Chapter Three – Mezereon

The way the lunch attendees were seated in the large refectory told Lawrence that schools tended to be the same everywhere. The faculty enjoyed their lunch at a table elevated on a dais, remote from the din of the room. Cliques were evident, everywhere he looked, and normally he would’ve picked a quiet spot so he could enjoy his lunch alone. It wasn’t that he didn’t prefer the companionship of others when available. Friendships didn’t come easily to him. The only two close mates he’d let know he’d taken a sabbatical to study abroad – a lie as convenient as any other – wouldn’t write him long letters. They were good guys, but that was the extent of it.

However, he wasn’t alone this time, and Ali seemed keen on dragging him along until they reached the place his new mate had chosen for them.

“Ah, I’m famished,” Ali said, rubbing his hands together and then shrugging off his jacket.

Lawrence had only himself to blame for not changing into the Veridien uniform that had been sent to him before coming here. Caught up as he’d been in exploring the old castle with Ali as his guide, they had to hurry here when lunch hour came. Without being in uniform, he wouldn’t be able to blend in with the mass of students.

Their table was right in the middle of the left row. Although the arrangement allowed eight students at each table, Ali’s attitude seemed to chase away whoever made the slightest attempt to join them. Lawrence wondered whether Ali was the resident black sheep and what the reason – or reasons – could be for that. It would explain his eagerness to befriend the new transfer.

His presence didn’t go unnoticed. It was ignored on purpose, but the stolen glances in his direction assured Lawrence that many of those present were wondering who he was.

His eyes didn’t search for him, yet they somehow found the table where Bastien Hawthorne was seated. Anton sat at his right, his stance relaxed, one arm thrown casually around his friend’s chair. Their table was the closest to the dais where the faculty lunched. Location, like generally in society, mattered.

The other students at their table appeared to be cut from the same cloth. It didn’t surprise Lawrence in the least that Bastien would be surrounded by people of the same status and wealth. Because Bastien hadn’t noticed him yet, Lawrence allowed himself to stare freely. The young man he’d met earlier that morning seemed to have little in common with this carefree, exuberant even, version currently entertaining his friends. From time to time, a laugh made Bastien throw his head back, exposing his lovely throat, making the others follow his every move. Lawrence knew he needed to tear his eyes away. The spell Bastien Hawthorne seemed able to cast anywhere he went was too strong, even from that distance.

“Ah, he caught your eye. I see,” Ali said, using an annoying, lecherous tone on purpose.

“It is difficult not to notice him,” Lawrence said simply. “His family is extremely rich, and his face has been in the papers.”

He regretted mentioning the last part. Ali frowned, and his face darkened. If Lawrence didn’t wish to be considered a complete oaf, he needed to tread more carefully even when approaching the topic of Lukas’s death. The student body appeared at ease and not much different from other schools Lawrence had been to – if one took away the money and privilege that marked the place and its inhabitants. However, the way Bastien and Ali both behaved – swinging between sadness and forced cheerfulness – suggested otherwise.

“Yes, indeed,” Ali commented, his eyes drifting to Bastien’s table. He stared intently, and somehow, his staring seemed to cause Bastien to look over.

It was too late to avoid eye contact. Lawrence turned his eyes away and pretended to be absorbed by the high-quality linen tablecloth and the beautifully painted porcelain plate in front of him.

“Hmph.” Ali’s noncommittal grunt could mean anything.

“So, what should I expect?” Lawrence asked, eager to change the topic. He did need to get close to Bastien in order to investigate the case, but he needed to do that after he decided how to approach the wealthy heir without feeling like his brain was slowing down to the speed of a worm or that there was a big dry lump in his throat that prevented him from speaking normally.

“What do you mean?” Ali finally turned his attention to him.

“Lunch,” Lawrence replied. Great. Bastien was across the room, meaning at a good distance from him, and he still lacked the ability to form full sentences. It was unnerving. Truly unnerving.

“Ah, I guess you’re used to a more common fare,” Ali said with a flourish. “Don’t worry. I’ll guide you through. Don’t feel intimidated by the portion size.”

Lawrence looked at his new friend. “Don’t tell me they serve meals here like a hunting lodge.”

Ali laughed, seemingly more at ease now, to Lawrence’s relief. “No. I guess the outside world,” he gestured lightly, “would consider them minuscule. You’ll see.” He was about to add something, but his expression soured, making Lawrence look for what could have caused the mood change.

Bastien was there, standing close to their table, hands behind his back, smiling like a benevolent king.

“Knight-errant,” he said, leaning forward to catch Lawrence’s eyes, “would you like to join us at our table?”

Lawrence needed a moment. Or a full minute. It was downright absurd to have such reactions in front of Bastien, the main suspect in the case he was supposed to – investigate – observe. “Um,” he started.

He truly needed to work on this problem. It was getting out of hand and fast. His uncle had often scolded him about going out more and spending time with people his age, doing whatever people his age did. What was happening now was a direct result of his negligence and inability to interact properly in a social setting.

“Lawrence,” Ali said, his voice tight and grating, “is having lunch with me.”

“Lawrence,” Bastien said his name slowly as if he intended to taste it like he would an exotic, curious food. “I see. Have you nothing to say for yourself, Lawrence?”

Ali’s intervention had given him, thankfully, enough time to get a grip. “I apologize,” Lawrence said primly. “But as you can see, I have already made arrangements.”

“Of course,” Bastien said cordially. “Bon appétit, then. Lawrence, Alistair,” he added in a tone that matched Lawrence’s stiffness to a comical degree.

He didn’t dare stare after Bastien, as he took his leave. But he was dying to do so, and it went beyond all his comprehension as to why he was acting so unlike himself.

“You can’t be serious,” Ali whispered, his face stretched into a grin. “Did you just turn Bastien Hawthorne down? After he invited you to join the Golden Circle’s table?”

“Come on,” Lawrence scoffed. “Are you telling me they call themselves that? Why?”

“I asked a question first. You have a weird habit of dodging important inquiries, it seems,” Ali teased him.

Lawrence relaxed and smiled at Ali. “I told the truth. And it would’ve been polite of him to ask you to join them, too.”

Ali nodded, wiggling his eyebrows. “You’re good, Sleeper. And incredibly, stupidly brave. Now, wait a minute… why did he talk to you like he knew you?”

There was no point keeping it a secret. “I met him this morning, on my way here.”

Ali’s eyes widened. “No way. Where?”

Where his boyfriend died. It wouldn’t bode well to say such a thing, Lawrence thought. “Close to the entrance. He was with Anton.”

“So you met His Dark Eminence, too?”

“It would be a stretch to say that. We only exchanged a few words,” Lawrence insisted.

Ali shook his head and stared openly at Bastien’s table. Lawrence preferred not to do the same.

“Why do you call Anton that?”

Servers had already started moving gracefully and quietly about, placing the first course in front of the lunch attendees.

“Because he’s the mastermind behind everything that happens around here,” Ali replied promptly. “Ah, just look at him. He’s pouting,” he said with a smirk.

Obvious animosity existed between Bastien and Ali. Lawrence had a hunch that Ali wouldn’t hesitate to fill him in on all the drama. While he had no intention to begin taking sides – he still needed to get close enough to Bastien to observe him – he needed to learn all the details of the intricate net of relationships at Veridien if he wanted to uncover the truth about what happened to Lukas. Drama was rarely insular; that was something he’d gleaned from his many studies on murder. People who looked away, others who stoked a fire when they shouldn’t have, all those things together created the conditions required for the unthinkable to happen.

If Lukas had decided to hurt himself, so be it. Lawrence had promised his uncle to consider all angles, regardless of what they felt tempted to think about the case. But even if that were the truth, and the verdict were suicide, there could still be culprits, people who had either neglected the young man or even pushed him to do such a thing. Either way, Lawrence was in the service of truth, and he would find it.

“You two don’t seem to get along,” he said matter-of-factly.

Ali gave him a surprised, confused look. “I’m not a pariah, Larry.”

“I didn’t say that.” Lawrence frowned, unsure of what to make of Ali’s reaction.

Ali huffed and straightened in his chair. “We got into a fight, that’s all.”

“What about?”

A server in impeccable attire placed the first course in front of him, interrupting their conversation for a moment. Lawrence stared at the small bowl in disbelief. Inside the clear broth, which must have been strained several times to achieve such limpidness, a single dumpling floated, surrounded graciously by a few vegetable squares, cut to the same precise size.

“Oh,” he barely managed. He should’ve stuffed his luggage with snacks before coming here. Enough to last him for the entire week, preferably, until he could go down to the village to send his first correspondence to his uncle.

“I’ll tell you one day,” Ali promised and touched his hand briefly, reaching across the table. “That one,” he added, pointing at the medium-size spoon placed by the side of the dish.

“Thanks,” Lawrence said. He’d had no idea that hunger would be a problem while investigating this case. If all the courses were like this, it was no wonder everyone seemed to be so thin here, compared to him, at least.

“Do you know what Bastien is called?”

“No idea,” Lawrence replied, staring with regret at the clear soup. “I bet you’re the one who’s giving everyone nicknames, though.”

“Really? What gave me away?” Ali joked. “Anyway, just so you know, Bastien’s codename is Rose Bud.”

Lawrence could see why. He was that beautiful, and Ali, for a change, seemed not to have employed his usual wit and sauciness when choosing this one for Bastien.

“Do you know why?”

“Because he’s… like a rose bud?” Lawrence ventured, lifting the soup spoon carefully to his lips.

“Because that’s what his asshole looks like. Waiting to bloom,” Ali said promptly.

Lawrence was lucky he hadn’t yet attacked the dumpling. That would’ve been a waste of one third of his lunch.

***