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A Friend in Need is a Friend in Deed
“But Miss, I don’t wanna!,” the young man blurted out. His class mistress creased an eyebrow under her long, auburn hair, frowning. She repeated herself: “Johnny, take your hands out of your pockets and show them to the class.” Her words had a subtle tone to them that one would guess was normally used by a mortar to crush spices. Slowly, Johnny pulled his hands from his deep pockets, revealing that they were covered in sleek, black silk gloves. His freckled, heart-shaped face lowered to face the floor, a deep red spreading in his cheeks for disobeying the Mistress. Studying his feet, John Silver Erhardt waited for what felt like two point five eternities before the sweet words of release came: “Inspector’s office, Johnny. Five minutes ago.”
There was something about Mistress’s voice. Everyone knew. If she told you to be somewhere five minutes ago, you got there five minutes ago. Johnny knocked timidly at the Inspector’s door. While he waited, he smiled inwardly — At this school, there were no names for the faculty. Only positions.
“Entrée, Mr. Erhardt,” came the deep baryton from the bowels of the Inspector’s office. Johnny quickly checked his suit before entering, walking through the long hall with pictures of Inspectors long retired all the way back to 1724. He caught himself dallying in front of the picture of the beautiful Lady Inspector Wittleton II (1992-2014) and hurried up through the oak door at the end of the hall to arrive in front of the man the students spoke of in whispered tones: Lord Inspector Maxwell Sr.
(to be continued)