Post by Lorpius Prime on Mar 24, 2007 23:08:15 GMT -5
Second Interlude
The trident was actually much lighter than it appeared. It was still heavy towards its metal-pointed head, but fairly well balanced by the length of the shaft. Margaret reclined on the faux rock and rested the end of the weapon on an outstretched foot.
She had an evil idea.
Rocking herself upright, she threw the trident straight forward with all her might. It flew in an admirably graceful arc and stuck into the painted wooden backdrop with a twang.
Stephanie Wilkinson, who was standing approximately two feet to the right of the trident’s new resting place, shrieked and ducked to the floor. Her brass helmet fell off and clattered on the wooden stage.
Margaret fell back into her seat, giggling uncontrollably.
Stephanie whirled on her, “Are you out of your mind?!” She pointed a paintbrush at Margaret as threateningly as she could.
“Some defender of the Empire you are,” Margaret tossed back between laughs.
Stephanie rolled her eyes, “Would you take this seriously for once?”
“Steph, we’re dressed like Greek warrior-goddesses. If the world isn’t going to be serious, why should I?”
Her friend set her hands on her hips, “Maybe because we’re going to have to stand like this in front of the whole town tomorrow?”
“I don’t think the University boys are going to mind whether we take this pageant seriously or not,” she nodded consolingly. “They’ll be hooting at us no matter what.”
“Yes, but this isn’t all about them, what will your parents think?”
“My mother shares my sentiment and my father more or less gave up trying to make me ladylike after I first beat up my brother with a cricket bat.”
“Fine,” Stephanie sighed and shook her head in resignation. “But could you at least refrain from attacking the scenery?”
Margaret giggled again, “Of course, sorry.” She pulled the trident out of the ocean mural. “I’ll admit I was surprised that worked so well.”
“I’m surprised the sisters thought giving you one would be a good idea.”
“As if I weren’t a menace enough already,” she raised the trident again in a mock-threatening gesture.
Stephanie stuck out her tongue and picked up a round shield painted with a Union Jack. They pretended to fight for a minute, Margaret with the trident and Stephanie with her paintbrush.
They were rudely interrupted before a victor could be determined.
“Ladies!” They turned to find one of the school nuns glaring up at them with her arms crossed. “Must you really make a scene like this? It’s unbecoming!”
Stephanie coughed into a fist, “Sorry, sister.”
Margaret tried to look apologetic, “We’ll be sure to only make a scene when it is becoming. Like tomorrow.”
The nun tapped her foot, “Miss Blake.”
“Yes, Sister Gertrude?”
“Do you know what it is that lets me bear working here and dealing with your antics every day?”
Margaret looked from side to side, “No, sister, I can’t say that I do.”
“I’ll tell you, Miss Blake. It’s the knowledge that one day, your daughter will attend this school and I will get to share with her all the wonderful stories of your time here with us. I wonder if she’ll share the same disdain for proper composure with you.”
Margaret didn’t have an answer for this. Sister Gertrude smiled sweetly and wandered off to observe another group of the young women.
After a minute, Stephanie leaned in front of her face, “Margaret? You look like a ghost.”
“Stephanie,” she said quietly, “you must never let me have children. If I do, you must make sure I move somewhere far far away from here.”
Stephanie frowned, “Well, you’ve always wanted to go to Italy.”
Margaret turned and looked forlornly at her friend, “But alas, where is my prince to take me away to that land of sun and romance?” She mimed fainting.
Stephanie hesitated briefly, but caught Margaret before she fell down, “Hiding away in a play, perhaps?”
She shook her head, “And all the good ones seem to be either mad or taken.”
Stephanie, looking straight down at Margaret, smirked, “You’re probably better off anyway, Romeo was a wimp and Hamlet cared more about his revenge.”
Margaret wagged a finger at her, “Maybe I’d choose Mercutio then, he was more of a prince than Romeo anyway.”
“You’d want a fellow that was going to kill himself in a silly contest of machismo?” She threw Margaret up back onto her feet.
Margaret spun away, “Must you always spoil my fun!”
“Keep you from making a total fool of yourself is more like it. Was I not entirely right about that Trevor-Watts boy?”
Margaret harrumphed and turned her back on her friend, “William was a perfectly nice young man!”
“Child is more like it.”
“I’ll thank you to stay out of my personal business,” she glared over her shoulder.
Stephanie opened her eyes as wide as she could and spoke in a soft high-pitched voice, “No, Sister Gertrude, I can’t believe my mother would do such an audacious thing!”
Margaret pointed an accusing finger, “You’re cruel.”
“And you’re hopeless. Where would you be without my help?”
Margaret put a hand to her chin and pondered, “Probably preparing for a performance as Britannia where I would be ogled by every bloke in town. Oh, wait…”
Stephanie sighed, “You are hopeless. Hopelessly full of yourself.”
“Are you saying I’m wrong?”
“I’m say—“
“Miss Blake!”
They both turned instinctively and spoke in unison, “Sorry, Sister Gertrude.”
The nun was walking up the stage shaking her head, “No, no not to worry.” She seemed flustered. “Miss Blake there is a boy outside to see you.”
She and Stephanie shared a glance, “There is?”
“Yes,” she looked at Margaret but didn’t seem to want to meet her eyes for more than a moment, “I think you should speak with him.”
The two women looked at each other again. Girls didn’t meet boys at the school. Not at St. Mary’s except in the most controlled and formal of circumstances.
“All right, sister Gertrude. Where is he?”
“Just outside the back.” She pointed, apparently in case Margaret had forgotten how to navigate the little theater.
She and Stephanie both started hopping down from the stage.
“Oh, em, I think it may be best if Miss Wilkinson stayed here.”
Stephanie looked back at the nun and cocked her head, “If Margaret’s meeting a boy, it’s best if I accompany her, lest there be some sort of impropriety.”
Sister Gertrude bit her lip, “Oh, oh very well, go on.” She turned and hurried off, still not seeming quite herself.
“What’s got into her?” Margaret followed her with her head for a moment before continuing to walk for the back door.
Stephanie shrugged, “Maybe it’s someone important.” She turned to Margaret with an awed expression, “Perhaps your prince has come at last.”
“Oh!” Margaret giggled and walked faster.
When they opened the door and walked into the sunlight, they were not greeted by a prince.
William Trevor-Watts stood up from leaning against his father’s delivery wagon. He gave a little wave, “Ah, hi.”
Stephanie had to clamp a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing, Margaret elbowed her. “Hello, William. What are you doing here?”
The boy fidgeted.
“William, you remember the talk we had Thursday, don’t you?”
He flinched, “No! No—I mean, yes, yes I do. That’s not… um… have you… have you read the paper today, Margaret?”
The papers from the past two days were sitting undisturbed in her father’s study now that he was off to Parliament.
“No I haven’t William. Have you found a particularly thrilling recipe for me in the House And Home section?”
“Er…” He seemed to decide it was easier not to continue talking, but just produced a copy of the Times from behind him and handed it to her.
Margaret unrolled it and looked at him. “Are you going to tell me what I should be looking for?”
He was sweating now, “It’s there, right on the front,” he pointed.
Margaret looked at the day’s top story while Stephanie read over her shoulder.
She was still looking at the grainy photograph of a burned-out piece of forest when she Stephanie’s hand tighten on her back. That more than anything told her something was wrong.
Margaret lowered the paper, “I see… thank you, William.”
He took a half-step forward then stopped, unsure.
Margaret turned around and started back towards the theater building.
Stephanie stopped her with a hand, “Margaret…”
“Yes?”
“I think you should sit down.”
“I’m quite all right, thank you.”
“Don’t be foolish, Margaret.”
William spoke up, “We, um… I’m… I’m supposed to give you a ride back to your home. In case, well, in case your mum hasn’t seen either.”
“I don’t think—“
“Margaret,” Stephanie interrupted gently but firmly, “you’re going to have a seat on that wagon, and you’re going to let William here take you home. I will come with you.”
“I really don’t need—“
“Come on now.” Stephanie led her around into the wagon. William helped them onboard. Margaret didn’t really have the strength to resist.
William drove the horses while Stephanie held her hand. He really was a nice young man.
She made it half of the way home before she started crying.
The office was much busier than it had been in a long time. Both of the services were getting together, butting heads and creating more confusion. Martin Bozeman Holland was at the center of it all. He’d been chain smoking for two days now and hadn’t slept during either of them. Whether it was about to get better or worse was a matter of perspective.
The director tapped his pen against the top of his desk, “And you still don’t know if the situation has been resolved or not?”
“Sir, Major Farragut has not reported back to me. His station does not know where he is. He has been given to a rather arrogant style, but this is still highly irregular. I am not at all confident of success.” How he wanted a cigarette. But the director did not like smoking in his office.
“And Major Farragut is also the one responsible for this…” he indicated the papers lying before him.
“As I said, sir, he has had a tendency to flout the rules of subtlety.”
“And good sense! And this is why we stuck him out in this backwater?”
“Yes sir.” It would have been a much better policy to leave the incompetent at home where an eye could be kept on them, but such was the benefit of hindsight.
The director shuffled some papers around and tapped his pen a few more times before he felt he’d made an acceptable show of deliberation, “Well, even if this is all on him, you know I can’t just let things alone here.”
“Yes sir,” I know you’ve got to have a scapegoat, and I know I’m it.
The sound of his career coming to an end was not in the least bit loud. It sounded like the very ordinary scratch of an ordinary pen on ordinary paper. Martin wasn’t even bothered by the fact that it wasn’t at all his fault. He just wanted a smoke.
The director finished writing on whatever form it was, “I’m putting Hodgeson in charge of the recovery. You can give him whatever files or knowledge you’ve picked up until now.”
“Yes sir.” There was nothing wrong with his choice, Hodgeson was perfectly capable.
“All right, then here’s what I want you to do. You look like you’ve been suffocating in this office, so I’m going to let you back into the field. You know these people better than anyone else around here anyway…”
Martin didn’t get out of the director’s office for another half hour. He got a light from the first worker he passed in the hallway.
Book One, Chapter:
-1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12-13-14-15-16-17-18-19-20-21-
-22-23-24-25-26-27-28-29-30-31-32-33-34-35-36-37-38-39-40-41-42-
-43-44-45-46-47-48-49-50-51-52-53-54-55-56-57-58-59-60-61-62-
Appendix: -A-B-C-
The trident was actually much lighter than it appeared. It was still heavy towards its metal-pointed head, but fairly well balanced by the length of the shaft. Margaret reclined on the faux rock and rested the end of the weapon on an outstretched foot.
She had an evil idea.
Rocking herself upright, she threw the trident straight forward with all her might. It flew in an admirably graceful arc and stuck into the painted wooden backdrop with a twang.
Stephanie Wilkinson, who was standing approximately two feet to the right of the trident’s new resting place, shrieked and ducked to the floor. Her brass helmet fell off and clattered on the wooden stage.
Margaret fell back into her seat, giggling uncontrollably.
Stephanie whirled on her, “Are you out of your mind?!” She pointed a paintbrush at Margaret as threateningly as she could.
“Some defender of the Empire you are,” Margaret tossed back between laughs.
Stephanie rolled her eyes, “Would you take this seriously for once?”
“Steph, we’re dressed like Greek warrior-goddesses. If the world isn’t going to be serious, why should I?”
Her friend set her hands on her hips, “Maybe because we’re going to have to stand like this in front of the whole town tomorrow?”
“I don’t think the University boys are going to mind whether we take this pageant seriously or not,” she nodded consolingly. “They’ll be hooting at us no matter what.”
“Yes, but this isn’t all about them, what will your parents think?”
“My mother shares my sentiment and my father more or less gave up trying to make me ladylike after I first beat up my brother with a cricket bat.”
“Fine,” Stephanie sighed and shook her head in resignation. “But could you at least refrain from attacking the scenery?”
Margaret giggled again, “Of course, sorry.” She pulled the trident out of the ocean mural. “I’ll admit I was surprised that worked so well.”
“I’m surprised the sisters thought giving you one would be a good idea.”
“As if I weren’t a menace enough already,” she raised the trident again in a mock-threatening gesture.
Stephanie stuck out her tongue and picked up a round shield painted with a Union Jack. They pretended to fight for a minute, Margaret with the trident and Stephanie with her paintbrush.
They were rudely interrupted before a victor could be determined.
“Ladies!” They turned to find one of the school nuns glaring up at them with her arms crossed. “Must you really make a scene like this? It’s unbecoming!”
Stephanie coughed into a fist, “Sorry, sister.”
Margaret tried to look apologetic, “We’ll be sure to only make a scene when it is becoming. Like tomorrow.”
The nun tapped her foot, “Miss Blake.”
“Yes, Sister Gertrude?”
“Do you know what it is that lets me bear working here and dealing with your antics every day?”
Margaret looked from side to side, “No, sister, I can’t say that I do.”
“I’ll tell you, Miss Blake. It’s the knowledge that one day, your daughter will attend this school and I will get to share with her all the wonderful stories of your time here with us. I wonder if she’ll share the same disdain for proper composure with you.”
Margaret didn’t have an answer for this. Sister Gertrude smiled sweetly and wandered off to observe another group of the young women.
After a minute, Stephanie leaned in front of her face, “Margaret? You look like a ghost.”
“Stephanie,” she said quietly, “you must never let me have children. If I do, you must make sure I move somewhere far far away from here.”
Stephanie frowned, “Well, you’ve always wanted to go to Italy.”
Margaret turned and looked forlornly at her friend, “But alas, where is my prince to take me away to that land of sun and romance?” She mimed fainting.
Stephanie hesitated briefly, but caught Margaret before she fell down, “Hiding away in a play, perhaps?”
She shook her head, “And all the good ones seem to be either mad or taken.”
Stephanie, looking straight down at Margaret, smirked, “You’re probably better off anyway, Romeo was a wimp and Hamlet cared more about his revenge.”
Margaret wagged a finger at her, “Maybe I’d choose Mercutio then, he was more of a prince than Romeo anyway.”
“You’d want a fellow that was going to kill himself in a silly contest of machismo?” She threw Margaret up back onto her feet.
Margaret spun away, “Must you always spoil my fun!”
“Keep you from making a total fool of yourself is more like it. Was I not entirely right about that Trevor-Watts boy?”
Margaret harrumphed and turned her back on her friend, “William was a perfectly nice young man!”
“Child is more like it.”
“I’ll thank you to stay out of my personal business,” she glared over her shoulder.
Stephanie opened her eyes as wide as she could and spoke in a soft high-pitched voice, “No, Sister Gertrude, I can’t believe my mother would do such an audacious thing!”
Margaret pointed an accusing finger, “You’re cruel.”
“And you’re hopeless. Where would you be without my help?”
Margaret put a hand to her chin and pondered, “Probably preparing for a performance as Britannia where I would be ogled by every bloke in town. Oh, wait…”
Stephanie sighed, “You are hopeless. Hopelessly full of yourself.”
“Are you saying I’m wrong?”
“I’m say—“
“Miss Blake!”
They both turned instinctively and spoke in unison, “Sorry, Sister Gertrude.”
The nun was walking up the stage shaking her head, “No, no not to worry.” She seemed flustered. “Miss Blake there is a boy outside to see you.”
She and Stephanie shared a glance, “There is?”
“Yes,” she looked at Margaret but didn’t seem to want to meet her eyes for more than a moment, “I think you should speak with him.”
The two women looked at each other again. Girls didn’t meet boys at the school. Not at St. Mary’s except in the most controlled and formal of circumstances.
“All right, sister Gertrude. Where is he?”
“Just outside the back.” She pointed, apparently in case Margaret had forgotten how to navigate the little theater.
She and Stephanie both started hopping down from the stage.
“Oh, em, I think it may be best if Miss Wilkinson stayed here.”
Stephanie looked back at the nun and cocked her head, “If Margaret’s meeting a boy, it’s best if I accompany her, lest there be some sort of impropriety.”
Sister Gertrude bit her lip, “Oh, oh very well, go on.” She turned and hurried off, still not seeming quite herself.
“What’s got into her?” Margaret followed her with her head for a moment before continuing to walk for the back door.
Stephanie shrugged, “Maybe it’s someone important.” She turned to Margaret with an awed expression, “Perhaps your prince has come at last.”
“Oh!” Margaret giggled and walked faster.
When they opened the door and walked into the sunlight, they were not greeted by a prince.
William Trevor-Watts stood up from leaning against his father’s delivery wagon. He gave a little wave, “Ah, hi.”
Stephanie had to clamp a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing, Margaret elbowed her. “Hello, William. What are you doing here?”
The boy fidgeted.
“William, you remember the talk we had Thursday, don’t you?”
He flinched, “No! No—I mean, yes, yes I do. That’s not… um… have you… have you read the paper today, Margaret?”
The papers from the past two days were sitting undisturbed in her father’s study now that he was off to Parliament.
“No I haven’t William. Have you found a particularly thrilling recipe for me in the House And Home section?”
“Er…” He seemed to decide it was easier not to continue talking, but just produced a copy of the Times from behind him and handed it to her.
Margaret unrolled it and looked at him. “Are you going to tell me what I should be looking for?”
He was sweating now, “It’s there, right on the front,” he pointed.
Margaret looked at the day’s top story while Stephanie read over her shoulder.
She was still looking at the grainy photograph of a burned-out piece of forest when she Stephanie’s hand tighten on her back. That more than anything told her something was wrong.
Worst Airship Disaster in 10 Years!
Augsburg, Bavaria The long-distance airliner, the
[/i]Welsh Rover crashed in the forests of northwestern Bavaria early Sunday morning, local sources report. The Rover, part of Seven-League Travels’ fleet was carrying approximately forty passengers when it went down, causing a short-lived forest fire. The cause of the crash is still unknown, but this is the first time a commercial airship has crashed in two years. Initial reports do not indicate any survivors among the passengers, mostly British and French tourists, making this the worst such disaster since 1996 when the transatlantic liner Titania crashed, taking the lives of all 123 on board. Among those believed dead is Times foreign correspondent Jay Thomson Blake, who was en-route to Germany to report on this years’…[/center]Augsburg, Bavaria The long-distance airliner, the
Margaret lowered the paper, “I see… thank you, William.”
He took a half-step forward then stopped, unsure.
Margaret turned around and started back towards the theater building.
Stephanie stopped her with a hand, “Margaret…”
“Yes?”
“I think you should sit down.”
“I’m quite all right, thank you.”
“Don’t be foolish, Margaret.”
William spoke up, “We, um… I’m… I’m supposed to give you a ride back to your home. In case, well, in case your mum hasn’t seen either.”
“I don’t think—“
“Margaret,” Stephanie interrupted gently but firmly, “you’re going to have a seat on that wagon, and you’re going to let William here take you home. I will come with you.”
“I really don’t need—“
“Come on now.” Stephanie led her around into the wagon. William helped them onboard. Margaret didn’t really have the strength to resist.
William drove the horses while Stephanie held her hand. He really was a nice young man.
She made it half of the way home before she started crying.
* * *
The office was much busier than it had been in a long time. Both of the services were getting together, butting heads and creating more confusion. Martin Bozeman Holland was at the center of it all. He’d been chain smoking for two days now and hadn’t slept during either of them. Whether it was about to get better or worse was a matter of perspective.
The director tapped his pen against the top of his desk, “And you still don’t know if the situation has been resolved or not?”
“Sir, Major Farragut has not reported back to me. His station does not know where he is. He has been given to a rather arrogant style, but this is still highly irregular. I am not at all confident of success.” How he wanted a cigarette. But the director did not like smoking in his office.
“And Major Farragut is also the one responsible for this…” he indicated the papers lying before him.
“As I said, sir, he has had a tendency to flout the rules of subtlety.”
“And good sense! And this is why we stuck him out in this backwater?”
“Yes sir.” It would have been a much better policy to leave the incompetent at home where an eye could be kept on them, but such was the benefit of hindsight.
The director shuffled some papers around and tapped his pen a few more times before he felt he’d made an acceptable show of deliberation, “Well, even if this is all on him, you know I can’t just let things alone here.”
“Yes sir,” I know you’ve got to have a scapegoat, and I know I’m it.
The sound of his career coming to an end was not in the least bit loud. It sounded like the very ordinary scratch of an ordinary pen on ordinary paper. Martin wasn’t even bothered by the fact that it wasn’t at all his fault. He just wanted a smoke.
The director finished writing on whatever form it was, “I’m putting Hodgeson in charge of the recovery. You can give him whatever files or knowledge you’ve picked up until now.”
“Yes sir.” There was nothing wrong with his choice, Hodgeson was perfectly capable.
“All right, then here’s what I want you to do. You look like you’ve been suffocating in this office, so I’m going to let you back into the field. You know these people better than anyone else around here anyway…”
Martin didn’t get out of the director’s office for another half hour. He got a light from the first worker he passed in the hallway.
Book One, Chapter:
-1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12-13-14-15-16-17-18-19-20-21-
-22-23-24-25-26-27-28-29-30-31-32-33-34-35-36-37-38-39-40-41-42-
-43-44-45-46-47-48-49-50-51-52-53-54-55-56-57-58-59-60-61-62-
Appendix: -A-B-C-