Lottelita/MaitreyiExaltation
I was unsurprised when, just after his arrival at Icehome's primary school, our new Headmaster invited me to meet with him privately. It was only logical that he should wish to acquaint himself with each member of his faculty individually. However, his note suggested that we meet off-campus, at night, at a tavern perhaps a half-mile from the school. He also asked that I not mention the meeting to anyone else. Curious about the man's nature and motivations, I did as I was told.
The tavern, though relatively close to the school, turned out to be in one of the city's less savory neighborhoods. I felt conspicuous and unsafe as I approached it through falling snow, and was also struck by a queer feeling of recognition, as though I had seen this place before. Perhaps a buried childhood memory, I thought uneasily, and pushed into the dim, warm tavern.
He hailed me as I shook snow out of my collar. "Mistress Maitreyi," he said, gesturing to the rough chair across from which he was seated. I sat, sizing him up. He was a slight man, though still almost a head taller than me, and no clear emotion was visible in his expression. He took his time setting down his chocolate, and I waited for him to speak.
"Do you know why I have called you to this meeting tonight?" he asked.
I hesitated. I had my suspicions, as there was never any shortage of minor failings for which a member of a primary school's faculty could be taken to task. Just the week before, several girls from my hall reported to the morning meal with bruises and scrapes, while some of their haughtier peers smirked across the table. But why would such a mundane concern warrant a meeting at this strange time, and in this strange location?
When I didn't respond immediately, the corners of his mouth twitched into the hint of a grin. I said, honestly, "No, Headmaster."
"I find that hard to believe. Tales of your cleverness are all that reach my ears these days, and I know how much you value reasoning and deduction."
Ah, so that's what he's after. "If you mean to discuss my teaching methods," I began, "I am prepared to defend them strenuously. Despite whatever objections students or their parents may have aired, I assure you that children do need more than rote repetition of dates and names and facts. If they are to rule the League, they must understand the whys and hows of history as well as —."
He cut me off with a condescending laugh. "Your pupils can be a handful, with their endless vexing inquiries spilling into the other classrooms."
"I hope the teachers do not consider it too great an inconvenience. If anything, I have hoped they would welcome it as an opportunity to take a fresh tack on their material."
"A fresh tack," he said lightly, "is not much appreciated in these halls."
I looked down at my folded hands, a stone in my stomach.
He did not speak immediately. Instead, he leaned in, quite close to me, so close that I had a brief wild terror that he would strike me. A silly thought. But I couldn't shake the sense of menace in the way he approached me.
"You understand, of course, that the last Headmaster spoke with me about each member of the faculty before she departed. She wished to communicate to me information I might find useful in managing the staff, and I must say she completed this duty admirably." He paused. "The circumstances under which your position here was secured, are not unknown to me," he said.
A hot flush rose in my cheeks: not of shame, but fear. For the first time I was aware of how precarious my situation was. Young, inexperienced, and pedagogically dissident, I had leap-frogged many more suitable candidates because of what might tactfully be called "connections." This sort of thing was done all the time, but the glint in his narrowed eyes told me he knew the nature and origin of these "connections." Still, I remained silent.
"I think you misunderstand my purpose tonight," he said gently. He patted my hand, no doubt intending to be comforting, but instead sending chills up my arm. His hand lingered, fingers hovering over and then tentatively brushing over the soft skin of my wrist.
"Your classroom practices, while unorthodox, do not concern me. You are a fine instructor … and a handsome woman. The information about your past of which the former Headmaster apprised me makes me sure that you have … many talents."
Drawing a startled breath, I stood swiftly and took a step away from him. Surprised but unabashed, he eyed me shrewdly. My voice trembled as I backed towards the door. "I apologize for my sudden behavior, Headmaster, for surely I mistake your intent. I hope you will forgive my presumptuousness; I must be overtired and should therefore return to the campus and make my way to my bed."
But he rose and grasped my wrist, his eyes blazing. "Don't think dismissal is the worst way I can display my displeasure," he hissed. "I have strings I can pull at my prurient desire just as you do. I can have you transferred anywhere I like — perhaps somewhere far to the south, where you would be unable ever to see your son again." His hand slid up my arm, his grip softening into a solicitous caress. "Surely, however, it needn't come to that."
The feel of his fingers through the thin fabric of my blouse, the heat of his artificially sweetened breath in my face, and the shuddering sound of his voice daring to speak of my secret passion and pain — I jerked away from him with such speed and force that he reeled for a moment, falling back and into the table. He stared at me, aghast, and several dull-eyed patrons looked up, as well, hearing the scuffle. I saw my opportunity and darted out into the snowy night.
However, I had made it only steps from the tavern when I felt myself grabbed and shoved roughly, and tumbled headlong into a dim alley. He was upon me, his open palm connecting with my cheek and hurling me against the alley wall.
"I had hoped," he said, using his body to immobilize mine, "that we might work this out a little better." He snorted as his hands roved over my hips and thighs. "You're hardly worth the effort." Tears stinging in my eyes, I considered going limp, letting him do what he meant to do and what he must do — for how could I dream of stopping him?
And then I heard it: You can. It was my voice and it was not my voice. It coursed through me and pushed aside any notion of surrender, sweeping away my cowardice and filling me with unlooked-for strength. I felt heat on my skin — under my skin — as though the sun were shining on this dark, nighttime alley. As though it were shining right into my soul.
Before I knew it, he was across the alley, against the opposite wall, and it was my hand at his throat as his eyes glazed with terror. Reflected in his pupils was a sight that struck terror into my heart, as well: a blazing crown of light around my head, burning brightest on my brow.
"Anathema," he croaked.
I heard a queer laugh, and realized it was my own. "So it would seem. Does that frighten you?" He squeaked and shook — a coward after all. Trying to mask my own panic with deliberate cool, I leisurely looked towards the street and was relieved to see no one observing us. I turned back to him, my face hard.
"All right, then. The only reason you are currently alive is that I'm not sure killing you here and now is in my best interest. I would encourage you not to change my mind. Is that clear?" He managed a feeble nod. "Do you carry a weapon?" He flicked his eyes down, toward his waist, and there I found a small dagger, as any wealthy man would be wise to carry in a neighborhood such as this, and a bag of coin. I slipped the latter into my coat pocket and with the former, urged him further into the alley and around a corner, aware that my forehead was glowing with a light that would be easily noticed in the night. I had to get somewhere safe, and private, and soon.
Then I realized where I was, and why the dingy street and tavern sign had seemed familiar to me. Would the alleys take me all the way …? I would have to chance it, and pray the ramshackle house and its master were still there, unchanged in shadow and shame.
The Headmaster was quietly babbling timorous assurances that I could be entirely secure in sparing his life — after, of course, he had performed any number of duties I might require of him — for he should never dream of revealing my identity. Glancing around once more to assure myself that we were alone, I cut him off mid-sentence with a blade to the belly.
"I wish I could say I was sorry," I murmured as I lowered his crumpled body to the slush-covered ground, "but from tonight until the moment of my ending, any man who lays hands on me without my permission will find a silent and craven death." And staring into his wide, terrified eyes, I slit his throat.
--
- To whom it may concern,
I write on behalf of Mistress Maitreyi, one of your instructors of history and composition, and the sister of my late wife. She arrived at my door this morning on the very verge of death. Last night she and your Headmaster met off-campus to discuss some private matter, and upon emerging from the tavern, they were accosted by the sort of ruffians what blight our city these days. These villains relieved the gentleman of his coinpurse, and fell to abusing the lady, and when he made to rescue her, they slew him heartlessly right before her eyes. What passed then, I will not recount, in the interest of protecting the lady's honor. Our only consolation is that they left her for dead not far from my own humble home, and she was able, upon coming back to herself somewhat, to find me. Know that she is now in my care, and, as the physician worries much for her recovery, she asks that you send her what meager possessions as she has in your halls, to which we may only pray she will return in time.
With all gratitude, and condolences for the loss of your Headmaster,
Rakesh.
