss had been a mistake.
“I’m a free spirit,” Ali said promptly. “Since I committed the terrible sin of truancy, I was sentenced to a good session of reflection and regret.”
“What do you mean?” Lawrence frowned, focusing on Ali’s face so he wouldn’t even feel tempted to look elsewhere.
“What could I possibly mean?” Ali asked, brandishing a teaspoon with theatrical flair. “Supervised study. Well, that’s the official name. I call it a cruel and unusual punishment. But enough about my dull life. You got to know our best and brightest. What’s your opinion of them?”
Lawrence shrugged. “A pretentious bunch, if you’re asking me.”
His evaluation of the Golden Circle seemed to please Ali. The servers were already moving around, arranging breakfast dishes on the tables.
“I heard Bastien protected you like a lioness would protect her cub.”
“I… have no idea what you mean.”
A warm hand came to rest on his shoulder. He did a double-take when he saw Esperanza. She smiled at him, and her hand lingered. “A bit of extra, just for you.”
“Hey,” Ali called out. “What’s this, Espe? Double ratios for the new boy? And I thought we were friends. Come on, I’ve been such an angel lately.”
“Maybe while you were asleep, you little devil,” she said breezily, moving away with a large tray which she handled with grace and competence before Lawrence could thank her.
Ali’s eyes had grown wide and now were examining him with renewed interest.
“You could have some of mine,” Lawrence said, pushing the beautifully-arranged plate with cold cuts and cheese toward Ali.
“No, no, I couldn’t,” Ali said, putting his hands up. He leaned slightly forward. “I don’t want to risk the Princeps’s wrath. Such favoritisms, however, come with strings attached. You should be careful, Sleeper. Also, breakfast is the only meal of the day when we eat like kings. Bon appétit.”
He risked a glance at Bastien’s table, thinking that the leader of the Golden Circle must already be too captivated by his friends and their shared conversation to pay him any mind. But Bastien was still looking his way, and this time, he raised his coffee cup in salute. For lack of a better response, Lawrence raised his as well and took a sip. It was strong and bitter, but it made him feel better, just like Bastien’s soft smile.
***
As much as Lawrence wished he could continue his investigation of the place, he needed to attend his lessons as a conscious and hardworking Veridien student. He couldn’t say he was surprised to discover that the usual suspects attended Latin, just like him. With the exception of that fond smile that had sent his heart fluttering and beating too loudly, Bastien had returned to ignoring him as if he didn’t even exist. The Golden Circle flanked him from all sides, protecting their commander.
If Lukas got the same treatment from Bastien, no wonder he was unhappy, Lawrence thought without humor. That was unfair, of course, and crude beyond comprehension, because he was usually so objective about everything, but he was experiencing torture that couldn’t be explained or named.
Professor Moreau jumped straight into the lesson, without calling attendance or even sparing his students more than a perfunctory glance. An old chapter house served as the room for Latin lessons, and the long sturdy desks, although polished to a gleam, carried the battle scars of the many generations that might have poured their souls over the study of a dead language, whether they loved or hated it.
Lawrence studied a long dent in the wood, while struggling to focus on the professor and his words.
The Latin professor wore a coat that could’ve fit a man two sizes shorter and less wide. His small, round glasses had a tendency to slip on his small nose, and he appeared to fight the section he was reading. He held his arms, too short to go round the generous belly, tight against his body, and swayed on his feet, as if the heroic texts he was perusing were enough to provide him with the exaltation needed to propel him into real action.
“You are the new arrival.” Professor Moreau brandished his book at Lawrence. “Let’s see how well you prepared.”
That was all the distraction he needed from thinking about the main suspect too much. Lawrence accepted the proffered textbook and started reading out loud. Following the professor’s cues, he proceeded next to translate the section. Easy at first glance, the text was actually littered with traps.
Each day at Veridien was meant as a trap if he thought more.
Overly conscious of all the eyes watching him, and all the ears listening his words, he navigated the treacherous waters. A few hesitations, carefully planted to justify that Lawrence was, indeed, only a transfer student from ‘the outside’ appeared to satisfy the professor, more so than the new addition’s capacity to actually provide a proper translation.
No words of praise came once he was done, but Lawrence wasn’t expecting them anyway. Professor Moreau moved to other students, each of them showing different degrees of competence. Lawrence listened intently; after all, he was more than interested in hearing the Golden Circle and seeing if they lived up to the reputation.
And they did, of course. But none as much as Bastien. The ancient language rolled off his tongue, as if the Hawthorne heir was an Imperator himself, or a descendant from one. There were no hesitations in his pronunciation, no double-takes.
If Lawrence needed another damn reason to admire the young man, now he had one.
***
“Where did you learn?” Professor Moreau asked. He had told Lawrence to stay behind, while the other students hurried to their other lessons. Bastien didn’t glance in his direction once. Again, Lawrence was as good as invisible to the mercurial heir.
“I was taught early,” Lawrence replied courteously. “Good instruction and regular practice are both responsible. I make it a point not to waste my teachers’ efforts.”
Moreau nodded slowly. His round beady eyes observed him with interest through the glasses; he tipped his head back slightly, as though the transparent lenses themselves mediated the exchange.
“You live by the principles, yes?”
Lawrence understood. Rigor, vitality, dedication. The classics were much revered here. “Yes, Sir. Ancient languages teach us more than immediate knowledge.”
“Physical instruction is just as important here, at Veridien,” Moreau said. “Formation, we’d rather call it.” He waved as if to dismiss an insect bothering him. “Not sport. Will you manage?”
“I believe so, Sir.”
“You do look strong. Don’t allow the other boys to intimidate you. They tend to be overbearing.” The Latin professor gave him an encouraging smile. “You’re not like them. That means they have reason to be suspicious of you, even fear you. Where are you from, Lawrence?”
He had all his lies prepared. He was from neither too far nor too close, not rich but not a pauper either. The only thing recommending him for attending Veridien and inhaling its rarefied air was his education, also half-fabricated.
Professor Moreau listened carefully without interrupting him, asking questions now and then. Unlike when he was interviewed by the Rector, Lawrence didn’t feel like he was being interrogated. Now that the other students had left, the Latin professor looked more relaxed and showed genuine interest in Lawrence.
“I myself didn’t attend any prestigious academy,” Moreau confessed. “But I love Latin, and here, they only hire the best in their fields. I might sound like I’m bragging.”
“Not at all, Professor,” Lawrence said, truly meaning it. “I’ve had the honor of attending your first lesson today. While my opinion might not amount to much,” he added to show the kind of courtesy that made a good impression on people with a love for teaching but also exhibiting a healthy approach to modesty, “I must say that it was interesting and challenging.”
Moreau’s eyes, for all that they could, grew wide. “Thank you, dear boy. It is not often that students here express their appreciation for what they’re being taught. Everything is, let’s say, given to them.”
Lawrence didn’t need additional clues to understand what the Latin professor meant by that. And there was more to Moreau than met the eye. This conversation – which the Latin professor didn’t need to have with the new arrival – changed Lawrence’s initial impression of the man. Moreau looked more like an ally than anyone else so far, and yes, that included Ali, too.
Because Lawrence sensed something in his Latin Professor, and that was the sign of the outsider. From his clothes and disheveled hair to his overly energetic manner for a man who didn’t appear keen on indulging in physical activities, he looked nothing like other Veridien staff. Even the servers wore neater attire and behaved in the spirit of the place, but Lawrence felt like he’d take his Latin professor over them any moment.
There was a fondness he didn’t usually feel toward strangers adjusting his impression of Professor Moreau.
“Veridien,” Moreau continued while resting his hand briefly on Lawrence’s shoulder, “rewards excellence, my boy. But don’t forget,” he let his voice drop a smidge, “that it punishes independence just the same.”
TBC
Thank you for reading!
@Geoffrey Fox - Lawrence will have to face some serious challenges... and he won't always resist.
@Derek - it seems like Lawrence's promise to his uncle and the private investigator not to get in trouble will be put to the test...
@DavidB - lol, don't worry - I thought my basic French was good enough only to be humbled when my friend who helps me with the edits had to correct something in that phrase...
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