Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Standing Outside the Fire ❯ 17 ( Chapter 17 )

17

 

“I am the Sayer of the Law,” said the grey figure. “Here come all that be new to learn the Law. I sit in the darkness and say the Law.”

 

I read the question again. This wasn't right, the premise it was based on was faulty. Whoever had written this test had made a mistake. Or maybe this was a trick question, to see if we were paying attention. That had to be it! With a new sense of confidence, I wrote my essay in two simple sentences: This question cannot be answered as posed. No meaningful response can be made to flawed data.

 

I felt rather clever at catching that question. Tricky ones were always interesting, because it's like the teacher is testing how you think rather than what you think about a subject. After I set my pencil down on the closed testing booklet, I happened to catch the teacher's eye, and I offered him a satisfied smile. I wasn't the only student done early; a couple of the smarter kids were done too, so I felt like I was in good company.

 

The bell sounded, and we all got up to turn in our tests. I followed along to the front table, set my booklet down with the others, and turned toward the door.

 

“Herr Crawford, wait a moment.”

 

I swallowed. It was never a good thing for a teacher to single you out, but there wasn't anything I could do about it.

 

Herr Garrick had opened my test booklet and now was frowning at one of the answers. I realized he was reading my reply to the trick question. My stomach began to tighten.

 

“Flawed data?” Herr Garrick looked up, one eyebrow raised. “Explain, Herr Crawford.”

 

Trying not to look as nervous as I felt, I said, “Sir, the question presumes certain details as true which are not valid. It would be like asking why a house cat is a better sheepdog than a canary, there simply is no answer for it as presented.” My earlier conviction had evaporated as neatly as sweat in a desert.

 

My history teacher glanced at the booklet again, then smiled slightly. “Herr Crawford, I understand what your protest means. I was asking you to explain in what way the question was invalid. Take your time, I have nothing pressing to attend to at the moment. I am curious what your answer might have been had you not taken issue with the question itself.”

 

I took a deep breath and tried once more to compose myself. Alone with a teacher, in a classroom slated to remain empty until morning, I had to fight down a rush of claustrophobia. Though the room was big enough, I still felt as thoroughly trapped as though I were in a coffin. Then reason kicked in, and logic behind it. Herr Garrick had a decent reputation, as far as teachers went. I'd been in his history classes from the start. He had never been odd or unfair to me, and I had no real reason to fear him. The more this realization sank in, the faster my mind seemed to turn until I had a nice solid argument in my head, one that supported my dismissal of the question and would sound eloquent upon the most nervous tongue.

 

With increasing courage, I explained my position. I told him how the question might have been worded instead, and proceeded to answer that question to the best of my knowledge of history. This had always been my best subject, and that was how I'd known this question was a bad one. Though politics might distort the whys of history, the whats are pretty much set in stone and so are much harder to erase or change.

 

I must have talked for twenty minutes. By the time I was done, my passion for the subject had run its course and I felt wrung out. I stood at attention, waiting for Herr Garrick's response.

 

He made a notation in my test booklet, then nodded to me. “You made a convincing argument. You have salvaged your grade, Herr Crawford.” Then he met my eyes and said, “However, for your accusation against the integrity of this course and its instructor, I have no choice but to refer you for disciplinary action.”

 

Blood roared through my ears, pounded behind my eyes in a thunder of white sound. Discipline? But why? The question had been wrong!

 

“It is unfortunate, Herr Crawford. But the rules exist for a reason. I expect you to be more cooperative in the future, understood?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Herr Garrick wrote out a brief note, then folded it and handed it to me. “Report to Herr Sonndheim immediately. Dismissed.”

 

I felt all the wind go out of me, and for one awful second I thought I was going to faint right there. Then training took over: I bowed to my teacher, turned, then marched to the door and out into the hallway. Only then did I allow myself a moment of visible weakness. I sagged against the wall, my mind's tape recorder playing the end of our conversation over and over. I couldn't understand, the question had really been wrong! And Herr Garrick had said I'd salvaged my grade - did that mean he would have failed me and sent me to Sonndheim, if I hadn't answered?

 

Immediately, he'd said. Though I wanted to be anywhere but there, I knew this was one appointment I didn't dare be late for.

 

The other students I passed in the halls paid me no mind. I could have sworn that I wore my destination on my face, but no one seemed to notice. I made my way to the building Konnor lived in, where the instructors and staff had their apartments and offices. The four-story building sat on the southwest corner of the campus, and as I drew closer it swallowed my shadow into its own. I could feel the temperature drop as I crossed the border from sun to shade.

 

Second floor, opposite side of the building from Konnor's home.

 

A brief flicker of a vision startled me so bad I flinched away from it: a blond man throwing a strong-armed punch right at my face. Time and reality put themselves right again, and I fought to catch my breath. That had been a nasty trick for my gift to play, especially just then. I was scared enough of Sonndheim, I didn't need to be jumping at future echoes too.

 

Before I realized it, I was standing at the door. Dark, richly polished wood gleamed behind a brass nameplate upon which the name Erich Sonndheim had been etched in heavy Old English-style letters, the kind you see on Christmas cards. My breath had run out, and with it my courage. The other students said so many horrible things about this man, and every encounter I'd had with him so far had only reinforced every bad thing I'd ever heard.

 

My imagination served up his voice right behind me, telling me to stop standing there like a backwoods fool and knock. I cleared my throat and raised my hand. The heavy wood seemed to absorb the sound of my knuckles, reducing it to a raven's gentle rapping.

 

Yet the answering voice didn't seem blunted by the barrier at all. “Herein!”

 

As I lowered my hand, I noticed that my palm was sweaty. I had to try twice to get a grip on the doorknob and turn it.

 

The door swung inward on silent hinges. The room beyond seemed to breathe, tasting my fear and exhaling stale cigar smoke into the hallway. I clutched the note from Herr Garrick, keenly aware that the paper was now damp with sweat and fairly crumpled. I couldn't say which was worse, the journey or the arrival. This had been the longest walk in my life, and now that I was here I had no idea what to expect.

 

This apartment seemed older than Konnor's, with more woodwork and an older style of furnishings. There was a sofa, and a large free-standing bookshelf, and a good-sized bar, but what drew my eyes the most was the blank spot. Just off-center from the middle of the living room, there was a place that looked like something was missing from it, as though there had been a piece of furniture there that had recently been removed. The carpet there didn't show anything but an irregular stain.

 

In the corner between the bookshelf and the kitchen hunched a desk, not a nice fancy one like Konnor had, but a simple, sturdy one that looked very worn. And at that desk sat Herr Sonndheim, his fingers steepled before him and his eyes watching every move I made.

 

Unsure how to proceed, I approached the desk, instinctively veering clear of that blank spot. I stopped a few feet back, and bowed. I remained in that posture and held out the note.

 

“Approach.” His voice whispered harshly across the desktop like sliding metal.

 

I took two steps forward, stopping when my legs almost touched the desk. Meekly I set the note as close to his hand as I could manage, and waited, head bowed. My hair hung over my eyes, obscuring what I could see, and with my head down like this I was stuck peeking over the top of my glasses, which left everything blurry anyway.

 

There was a soft rustle of damp paper, and I knew he was reading the note from my teacher. I had no idea what was on that note, I hadn't had the nerve to open it up for a look.

 

“Good,” murmured Sonndheim.

 

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. He was listening to my thoughts! I swallowed down a lump of fear and tried to concentrate on my shields. I hadn't done anything really wrong, they were just doing this to scare me.

 

And it was working.

 

“Stand up.”

 

I straightened, my back threatening to cramp from staying bent forward too long.

 

Herr Sonndheim regarded me with eyes so cold they seemed to burn. “Do you know why you are here, Herr Crawford?”

 

“Sir, Herr Garrick instructed me to come to you for a disciplinary matter,” I stammered, getting stuck on the last two words and almost stuttering them.

 

“Do you know,” Sonndheim asked, rising from his seat, “why?”

 

“No, sir,” I whispered, and I knew at once it was the wrongest answer possible.

 

The reason I knew this was because Sonndheim smiled at me. It was a predatory smile, the kind of smile you imagine on a shark just before he pulls you under.

 

Herr Sonndheim strode around the desk and gestured for me to follow him. He led me to that empty spot, only a few feet away but it seemed isolated from the rest of the world. “Stand there.” As I stood at attention where he directed, he proceeded to walk around me, taking his time. From behind me came the command, “Remove your coat and shirt.”

 

Cold sweat poured down my spine as I complied, leaving me shivering in the cool air. My glasses had slid upward as I'd taken off my t-shirt, and I struggled to get them back into place.

 

A thick hand reached over my shoulder and plucked my glasses away. “You won't be needing these.”

 

Trembling and nearly blind, I could only stand and wait, and hope he didn't tell me to remove any more clothing. I couldn't help but think about what the other students had said about him, or Konnor's distrust of him, or any of a hundred things that could only bring me trouble if he knew about them.

 

His low chuckle told me I was already in more trouble than I knew. “Schoenberg's brightest star; how ironic. You stepped over the line, boy. We have all been quite patient with you, out of regard for your gift. But make no mistake, you shall receive no special treatment from me.” He leaned forward, his clothes brushing my naked back and his rough cheek nearly touching mine. The smell of tobacco and sweat made me reel. “No one is above the law here,” he whispered. “No one. And the sooner you realize this, the better off you shall be.”

 

Sonndheim stepped back away from me, and for a moment I wondered if that was the end of it, a good solid scare for a first offense.

 

Then the whistle-crack of a slender rod announced the arrival of the real punishment. I staggered forward a step only to find a powerful hand grabbing my shoulder and hauling me upright again. My lower back burned with a pain I had never before imagined.

 

Sonndheim released his hold on me as though daring me to move again as the crop sliced through the air and then through my skin. I couldn't brace against it, I couldn't anticipate it, all I could do was try with all my might not to fall over or to take a single step out of place. Three hits, I thought; surely he won't do more than three.

 

“Do you understand your teacher's question any better now?” he asked, his voice rough with exertion already.

 

I could feel him in my mind, searching for defiance or contrition. All I could offer him was my honest answer, the answer I had given Herr Garrick.

 

That wasn't the answer he wanted. He swung the crop again, and again. He repeated his question.

 

I started counting the hits.

 

By the time I stopped counting, I knew that I was bleeding. Liquid was pouring from my body: blood from my back, tears from my eyes, snot and spit from my nose and mouth. I wasn't really sure I hadn't wet myself. From a great distance I heard my own voice babbling: “I understand, sir. Yes, sir, I understand the question now. I understand.” Though, to be quite honest, I didn't understand much of anything right then, least of all how I managed to remain standing. My eyesight faded in and out, sound roared in my ears, and through it all that low, gruff voice either speaking out loud or in my head, repeating its question like an inquisitor.

 

And then I did understand. Convert, or die. “I shouldn't have questioned,” I gasped, “I misunderstood the test, sir! I thought I was being clever…” The discolored carpet rose up to catch me as my knees buckled, and everything went dark.

 

 

 

 

 

A/N

“I am the Sayer of the Law,” said the grey figure. “Here come all that be new to learn the Law. I sit in the darkness and say the Law.”

The Island of Dr. Moreau - H.G. Wells

 

“Herein!” - “Come in!”

 

“And then I did understand. Convert, or die.” - Galileo was brought before the Inquisition for his stated belief that the earth revolves around the sun rather than being the fixed center of the universe. He recanted his belief aloud to save his life.

 

It is said that afterward he whispered, “Yet it moves.”

 

Knowing the truth and dying for it are two very different things indeed.