The meeting with the board had been a productive one indeed. By the time I left, I had convinced them thoroughly of the innocence of the young banker they had suspected. Further, I had all but convicted the duplicitous Mr. Pastee in their eyes, to the point where they had summarily agreed to terminate his employment at their firm immediately. The sentence and its execution were gratifying to me, as any just action should be. Unfortunately, the views of the board were not quite as favorably disposed to my work.
Although Mr. Pastee had been hurled from his former position without hesitation, the remaining board members feared his retribution. He carried with him a wealth of information about their investments and the inner workings of their finances, all of which could turn to their hurt. At the same time, the nature of the “testimony” I had obtained from the embezzler’s erstwhile hired thug was not likely to stand up well in court, rendering the possibility of relying upon the law for protection and punishment remote. Thus, in their concern and wisdom, the bankers once again gave me a new task; now that the embezzler had been found, they required evidence of his misdeeds that could be presented at trial. Only then would I receive full remuneration for my efforts on their behalf.
I grudgingly took the work. Although I resented their tightfisted manner, it would be relatively easy to resolve the case compared to the financial troubles I was likely to face if I abandoned the contract now. If the mystery of the attack on Lord Pevensley was any example, I would be quite glad for something simple and straightforward as mundane fraud could be. They had only provided enough money to barely sustain my efforts until I could close the other cases with which I struggled.
That short visit brought me closer to the time I had arranged to meet Lady Dafferty, the other of my pre-Patricia clients. I looked forward to closing that case as well, for it would offer me the chance to return the favor which my bounty-hunting friend had so willingly provided. Thus, I was more than content as I approached the site of the next case I wished to investigate, the grounds of the Everston Academy of Ethereal Sciences.
The oddity of the location of the school was once again readily apparent. Rather than the peaceful, idealized parks that surrounded most universities, this school was placed in the middle of a collection of storage warehouses and factories. Steamstacks sprouted like an irregular forest above the rooftops, gear generators ground away as if an unending rockslide was underway. Workmen shouted to each other over the sounds of hammers striking and machinery whirring. I could hardly imagine that any professor with plans to provide an atmosphere of learning would choose to place their school here.
Yet, against all my powers of self-persuasion, there the school waited for me. The academy’s architecture distinguished it little from the industrial buildings that ringed it. At the center of the complex was a large, L-shaped main building that probably housed most of the students and likely the greater part of their classrooms. A sharply slanted roof extended along the length of the main building, shading the four stories below it very efficiently. Curiously, steamstacks similar to those of the surrounding factories jutted up from one of the arms, as if the building was trying to fit in amongst its utilitarian peers. Surrounding the building was a wide, rough stone wall topped by a short ridge of decorative spikes. The wall added an almost respectable air to the place even against such a dreary backdrop, but I knew any vandal or burglar would have little trouble scaling it to reach the school.
There were two other structures contained within the protective walls of the academy. One was a power station of some sort, obviously dedicated to the gearwork generators that would provide energy for the necessary machinery of the school. It was a short, squat structure with multiple gears churning away on its upper floors and several thick cords running unobtrusively along the ground to the main building. The other seemed to be a small airship platform, rising up on the north side of the wall far beyond the tiny spikes and the rough stone. A small path led from the elevated platform to the rear entrance of the school itself.
I made a short study of the place before I approached, circling it several times to inspect the buildings thoroughly. For all intents and purposes, it did indeed appear to be a school; even as I watched the great bell rang and the students moved about the various floors, walking from one classroom to the next. Some appeared to have instruction outside, with the professors gesturing for them to sit on the stretches of grass inside the compound walls. No other activities were evident from my rounds, besides the obligatory gardening, maintenance, and cleaning one would expect in such a facility. I did note that the lower floors of the building did seem heavily reinforced, far beyond what a normal foundation would have required, but other than that I had little more evidence to suspect that the academy was hiding anything more than an educational institution with an exceptionally eccentric founder.
I noted that my inspection of the school had not escaped the attention of the workers in the surrounding factories, who apparently had been granted a small reprieve from their labors for a hurried meal. They studied me even as I examined the school, their eyes following me as they ate their meager rations. To my surprise, their curious stares grew less and less friendly the closer I came to the front gate, with ugly scowls and sneers soon dominating their expressions. A couple of the workmen even spit on the ground in my general direction, as if that gesture alone encompassed their feelings towards me.
The Everston Academy, whatever it had done, had obviously not created a wealth of friends in the surrounding factories. I had once hoped to encounter some clues as to the identity of the intruders there by interrogating the school’s neighbors, but it was self-evident that they either would hide any information they had out of spite, or hid the vandals themselves among their ranks.
As I drew near the gates, I pondered how the academy had so successfully earned the ire of the workmen who labored nearby. After all, it did not seem that the education of the students would have affected the surrounding factories to any great degree. It was not as if the workmen would have been bothered by the noise of their activities either, for the clash and grind of the great machines they operated far outweighed whatever discussions an academic might have, no matter how passionate or vigorous the debate. Perhaps the administrators had made themselves a nuisance by requesting peace and quiet for their studies, or the school had somehow managed to take a spot of land for some desired building project. Otherwise I found myself at a loss for the source of so great animosity towards the strange little teaching house, for surely the children I now observed could not have been the source of such animosity.
Then a smirking angel of fate intervened, and a scene revealed the secret of the mystery to me. One of the smaller children in the class outside had apparently forgotten some necessary book or educational tool; there was a brief exchange between the small girl and her instructor as she petulantly tried to avoid returning to the building for the item. The teacher won out, however, as instructors the world over are wont to do, and the girl marched back to the building. Or rather, she marched through the building, her small form blurring into a flurry of indistinct sparkles that sifted through the masonry as if it were a curtain of beads. I stopped dead and stared at the spot where she had vanished.
In sharp contrast, the rest of the class simply continued with their lesson. As the instructor began to describe some motion of the breeze around them, I ran a more expectant eye over the assembled children. A wing half-hidden by a heavy coat here, a hoof concealed by loose-fitting trousers there, and my growing suspicions—and fears—were confirmed. The Everston Academy of Ethereal Sciences was not simply a badly placed school. It was an asylum for children affected by the Change, and possibly, from the now ominously functional appearance to the more industrial sections of the main building, a testing ground for new theories and technology involving the Distillation itself. It was, quite definitely, the last place that any reputable fellow like myself would ever want to approach.
Yet Patricia had recommended me for the job, and I needed the funds. Those two facts argued implacably with my better sense and my higher instincts until finally I took another step toward the gate, then another. Any hope of escape vanished as the iron bars swung wide. I stepped through reluctantly to meet my new potential clients, two of whom were coming to greet me from the main entrance. One of them had horns. I pasted a smile on my face and stuck out my hand. “Hector Kingsley. I believe I am expected?”
“So that is the whole of the issue, Mr. Kingsley. Do you believe you can help us?” The governor of the school, a Mr. Benton, leaned forward slightly. Anxiety was written clearly on his solemn, scholar’s features, and his dignified mustache quivered as I considered his question for a brief space of time.
“I think I will be able to help, Mr. Benton.” The man relaxed, leaning back in his chair and nodding grandly. So much tension left his face that one could have thought I had saved him from bankruptcy rather than investigating a handful of crimes involving nothing more serious than petty mischief. “It seems a rather uncomplicated matter. After all, a few crude messages scrawled on the outer wall could easily be traced to one of the nearby factories.” I hesitated, my honesty and my profound need for money enjoying a brief conflict before I continued.
“I would be remiss, Mr. Benton, if I did not point out that the matter could be more easily—and more cheaply—resolved through your own efforts or through those of the local constabulary. Why have you not resorted to those methods?”
The governor of the academy directed a somewhat reproachful smile toward me. “I am afraid that my own time, and that of my teachers, is somewhat in high demand, Mr. Kingsley.” He gestured to the desk, which was stacked high with papers. “I could not be spared, nor could I ask my associates to shoulder a heavier load without risking their departure. As for the police…” Mr. Benton’s voice trailed off, and he stood.
For a moment, there was no sound save the ticking of an old grandfather clock. Benton crossed to the nearby window, which overlooked the grounds. There, one could easily look down into the main courtyard, where the outdoor class was still in session. He watched them for a moment, his head bowed in thought. “The police have not expressed an interest in aiding a school with our particular aims. The unusual nature of our students and research mean that we are not a popular, nor a desired, establishment, especially in the eyes of various political factions in London.” He turned back to me and gave me another sad, wry smile. “There is a reason why we are located in an industrial park rather than a residential district, after all.”
“Of course, Mr. Benton. I understand perfectly.” I neglected to add that my own reaction had likely little differed from that of the constabulary. My mother, though severe were her trials, had still managed not to raise an utter fool. “I still wonder at your concern over this matter. Are these not simply the challenges any new idea must weather?”
Mr. Benton shook a finger at me as he crossed again to his chair. “You would have a point, Mr. Kingsley, were the situation that simple.” The governor fell into his chair with a grunt. Then, his fingers forming a bridge before his face, he leaned back. “You see, we have had occasional acts of vandalism since our school’s foundation. The mundane vulgarity, the usual mocking words; these are nothing new to us.”
“Then these messages are something new.” I sat back in my chair as well, my hands resting lightly on the armrests. “How have they changed?”
A frown creased Benton’s face. “They are more frequent for one thing. What was once a weekly or even a monthly occurrence has now grown to an almost daily problem. I fear it marks an escalation of whatever hostility these vandals already might have felt.” He glanced again towards the window, and the worry in his brown eyes was easy to see. “The messages have also grown more direct, more personal. Students are mentioned by name, with specific threats against them and their families. Instructors appear as well, especially in conjunction with slurs against them. I do not believe a normal group of street thugs would have access to such information, and it was not characteristic of their actions before.”
I nodded in agreement and frowned along with him. The possibility that the actions had been taken by the workmen of the nearby factories was becoming less and less likely. While I would not have dismissed their hostility as a motive, the personal edge to the threats seemed to have a far more sinister air. It might have been a former member of the faculty or even some embittered students, though I believed the governor would have been aware of such possibilities and would have mentioned them by now. Mr. Benton had fallen silent, but he seemed to be hesitating over what to say next rather than waiting for my response. “Is there something more, Mr. Benton?”
The governor nodded, and he produced a small photograph. “This is an example of the vandalism on previous occasions.” The image showed the outer wall of the academy, a spot I had passed by during my survey. Across the wall was scrawled an almost incoherent, rambling series of threats and insults, their outline smudged due to the author’s use of common street chalk. I was not surprised that the letters were no longer there; a bucket of water, or even a slight rainstorm, would have easily cleared them away.
Benton produced a second photograph and handed it over wordlessly. A very different scene appeared upon that waxy surface. The face of the wall had been blackened, almost as if the very stones had been burned and scorched. The sharp, jagged letters were quite distinct against the neutral gray of the stone. It had all been done with such violence that I was surprised I had not noticed the spot earlier on my walk. I handed the photograph back to Mr. Benton. “I believe I am beginning to understand your concern, sir.”
The governor nodded as he returned to his seat. “Combined with these threats, the attempt to actually enter the property two nights ago is a matter of great concern to both me and my sponsor, Lord Devonshire. He takes the safety of the children here very seriously, and has provided us with more than enough funding to resolve the situation.”
“That is a fact I am glad to hear.” I paused for a moment. “Is Lord Devonshire the sole source of income for the school?”
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Benton shook his head. “No, we do have several other contributors, including many of the families of the children here. Some of the other charitable foundations in the area have also provided their support, but Lord Devonshire does remain our most generous advocate, and it is due to his help that we have this building at all.” The governor’s eyes narrowed. “You aren’t suggesting that he is involved in this, are you?”
I held up a hand and raised my eyebrows. “No, no. I would not consider that a possibility unless he had taken out a considerable insurance policy on his investment here, but since he is merely one of many, that ceases to be a reliable suspicion. I suspect these attacks may be directed at him, however. If the vandals wish to harm him, rather than attacking directly…”
“They might strike at us instead.” Mr. Benton nodded shortly. “I would hope that our troubles remain unrelated to him, however. Without his support, this institution would not be half of what it is now.” He sat up a little straighter in his chair. “Can I count on you to resolve the situation, then? With the maximum level of discretion?”
“Absolutely, sir. You can rely on me.” I stood up and extended my hand. He shook it briefly as he rose. “I may require a few things from you during the course of my investigation. I hope I can count on your cooperation.”
“You have my confidence, Mr. Kingsley. Shall I have one of our faculty escort you out?”
“I would appreciate the guidance. I would not want to blunder into a classroom or workshop by accident.” I smiled faintly at the thought of disrupting some class full of Changlings or causing some laboratory mishap on my way out. It would have been typical of the day so far, given the fact that innocent as the school might be, it was a definite hornet’s nest now tied to my heel. I could only hope to escape with only a few stinging reminders at best.
It was a moment’s wait before the governor’s bell summoned a man to guide me. To my surprise, the instructor was far younger than I had expected for a faculty member of an academy such as this one. He must have just begun his teaching career, a fact which would well-explain his appearance. His brown hair was disheveled and his coat and trousers slightly rumpled through whatever mixture of inattention and activity had preceded his arrival, and his cheeks were slightly colored from the rush to the office. Brown eyes that showed none of the strain of an experienced teacher studied me for a moment before he held out a hand in greeting. “Hello, sir. My name is Daniel, Daniel Summervale. May I ask yours?”
“Hector Kingsley. A pleasure to meet you.” I took his hand, and he shook it firmly before turning to his governor.
Benton spoke before Daniel could ask the question on his lips. “Mr. Kingsley requires an escort to see him to the entrance of the academy. Would you be so kind as to lend a hand?”
Daniel nodded with vigor. “Absolutely! If you would follow me?” He strode out ahead of me, his confident step harboring no doubt that I would follow. I met Benton’s eyes, surprised at the teacher’s informal behavior, and found the governor heaving a weary sigh. He waved for me to catch up to his wayward employee, which I then hurried to do. It took me a good length of the hallway to draw alongside my young escort, but he had scarcely noticed my absence as he walked through the halls. I struggled to match his energetic pace, and, in an attempt to slow him somewhat, asked a question. “Mr. Summervale, I believe? May I ask what classes you teach?”
The young teacher smiled and answered without slowing a bit. “Artisanship, my good Kingsley. Artisanship and Mechanics of the Distillation.” He made a face. “Also, a bit of Etheric Physics and Mechanical Principles, but mostly the other two for me and mine.”
“Artisanship? That seems like a fairly technical course for such a small school.” The fact that they had picked such a young teacher to lead such a complicated course did not speak well for the faculty of the school in general, but I held my opinions to myself. In any case, Daniel did not seem to catch on to my reservations on the subject. Instead, he waved the question aside.
“Every school has its specialties. Don’t worry yourself over it.” He glanced back at me. “Are you a teacher as well, Kingsley? I would hope none of us stand in fear of losing our jobs.”
The dry tone of voice brought a smile to my face. “I am an investigator.” He frowned.
“A private investigator? Why would you be here then?” Though his pace had mercifully slowed, the almost condescending tone of his question irked me. It was one thing to wonder why I was here; it was quite another to associate me with the lowest type of personal servant employed by the nobility.
“As an investigator, I was hired to search out the culprits behind the vandalism of the academy.” I gave him a smile, hoping that my emphasis had been enough. “Soon enough, we shall find them out.”
Daniel’s face had become quite uncertain. “So you are here because of the messages.” I nodded. “Like the constables.” Again I nodded as we walked. He sighed and shook his head. “You don’t think this is some trick to inspire funding for the school like they do, do you?”
His unintentional confirmation of the lack of skill in the local police force was sad, but not unexpected. Lesser minds will always seek to blame the victim rather than a criminal when they might be obligated to work in order to catch the true culprit. “I would think not, Mr. Summervale. I must investigate every possibility, but it would seem a foolish move for your school to make if that were the case.”
The young professor seemed to relax, and accelerated his pace once more. “Well then, I will not detain you, Kingsley.” A tenuous smile worked its way across his face. “This way. I will show you out by a scenic route. That will give you the chance to learn more about this place.”
“As I said before, artisanship is one of the foundations of the academy and has been from the beginning. At the start, the course was necessary simply to provide funds for the school. Automatons, gearcycles, and other equipment were produced by the professors and for sale to maintain the institution.” We paused at an alcove in the hallway, and Daniel slid aside the doorway concealed within its shadowy recesses. The door revealed a pneumatic elevator, which the young professor gestured for me to enter. I complied, and he continued as the door slid shut.
“While we have prospered considerably due to a few notable sponsors, the governor and the board have always felt it wise to maintain those courses which originally gave us our daily bread. After all, one never knows when the nobility will tire of their charity and we will be left on our own once more.” Daniel gave a wry smile at this comment, and I found myself returning it in spite of his continued informality. The pneumatic creaked around us for a moment as the pressure changed, and then I felt my stomach shift as we descended. I knew I shouldn’t have felt the flutter of nervousness in my throat, but the concept of being lowered on something as intangible as air pressure had never sat completely well with me. Still, even I had to admit it was an efficient way to transit from the fourth floor to the first, and the short ride was over almost as soon as it had begun.
Daniel waited until a ping resonated from the grill in the side of the tube, and then pulled the door open for us to leave. Immediately a wave of noise rolled over us, and I found myself looking out over a large, busy workshop. As he left the tube, the young professor waved his arm in a gesture that encompassed the entirety of the area. “Welcome, Mr. Kingsley, to the Forge!” The view of the workshop was clear since the whole of it was set into a depression in the floor, and at first glance, it seemed to fill the entirety of what must have been the main production room of the old factory. I stepped out for a closer look as Daniel closed the pneumatic behind us.
The air was filled with the grinding of gearworks, the pounding of hammers, and the hiss of pneumatic tools. Larger machines crouched in corners like giant beetles or loomed like arcane towers over the rest of the workshop. Specialized smithworks and chemical baths were scattered in various locations, with protective walls raised between them to prevent an accident from claiming more than a small area. Students and professors of every age, category, and Change mingled and worked, although some paused in their efforts to look up at us. Younger students worked on smaller projects while their elder peers toiled on more complicated creations. Instructors busied themselves either by strolling amongst the benches and offering advice or assistance, or by working on their own endeavors in isolated areas.
Daniel stepped up beside me and motioned for me to follow him. “Come now, Kingsley, let’s have a closer look, shall we?” I had little interest in doing so, given the busy nature of the area and the inherent dangers in any production facility. Nonetheless, as he was my only guide, I had little choice but to follow.
As Daniel led me deeper into the Forge, I found myself caught up in the activity swirling around me. I watched as one student worked to shape a length of iron into a rod long enough to be a cart’s axle, while another seemed to be performing a chemical test on a series of fluids. In another place a knot of students had clustered around a teacher, who was demonstrating the correct manner to link a series of gears together, while another professor across the way helped an older Changling dip a sheet of metal into a vat of liquids to treat it. “There are quite a few projects here, Mr. Summervale. Are there any you would think would inspire hostility against the school?”
My escort merely shrugged as he led me through the maze of science and industry. “Not that I am aware of, Kingsley. Though we are productive here, I doubt our small contribution to the world would truly create jealousy in anyone.” He took measure of our position within the workshop and paused. “You may want to tread carefully here, Kingsley. There is a dangerous area up ahead.”
I wondered for a moment what could possibly be more dangerous than the work I had already seen. The various chemicals, machines and techniques I had passed by would have been considered risky enough by any reasonable observer. As I opened my mouth to ask him what he meant, we turned a corner and the answer was suddenly clear. Behind the protective barrier of a brass wall was a telltale glow I knew especially well. I turned to regard Daniel with something approaching horrified astonishment. “You allow them to work with the Distillation itself?”
The young professor nodded. “Indeed we do, Kingsley. In fact, our work here would be near impossible without direct experience with the material.”
My shock started to fade, and despite myself I watched as one of the students, wrapped head to toe in protective gear, opened a door in the side of the wall and left, shedding brass-lined gloves as she went. “You don’t worry about accidents? Or explosions that would expose the entire area?” Such incidents had, of course, happened, especially in the early, heady days when the Distillation had not been wielded with such caution. As a result, wide swaths of the population had been exposed to the crystal, and while these poorer folk did not develop as severe Changes as their noble superiors, the power of the crystal had definitely had an effect on them—and on their children especially. Those accidents had also plagued workers and scientists laboring with the Distillation, at least until the discovery that an alloy of brass effectively shielded both living and inanimate material from the effects.
It was that discovery which had allowed the continued use of the crystal in daily life. Every mechanism powered by the Distillation contained within it the same shielding the workers wore, keeping the influence of the gems contained.
Daniel, however, showed little concern for the situation. He merely raised an amused eyebrow and gestured at the brass-lined workshop. “We do take an awful lot of care with our experiments, Kingsley. Many of us have worked with the crystal for years, and we are well aware of the possibilities—and the dangers—the Distillation represents. All our equipment has been meticulously examined before use. In the two years the academy has existed, not one accident has occurred.” He paused and gave an elaborate shrug. “At the same time, most of the students have little to fear from the matter. Remember?”
I turned back to the workshop. My eye easily found the marks of the Change among the students there, and I found myself forced to admit to the logic of his words. A second exposure would have only been a mild irritant to most Changlings, and it was not uncommon to find those thus afflicted to be working in an environment where the Distillation was present. Another thought occurred to me as my surprise faded, and I turned with a question to my guide. “Are the surrounding factories aware of your activities here?”
Daniel smiled at my query, as if he had been waiting for an expression of interest in the work, and he nodded eagerly. “Indeed they are. In fact, the foremen of those factories had to sign a petition to permit us to move to this location. Otherwise, it would not have been likely to have been approved by the local governing committee.”
“Curious.” I cast back in my mind over the expressions of disgust and hatred I had seen in the workers near the school. “I would not have thought that the foremen would have approved such a thing if their workers were so set against the idea. I noticed an awful lot of hostility from those workers on my approach.”
The young professor was silent a short moment. When he finally spoke, his voice seemed far removed from the enthusiastic scholar I had so far seen. “I’m afraid their…concerns…do not have so much to do with our industry as they do with our students.” He half turned towards me and one corner of his mouth twisted upwards in a bitter smile. “Not many see the Change as a good thing, and far fewer seem willing to accept those who have endured it. Especially as children. Half see them as monsters in embryo, and those who do not either classify Changelings as upstarts trying to catch an air of the old nobility, or as plague rats carrying some dread contagion.” Daniel shook his head with a dogged, violent motion before turning back to the workshop. “It sickens me at times.”
I remained silent, leaving the young professor alone with his thoughts while I struggled with my own less-admirable qualities. The moment stretched as Daniel brooded, and finally my own discomfort grew acute enough to prompt me to speak. As I opened my mouth, however, I noticed a flurry of motion and light in the corner of my vision.
Turning to one side, I watched as the motes of light gathered themselves together. In a swirl of flickers, a small figure appeared in their place. She was obviously the little Changling I had seen outside, come to visit us. The newcomer was a little girl, barely up to my waist and draped in a heavy coat that hung nearly to her knees. Her long blond hair spilled out from under a battered bowler hat, and keen brown eyes studied me for a moment before she turned to the professor. “Danny, who’s he?”
Daniel jumped with a start and whirled on the young girl. “Audrey? What are you doing here? I thought we agreed you wouldn’t explore around the Forge anymore.”
The young girl’s face twisted in something that resembled chagrin, though her mischievous grin ruined the effect. “Well, the teach’ said I was not allowed in class if I hadn’t brought my book, an’ I couldn’t find it upstairs so I thought I’d left it here…” She trailed off as Daniel folded his arms over his chest and directed an uncompromising glare in her direction. Her gaze dropped, and she scuffed the balcony grating with one stubborn kick of a booted foot. A quiet murmur replaced her earlier boldness. “It was a stupid class anyway.” After another tense silence, this time with the brunt of the discomfort placed on the young Audrey’s shoulders, I decided to clear my throat.
The sound seemed to startle Daniel, who glanced in my direction as if he had forgotten I was there. I nodded toward the girl. “Would you introduce me, Mr. Summervale?”
Daniel glanced from me to the girl and back again as comprehension flooded his features. “Oh! Of course. Your pardon, Kingsley.” He walked quickly to the girl’s side and placed a protective arm around her. “This little urchin is my sister, Audrey Summervale. Audrey, this is Mr. Hector Kingsley. He’s here to help out with some of the problems the school has had lately.”
I crouched to meet the young lady’s eyes and solemnly held out a hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Summervale.” Audrey gave me a bright little stare, clearly suspicious of some trick being played, but she stuck out her hand for me to shake. When I had finished, she drew back and gave a little frown.
“So what problem are you here t’ fix? The pipes?” I was forced to disguise a laugh as a cough. Daniel concealed an embarrassed grin of his own, attempting to maintain his stern attitude for his wayward sister’s sake. Hiding a brief smile behind my own fist, I shook my head.
“No, Ms. Summervale. I was called to handle problems of a different sort, but rest assured, I do a good job.”
Audrey’s face grew far grimmer than any child should have a right to be, and she drew back a bit into her brother’s arm. “You mean the mean people outside? You’re here t’ sort ‘em out?”
All traces of amusement fled from me as I looked at her. Obviously I had not been the only one to notice the grimaces of the workmen and the signs of hostility on the academy walls. I looked into those anxious brown eyes for a long moment and nodded again. “I will indeed, Ms. Summervale. You have my word on it.”