Luke Triton and the Great Farewell –Part 6-
"That was wonderful!" Flora sighed dreamily as they made their way back to the cabin. "I wish we had something like that back home."
"Indeed," the professor chuckled. He rubbed his hands together, trying desperately to wring some warmth from them. "Ah, Luke, my boy, I believe you have the key?"
"Yes, professor." Luke slipped his hand into his pocket and withdrew the key, then unlocked the door.
"Ah…what say we build ourselves a fire?" Layton pulled off his shoes and went to the fireplace. "It seems they keep the woodpile stocked for guests—how clever!"
"I think I'm going to go to bed, professor. It's been a long day," Flora said.
"Oh? You don't want to enjoy the rest of the evening with us?"
"Sorry, professor. I'm pretty tired." Flora shook her head.
"Well, I won't push you too hard. Rest up for tomorrow and we'll be sure to leave some adventure for you."
"You'd better," Flora threatened. "Don't go running off into the night without me! You hear me, professor? Luke?"
"Yes, yes." The professor tossed some logs into the fireplace, strategically placing kindling around it. "Building fires reminds me of a puzzle…"
"The one with the candles?" Luke asked, picking up a box of complementary matches from the coffee table.
"Oh? Well, not a specific puzzle this time, actually." Layton crammed balls of crushed newspaper between blocks of wood. "Though, I suppose the candle puzzle would work. No, building it is enough of a puzzle in itself. If you make a mistake, you end up with a terribly smoky house…"
"Rather than losing picarats?"
"I could do with a few hint coins about now. Something seems off about this arrangement, don't you think?" The professor leaned back, frowning at his work.
"Allow me." Luke traded places with his mentor, changing the layout. "This should keep the smoke from leaving the grate."
"Well done, my boy," Layton said approvingly. Luke lit a match, carefully lighting the kindling.
WHOOSH!
Luke threw himself back in surprise as the fire sprang into life before him, effectively smashing his hand against the iron grating. He winced, snarling several ungentlemanly words at the fireplace before calming down.
"Dear boy, are you alright?" Layton adjusted his stovepipe hat, for it had fallen over his eyes in the commotion. "Let me look at your hand, it's turning rather—"
"No!" Luke flicked his hand out of the professor's grasp. "Er, no thank you, professor. It's quite alright—just a little bump."
"Don't be shy, Luke." The professor caught the boy's wrist and pulled him closer in a display of strength Luke didn't know he even possessed. "These scorch marks say otherwise."
"It's just soot," Luke protested, trying to pull away. "I hit the top of the fireplace, it would be ridiculous to think that it wouldn't be—"
"Does this hurt?" Layton pressed gently on the blackened area.
"No, it doesn't. See? I told you that—"
"How about here?"
Luke let out another torrent of expletives before managing to bite his tongue. "S-stop that."
"Can you move your fingers? It doesn't seem as though you've broken anything, but we can't rule out—"
"Stop that," Luke repeated, his tone becoming more serious. "I don't need your help."
"That's fine," the professor replied. "You see, I'm doing this more for me than you. Come, let's run it under the tap for a few minutes. Are you sure you haven't been burned?" Layton put an arm across the student's back, forcibly escorting him to the small kitchenette the cabin provided.
"You're what?" Luke tried once more to squirm away. Again, he was unsuccessful.
Layton said nothing for a while, opting instead to turn on the tap and hold Luke's hand under the steady stream of water. "I am doing this for myself. Forgive my selfishness, Luke, but I can't help but feel guilt for allowing such harm to fall upon you. You are my number one apprentice, after all."
Luke looked away. "Whatever are you talking about, professor? You let no such thing—"
"Don't lie to me, Luke." The professor shook his head. "You were never very good at lying. Or perhaps you were—but not to me. I know when you aren't telling the truth."
"Your observation skills are getting rusty, then," Luke replied coldly.
"You see?" The professor sighed. "You're getting defensive. A true gentleman accepts—"
"Enough of your bullshit!" Luke snapped. "I don't need you to—I don't need you to—I don't need you!" He attempted escape once more, but Layton pulled him closer.
"Luke." The professor's tone was darker. "You need to trust me."
"I tried that before!" Luke replied. "Look where it got me!"
"And look where you are now," Layton said. "Calm yourself and we'll talk. I'll make you some tea and—"
"I don't want tea! It's stupid!" Luke knew his arguments were becoming more childish, but he couldn't seem to stop.
"I will make you some tea and we will work things out." The professor narrowed his eyes. This was an order. The professor never ordered people about. Even Luke felt his will slipping away. He relented.
"I…I don't promise anything," Luke said slowly. "But…I will do what I can."
"Good boy." The professor embraced him lightly, rubbing Luke's back gently. "Just do your best. As long as you do, the result doesn't have to be perfect. I'll be happy."
Luke gripped the professor's jacket tightly, stifling a sob. "I'm…I'm sorry, professor. I…I didn't mean to…I didn't mean to say any of those things, they just…came out and-"
"I understand," Layton replied placidly. "Just sit down and we'll have a hot drink and talk. A true gentleman resolves his conflicts with words."
"Yes, professor," Luke said, finally breaking free of the embrace and wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "I—I'm sorry. I shouldn't cry. A true gentleman doesn't cry. You told me that, remember?" He tried to laugh, but his voice was broken and shaky.
The professor frowned slightly. "I believe I did say that, but I was incorrect."
"What?"
"A true gentleman never cries…unless it is necessary. And in this case, my boy, it seems it was a necessity."