Happily Dead Last
My choice was a perfectly safe navy suit. Because the cloth was Zegna's finest, he warned me the price would run high. I told him, plainly, to take every bit of what the work was worth.
"How could I do such a thing?"
In the end we settled on the cost of the fabric plus the barest fee for his labor. Hnnngh. If only an old man's stubbornness were something a person could actually break!
"It may never quite be a work of art, but I can make you something that comes close."
"Then I'm in your hands."
I was about to leave the shop in high spirits when the latch clicked and the door opened on a familiar face. Huh? That guy... Benedict Hiddleston, wasn't that his name? You know the one. The boy from my interview—the friend who was mad, question mark very much included, for the theater. Sure enough, he had a play of Shakespeare's in hand again today.
And if he's here... It meant Benedict had gotten into Royal School as well. So all three of us who had interviewed together had been accepted? Is that even possible? They'd said the competition ran past a hundred to one... Benedict took a few shopping bags the moment he arrived and was gone again almost at once.
Outside, meanwhile, the street was still noisy with upperclassmen. Were they going to keep that up all day? This was a school people paid a fortune in fees to attend. The thought didn't last. They were teenagers, after all—crashing about, stacking up the mortifying chapters of a life. That was the age for it. And were you any different? Ahem. Different enough. Those had been the days of part-time jobs that didn't even pay minimum wage, several of them at once, just to keep from going under. Set beside that... A bespoke suit from a knighted tailor. At barely seventeen, I was sitting down to the full tasting menu of indulgence. Heh heh heh.
I turned it all over and made to step out of the shop, and the upperclassmen's murmuring died in a single instant. Me again? The street packed itself tight with an awkward silence, and then the wary looks came pouring in. Stare or don't. I don't care.
I was about to go on my way when a drumming rose from the end of the street, an engine note like hoofbeats. The bike that had been charging toward us shrieked, swung its wheel in front of the tailor's shop, and stopped dead where it stood.
The uncomfortable stares that had been clinging to me snapped over to the machine at once. A good hundred eyes, all fixed on a single point. Enough to rattle anyone. Perhaps she was used to it. The rider swung off and calmly pulled the helmet free first, and blonde hair spilled out as if it had been poured from the shell.
"Whoaaa!"
Cheers burst from every side. Everyone had been expecting some tough man, and here, out of nowhere, was a blonde woman. A leather jacket cut to set off the waist, skinny trousers in the same hide, and boots with heels a good four inches high. Maybe it was the sheer force of the impression.
"Politics—philosophy!"
"Law!"
The boys shouted themselves hoarse, each for his own club.
"Cheer squad!"
"We need a cheerleader!"
"Hear, hear!"
Even the athletic clubs lifted their voices as one.
Hm. Sorry to say it, but a girl who rode a machine like that was not going to be satisfied with boys of that sort. Sure enough—
"What are those morons."
With that short line she went click, click into the tailor's shop on a model's walk. They had definitely all heard the word morons. And yet, to teenagers in the full heat of their blood, the sight only seemed more attractive. I snorted. Must be nice, being that age. No—I was right in the thick of it myself. Ahem.
The truth was, the bike interested me more than the girl did. Can you even get a license at barely seventeen? Or was she some rich man's daughter, riding about with the nerve to ignore the law and everything under it? Still. It really is a handsome machine. Maybe, while I was at it, I ought to get one myself... Stop that. I already didn't know what to do with the car I'd bought last time, and now a bike on top of it? Even so, just parking one in the garage... Ahem. I shook my head and forced my feet onward.
The houses all look alike, but the biggest one among them... That was how I found the place I had moved into. Luckily I seemed to have come to the right door. A Bentley limousine sat out front, which settled the matter. Baker must have spotted me; a moment later the driver's door opened.
"Boss!"
He climbed out at once with both arms full of groceries.
"Shouldn't you be inside? Why are you—"
"I only just got here myself."
I hurried a key out of my bag. Clack. Opening a door with a key that size—for no good reason, it was the moment it truly sank in that I was in Europe.
Baker filled the refrigerator first. I was grateful, but he needed to put his weight behind the Manchester United acquisition. Little chores like this I could manage well enough on my own. Perhaps he read that on my face.
"I was only going to do it through today."
He gave an awkward smile, and then—
"Oh, and this."
He drew a note folded in half from inside his jacket.
"When we filled out the enrollment forms, you needed a guardian at least on paper, didn't you? I put my own name down in a hurry, and a document arrived today."
A notice from the school. Nothing grand: before admission, there would be a preliminary assembly. The odd part was the rest of it. They're giving a test? In Korea it was mostly written exams. Here, amusingly enough, the weight fell on debate, with topics running through literature, history, politics, society, art, and so on.
"From what I hear, they assign classes according to the results."
"Honors and remedial, that sort of thing?"
"Exactly."
Hm. Jack's face came to me all at once. Unless military science happened to be among the subjects, a place near the bottom was as good as reserved for him...
"Just in case, I got you some materials."
I only looked at him.
"Past papers from every year, of course, and the books you'd need if you wanted to study ahead..."
I shook my head.
"It's fine."
"Boss, the truth is these were quite hard to come by. You really ought to look through them once..."
"No, no."
All I had done was flee Grandfather—flee, with a question mark attached. Scrape by without being held back a year, take the diploma, and go home. That was enough. People were already whispering that I had gotten in on the Queen's recommendation. Ace the coursework on top of that, and I'd only pull more aggro for nothing.
"If you place in the top tier, quite a few privileges come with it..."
"What more privilege could I possibly need?"
"Pardon?"
"Look around you."
Baker's gaze drifted over the great house, and then—
"True enough."
He nodded, as if that settled it.
That night, orders came crashing in all day, and Sir Lewis spent it without a moment to draw breath. Even after he shut the shop he had to stay bent over the work for a long while. He had only just begun to catch his breath when—
"You have a visitor."
At the assistant's words, Sir Lewis lifted his head with an effort.
"A visitor?"
"Yes. Professor Middleton is here."
A welcome name, perhaps. Sir Lewis forced his heavy body up. When he came out of the workroom, there indeed was a familiar face.
"Forgive me for descending on you when you're at your busiest."
"You don't look particularly sorry."
"Well, I got to thinking. I couldn't remember a time you aren't busy. So I simply came running."
Sir Lewis let out a short breath of a laugh. Middleton had always been a smooth one, and people like that ran on surplus energy. Otherwise, how would a man who had already held a chair at Oxford still have the strength left to take the headmastership of Royal School on top of it?
"Feels as if your wrinkles have faded since I saw you."
"Nonsense. I'm still learning the work, and you wouldn't believe how much there is to fret over..."
"You're the type who gets younger the more you use your head."
"Well. There is that."
The two of them laughed, easy with each other, and then—
"Now. Tell me your business."
"Business?"
"You came knowing full well I was busy. There must be a reason equal to it."
"Oh, nothing that couldn't ride along with another errand..."
He said it that way, but Middleton did not really dodge.
"I simply couldn't bear not knowing what the new students are like."
Sir Lewis only looked at him.
"You're the one who has met every last one of them right up close."
"You want to hear what I thought?"
A nod, and another. The innocence of it was so startling that a laugh nearly escaped him. The man already overflowed with energy, and now that he had only just taken up as headmaster, his face was brimful of zeal. But what was one to do? Chosen young gentlemen or not, they were still unseasoned children. Even so, he could hardly disappoint a headmaster packed solid with passion. He was still choosing his words when the other man spoke.
"There was one, though. A very particular boy."
"Ah. I think I know whom you mean."
Sir Lewis waited.
"Tennessee Grosvenor."
That one was a special case in an entirely different sense... Fortunately Sir Lewis was not the sort who enjoyed speaking ill of people, so he could only try to turn the subject as naturally as he might.
"My apprentice had gone over to the Grosvenor Estate, you see. And in that same stretch of time, I found myself facing a rather interesting boy."
"An interesting boy?"
Sir Lewis told him, in careful detail, the story of the student he had seen that day, and Middleton's interest came on just as keen.
"You're saying he surprised even you?"
"That's what I'm telling you."
"As it happens, there's a chance to meet the new students in a few days..."
Not a place a headmaster was meant to insert himself. Even so, the look on his face said curiosity would have him drop by all the same.
"What's the boy's name?"
"You won't need the name. You'll know him at once."
Middleton waited.
"He's the only Asian there is."
"An Asian... then that would be the boy admitted on Her Majesty's recommendation."
"The Queen recommended him? That hidebound lady?"
"So I hear."
But the reaction lasted only a moment. Middleton pushed his glasses up and went on.
"Well, now. Not content with capturing the Queen's heart—a talent who has gone and swept my own friend clean off his feet."
Already curious, he only wanted to see the boy more. The corner of Middleton's mouth climbed as high as it would go.
Time ran fast. Exercise every day, books, good food, freedom enjoyed to the full—of course it had to fly. And so the day of the preliminary assembly arrived. Others, from what he heard, were wound tight over the day's exam. I'll gladly come in dead last! As for me, I could not have been more at ease.
Hm. The school was right nearby. Leaving a little early would be plenty. I took Sir Lewis's suit from the wardrobe. No real need to dress up, but... If not today, when would I ever wear it? With that thought I slid an arm into the shirt. Huh. Even the feel of it was different, as if the back of a soft hand were traveling slowly the length of my arm. And that was not all. Once the buttons were done, the cloth settled against my body as if it had been waiting there. Add the jacket, and comfort was the least of it. This looks rather good? I don't say that sort of thing lightly. Without question, I was more polished than before by a margin that did not bear comparing. While I'm at it, should I have a few more made? I grinned.
I was stepping out of the house with a pleased smile when, from far off, it came—a drumming, and then a heavier drumming. A weighty engine note, kin to the sound of hoofbeats, rolled in toward the house.