Torn and wrought with feelings of extreme guilt, Lucy wrung her hands and avoided looking Headmaster Coriakin directly in the eyes. She shifted uncomfortably in her place on the couch.
She should say something now, just blurt it out. The Rhindon Investigation Society would understand, wouldn't they? They would defend her, would they not? She was supposed to be their 'high king'; surely…If she confessed to everything, however distressing it was, they would be able to make everything well again.
But Andrew Ketterley's thin, know-everything face popped into her head, and she had to fight against an involuntary tremble and the angry, humiliated tears that pricked the back of her eyes and practically made her blind as she refused to release them.
After seeing Eustace Clarence Scrubb as a dragon, Lucy was certain of one thing: Mr. Ketterley was responsible for the transformation.
Lucy had been told, long ago, by her parents and tutors alike, that stars had great power, but never had she heard of them transforming any shape except for their own, and that was only when they traveled between the sky and earth. Only Andrew could have changed Eustace-with his magic book, most likely.
And she had meant to do the right thing, this time. Lucy had had every intention of telling the Rhindon Investigation Society that she knew Mr. Ketterley was a magician and potentially dangerous.
She would have told Edmund first and pleaded moral support from him, but then it occurred to her exactly what he would ask. He would want to know, understandably, why she had been so tempted by a page in the magic book in the first place and what kind of spell it was. And Edmund, never one to beat around the bush, would be sure ask, also, what the devil she needed beauty for; and she couldn't very well tell him that it was because she loved him and wanted him to take some notice of her for once. She herself barely understood her sudden inward desire to obtain a deeper version of his love, and not well enough to explain it.
So, in the end, Lucy decided she would have to do without her best friend's moral support, and hoped he wouldn't be in the secret chamber during the meeting about Dragon-Eustace, though she readied herself for the likelihood that he would. All the same, she intended to confess then.
Alas, somehow or other, Mr. Ketterley had caught Lucy alone in the corridors a good while before the meeting (which, it had been decided, could not be until late at night, after the majority of the students had gone to sleep, in spite of the urgency).
"A word, Miss Pevensie," the secret magician said in a very stiff, pompous-sounding tone of voice. "As we cannot talk in my classroom, since it is burned to a crisp by no fault of my own, we will talk in this here mathematics room, on my left."
Lucy did not want to go with him (well, look what had happened to Eustace when trapped alone with Mr. Ketterley!), but he was still the teacher, magician or not, and he seemed as if he wanted to talk of nothing more than classroom-work matters. It was very probable that he would forget half-way through their conversation what it was he needed to tell her in favor of getting himself a flask of brandy and she would be free to go. She had had a safe audience with him once before. Furthermore, if she fled, he might, knowing that Lucy was a rule-abiding pupil, realize she knew what he was; then she might truly be in danger, for surely the man, even if he was stupid, wanted to keep his job, which would mean keeping her quiet.
Having been almost sold into slavery by Pug and Gumpas was bad enough, Lucy didn't want to get yet another teacher against her before she had to. Coriakin wouldn't tell Andrew where he'd learned his secret from, probably, so to wait and act normally was the course of wisdom.
The Narnian princess was a bad liar, but maybe if she tried simply to do what Edmund often did-be as vague as possible-all would turn out well enough.
So, she nodded agreeably at Mr. Ketterley and walked through the classroom door he was holding open.
It was not until directly after Lucy had crossed over the threshold that it dawned on her that there was one major difference between meeting Andrew now and having met him after science class when she hadn't been paying attention: Edmund had been outside, ready to save her if need be. This time, however, Edmund hadn't the foggiest idea where she was; Lucy was completely on her own.
It will be all right, it will… Everything would be fine, she just kept telling herself that, and thinking of how she was doing the right thing, keeping silent now so she could properly confess later.
Except, as soon as Andrew Ketterley entered the room for himself, he looked over at her with glinting eyes, smiled slowly, slammed the door shut, locked it, then exclaimed, "There! Now I know we won't be interrupted."
It was so unlike anything a teacher would be expected to do, and so sudden, that Lucy tensed up and ran to the nearest window, struggling vainly with latches that would not open.
With one surprisingly firm yank, given his practically skeletal build, Andrew pulled Lucy away from the window and lightly-without gentleness but not in a particularly cruel manner, either-shoved her in the direction of a chair in front of a desk he intended to sit at during their talk.
"For pity's sake, child, calm down, won't you? You're giving me such a lot trouble for no reason. I only need to speak with you on a pressing matter." He sat down and rubbed his knuckles together.
Lucy shivered, slowly lowering herself into the chair he had roughly indicated she was supposed to sit in. "Then why…"
"I've only locked the door because I know you often have that angry-faced count with you, and I do not wish for him-or anyone else-to come bursting in here. See, my dear gel, there's a private issue, between the two of us, that needs to be discussed; and the sooner the better."
"How do you mean?" asked Lucy, blinking up at him, her guard half down and half up now.
"Well, I know you enjoyed a certain book of mine," Andrew said, grinning meanly.
Lucy swallowed hard. "I…"
"I may not know much, gel, but I know when a book of mine has been used; all the more so when part of it has been ripped out."
Her face went white as a sheet.
He held up a thin-fingered, bony hand. "Fear not, young miss, I'm not cross with you. It was a thing that any unfortunate school-girl might have done. Furthermore, if you will excuse my saying so, I can see why-in spite of your natural charm-you needed that particular page."
That comment stung a little, but not nearly so much as it had when Edmund had flat-out said she wasn't even pretty back at Cair Paravel. His blunt, nonchalant, 'no' was closer to home than some washed-up magician who thought himself better than everybody else not finding her looks satisfactory.
"The matter, however," Andrew went on, "is that we must come to some sort of agreement, you and I. No one else at this school is aware that I am a magician; silly suspicious, superstitious people would try to harm me as soon as relieve me of my post, you understand. And it's all stupidity, for how else can great feats be accomplished without sacrifice and extreme study? Eh? A few accidents here and there…well, like that fire in my classroom…clearly a clever gel like yourself would understand how important it is that my true work and passion and occupation be kept a secret."
"Why did you turn poor Eustace Clarence into a dragon?" Lucy demanded hotly, in spite of her own discomfort and fear; she needed to know.
"First off, I'll not be spoken to in so rough a tone by one of my students, thank you," he huffed, rolling his eyes and puffing out his chest to make his offence overt. "Second, he was not 'poor'; the lad was quite the nuisance and the mark-grubber. Third, as much as I dislike your attitude, your interest in magic intrigues me greatly, Miss Pevensie, so I will answer your question regardless." He sighed with exaggerated depth. "I did not mean to turn him into a dragon. I was attempting, rather, to conduct a spell that I thought would transport him into another world; a universe parallel to our own-there are many of them, I'm sure of that much. Alas, the experiment went wrong, the boy panicked, and his carelessness ruined my classroom."
"His carelessness?" exclaimed Lucy in disbelief.
"This isn't about blame."
If it was, thought Lucy, it would all be yours and yours alone.
"So, about your knowledge of my magic book," he said, waving off any further mention of the fire or Dragon-Eustace, "may I have your solemn word that you will tell no one about it?"
"Of course not!" she cried, appalled. "I'll not keep it a secret, I'll not! I don't care, Mr. Ketterley. It's wrong, and…and Aslan would disapprove…and…and I'm going to tell the Headmaster."
For a moment, Andrew looked angry, Lucy thought he was going to scream in her face. But he calmed down and simply replied, "Then I suppose I'll have to leave before you do that."
"You'll go away?"
"Of course. Did you expect me to stick around here and be hung because of your meanness? They kill witches and magicians, you know. And now, now I shall be beggared."
For a spilt-second Lucy felt sorry for him. Only then she remembered the fire, and Eustace's frightened dragonized face, and she found she hated Mr. Ketterley too much to pity. She didn't want him to be killed; but maybe, if she was supposed to be so jolly important, she could ask Coriakin to spare his life and just put him in prison or something.
"On second thought," Andrew mulled, his brow going high up, "I like it here. I don't really want to leave. And, if I must go down because of my occupation, tis only fair that others just as guilty go down with me. I must tell them, for fairness' sake, Lucy, that you dappled in a few spells yourself."
"But I didn't know they were spells!" Lucy protested.
"Oh?" His already high brow went up even higher. "Then how do you explain the beauty spell you stole? It's plain enough what that is. And you must have known that it was a spell when you took it."
So that was what this was: blackmail. Andrew Ketterley would tell about her dabbling in magic if she told anyone he was a magician.
"Everyone will know exactly why you wanted it, too," he added coldly. "And your friends will know that you spied on them."
"Anne isn't my friend," Lucy said.
"Ah, but little Marjorie Preston is, is she not? Would you lose your friendship with her over something as simple as keeping your mouth shut?"
Lucy's stomach hurt. She could tell, but then Andrew would wreck havoc on her life and friends. And even if she risked it and told anyway, he might be bluffing about staying and run away, and maybe turn someone else into a dragon before he was brought to justice.
"Think of how good not telling will be for you," Andrew pressed, knowing he had the princess trapped. "You will keep all your friends and the beauty spell page; I don't want it back, haven't got any use for it myself. I don't want to change my appearance. You can keep the secret, say the spell, and be beautiful." He leaned over the desk and whispered, "And, dear gel, the sooner the better, if you catch my meaning. It'll fix that limp of yours as well, I daresay."
Oh, she hated him even more now! How could he do this? How dare he? The horrible, horrible man! He was a dreadful magician and an even worse person.
Sadly, at the moment, Lucy couldn't help thinking that she herself wasn't a much better one.
"No…" she said shakily. She wanted to tell him he could have the page back, but couldn't get those words out; deep down, she still ached to be beautiful, and it tugged at her heart and conscience repeatedly.
"Well, if you won't do it for yourself, Miss big heart," said the magician in a cool but disdainful tone, "then do it for your precious Eustace Clarence. If you stop my magic, how do you think he'll ever regain his true form?"
She had not thought of that. What if the Rhindon Investigation Society couldn't turn him back into a boy again?
"But…"
"Gel, if you keep your lips sealed, I promise to study up for a way to change him back. And you keep your friends and your beauty spell. Tell me that's not a fair deal, I dare you to."
She shook her head. "It's wrong, Mr. Ketterley, very wrong."
"Oh, stuff and nonsense! You've only been taught it's wrong, as little children should be. But you're a young woman now, and it's time to learn of many new things. Perhaps magic could be one of them? You'd like to help me turn Eustace back into a boy, wouldn't you? In all your joy over helping him, you might even find happiness in the process of magic, though some of it can be a little unsettling and rough. The rules would be different for you. Just think of it! I could use an apprentice. Do you not see where that would leave you? Extremely well-off! You could grow up to be the most beautiful sorceress in the world, all thanks to magic-my magic. Anything you want, ever, could be yours for the taking."
I don't want it, Lucy wanted to scream out at the top of her voice, I don't want to be a sorceress, I don't want to! Such would be treason against Aslan and Narnia, so of course she meant to stay far away from those kinds of studies.
"And if there was ever a young man who caught your fancy, you'd have him; if not by your stunning looks, then by your magic."
There was only one young man she wanted, and the magician was offering him-and anything else-to her on a silver platter. And Eustace, she had to help him; what had happened was her fault. So joining forces with magic…no, by the Lion, she couldn't do it! She was still considering using the beauty spell, but that was just one spell; to be a full-blown sorceress…oh, no, no, no!
"I will never be your apprentice," Lucy said flat out, with all the conviction she could muster, clenching her sweaty fists.
"Fine, you can keep quiet and let me work on my own in finding a cure for Eustace. Unless you want the chap to be a dragon for ever."
She didn't. "How long will it take?"
"Gel," snorted Andrew, "I'm a magician, not a fortune-teller!"
Tears pricked her eyes. "But you will save Eustace? You promise?"
"I give you my word, Princess."
"In exchange for my silence?"
"Yes."
"And you won't expect me to…to be like you?"
He rubbed his knuckles together. "The offer of magic lessons still stands, being as you know about my magic already, and I do hope you reconsider, but in the meantime, no; you shall do as you please."
Oh, Aslan, please, please forgive me for this. "Then I promise not to tell."
"Ah, I knew you were reasonable, dear." He reached out and grabbed one of her hands, as if to shake it in thanks.
She didn't much like his touch, but Lucy didn't pull away until she felt a bit of pressure on her left index figure and found that he'd slipped a ring on there.
"What…?"
"Tis a mere token of my gratitude, and a reminder that, if you wish to learn magic, my doors are always open to you, my friend." Reaching over and patting the hand he'd put the ring on, Andrew added, "Oh, and even if you don't join me, I would still recommend you do that beauty spell. It would suit you wonderfully, Miss Pevensie."
Lucy examined the ring. It was made of a hard material that was neither gold nor silver, nor iron, nor any other kind of metal she'd ever seen-or felt-before. The ring's colour changed from golden-yellow to grass-green depending on the light.
Now the princess sat in the secret chamber, the Rhindon Investigation Society discussing what to do about Eustace's current situation, and she didn't know what to say.
What was she supposed to say? That she had bargained for Eustace with a magician, and partly out of selfish motive because she-in spite of everything-wanted to keep the beauty spell page? That she knew-had known for a while-that Andrew was a magician? And, what, ruin Eustace's chances of becoming a boy again?
She felt unfaithful and horrid; she knew she ought to trust Aslan to set all things right, but her head was swimming. Part of her hoped Andrew had laid some enchantment on her through the ring, something she could blame her stupidity and indecisiveness on, but she knew it was her own fault. It was no charm holding her fast; it was her own vanity. Yes, it was the very vanity she'd believed, up till now, she didn't possess.
More than once during the society's long talk, Lucy had been discreetly trying to remove the ring from her index finger; no one else (not even Edmund) appeared to have noticed it yet, but she was more aware of the ring's irksome presence even than she was of her bad ankle. Only the blasted thing wouldn't come off! She tugged at it, but it stayed firmly stuck, as if part of her flesh.
"If only we knew how he was turned," said Rhince, clicking his tongue. "It is such a pity we haven't a clue."
"We have a clue," Edmund spoke up for the first time since the meeting started, "though not a very good one."
"What clue is that?" asked Professor Kirke.
Lucy stopped tugging at the ring and looked over at Edmund in surprise. Yes, what clue, exactly, did he mean?
"Andrew-I mean, Mr. Ketterley-he doesn't strike me as a normal person," Edmund tried, wincing.
"How so?"
Lucy's heart was in her throat. Edmund had said something about living with a witch before, and he seemed to know more of magic than he let on generally. Was he aware of what Andrew truly was? Was he going to tell? Did she really want him to? Of course she did; sort of.
Edmund shook his head, saying no more. It occurred to him that he could not state his full suspicions about Andrew without letting on about his past. It was all right that Lucy-his best friend-had a vague notion that he'd lived with an enchantress as a child, but to let the whole darn Rhindon Investigation Society know that? He wondered what he'd been thinking even considering it.
What if they turned on him just like his old family before Helen and Frank had? Caspian, well, he liked him, but he also considered the Telmarine Valedictorian a loose cannon to some degree; it had been he, after all, who'd found the stone knife under the floorboards. And the others? Well, he didn't know them well enough. Professor Kirke might understand, but there was no guarantee.
"I think he set the fire on purpose," Edmund said at last, rather lamely.
"And that has what to do with Eustace?" asked Headmaster Coriakin, frustrated.
Lucy sighed. "Marjorie Preston said she saw a great creature crash through the wall after the fire started. From the inside out." She would say no more than that, though.
"Well, it seems," sighed Ivy, smoothing a ripple-like wrinkle in her gown of satin crimson, "as if the only thing we can do is keep Eustace out in the secluded woods until we can figure something else out. The other students would be frightened. This is not as simple to cover up as Lucy's limp and Gumpas and Pug's dismissal."
"I wouldn't call any of that simple," muttered Edmund, mostly to himself.
Lucy, over-hearing, would have laughed if not so weighed down by stress at the moment.
Caspian moved from his place and sat between Edmund and Lucy for no real reason except that Nikabrik kept poking him and hissing some irrelevant gibberish at him and it was getting a little annoying.
Suddenly Lucy thought about what Mr. Ketterley had said; about how she should use the beauty spell soon. What if he was dead-wrong? She knew she wasn't beautiful, but even Andrew had admited there was some appeal to her without standard beauty, much as he suggested adding it.
Maybe it wasn't true that no one took notice of her. She wondered if she could make a boy-or young man-notice her if she wanted. Not Edmund, clearly, much as she-and perhaps because she-loved him. But what about someone else?
She glanced at Caspian, then glanced away, then looked back and stared a little. What about him? Lucy wondered if he'd ever noticed her as more than a combination of a sweet little princess and the next High King Peter.
Tucking a strand of her hair behind one ear, Lucy reached out and gingerly touched the Telmarine valedictorian on the arm, half-smiling at him.
Caspian smiled back warmly, as if grinning at a friendly child he was fond of.
Lilliandil understood but was not the least bit cross or jealous; for it became rather apparent to her that Lucy's love interest was not Caspian, despite the fact she was flirting (or, rather, attempting to flirt) with him. Fittingly, this generation's Peter loved this generation's Susan. The star felt sorry for Lucy, though, because it was plain as day that the poor girl was going through the great changes of life, from childhood to womanhood, and she was finding some parts of it hard to deal with. All the more so having to face up with all the Rhindon Investigation Society had made her aware of.
Edmund, on the other hand, didn't quite see it in that light. He, unlike Lilliandil, understood nothing at all, except that Lucy was showing borderline-romantic attention to Caspian. And, needless to say, he didn't much like that.
The count tried to deal, focusing on the Eustace issue, taking some comfort in the fact that Caspian was wholly oblivious, but when he saw Lucy cock her head to one side dementedly and touch the Telmarine's arm a second time, he couldn't help feeling angry and jealous.
Sure, he and Lucy were friends, nothing more; still, this was too much to bear up with. He half-wanted to stand up, grab Caspian by the collar of his Telmarine-style shift, and move him back to his seat next to Nikabrik. Why did the blighter switch bloody seats in the first place? If he'd stayed put, everything would have been just fine! Stupid Caspian.
When the meeting was adjourned, Eustace's fate still largely undecided, and Lucy and Edmund found themselves alone in a corridor, on their ways back to their rooms, Edmund made the mistake of voicing his displeasure.
"You know, Lucy," he said, in a rather spiteful, grown-up kind of voice, "I couldn't help noticing you seemed…er…really intent on touching Caspian's arm every five minutes." –that, actually, was a bit of an unfair judgment, as Lucy had really only touched his arm about three times in all.
Lucy felt her cheeks flush. Edmund had noticed, then. She wished she hadn't done her little experiment regarding her ability with young men right in front of him after all, realizing at last how embarrassing that was-for both of them.
"Well," Edmund went on, his hands clasped together behind his back as he walked, "I just thought you should know that making sheep-eyes at him is probably not the best idea."
"And why not?" Lucy managed to blurt out, feeling so self-conscious she wished the corridor would turn into a gapping black hole and swallow them both.
"Because it's obvious that he likes Lilliandil." Edmund blinked pretentiously. "And, well, you've seen her."
That comment, coupled with the memory of how Edmund had admired the gorgeous Lilliandil on their first day of school, was like a slap across the face to Lucy. She had only been pretending to like Caspian as more than a friend, and she regretted it deeply. Edmund, she assumed, had not-could not have-been feigning his admiration of Lilliandil's looks.
The comparison between her, a plain-faced princess, and a star's daughter hurt even more than the count's flat 'no' back at Cair had.
"What are you saying, Edmund?" She stopped walking and looked him dead in the face. "That if I liked Caspian I wouldn't stand a chance because I don't look as Lilliandil does?"
"Um…" Edmund hadn't thought that far ahead, he hadn't realized his comments would hurt her; that wasn't what he wanted! "No! I mean, yes! I mean…hang it all! Lucy, that's not it."
"Then what is?" She folded her arms across her chest and forced her tears to keep themselves at bay.
"He's just…and you're, well, I mean look at you!" He gestured at her with his right hand once very quickly before it struck him that his comment sounded very, very unkind.
Lucy sucked her cheeks in. "You know what, Edmund? You're right. I don't…and he wouldn't…"
"Lu…" Edmund wanted to make amends but wasn't sure how.
"I give up," Lucy whispered, shaking her head, turning away and walking down the corridor.
He followed after her. She couldn't get that far ahead with her limp. "Lu, you don't…oh, Aslan, don't tell me you really like him."
She closed her eyes and let out a short snort. "Does it matter?" Edmund had already made it perfectly clear that she wasn't pretty enough to be noticed by men.
"Lucy, I didn't mean it."
"Yes, you did," Lucy said coldly, biting the tip of her lower lip. "And if you'll excuse me, Count Edmund, I think I would like to go the rest of the way to my room on my own. It would probably be best if Mrs. Macready did not see you in the girls' parts of the school. So get on with you."
He had never been disregarded so coldly and formally by Lucy before. He'd cut her deeply, and he wasn't sure if there was anything he could do to smooth things over, this time.
Lucy spent the remainder of her night utterly miserable, sleeping only an hour or two at best. The rest of the time she paced the floor of her room, gazed sadly into the fireplace, or sat in the middle of her bed, crossed-legged, holding the beauty spell page in her hands. She felt as if she had lost something dear to her heart and wanted it back more than anything in the world.
Was the beauty spell the way to make everything well again? Or would it only complicate matters even more? She might have gone through with it, only the roaring her ears was driving her mad, and she couldn't bring herself to chant the words; her jaw felt as heavy as lead-crystal, and her tongue was a frozen block of ice.
At one point, Lucy picked up the page and almost threw it into the fire to burn it, but her fingers refused to let go; she wasn't ready to give up that twinge of sinful hope the spell symbolized.
Meanwhile, Edmund laid perfectly still in his hammock, alone in his room with naught but his thoughts to keep him company.
Dragon-Eustace was out in the woods somewhere doing Aslan knew what, and Caspian had not returned (Edmund strongly suspected he was off someplace with Lilliandil, and wondered if Coriakin knew).
His hammock swung back and forth as he shifted, staring up at the ceiling. What was he going to do about Lucy? About Eustace? About Andrew? About his past and his fears? About the Rhindon Investigation Society? About everything?
Discouraged, Edmund pulled the handkerchief-bound silver locket with the lock of Lucy's hair in it out of his doublet's breast-pocket. He clutched it in his hand tightly and closed his eyes half-way.
The next morning, Lucy washed her face and grimaced as she dressed in another one of Edmund's tunics, this one so dark a purplish-blue that it looked almost black in some lightings. It seemed most unfair that everything had to remind her of him, and of her fight with him the night before.
She wasn't used to quarreling with him for long periods of time, always having let their disagreements slide without much thought. Precious little could induce her to stay angry with her friend. Truth be told, Lucy was already tired of being hurt, she wanted to let it go so they could be best chums again.
If only none of this had ever happened!
How she wished she hadn't been so stupid, and Edmund so blunt and heartless.
Or was it mere honesty?
He hadn't called her an ugly crone or anything like that. Nothing he had said was a lie. She wasn't as beautiful as Lilliandil; even if she used the beauty spell, she knew she wouldn't be. Besides, she didn't actually want Caspian; as far as she was concerned he and the star's daughter were a perfect couple.
And yet, Lucy was unhappy.
Nothing else for it, she finally decided to start for her classes alone that day. Better not wait for Edmund, as if she was expecting him. He might not want to speak to her, after how she left him the corridor, dismissing him from her sight so haughtily.
On the way to her first class, she ran into Marjorie, who asked if she heard the rumour that Eustace had left school and gone back home because Lady Alberta was ill.
Lucy just shrugged her shoulders. The night before, one of the Telmarines-it may have been Rhince, or else it was that general who posed as a lord-had suggested starting such a rumour, to keep Dragon-Eustace's story from being too far spread, as there was clearly dark magic afoot.
Marjorie noticed that Lucy seemed a little dejected. "You all right, Lucy? Your eyes are puffy and you look paler than usual."
"I'm just tired," Lucy said, forcing a weak smile that did not reach her glassy eyes. "That's all."
"Oh, all right then," said Marjorie cheerfully. "As long as it's only that. I thought you might be coming down with some illness, maybe like Lady Alberta."
"No, I'm fine."
"I say, where's Edmund?"
"I don't know."
"I'm surprised to see you going to class without him, is all."
In a snappish tone that surprised even herself, Lucy blurted, "I don't need him with me all the time, you know!"
Marjorie flinched, uncomfortable. "Sorry. Did something happen with you two?"
"N-no," said Lucy, not quite truthfully. "I mean, we're best friends, why wouldn't we be fine? I simply feel like walking to class by myself today."
A more discerning person would have noted the broken quiver in Lucy's voice, but Marjorie didn't pick up on it.
"That's all you and Edmund are, right?" Marjorie examined her cuticles, waiting nervously for the answer.
"Yes, of course," Lucy told her. "Why?"
"Well, someone told me he…" Marjorie's face went scarlet. "Someone said he might be interested in me…you know, as more than a friend…and, the thing is, this person, they don't know him so well as you do. And…and if you could talk to him for me, and let him know that, maybe, if he wanted to…we could…well, would you, Lucy?"
Lucy, recalling the magic-book scene, could easily guess who that 'person' was. Also, while she ought to have seen this coming, it still felt like Marjorie had unintentionally taken a knife and stabbed her in the heart. Because, of course, now she couldn't just say no, that she wouldn't talk to him for her, not with that earnest, hopeful little face bashfully awaiting her answer.
Moreover, if Edmund did like Marjorie, even a little bit, she would have to-for friendship's sake-support them being…together. Her mouth tasted like copper coins and she wanted to run back into her room and shut the door and not come out again for the rest of the day so that she didn't have to deal with any of these emotions raging within her.
"Yes," she said, her voice faint, "I'll talk to him for you." If he's even still talking to me, that is.
"Oh, thank you!" Marjorie squealed and pulled her friend into a hug. "I knew you would! You're the best! The absolute best! I owe you. Anything you want me to do, name it. Say, do you like anyone? Anyone I'm friends with?"
"No," said Lucy flatly, trying not to let her broken heart show-at least, not too much. "Thank you anyway." She didn't mention that Marjorie didn't really have any male friends that weren't hers, unless she counted the dunderheads that were in love with Anne Featherstone.
When Edmund walked into history class to find Marjorie seated with some other girl who's name he didn't recall, and Lucy, instead of having saved a seat for him and waiting, sitting with Jill, he was a bit jarred.
Oh, his Lucy was still mad at him! And perhaps with right; he didn't blame her, not really. He had been stupid enough to imply she wasn't pretty enough to be noticed by men. Which, for the record, wasn't true; if he truly believed she wasn't pretty, he wouldn't have seen Caspian as a threat last night, plain and simple.
The count wound up sitting in the only free seat, sharing a table with that Calormene boy who'd gotten caught on a hook. He was miserable until the end of the lesson, nothing from which he actually remembered afterwards.
Soon the other students had all cleared out except for Lucy who was helping Professor Kirke arrange some papers because she had promised last week to help him and had forgotten. It seemed as good a time as any to avoid the awkward pause there was sure to be between herself and Edmund, standing in the corridor, wondering: do we walk together now, or don't we? Are we still mad at each other? If so, why?
Professor Kirke himself was outside the classroom, trying to prevent a student from stealing three jars of black quill-pen ink the lad had pinched from the cabinets at the back of the room when he'd thought the professor wasn't looking.
The door was shut, and Edmund had stayed behind, making himself and Lucy the only ones in the room.
Edmund had to speak with her now or else go mad. He had to apologize and straighten all this out. How could he bear the rest of the day like this when he felt as if one more hour would tear him to pieces inside?
"Lucy," he said, approaching the professor's desk and putting his hands on the edge, nervously cracking his knuckles against the wood, "do let's make it Pax. I'm awful sorry about what I said. It was cruel and thoughtless. And, oh, Lu, if you do like Caspian, I'm sorry about Lilliandil, really. It isn't that she's any better than you, honest. I think they were in love long before we even came to this school."
He waited, but she said nothing, keeping her head down, focused on the papers.
"Lu, please forgive me," Edmund whispered, his voice lower now.
A tear escaped from her eyes and landed on one of the papers. The princess hastily tried to keep it from smearing the ink.
"Now would be a good time to give me a sign that we're still friends," he pressed, not too demandingly, having seen the tear.
Lucy reached for the professor's tobacco holder, the one shaped like a silver apple. Wrapping her fingers around it, she lifted it up and handed it to Edmund, finally looking him in the eyes.
Almost crying himself, he reached for it, his fingers brushing against hers. "Thanks."
As Edmund was placing the apple-holder back down, Lucy reached for his hand. His fingers were quick and had latched around her wrist before she even made contact with him.
Both leaning over their sides of the desk, their faces were close together now.
Without thinking, Lucy tilted her head to one side, and Edmund's lips almost touched hers, pulling away at the last minute.
Ever so sadly, he shook his head at her and let go of her wrist.
Then the count left the classroom without another word, not even once looking back in her direction.
AN: Please review!