A&A&A Boarding School
Authoresses' Note: Lydia hates being a cancer cell. Just thought we'd let you know.
Lydia's cancer-cellation is the reason why we haven't been updating at chapter-per-day rate. The things we do for our CCAs.
For reviewers, thank you, southerngirl4615 , L (you really know how to flatter us, don't you? We bask in your praise and love you lots...), hotdogfish, Silver Sniper, Mariette (we really can't resist, 'cos them revolutionaires are very amusing to torture. They sing One Day More here, though), FlameTalon, Cerse Liminara, Dark Borg Drone, I AM EOWYN, Katatonia (we were wondering when anyone would ask! Well, our characters fall approximately between the ages of 12 – 18, except for the elves and others, who are the ages which roughly correspond in their time to 12 – 18. Yes, and Lili Frond is from Artemis Fowl, see AN Chapter 7), and Asha Ice (if Achilles spoke Greek, then the LotR characters would speak Westron and the French Revolution French and the fairies Gnommish and Anna Romanian and so on. Let's pretend the language barriers do not exist, shall we? Because no matter how great we are at languages we still can't learn them all. And Galadriel is biased towards Arwen because she's her granddaughter. Nepotism is well and alive in A&A&A.)
Note to all th13rteeners from Lydia: I – and the other cancer cells – won't be going to school on Monday, so I shan't see you all again for a long time. I miss you all badly, though, and can't wait for next year or the holiday party or whatnot. Keep in touch through MSN. I think you will identify with the second half of this chapter. I love you all lots, you darling th13rteeners, and I can't bear to be in a different class. (cries) Tell Oce happy birthday for me.
11. Indicial Equations and Impertinence
"That," commented Éowyn as she and Holly sat with their lemonade in the Dining Hall during break, "was an emotionally scarring experience."
Holly agreed. "Hearing Lili sing. Ugh."
Éowyn shuddered. "I think Galadriel wants me to be the Wax Figure. I don't know what that is, but it doesn't sound good. Wax."
Elizabeth sat down opposite them. "Will you believe it? I'm Carlotta."
"Congratulations," said Anna, who arrived next to her.
"No congratulations," muttered Elizabeth. "Sabotage, plain and clear. Really, my two deskmates – they're in for rat poisoning."
"Rat poisoning?" asked Eponine with interest. She plonked her lemonade glass next to Holly's and seated herself on the bench.
Elizabeth nodded. "I carry a bottle around all the time. For the rats; I hate them so, and you never know when they appear."
"Why do you hate rats?" inquired Eponine, puzzled. "They taste really good."
Eponine the street gamine had obviously had a lot of rats in her time, but Elizabeth the demoiselle hadn't. She blanched. "God. You eat those things?"
Anna broke up the oncoming argument by saying, "We've got Math in five minutes. In the next block – teacher's some Jean Valjean. Weird name."
Eponine perked up her ears. "Jean Valjean? But isn't 's père?"
"But..." Elizabeth considered. "Cosette's surname isn't Valjean."
"She talks about him too much for us to doubt," Eponine told her sagely. "Finish your lemonade, hurry, or we'll be en retard."
In the Math classroom, Cosette was looking extremely happy. "Marius! Did you know my father teaches Math?"
"Oh." Marius absorbed this piece of information. "Really?"
Eponine decided that she didn't like Math.
Cosette perked up when the Math teacher entered the classroom. He was rather elderly but still well-built, and his voice was very gruff when he greeted them. "Bonjour, tout le monde."
"Er." The non-French portion of the class had no idea how to respond. "Good, um, morning?"
"I am M. Valjean," went on their teacher, in a clipped French accent. "And although I am not a man of high intelligence, I have graciously accepted the job of teaching Math in your school. I am sure," he eyed the varied faces, "that all of you have different standards of Math, so in order to Regulate the Pace of Learning and Understanding your Standards, I shall give you all a diagnostic test." He began dealing out test papers. "Don't worry," he added at the look of shock on some of their faces. "This is but a test to find your abilities, not a Summative Assessment. Do not despair if you cannot do all the questions. Et – commencez."
The class bent their heads and proceeded to do the diagnostic test.
Artemis stared at his paper in barely disguised disdain. Indicial equations? He had been doing those when he was four. After skimming through and finishing the entire paper in five minutes twenty-three seconds, he still had not found a single question worthy enough to so much as challenge his massive intellectual. Artemis put down his paper with a sigh and glanced around. No one, not even the Granger girl, seemed to have finished yet. The level of Math in this class...he could hardly bear to imagine. Artemis proceeded to stare into space and plot wicked plots. He had a sinking feeling that he was going to be very bored in Math class.
Hermione finished her paper exactly one minute and ten seconds after Artemis. That was it? Well, if the Math here was so simple she would probably be able to top the class without any difficulty. Unless – and here she eyed Artemis, who was staring into space, suspiciously – unless Fowl intervened with her plans to conquer the academical world of examinations and marks. Oh no, she wouldn't let him. She was, after all, the unbeatable Hermione Granger.
"Up till you met him," whispered a malicious voice in the back of her head.
Hermione shook her head violently to dislodge that voice. That was so not true. She would show Artemis Fowl. She really would...
Ten minutes later, Valjean announced that their time was up. "You shall mark your own papers – it is a lot faster that way, non?" He pulled down the projector screen and switched on the projector. The answers appeared on the screen, and everyone started marking.
"Stop cheating," muttered Elizabeth under her breath.
"Am not," retorted Jack.
"You," pointed out Elizabeth indignantly, "are cancelling out your wrong answers and replacing them with the ones on the screen. If that isn't cheating, then what is?"
"Cheating," replied Jack by way of explanation, "is a way of life. There's nothing wrong with cheating, savvy? You know, lass, that I've got out of many scrapes before because I cheated? For example, in the..."
"Cheating," interrupted Elizabeth hotly, "is dishonourable. And learning from your mistakes is all for your own good."
"You sound like me old ma," rejoined Jack.
"Well, she must have been a respectable woman with morals then. And in that case, I have no idea how someone like her could have raised someone like you!"
Jack stared pointedly at anywhere but Elizabeth and began to whistle as he continued changing answers.
"So..." Valjean appraised the class. "How many of you got...forty out of forty?"
Artemis and Hermione raised their hands, saw the other, and glared daggers. If looks could kill, now would have been the time for some bloody murdering.
Jack was about to casually raise his hand. Elizabeth hissed, "Oh no you don't!" and tackled his arm, which she managed to hold down until Valjean had moved to the next group of marks. Will watched with his familiar I'm-so-glad-it's-not-me look. "Really, Jack. I thought you'd have known better than to let her see."
When Valjean had appropriately categorised the class into their diverse Math standards, he gave them all worksheets to do – according to their own Math standards.
In ten minutes, Artemis had finished eleven on Indicial Equations.
Not good, thought Hermione. I'm only on the ninth worksheet. It doesn't matter though. Slow and steady wins the race. I bet he doesn't check his work, and I do.
"He does get all his answers right, even without checking," drawled that irritating voice in her head.
Shut up, thought Hermione, and focused angrily on Indicial Equations.
"Do you have anything with a difficulty level suited to my IQ?" said Artemis in a bored voice. "I invented five new algebra formulas at the age of seven."
Valjean was looking slightly worried. "In that case, I suppose you would find Quadratic Equations...boring. Why don't you try, um, inventing a new formula for, um, Quantum Calculation? That should keep you occupied." Ha, he thought. Take that, smart alec.
Of course, thought Artemis as he settled down to work out the diversifying quantum equations, it never does to underestimate a boy genius. Especially one by the name of Artemis Fowl.
There was a loud yell of triumph from the section of the French Revolution. "I got it!" screeched Gavroche. "I got it! I can multiply two-digit numbers! I can! I can!"
"Bravo," muttered Grantaire, too engrossed in Decimal Problem Sums to care much.
"Shut up," added Anna, who was engrossed in the same worksheet, with a notably shorter fuse.
"And how are you doing, ma cherie?" asked Valjean tenderly, as he bent over Cosette's work.
"Fine, papa – although I find the fractions quite hard to understand." Cosette smiled sweetly back. "Would you mind helping me...just a little bit, you know?"
Eponine glanced discreetly at Cosette's worksheet. Number three. She rolled her eyes in disdain and went back to her own Worksheet Five, of a much higher level. So much for being the daughter of the Math teacher.
Ten minutes to the end of class, Artemis was trying to argue his new Quantum Calculation theory with Valjean.
"Such a thing is unthinkable," stated Valjean firmly, glaring at his wilful student. "In the whole history of Math there has never been such evidence as can support a theory of such."
"Indeed?" Artemis returned the glare coolly. "Then, observe this." He scribbled a formula down on the paper. "You admit that, do you not?"
"Yes, of course," returned Valjean impatiently, "everyone knows that suppliant integers work that way. But..."
"How about this, then?" Artemis wrote down another formula. "Compare that to the first, and work it out...if you can, that is."
Valjean could, indeed. And realised that unthinkably, Artemis Fowl did have a point.
"You could also try this solution," went on Artemis blithely, "and see how the whole formula works out. Which it does, excellently well."
Valjean had no choice but to agree. He decided teaching this particular class gave him a headache.
When the bell rang, the class happily ditched trying problem sums for freedom in the corridors. Valjean was also quite relieved. At least he was rid of Artemis Fowl and his frustrating accuracy.
As they jogged along the corridors, Merry peered at his timetable. "CLE? Character Leadership Education? What sort of class is that?"
"Dunno." Mulch shrugged. "Guess it's some class teaching as morals or whatnot."
"Ah well," sighed Frodo, "at least morals will be a relief from cramming all that academical stuff."
He was soon to realise that it was never good to underestimate a CLE class. Particularly one taught by the A&A&A CLE teacher.
As they took their seats in the CLE classroom, the French Revolution struck up a new song. "One more day before the storm! At the barricade of freedom!"
There was the general groan about the class, but by now they had learnt that nothing could make the barricade boys shut up.
"When our ranks began to form, will you take your place with me?"
Well, perhaps there was...
"The time is now! The day...is..."
"IMPERTINENCE!!!"
Everyone froze. Even the French Revolution stopped singing.
A large man strode into the room. He had a fearsome infestation of sideburns, which covered both his cheeks, and he was dressed smartly in the unquestionable garb of a police officer. In his hand, he carried a black policeman's baton, which he whacked rhythmically against his palm when he walked and appeared not to even wince. The expression from his face could not have been described as sour. Sour could not even begin to describe it.
"Do you quail before moi?" he shouted, as the class remained frozen at the sight of such a horrendous apparition. "Do you quail before the magnificence and the blinding righteousness of Inspector Javert? Is it not so?"
Everyone was still too much in shock to answer. Inspector Javert took the silence as a 'yes'. He paused before the desk, and then struck its wooden surface so hard and so viciously that the entire class jumped.
"You have come from the class of a man of unimaginable wickedness, a man with no morals whatsoever, who stands insolent in the face of justice. You come from the class of Jean Valjean! I can still see the marks of his evil upon you!" This was directed at Hermione, who had been guiltily stuffing a Math worksheet into her file.
Cosette felt she should say something in Valjean's defence. "But, Monsieur," she began in a tremulous voice. "Monsieur, you mustn't say such things about my..."
"IMPERTINENCE!!!" roared Javert with such fury that Cosette nearly fainted dead away. "How dare you! How dare you say one word in defence of that...that criminal!" His sideburns flared. Then he seemed to recover himself. "Enough of speaking that convict's name. I shall get down to the lesson today. Character Leadership Education, as it is. I am here to drill morals and values into your young wayward heads and to build your character. And the first moral anyone should learn is respect for your elders!"
Abruptly he spun and wrote on the board:
I SHALL RESPECT INSPECTOR JAVERT IN WHATEVER HE DOES. I SHALL NEVER QUESTION HIS DECISIONS, BECAUSE HE IS MY ELDER AND A POLICE OFFICER AND HENCE ALWAYS RIGHT. I SHALL OBEY HIM UNQUESTIONINGLY AND WORSHIP HIM AS A MODEL OF RIGHTEOUSNESS AND LAW. I SHALL FOLLOW ALL OF THE ABOVE.
"You," boomed Javert, "will copy down that motto. And then you will take out your foolscap paper and rewrite that motto a total of a thousand times; no more, no less. I will personally count them."
"A thousand times!" exclaimed Éowyn. "But it's impossible to..."
"IMPERTINENCE!!!" bellowed Javert in Éowyn's face. "You will not question my decisions! Now, begin!"
The class had no choice but to 'obey unquestioningly'. And that was the beginning of their hour of hell in CLE.
To give them credit, the class had fairly high stamina – by the twentieth time they were still going strong. After that, some began flagging or slowing down. Fifteen minutes passed. Their hands were already aching. Grub, who was only on the twenty-fifth time, was nearly in tears. The French Revolution were no longer singing. Writing lines took all the fight out of you.
No one said anything. The very air in the classroom felt dead and desperate. Javert patrolled up and down the aisles, baton in hand, making sure no one slacked.
Hermione perhaps lasted longest of the whole class – if you wrote as much as she did in an essay, you had a lot of practice for this sort of thing – but by the five-hundredth-and-sixty-fifth line even she was about to succumb to the massive screaming ache of her cramped fingers.
Then the bell rang to signify the end of lesson.
There was a collective sigh of relief about the room. Many people dropped their wilting pens and massaged their throbbing fingers. Achilles, who had been on the point of strangling Javert the next time he passed, also released the hated pen and stopped along with the rest. Javert's strangulation would wait for another day.
Javert was not about to give up so easily, however. "Just because the class is over," he announced nastily, "does not mean you can leave your work unfinished. I expect you all to hand in the full thousand lines by tomorrow, 10 am. Anyone who does not, will have to write the entire thing out all over again, under my personal supervision."
With that he strode out, leaving them gaping at the injustice. Achilles growled in his throat and flexed his fingers, then winced as the aching joints on his right hand wailed in protest.
Enjolras examined his swelling digits with great chagrin. The French Revolution looked at their leader miserably.
"I hate CLE," muttered Enjolras.
And that was the very hour in which Les Revolutionaires Français identified their arch-enemy.
End of ChapterNext chapter coming...World Maps and William Shakespeare