A&A&A Boarding School
Authoresses' Note: No denying it now, not Cancer-cellation or anything. Lydia is being just plain lazy. But here's nine pages, so we hope you're appeased.
Okay, here go our thanks: to Dark Borg Drone, Katatonia (serious as death, believe us. If you are an actress NEVER audition for the role of a cancer cell. Anyway, thanks for the Draco Malfoy note. It shalt be complied), Celias23, Elbereth Gilthoniel, I AM EOWYN (Yeah, Shakespeare rocks – we both like the Tempest best, though), hotdogfish, Manveri Mirkiel (yes, yes, alphabetical order. You owe us three reviews for 10 but one for 11. Count your blessings, lissenya. And yes, Javert is from Les Mis), Mirror of Galadriel (wonder if Zeggy read that. I can't see how. Maybe it's the evil thing), southerngirl4615 (Bici, bici. Now we return the hope that your work won't be so demanding), Asha Ice (so Zeggy demands character development. Very well, you shall have it – our way. Which means no angst or romance, but we will really try to develop characters. No more Lili for some time, we promise, and Artemis development. Yes, yes. Did you read GuoJun's review?), Cerse Liminara (very dead, if you take our meaning), L (thank you for reminding Lydia the author's name was Margaret George – she always forgets. And we've been looking for Henry VI and also Mary Queen of Scots, but they're kinda elusive. And we would never dream of saying we are better than the excellent Margaret George. Heavens, no. Dumbledore not likely, but the Matrix, perhaps...) and Tsuki Yume (the cancer cell and etc. was meant for the ears of th13rteeners, sorry. And we agree with you about the Phantom. Such a misunderstood soul – particularly by people like our dear first-years)
We own nothing, owe everything. Perhaps this isn't such a good chapter after all. Too many distractions for the writers – like the thirty Christmas Cards to be made and sent. Never mind. Sorry.
12. World Maps and William Shakespeare
Lunch was a miserable affair. Especially when no one had a hand well enough to hold on to a knife or fork for long. Everyone stared, depressed, at the chicken cutlets before them. Several people were trying to maneuver both cutlery with their left hands and constantly spilling sauce and generally making a mess. Pippin had invented the ingenious idea of using his teeth to pick up the entire cutlet and nibble it that way.
Malfoy winced as he attempted again to close his fingers around the fork handle and dropped it reluctantly as the muscles in his hand protested. From where he was seated, he could see Granger using her good hand to push a bowl of yellowish oily liquid at Potter and Weasley. As he watched, the three of them proceeded to soak their inflamed hands in it. Murtlap Essence, by the look of it; Granger always had some of the stuff around with her. Now Malfoy regretted not having acquired some when he could.
He glanced at the person opposite him: Artemis Fowl. Fowl alone seemed to be the only one who wasn't massaging his arm. Although he didn't seem to be trying to eat either. Fowl was one strange kid. But what he did know, was that Fowl did not like Granger.
"So, Fowl," he spoke up, breaking into Artemis's thoughts. "I hear you and Granger got the same marks for your essay."
Artemis was not fond of having his thoughts interrupted. He focused on Malfoy's face with some difficulty and sighed. Interference. "Indeed."
Malfoy laughed. To Artemis, who did not laugh on a daily basis, that was highly uncomfortable. "That's one down on Granger then. Bet she never thought there'd ever be someone better than her."
Artemis remained impassive. Malfoy, after waiting expectantly for an answer, gave up and said: "I wonder if you'd heard of me – Draco Malfoy, you know, son of Lucius Malfoy – I've definitely heard about you. Artemis Fowl the great. You're a genius, aren't you?"
Again no answer. Malfoy went on.
"How about this, then? Let's be friends. I know a thing or two about Granger that you might be interested in, seeing as you've taken a dislike to her..."
Artemis nearly rolled his eyes. "Pardon, Malfoy, but I have nothing against Mademoiselle Granger, contrary to what you seem to think – although it is understandable with your intellectual that you would automatically assume such a shallow conclusion. As a matter of fact, I welcome Hermione's presence as someone worthwhile challenging among the rest of you lowly clods." His blue eyes, fixed on Malfoy's face, emitted electric hostility. "And I certainly would not wish to be acquainted with someone like you."
Malfoy couldn't speak for a moment. How dare Fowl offend him! He would pay for that. Fowl might be rich, but he would regret coming up against the Malfoy family. "Well," he managed at last, trying to put on an unconcerned façade, "that's your loss. Just you wait, Fowl, you'll regret it." He picked up his plate with his left hand and stalked off.
Artemis remained unmoving and unmoved. He could not have cared less about Malfoy, snivelling little git that he was – what he was cognizing about was his answer to Malfoy's offer, in particular the part involving Hermione Granger. He had mixed feelings about the girl. On one hand, here was a fellow intellectual, someone who was worthwhile getting to know better, who could probably match his intelligence – if he let her, that was. On the other hand, she was competition. She posed a threat to his reputation as an unbeatable genius – and if she beat him... ...No. That would not happen. There was no danger from that point; no one could beat Artemis Fowl. All in all, he was in truth glad she was here – she was a challenge, and Artemis Fowl always welcomed a challenge. It allowed him to hone his abilities and always prove himself the better. So, excellent.
Coming out of his reverie, he realised that people around him were abandoning the table and leaving for Literature Class. With a last regretful look at the ignored chicken cutlet, he too rose and departed from the Dining Hall.
Upon entering the Literature Classroom, the first thing Arwen did was fling herself upon the Literature teacher. "Adar! Adar!"
Lord Elrond Halfelven turned to greet his distressed daughter. "Arwen! Arwen, darling, what has happened?"
Arwen was heaving theatrical sobs. "Look at my hand, Adar! Look!"
Elrond took her hand and examined its ached swelling in huge horror. "Who has done this to you?" His eyebrows shot up in a dangerous way that did not bode well for the culprit Arwen named.
Arwen sniffed miserably. "It is that...that ulundo rauco Javert!" Haldir blinked at her choice of word – not a very nice curse, that. "A monster that calls himself a teacher – he made us write lines, Adar! Until our hands hurt so much they almost dropped off – " Elrond looked petrified at the thought, "– and it is not only my hand!" She stepped back and dragged Aragorn's arm up so Elrond could see its sore colour. "I speak for the entire class, Adar!"
The rest of the class present made pitiful noises and waved their injured hands weakly in the air.
Elrond swelled up to an extent that could have rivalled Commander Root. "I shall certainly speak to Inspector Javert about this," he boomed. "Fear not, meleth-nin – he shall harass you all no more. Now go to your seat, dear."
Arwen, looking secretly satisfied, returned to her seat with Aragorn. Hector watched her, torn between whether to be pleased with her for getting Javert into trouble and whether to be disgusted at sucking up to her father like that. One thing was certain, for sure – with the clout she had among her relatives in the A&A&A staff, Arwen Undómiel was definitely not one to be offended.
Elrond gazed upon his class with sad pity. "Well, since your hands are in no condition to write, today we shall focus on pure reading. As you know this is a Literature Class, and of course, every Lit. class must pay homage to the greatest of writers – "
He turned and with great drama yanked down the projector screen. A face that most of the class recognised well appeared upon it. "WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE!"
There was silence in the class, except for what seemed like a hastily muffled attempt to swear at the back. Elrond frowned.
"I see you are not anywhere near as awed as I expected you to be. You shall learn to be. Or else." He adjusted his robe and sternly plonked a huge stack of very battered books upon Harry's table. "Give them out."
Harry looked at the tattered cover of the book on top.
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE
By WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
"So..." Elrond paced the length of the board as the books were passed around the class. "How many of you have read the Merchant of Venice?"
Arwen, naturally, raised her hand – not the sore one, though. So did Artemis and Hermione. The rest of them seemed blissfully unaware of Shakespeare's play.
Elrond's eyebrows jumped and looked decidedly and thickly cross. "Well then. In that case, to familiarise yourselves with the text, you will have a Shakespeare reading." The eyebrows relaxed and began to look expectantly pleased. "Be happy that this round you will not have to take notes. Now, open your books. Act One, Scene 1." He looked around. "Antonio, the lonely and angst-filled merchant, opens this scene. So...ah...you. Read Antonio's part."
"Me?" Boromir gaped.
"Yes you. I'm sure you'll do excellently – and I'm never wrong, am I?" Arwen nodded in agreement. Boromir glared at her. Elrond went on gleefully: "Now stand up and read out loud. Projection, remember."
Boromir gave a loud sigh and stood up. "In, er, sooth I know not why I am so sad?"
Elrond shook his head and tutted. "You lack a very important thing. Expression. Please, try and pretend you are Antonio, for the moment. Try again."
Boromir rolled his eyes and resigned himself to his fate. "In sooth I know not why I am so sad: It wearies me, you say it wearies you; But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, what stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, I am to learn. And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, that I have much ado to know myself."
What on earth was all that about? wondered Boromir when he was done. Sadness? Well, being Antonio makes me feel sad.
"Now," put in Elrond, "we need a Salerio and a Solanio, Antonio's merchant friends. The two of you over there, you'll do very well. You, Haldir, you be Salerio, and Malfoy will be Solanio."
Haldir, looking very disgusted with the proceedings indeed, rose haughtily and began: "Your mind is tossing on the ocean: There, where your argosies with portly sail – Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood, or as it were the pageants of the sea..."
Harry noted with pleasure that Malfoy was looking agitated as Haldir rambled on towards Solanio's cue. Most of his other classmates were looking sleepy.
"...with woven wings," finished Haldir, and glanced at Malfoy.
"Believe me, um, sir, had I such, um, venture forth," began Malfoy nervously. "The better part of my, um, affections would be with my hopes abroad."
The three 'merchants' spoke on. Harry and Ron kept watching; the only thing that kept them from being bored to sleep like the others was seeing Malfoy stumble over Shakespearean Olde English. So occupied were they with gloating over their enemy's embarassment, that Harry never expected the blow that would strike next.
"Good morrow, my good lords," announced Haldir.
"Ah!" exclaimed Elrond, "I forgot to nominate a Bassanio." He pointed at Harry. "Stand up and read Bassanio."
Harry's mouth dropped open. "What?! Me? Bassanio?"
Elrond made flapping movement with his hands for Harry to comply. Harry had no choice but to get to his feet and mutter, "Good signiors both, when shall we..."
"Expression! Bassanio is being friendly, so try and sound friendly, will you?"
Harry ground his teeth and attempted friendliness – not very easy, when he was supposed to be speaking to Salerio and Solanio, the latter who was being read by his archenemy. "Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? Say when? You grow exceeding strange; must it be so?"
"Better," murmured Elrond.
"We'll make our leisures to attend on yours," replied Haldir hastily, and he and Malfoy hurriedly sat down.
"Lorenzo and Gratiano," muttered Elrond, "Lorenzo and Gratiano, let's see. Van Helsing, Lorenzo. Faramir, Gratiano. Commence."
Anna smirked at the horrified look beneath Van Helsing's hat. "My Lord Bassanio. Since you have found Antonio. We two. Will leave you. But at..."
"Do not punctuate your speech with pauses!" exclaimed Elrond with chagrin. "It chops up your sentences. Try to speak smoothly."
So on and so forth.
"A stage, where every man must play a part," went on Boromir, "and mine a sad one." Antonio really is beginning to get me down.
"Let me play the fool!" exclaimed Faramir. Very fitting, thought Boromir with grim amusement. "With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come."
Gratiano, mused Boromir, is very good for my brother.
"Is that anything now?"
"Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing – more than any man in Venice," replied Harry as Bassanio. "His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff: you shall seek all day ere you find them, and when you have them they are not worth the search."
Shakespeare must have known Faramir, decided Boromir, and based Gratiano's character on him. How else could they be so alike?
Elrond watched, satisfied, as his students struggled to the end of Act One Scene 1. "Act One Scene 2!" he cried. "No, we're not stopping for a break or anything. Elizabeth, Portia. Éowyn, Nerissa. Start."
"By my troth, Nerissa," began Elizabeth unhappily – really unhappily, "my little body is aweary of this great world."
"You would be, sweet madam," replied Éowyn, who was equally discontented with her role as Elizabethan lady's maid, "if your miseries were in the same abundance as your good fortunes are."
Elrond sat and listened through Scene 2, as Elizabeth and Éowyn discussed various suitors in tones of repeatedly increasing despair.
As they finished, Elrond rushed on. "Scene 3. Shylock – "
Everyone held bated breath.
"Shylock – " Elrond thought. Shylock was an important character – moneylender, Jew, racially-oppressed and misunderstood villain. "Very well. Artemis Fowl."
Time stopped. Artemis could not believe Fate's cruelty. Earlier in the day he had barely escaped having to audition – now here he was, having to undergo the same humiliation all over again. For Heaven's sake, he didn't even identify with, or like Shylock. So maybe they were both misunderstood, but he did prefer it to be like that. Being underestimated gave him an edge over others. And he despised Shylock's thirst for Antonio's blood. Artemis saw nothing profitable from revenge.
He was jolted out of his character study and came face to face with the expectant look on Elrond's face. Somewhere to his left he could hear Holly and Éowyn whispering – gossiping, like girls would do. He had no doubt that Holly would revel in his embarassment at the role. Holly seemed to have taken an extreme dislike to him. Perhaps it was the misunderstood evil thing. Never mind that now. He had a reputation and a face to save.
"Three thousand ducats – well," began Artemis.
"Ay sir, for three months," put in Harry.
"For three months – well."
"For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound."
"Antonio shall become bound – well."
"Expression, Artemis. You're an evil Jew. Expressing that isn't so hard, is it?"
If he thinks Shylock the epitome of evil, then he's seriously wrong. My evil and Shylock's evil are nothing alike. "Three thousand ducats for three months, and Antonio bound.
On went Scene 3.
"Let the forfeit be nominated for an equal pound of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken in what part of your body pleaseth me." Very messy way of being evil. Now, if I had been Shylock, definitely something less bloody and more clinical would have been more in place.
Artemis was not enjoying being Shylock. But it certainly provided a lot of room for character study – and comparison.
As Act One of the Merchant of Venice ground to a halt, the class ended with the ringing of the bell. Sleepily, the first-years made the transition from romantic Literature to hard-core Geography.
Hector, Paris and Briseis found the Geography teacher extremely familiar. "Father!" exclaimed Paris as they entered the Geography classroom.
King Priam turned. "Ah! Paris! And Hector, I see. Have you been taking care of your brother?"
Paris opened his mouth to state otherwise, but Hector kneed him in the kidneys. Paris shut up. "I have found it very difficult," answered the elder brother truthfully. "You see, Father, Paris has some very unsavoury new acquaintances."
Paris wondered vindictively whether that was a reference to Legolas – or, hopefully not, Helen.
Priam shook his white head. "Paris, my boy, you were supposed to listen to your brother. Now, I suggest you keep your distance from these bad friends, or I shall have a word with you. Go to your seat." As his sons went to back to their respective desks, Priam took out a long pointer in the same way as he would draw a sword, and called the attention of the class to the enormous world map tacked onto the board.
"This is a map of the world."
"Fairly obvious," muttered Achilles, who was still suffering from the sleepy after-effects of Lit. class.
Priam lengthened his pointer. "We shall be learning about the Geography of the World this year, and this means observing in great detail the Geography of Every Single Country of the World. Hence, pay attention, for all of this will be tested in your Summative Assessments."
Hermione instantly whipped out a piece of parchment and held her quill poised at the ready, as if she hadn't been suffering from hand-sore just a few hours before.
Priam lengthened his pointer again, and swung around to aim at Asia. Artemis had just enough sense to duck, as the pointer whirled over his head.
Priam began to talk about the topography of Asia, waving the pointer to emphasise certain points. It swept over Holly's head with a whistling noise and came to a stop just next to Éowyn's ear. Éowyn stopped breathing.
"And as to the mountainous areas..." went on Priam, and moved the pointer. Éowyn ducked swiftly, followed by Artemis, as the pointer travelled down the row and nicked Carl's head. Carl winced.
Priam moved on to Europe. Again the pointer swung. Artemis, Éowyn and Holly ducked in swift succession. Ron yanked Hermione (who was too busy taking notes to notice) down as the pointer's tip sliced through the air over their heads and halted quivering next to Harry's glasses. Harry inhaled sharply.
The first half of the lesson, the front row spent in ducking Priam's murderously long pointer. Things just got worse when Priam travelled to Africa and lengthened the pointer again. Boromir and Faramir dove for cover as the pointer shot between them.
"Should someone tell him that his pointer is too long?" wondered Holly.
Éowyn put up her hand, put it down hastily as the pointer barely brushed her fingertips, and put it up again. "Erm, Professor Priam, your pointer is..."
"Not now," came Priam's voice – his back was to them – "questions later. Concentrate on taking notes now."
"How on earth can we take notes," breathed Anna indignantly, "when his pointer is intent on concussing us?"
Priam appeared not to hear the displeasure from the unfortunate first- and second-row, and went on teaching. The third row considered themselves lucky.
Geography lesson ended with much relief, when Priam had finished covering the world map. The old king wasn't done with them yet, though.
"Homework: A detailed report, complete with statistics and diagrams – particularly topographs – on the topography of a country of your choice. Now, now, don't complain, I'm already letting you choose your own country."
"But...but...where are we supposed to find all that information?" inquired Grub nervously.
Priam gave him a look that sent Grub shivering. "Weren't you taking notes?"
Grub glanced at Trouble for help – somewhere where the help wasn't exactly forthcoming.
"Anyway," added Priam, "you can always go to the library. I'm sure you know where it is." Without waiting for an answer, Priam scooped up his pointer, shortened it and swept out of class, royal robes billowing and the pointer tip poking out from under his arm.
"More homework," muttered Anna. "When will it end?"
Naturally, if she had been a student long acquainted with the ways of A&A&A, she would have known the answer.
Never.
End of ChapterNext chapter coming ...Rehearsals and Runaway Homework