The Owl paced anxiously back and forth outside one of the three enormous dining pavilions which he had requisitioned and had erected on the edge of the civilian section of the refugee camp. Not for the first time in his hero career was he grateful for the enhanced hearing built into his cowl – he could hear everything happening in his small part of the camp. For the first week of their stay, he had allowed it to slide; as their time in Angola had dragged into the second week, he had grown concerned. When, near the end of week two, he had found a large unused tarp in the pile of supplies at the depot, he had immediately understood what he had to do.
Beneath this first tarp, Caline Bustier and Annette Raoult each had half of the older students, divided into somewhat more manageable groups. Caline had found a handful of textbooks in one of the pallets of books the Red Cross had given them, which she was using to teach History while also helping the students' English and teaching French as best she could with so few available books. Opposite Caline, under the same tarp, Annette was drilling her group on the poisonous plants and animals native to Angola. Beyond the first tarp was a second one in which several teachers had divided the école élémentaire-aged students into year-specific classes – he had found far more qualified teachers at the élémentaire level than collège; so many of his own colleagues had been left behind in Paris. And then there was a third tent for maternelle students, though the "maternelle" class was closer to a daycare since he had finally run out of qualified teachers. Instead he had recruited a dozen Sorbonne University students as teachers and teacher aides, who had grouped all of the students together, regardless of age. The three pavilions had been erected to form a triangle between them, where the students could have their gym classes and recess under supervision. Each of the teachers had a class of at least a hundred, if not more, with students continuing to join by the hour – and those were only the children who had come, or who were in the camp with parents or guardians who would make them come. Just walking through the came that morning, the Owl had seen another thousand or more potential students who could have come to the makeshift school; about a hundred of those had followed him back to the school.
Of course, while he would never turn a student away, his present setup could barely support the students they had at present. If any more students came, they might need to expand into a fourth pavilion tent.
Finding makeshift desks and tables for the school had been only the first challenge in getting his idea off the groud. His first stop had been to ask Chloe if she could make any suggestions. After he had assured her that he didn't plan to force the older students (which included most of the Heroes of Paris) to attend the school, she had approached Rugindo Leoa, who had provided all the emptied wooden crates in the camp, along with hundreds of tables and chairs from the storage warehouse they had been using in Egypt. The Red Cross supplies had included enormous stores of paper and pencils; they had even found a couple blackboards that could be propped up against the tent poles on boxes to give them height. The greatest challenge had been locating textbooks and materials – after going through every pallet of books in the camp, he had still come up short. In the end, Hakɛto's contact at the Red Cross had arranged for one of the schools in Algeria to loan some of their unused French-language textbooks.
Certainly this would not replace a proper school with proper facilities, but for now it would have to do.
As the Owl turned back around for another cycle of anxious pacing, his ears peeled for any potential disciplinary problems, a young woman stopped a few meters in front of him and looked around nervously before coughing into her hand. When the Owl turned his attention to her, she asked, "Um… my friend Lina said I should talk to you about teaching here?"
His eyes widened and he straightened his back, giving her an encouraging smile. "Yes! Mlle…"
"Cassel. Camille Cassel."
"And do I remember correctly that you are studying history education at Sorbonne University, Mlle Cassel?"
Camille nodded. "Yes, that is correct. This is – or it was – my final term," she explained. "Now?" She shrugged helplessly. "Who knows what is going to happen?"
"That is, I suppose the question, isn't it?" The Owl beamed at her. "But thank you so much for coming! Your friend Mlle Achard has been teaching in our maternelle; spoke quite highly of you when I mentioned our need at the collège level. As you can see, we are organizing a makeshift school for the students in the camp, but I am in need of more instructors, particularly for the collège. If I can find another teacher or two, we will be able to reduce the size of the classes and accommodate more students. So… will you help me?"
Camille furrowed her brows in thought. "I–um–I suppose I need more information first. What would be the expectations and responsibilities?"
"An excellent question!" The Owl smiled approvingly. "You would be responsible for teaching history for all grades at the collège level in a rotation with the other instructors." Turning to face the tent, he pointed first to Caline, then Annette. "Currently, Mme Bustier is teaching both languages and history, while Mme Raoult teaches science and I cover math. I have found a few additional 'adjunct' instructors – O Brasileiro and O Patriota have both consented to teach our students conversational Portuguese, though they are far too busy to teach on a daily basis. As far as you are concerned, you would not have a 'classroom' per se; the students stay in their 'classrooms' while the teachers move between the class spaces for their allotted lesson times. Classes are divided roughly by grade, but with Sixième and Cinquième together, and Quatrième and Troisième together."
"I would be teaching multi-grade, multi-subject?" asked Camille, raising an eyebrow dubiously.
"For now," he admitted. "Is that acceptable?"
"Do we have a choice?" She shrugged. "I can try to make it work… But I've never done it before; it's not something I ever really planned to have to do."
He nodded sympathetically. "It is not my preference. But hopefully by the end of the week we will find another teacher and be able to divide students by grade. Do you know of any University students studying to teach math, music, civics, or English?"
She frowned. "I have a couple friends in the education program, but–" she sighed heavily "–I don't know which of them made it here."
He hummed, patting her on the shoulder consolingly. "I hope they did make it here," he told her. "Or that they are safe, wherever they are. But if you can find them, ask them to come and see me."
She nodded. "Yes, sir." She pursed her lips, swallowing nervously. "If – if I'm going to do this…" she flushed "will you – that is to say – um…"
He raised an eyebrow but nodded, stifling his amusement. "I will be happy to write you a letter of recommendation once we return to Paris." He was going to have a lot of those letters to write… when they got home.
Camille let out a breath. "Thank you, sir – M. Owl." She coughed nervously. "But–um–I was actually going to ask… could I teach at… Collège François Dupont?"
His eyes widened in surprise. "I–uh–" He cleared his throat. "I will see what I can do," he finally answered.
She nodded, her cheeks turning a darker shade of red. "Thank you. I'm–I'm sorry for even asking."
He held out a hand for her to shake and gave her a reassuring smile. "Not at all. Thank you for your assistance in this, Mme Cassel." Gesturing toward the smaller tent he had placed a little apart from the exercise triangle to hold their books and materials, he led her inside and showed her the stack of history books they had acquired – most in English, but with a few French and Portuguese books mixed in. "You may take the rest of the morning to prepare lessons, but if you are ready, I will add you to the schedule for the afternoon."
Her eyes widened in fear and she swallowed anxiously, but finally she gave a jerky nod. "I–I'll try."
"That is all we can ask under the circumstances," he replied, giving her a confident grin. "I'm sure you will perform admirably; if you have any questions or require guidance, I will be happy to help you in any way I can." A wave from the direction of the collège tent caught his attention, and he looked over to see Caline gesturing toward him, raising her eyebrows insistently. "But if you will excuse me, it is time for math class."
Camille had already sat down at the folding table and opened a battered book of African history, jotting down quick notes on a sheet of loose-leaf paper without taking her eyes off the book. Satisfied, the Owl grabbed an out-of-date pre-algebra book from the stack on the other side of the table, along with a notebook, and left the tent, striding confidently toward Caline and her class. She stepped out from under the tent to meet him, strain at the corners of her eyes.
"I grouped the troublemakers front and center of each grade," she reported briskly. "Another four Sixième students showed up halfway through the class – I don't think you saw them when they arrived."
The Owl nodded pensively, stroking his chin. "I will get their information after classes," he decided. "We will have some further assistance today, and possibly more tomorrow. Thank you, Mme Bustier."
She sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I couldn't exactly leave you in the lurch, M. Damo–ahem–Owl." Her eyes drifted across the tent toward the other class, and she grimaced, moving in that direction. "I'd better get back to it so Annette can get her prep time."
The Owl let out a breath, steeling himself for the upcoming class. It had been years since he was last in the classroom, and under far more ideal circumstances than now. But that was the life of a Hero of Paris. Tomorrow perhaps they would return and stop the Tarasque once and for all. But for today, the next generation of Paris youth needed to be prepared for that better future which the Heroes of Paris were working to give them.