A&A&A Boarding School
Author's Note: This is a remarkably short chapter for our standards, but we hope the events within are momentous enough to make up for it.
As usual, thank you for the reviews, and as to the speculations about the Voice in Artemis' head: No, it's not Holly Short, but yes, indirectly it has something to do with her. As it has with Éowyn. And Hermione. And a lot of other people.
In advance, Happy New Year.
26. Idioms and Insurgency
The sun was light on the glass, not yet warm, but slowly upping the brightening. The sky was the colourlessness that came between the sunrise and the clear blue of morning. Birds sang as if they'd never learnt their lesson, which they hadn't. But they had to be given credit for perseverance.
Somewhere in the great tower, the school bell tolled imperiously. On cue, Do You Hear The People Sing began.
People in both boys' and girls' dormitories groaned, turned over in bed and variously clapped pillows, nightcaps, or their bare hands over their ears. Van Helsing's hand shot out from under the covers, scrabbled on the bedside table till it found something – namely, the leather hat – and threw it. With surprisingly good aim it clipped Grantaire a sharp one on the ear.
Slowly, people began to get out of bed. This was done in a diverse variety of ways. Hermione shot bolt upright – she woke like locomotion on schooldays – jumped out of bed, scooped up her day clothes and toothbrush and ran for the bathroom, running through the day's timetable in her head.
Arwen Undómiel woke with the same alacrity, but with considerably more flair and grace. She was one of those fortunate people who had been spared the annoying experience of waking up with their hair in a mess; when she rose from her rest, it swung out behind her in a magnificent dark flood. Most of the other girls looked away. It was always very hard to feel beautiful when Arwen was around.
Sooner or later, they found their way to the bathroom. Sleepily, bleary-eyed, they tried to aim the toothpaste onto the appropriate brush, while wondering why the hell their left slipper was on their right foot. Lili Frond busily set out her plethora of cosmetics, facial creams and other unguents. The others queueing behind her sighed and moved on to other sinks.
Then it was out of the pajamas into the day clothes, which always degenerated into a bang-on-the-toilet-door-and-swear-impatiently fest, especially when person in said toilet was in the habit of relieving exhaustion by curling up on the toilet cover and wholly unintentionally falling asleep.
Somehow, by Friday everyone had learnt to survive this daily morning ritual, and still get down to breakfast on time, more or less prepared for the new day ahead.
Achilles, running a hand through his tangled mane of hair (unlike Arwen, he was, alas, not gifted with perfect hair in the morning) wandered down the stairs to the Dining Hall, yawning hugely. He spotted Briseis clutching an armful of books on the landing – and for once, she was sans Andromache.
Achilles ran a hand through his hair again, put on his best nonchalant grin and sauntered over casually. "Hey," he said. "Nice morning."
Briseis turned at the sound of his voice. "Oh, hi," she replied brightly. "Yes, the weather looks all right."
"Say," went on Achilles nonchalantly, "do you happen to know what the lesson after breakfast is? Only, I've lost my timetable, and……"
"It's Chinese," Briseis answered quickly. "Third Languages. I think it sounds really interesting – I like Third Languages, even if Professor Celeborn's a bit weird sometimes."
"Yeah," said Achilles. "He's a weird blighter."
"I daresay, but he's not that bad, really. I'm sure he means the best."
"Yeah, I'm sure." Achilles did a mental playback of that sentence and decided it sounded a bit too sarcastic. "Uh, I mean, yeah, you never know what they're meaning till they tell you. Funny world. Isn't it?"
Briseis nodded, looking slightly puzzled.
"I was wondering," went on Achilles breezily, "you've been standing here pretty long, so, er, are you waiting for any — "
"Briseis!"
Oh, heck, here we go again, thought Achilles wearily as Andromache cluttered down the steps and strode towards them. "Sorry I took so long, bit of problem with the hairpins……" She gave Achilles a look that clearly said "You again?", relieved Briseis of some of her books, linked arms and led the other girl away.
Achilles briefly considered punching the marble banister, but decided against it, because it was marble, and because he had better things to do.
Hector came upon him while Achilles was contemplating the marble in an introspective state of mind quite uncommon in his usual spectrum of contemplation. Seeing Achilles as someone who didn't look too occupied at the minute, he came over and said, conversationally, "Hello, how're you doing?"
"Not good," said Achilles, still contemplative.
"I'm fine too," rejoined Hector distractedly. "Achilles, are you any good at Math? Only," he displayed a piece of paper that looked as if an army of fountain pens had terrorized it and razed it to the ground through rough working, "I'm having problems with yesterday's worksheet."
"Wrong number," concluded Achilles briefly.
"Oh," said Hector. He stared despondently at his chaotic scribblings. "Do you know anyone who's good at it, then?"
"Fowl?"
"Anyone who's helpful."
"I don – " began Achilles, and stopped. An idea had just occurred to him. It was a pretty good one, and those didn't come very often these recent days. "Wait, you know that girl who sits with me and Briseis at the back? Tall, skinny, sits like a poker? Name of Andromache?"
"She's in our P.E. team, isn't she?"
"That's the one!" exclaimed Achilles, snapping his fingers very loudly. "She's not too bad at quadratic equations – that's algebra you're trying to do, right? Okay, right. Yep, you can try her."
When Hector had thanked him and left, Achilles turned back to contemplating the marble banister, but with more felicific intentions in mind. After a suitable length of time, he ran his hands through his hair again, patted the marble absently, and sauntered down the stairs towards breakfast.
When the first-years headed off for Chinese class after breakfast, Achilles was still in awe of the efficiency of his impromptu plan.
He and Briseis were walking a slight way behind Andromache and Hector, who were getting on like a house on fire. The sparks were certainly available in plentiful quantity.
"They really get along, don't they?" remarked Briseis to him.
Understatement, thought Achilles. Hector and Andromache had moved through over fifty topics in the duration of breakfast, from quadratic equations, to teachers, to the school food, to the Phantom of the Opera, to the current topic, which was inconceivably (he had no idea how they'd got there) ties. So far they hadn't disagreed on a single one.
"It's funny," went on Briseis, "they never used to talk to each other before. But then, I suppose they didn't have much of a chance to."
"Mmhmm," supplemented Achilles helpfully.
"I'm glad they enjoy each other's company, though," concluded Briseis.
"Yeah," agreed Achilles. "Especially for Andromache. It's good for her to get out and meet new people, instead of…"
"Wait," interrupted Briseis, "are you saying that she's better off talking to Hector than to me?"
"Yes. I mean, no, no, no. What am I saying. I was just going to say, Hector's a really great guy too. Runs in the family."
Briseis gave him a puzzled look. She did that quite often.
"Here," said Achilles, changing the subject. "You look like you're having trouble with those books. I'll help you."
He entered the classroom carrying Briseis' books and feeling on top of the world.
Today, Celeborn was quite aware that Chinese wasn't going to go down very well with most people. Having grasped the concept of the normal alphabet and how you arranged it, it wasn't going to be that easy to tell them that this time, the language was a billion pictograms with different sounds and no written alphabet whatsoever.
He decided to take the easy way out, gave them a long list of phrases to learn and threatened them with a spelling test at the end of the lesson.
"This is stupid," said Éowyn for the tenth time. "What was the point in inventing all this in the first place?"
"Communication, I believe," replied Artemis impassively. The voice hadn't spoken to him this morning, and thus he was in an excellent mood.
"No one's talking to you."
Holly chewed on her pencil and scribbled down a few notes after a series of incomprehensible wordings. Éowyn envied the way she was able to grasp the whole concept a lot faster than a normal human would. On occasions like this, she could murder for the gift of fairy linguistics.
"Let's start from the top," said Holly, business-like. "Write 'tree'. That's easy."
"What's 'tree' again?"
"Mù."
"Oh. Is it the cross?"
Holly sighed. "No, it's the cross and the two curvy lines. This one."
Éowyn considered it. "It doesn't look like a tree," she argued.
"It's a simplified tree, okay? Just write it, or Celeborn will get you."
Artemis finished reading the textbook through. "There is no extra dash," he pointed out severely. "That makes it ben."
"This is stupid and confusing," said Éowyn. It was depressing, sitting with two other people better at linguistics than you were. She had the feeling she wasn't going to like Chinese class.
"I got seventy-eight out of a hundred," exclaimed Hermione, shocked. "I don't believe it. I got seventy-eight."
"It's Chinese, Hermione," protested Harry, well aware of the futility. "You can't be expected to score full marks on a language you don't even know."
"I did extra reading, I'll have you know," huffed Hermione.
"I got eight marks, I'll have you know," retorted Ron. "If you don't stop griping and hurry up, we'll be late for CLE, and you know what Javert's like over punctuality."
Artemis Fowl came into view, walking alone. Hermione turned to him, mouth forming the question, while Ron simultaneously groaned, "Oh no, don't ask him about……"
"Eighty-four," said Artemis helpfully, before either of them finished.
"What?" gasped Hermione.
Artemis turned to her coolly. "Think that's shocking, mademoiselle? If you want a real surprise, try Holly Short."
Hermione mouthed at him for a while, then raced off to catch up with Holly, who was ahead with the rest of the Company of Heroines.
"Why'd you tell her that for?" Ron berated him. Artemis didn't answer.
As they watched from a distance, Hermione put a hand to her mouth and collapsed against a row of lockers, wide-eyed in shock.
"What did Holly get?" demanded Harry angrily.
Artemis smiled serenely. "Ninety-four."
"Why'd you tell her that for?" reiterated Ron furiously. "Now she's going to…oh, you know what Hermione's like." He broke into a run, followed by Harry.
"Yi ku, er nao, san shangdiao 1," murmured Artemis to himself. The feminine mentality was a complete mystery to him.
1 Chinese idiom summarizing the melodrama of a woman distraught – First she weeps, then she throws a fit, the last resort being suicide. The ancient Chinese bred some dreadful chauvinists, but then again, we must refer to Idiom 2: There is no smoke without a fire.
The classroom, a riot of chatter and noise, fell silent the moment Inspector Javert entered. He cast a black look upon their suddenly silent faces, and without a word strode to the front of the class, still swinging the black baton, and glared at them.
The class eyed him guardedly.
Javert kept up the glaring for about ten seconds, and then bellowed so suddenly that Carl almost fell off his seat. "So? No greeting?"
The class hastily scraped back their chairs and bowed messily. "Good morning Inspector Javert."
Inspector Javert glared at them again as they sank into their seats. He cleared his throat and picked up a piece of chalk. Their feelings sank too.
Javert stalked over to the board and chalked out: I, (NAME), WILL ALWAYS SHOW RESPECT TO MY ELDERS WHEN I SEE THEM BY GREETING THEM ON INITIATIVE.
"Now," he growled, "write that a thousand times."
The tittering of the class grew into a loud angry mutter, and several of its more vocal members raised their voices in protest: "What?" "That's not fair!" "We can't do it in an hour…" "What's the point?"
"Seee-lawnce!" roared Javert.
The muttering was silenced unwillingly.
"I believe in the old school of learning," barked Javert. "Nothing better than drilling it in the good, hard way. Now, write! I want those lines in by your recess, or I'll keep you all back!"
Fuming, the class dragged out foolscap and stationery and every nerve straining in rebellion, began to write their lines.
The hour dragged past, screaming déjà vu in their wilting ears. The ones with a lower threshold of pain found it absolute agony. Grub was nearly sobbing by the time half of the lesson had gone by. The ones with a more actively murderous imagination, like Achilles and Anna, were picturing the different ways they could garrot Javert. The philosophical ones, like Arwen and Hermione, were trying to figure out how exactly this was supposed to improve their character, apart from giving them really muscular wrist joints.
Even though the lines were shorter than last time, the going was no easier. By the time the hour struck, only Hermione had hit the halfway mark, which she had just passed by three lines.
Javert inspected their progress critically, looked rather miffed at their inefficiency, and declared, "Well, since none of you have finished, I am afraid I shall have to keep you back during your recess after all! You won't leave till you've finished!"
The class was exceedingly fatigued, but there were still gasps of outrage. Hermione boldly raised a hand – her left – and spoke up, "But, Inspector, we definitely can't finish a thousand lines even if you keep us back for – "
"IMPERTINENCE!" Javert's face was suddenly in front of hers, and a terrifying deep claret. Hermione gave a little shriek and jerked backwards, nearly toppling the chair. "You do not question! You hear and you obey! For this…this insouciance, mademoiselle, you will get another hundred lines!"
Hermione's jaw dropped. There were more gasps of outrage, and of sympathy on her behalf. Across the classroom, chair legs scraped the floor tiles as Enjolras stood up.
Javert stalked over to him, bellowing. "Asseyez-vous! Asseyez-vous, I say! Impertinence!"
Enjolras withstood the onslaught valiantly. His clear voice overrode Javert's, so filled it was with commanding charisma that even Javert fell silent in shock, that a student had dared to reprove him. "Sir," said Enjolras, unwavering, "I do not know what sort of operation you are running here, and I fail to see what lessons of character or of leadership it is teaching us. All this," here he scooped up what pages of writing he had written so far, and raised them in a fist, "all this is of no use to any of us. This is pointless."
Enjolras looked Javert in the eye, as he took hold of both edges of the first sheet of lines, and then slowly and deliberately ripped it down the middle. No one, not even Javert, moved as he tore up every single page, methodically shredding all his work. When he was done, he let the shreds of paper fall through his fingers and went on: "There is nothing for me here, so I shall leave. I will not return until I think that you, sir, can teach me something worth learning. Au revoir."
Enjolras inclined his head coldly to Javert, turned on his heel, and walked out of the classroom.
For a moment, there was absolute silence. Javert appeared to be still in shock.
Then there was a scraping of chairs as the rest of the revolutionaires rose, and without a word to Javert, followed their leader. Gavroche circled around, pulled a face at the Inspector's back, and scampered after the others.
Javert turned to watch them go, and so missed Achilles making an obscene gesture at him and marching out via the back door.
To everyone's huge surprise, the previously mild-mannered Briseis stood up, tossed her hair and marched out after him. Andromache, looking torn between propriety and loyalty, eventually gave in to the latter and hurried after her friend.
Van Helsing scooped up his hat, replaced it on his head and strode out. Anna, not to be outdone, leapt up and left the room as well, her boots striking the floor with decisive noises. The Company of Heroines, following her example, made a beeline from wherever they had been seated across the classroom for the exits.
Jack, in the meantime, had balled all his lines into a multitude of paper balls. With a flick of his wand, he caused an explosion of paper cannonballs and left the flashy way. Will hurried after him.
Legolas flicked his hair, got up majestically and sauntered out. Helen followed, which led to Paris following. Hector got up and went after his brother.
Arwen and Aragorn both rose simultaneously and headed for the door, each passing on either side of Javert. They were both cradling their writing hands in a very obvious manner. Arwen, in particular, looked martyred.
Artemis Fowl finished fastidiously packing up his desktop, and without looking once at Javert, passed him and disappeared. Draco Malfoy and Haldir, to the contary, both threw the Inspector disdainful looks as they passed him. Trouble left dragging Grub behind him. Merry and Pippin both made rude hand gestures under desk level in symphony as they scurried out.
Swiftly the class emptied, until the only person left was Hermione. Harry and Ron, waiting for her at the door, saw her rise, shaking. Like Andromache, she must be torn between the unshakeable rule of respect for a teacher and her own indignation.
Hermione marched up to the front of the class, where Inspector Javert stepped into a path. He opened his mouth to say something, his face working furiously, but Hermione cut in.
"Sir," she said, her voice quivering with righteous ire, "I will have you know that I have never, never done anything in my life that can condemn me to writing lines. You, of all people, have no right to give me extra lines. I'll have you know that."
She strode past him, to where Harry and Ron were grinning and giving her the thumbs-up, and then they ran for it.
And so it was, that when Enjolras entered the Dining Hall with the recess bell still ringing in his ears, the whole first-year class of A&A&A streamed in after him. He was in the lead of a revolution, an exodus, forty-five individuals all with a single mind, a rebellion burning with righteous indignation – and alight with freedom.
End of ChapterNext chapter coming… Longitudes and Lorenzo