Interlude, Staff Party:
It was the end of year staff party where both the local boys and girls schools got together and celebrated the coming of summer and Mr. Morten had a headache. He groaned and rubbed his temples delicately, frowning at the loud laughter coming from his right. It was the dance teacher, his partner - the ballet instructor - and the nurse from the girls school, speaking to Caulworth from the boys' sport department. Something French, he was sure. Tres-something.
Mr. Morten let out another groan and knew he wouldn't be having any more wine. Instead, he sought a place to sit. Somewhere where he could relax and hope the pounding in his temples went away. Really, whatever had possessed him to teach young, rowdy boys the art of war? And history! Why could they never find interest in any part of history that didn't involve blood and guts?
Well, actually...Morten's thoughts strayed to one particular boy - Peter Pevensie.
The Pevensies were a conundrum. At fourteen and eleven respectively, they certainly never acted their age. Or at least, Peter never did, though he wasn't so sure about his younger brother - Edward? Something like that.
Finally spotting an empty seat in a corner near where Caulworth was talking to the Frenchman, he moved to claim it before anyone else could get there. That is, that was his plan before he heard mention of a name - one single name that had him halting in his tracks and turning to stare at the small circle of teachers.
Now what did those particular four have to say about the Pevensies?
He quickly stepped into the little group, almost rudely pushing his way into the conversation.
"I have Peter Pevensie in my history class," he announced quickly, and just like that they parted to make room for him, stepping back and allowing him to stand within their group.
"I took Edmund horse riding," said Caulworth with a bemused shake of his head. So that was the boy's name - Edmund, not Edward.
"And we teach Susan dance. I've seen her younger sister too. Lucille or Lucy," said the dance instructor. His partner, the ballet instructor, nodded her head.
"Lucy, dear. I was there when one little girl broke her ankle falling from a tree. She was involved in that," said the woman, the nurse.
They all exchanged looks, the kind of look that's only understood by someone who has felt and seen the same kind of phenomenon - in this case, the Pevensies.
"There's just something odd about them, wouldn't you say?" asked Morten, hoping for once that people would know what he was talking about. This went beyond simple comments of "Oh, that Pevensie boy? Quite precocious, isn't he?" or, "Ah, Pevensie! Very mature. A bit strange, but a pleasure to teach."
Slowly, the other four nodded and Morten felt relief. "Well then?" he asked, inviting them all to share stories.
Caulworth went first. "Edmund is...well, he never gets along with any of his classmates. He's always alone, brooding. He never acts his age either. It's like interacting with an old man in a young boy's body."
"They call that an old soul, dear," said the the nurse from the girls school (what was her name?).
Caulworth shrugged slightly. "Well, yes, quite. But even so, I just find it ever so odd how...strangely good at certain things he is. Horse riding for one. The stable master confided to me that he's certainly never seen such an accomplished rider at that age - why...even older riders have a hard time finding the kind of skill and grace the Pevensie boy apparently displayed."
"I know what you mean," said Morten, his mind flashing back to a month ago. When the others glanced at him questioningly, he continued, "I caught the two brothers, Peter and...Edmund, did you say?" A nod. "Yes, I caught them sword fighting with sticks in the courtyard about a month ago. Grace and skill doesn't even begin to cover it. It was like watching a real battle, or an exceptionally well choreographed stunt." He shook his head slowly, leaning in, as if to confide a secret, "Although, mark my words, I'd wager it wasn't a stunt. It was too natural - reactive. I'd wager they both could compete nationally with that kind of skill. They're fourteen! And eleven?" Another nod. "Eleven!" He reached up to rub his temples, his headache having not abated in the slightest. "And if you think any of them are precocious, then Peter certainly is. You'll never believe some of the things he comes out with, especially during political discussions. Why, I half want to just throw the boy at Parliament and tell them to use him!" He barked a laugh. "Truly, some of the ideas he comes up with are pure genius! Far, far beyond his age."
Everyone exchanged glances and Morten felt better after having gotten that all off his chest. No one laughed off his confession. Finally, people who wouldn't just chuckle at him and say, "That's a bit of an exaggeration, don't you think?"
"Lucy diagnosed a girl's broken ankle and sprained wrist with clinical skill. She's nine. I just don't understand it at all. But that's what happened, and when we brought the girl to the hospital, she was right. She's nine years old," the nurse repeated, shaking her head as if she couldn't quite believe it. "Nine years old, bless her, and she was spot on."
"And you've seen young Susan's skills at dancing, Marie," said the Frenchman, turning to his partner beseechingly.
Marie, that was the ballet instructor's name.
Marie nodded. "Exceptional. She's only thirteen, she must have been learning since she was very young to be able to pull off that amount of poise and grace." She looked wistful. "I've tried to get her to join the ballet classes, but she says she only dances ballroom. Ballroom at her age!"
"Beautiful too, for a girl her age, though I've heard not the brightest in her studies," agreed her partner.
Morten and Caulworth exchanged a look. So the female Pevensies were just as strange as their male counterparts then. Somehow, that wasn't surprising.
"I caught them in the music room once," said the Frenchman, turning to Morten and his colleague. "It was the strangest thing. It was like something out of a dream."
"Ethereal," agreed Marie. "They were like fairies. The kind your mother tells you about when you're a child. Such wild dancing...well, I never…" She shook her head again, disbelieving. "And the way the younger one played the tin whistle!" She put a hand to her chest and exchanged a look with the Frenchman.
Morten knew how she felt. He often thought the same whenever he was confronted with the actions of either of the male Pevensies.
The nurse leaned forward, eyes bright. "She plays music, as well?" Her lips curled and her eyebrows rose. "Well, the Greeks did like to say that music and healing go hand in hand…"
"I just don't understand these children," sighed Caulworth. "What makes them so different? Special? I thought they came from a perfectly normally middle-class family."
Morten scowled. Special? Well, he supposed so. Would he be able to say he'd taught the next Prime Minister? Somehow he couldn't see Peter Pevensie as anything less. "I don't know, John."
"Honestly, I'd venture to say it was their upbringing, but I know that neither of their parents are from old money, and their father only just returned from the war," said John Caulworth.
"Oh?"
Caulworth answered Marie's unspoken question. "Well, I looked at their file, you see. I wondered if perhaps young Edmund's father might own horses or race them. To explain it, you see."
They nodded in understanding, all of them.
"But he's just a professor. Nothing special. Took a trip to America to lecture, but that's about it."
There was a companionable silence.
"So then...how?" asked the Frenchman.
"It's possible they are geniuses, but it is rare enough to come across just one, let alone four in one family," said Marie uncertainly.
"Not Susan," pointed out her dance partner.
"Her dancing is genius."
"That could just be uncanny talent."
"Or something more."
The two remaining professors and the nurse had to agree. It was definitely something more. But the question was, what?
And unfortunately for one Professor Morten's peace of mind, that question would never be answered.