Ezra bypassed his usual stop on arriving in town, heading straight to Mary's office. The light glowing through the window told him she was, as usual, still working. He flipped Chaucer's reins over the porch rail and rapped gently on the door. When there was no response, he tapped again, this time hearing a frustrated 'come in' response. The cause for the tone was obvious the moment he opened the door, to be greeted by the sight of Mary on her knees trying to gather the type face pieces scattered across the floor. He bit back a smart remark when he saw the look on her face.

"Watch where you step. I can't have any more of these getting broken."

"Dare I ask what brought about the catastrophe?" He squatted down in the door way, picking up the pieces closest to him.

She huffed angrily. "Leg broke on the cabinet. I knew it needed to be fixed, but there were just so many things to do, and I kept forgetting about it and just propping it up. Bumped into it this afternoon and it just went. Type was flying everywhere."

"I trust you were uninjured?" When she glanced quickly at her arm Ezra stopped what he was doing and took a couple cautious steps toward her. He could see the bruising on her wrist. "You should have Mr. Jackson look at that. It may be nothing of consequence, but that is a chance you shouldn't take."

"I don't have the time. I'm not finished with setting the paper, and this is going to delay everything."

"How much more difficult will it be if you have to proceed with an injury that is not tended? You go over to see Mr. Jackson, and I will continue with this task."

She smiled warmly at him. "Isn't this outside of your usual range of duties? Menial labour after all."

He returned the grin. "On the contrary. I have always described myself as a man of letters. I will admit I never expected the term to be quite this literal."

"I'll be back as quickly as I can." She brushed her hair back and headed to the door before turning suddenly. "Mr. Standish, what was it you came to see me about?"

"Oh, it is nothing that won't keep." When she refused to move, he conceded. "I was wondering if young Mr. Travis has said anything to you about his teacher. Voiced any concerns."

Mary shook her head firmly. "He has said very little about him since the first day. I know you don't like the man, but Billy certainly doesn't seem to have any issues."

"It isn't a matter of whether or not I like the man Mrs. Travis. I simply have a few concerns about our lack of detailed information on him."

"The committee, and the judge, reviewed his background and there were no issues."

"And you did not find it strange that a man of his skills and training would be so ready and willing to relocate to our small hamlet?"

"Not everyone chooses the lucrative or easy path Mr. Standish. Some men take on a task because they believe in the honourable aspect of their calling."

"Touché madam."

She hadn't seen the flash of hurt on his face but heard it in his voice. "I'm sorry, that didn't come out as intended."

"No harm. Please, make your way to Mr. Jackson's, and we can discuss my matter when you return."

Ezra watched her leave and kept an eye on her until he was certain she was doing as promised. Not that he doubted her word, but the woman could be easily distracted if something of note caught her reporter's eye. He set about his task of gathering the debris on the floor, casting his eye about for stray pieces. It appeared Mary had found most to them, but he was certain a few had vanished into crevices, possibly never to be seen again. He took his small collection to the table and perched on the stool, starting the tedious task of returning letters to their correct slots in the drawers. Differentiating the 'u' from the 'n' was only the first of what he expected would be many challenges.

"Where is my mother?"

He jumped slightly at the unexpected voice. "Good evening Master Travis. Your mother had a brief errand to run but shall return shortly. Is there a matter I could assist you with?" Shaking his head shyly, Billy turned to leave.

"Perhaps I could impose on you to assist me with this project. As you can see, these need to be sorted, and your young eyes would likely be more suited to the task than mine are. Come sit with me and lend your skills."

Billy looked frightened by the prospect, and Ezra feared he had put too much on the youngster. "Of course, it is possible it is a bit early in your education for you to recognize all of the letters. Perhaps if you just sit down and keep me company?"

Ezra was surprised to see the look of terror remain, and even more shocked when the youngster moved his hands to cover his behind. "No, I can't." He turned to run from the room, but Ezra quickly moved to stop him.

When he laid a hand on his shoulder, the child flinched and pulled back with a soft whimper. Ezra didn't want to hear the answer to the question he needed to ask.

"Have you been injured Billy?"

The soft 'no sir' was almost too quiet to be heard. Ezra had to fight the desire to push the issue, knowing all too well it would only further frighten the child. He tried approaching it from another angle.

"Your mother has gone to see Mr. Jackson – just a minor injury to her arm. Perhaps you should join her there?"

"No. I'm fine." He turned, never lifting his head or raising his voice above a whisper.

"Very well. But given how uncomfortable you look, I shall talk to Mr. Stymiest and inform him you will not be in class tomorrow."

Billy spun back around, eyes wide with fear and looked up for the first time. "No! Don't do that. Don't talk to him. Please." Tears began to fall as he turned again to run.

"Did he hurt Andrew Bailey as well? Please, Billy. You must tell me what happened."

"Nothing." He stopped but didn't turn. "Nothing at all." Without another word, he ran from the room.

Ezra struggled to rein in his temper. He knew what had happened. He had a sick realization that he had known all along something wasn't quite right but had discounted it as being nothing more than his usual cynical view of people.

Stymiest had been told when he arrived that discipline was a task left to parents, and any issues should be dealt with accordingly. He had assured the committee he had no problem with that, and that he had learned a strict voice and firm demeanor was generally sufficient to keep youngsters in line. Ezra watched him make the claim and swallowed his instinctive suspicion. The tone, the body posture - the statement didn't ring true. It didn't take any special skills at reading people for him to see the rest of the committee was completely enamoured of the new arrival, so he kept his opinions to himself. Now, he was beating himself up over that decision, with the intention to be beating someone else up if he was correct.

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Billy watched through the window as Ezra left, almost crying with relief to see him walking toward the restaurant, and not the school. Maybe he wouldn't talk to Mr. Stymiest after all. Maybe he had fooled him into believing nothing was wrong. He looked back at his bed, wondering if he would be able to sit on it if he used the pillow. Even if that worked, he couldn't take it out when he had to sit down for dinner.

He looked around, getting more desperate by the minute. Maybe Mr. Standish was right, he thought. If I'm sick, I don't have to eat, or go to school, or anything. The problem with that plan is that it was only a one-day solution. He needed more than that. He couldn't run away. He promised he would never scare his mother that way again. Out of ideas, he lay face down on the bed and sobbed quietly into his pillow.

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Ezra neared the restaurant, trying to get himself under control enough to speak to the others calmly. They were unlikely to believe him. Why would they? His word was seldom good enough. Without some evidence they were sure to ascribe some ulterior motivation to his deductions. He needed to present a convincing case, and ranting would not accomplish that goal. He needed some kind of proof.

The town was quiet, as most people appeared to be home, or on their way there. Only a few people were on the streets, and they were going about their own business, paying him no attention. Not an uncommon situation. He focused his attention on the school house. Tucked back from the main part of town, in the hope that the location would mean fewer distractions for the children. It also created a degree of isolation that until this moment had not seemed like a detriment. There was no light in the classroom, but given the hour, that was expected. Stymiest was possibly in the back room, but more likely settled into his boarding house accommodation. The original plan had been to make the back room of the school house into his residence, but he balked at the idea, saying it was not appropriate. For the moment, the committee was indulging him, which suddenly Ezra was grateful for.

He circled behind the restaurant and quickly but quietly made his way to the school. In the haste to get the building completed, a few luxuries had been neglected, meaning for this excursion there was no need to pick a lock. A shame actually, as he thought he could probably use the practice. The door opened silently, and he furtively hastened inside. The dusk offered just enough light for him to make his search, not entirely certain what he hoped to find. The chalkboard had notes for tomorrow's class. Ezra scanned it and reluctantly admitted the man seemed to know what he was doing. Not that it mattered, since it wasn't his technique that was in question right now.

The bookcase in the corner held some readers which spanned several skill levels. It occurred to Ezra he should consider donating a few of his own classics for the older children to enjoy, although they would undoubtedly prefer JD's penny novels. He shuddered at the thought.

The desk was almost barren, holding only a grading book, ink bottle and a single pen. The top drawer held no surprises, with a few more pens and a notebook. He sat at the desk, looking out over the room as he pulled at the side drawer. Locked? Why, when everything else was so exposed would the one drawer be locked. He looked at the mechanism and smiled. Child's play. Obviously Stymiest and installed the external clasp himself and getting past it was something Ezra could do in his sleep. Less than 10 seconds later he was starring in disbelief at the contents, grateful he hadn't stopped for supper before coming here.

Three hard leather straps of different sizes rested on top of a riding crop and small horsewhip. A wooden paddle was propped on the side. All showed signs of being well used in the past, cracked and discoloured with the patina of age. He looked again and cursed under breath. Not all of the discolouration came from age. Some came from blood.

"Do you make it a habit of breaking into other people's property Mr. Standish?" Ezra had been too focused on his find to hear the door of the back room slip open. He turned, making a move to release his derringer when a heavy cane smashed down on his arm. Grabbing for whatever weapon he could find, his fingers landed on one of the straps and he lashed out with it. He was too far away to make contact, but Stymiest clearly wasn't as the cane landed again, this time against the side of his head. He stumbled back, dazed, trying to retrieve the strap as it fell from his grasp.

"Oh, fond of the strap, are you? I too find it a most satisfactory method of discouraging those who fail to follow the rules. For example, those who break into my desk." He retrieved a large strap from the drawer. Ezra dodged to avoid the blow but was too disoriented from the first hits to move quickly enough. He was dropped to his knees by the impact for the leather hitting his face. He looked up, only to be struck again, then again. He fell forward, unable to ward off any blows as he slipped into darkness.

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tbc