42. The Author Discourages Lying (But is a Liar Herself)
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You must, against all odds, drop my mother's sunflower handkerchief by the door of the city hall before the second bell rings, and forget about it for two minutes.

What was this, some kind of prophecy? I sighed, tucking my hair behind my ear, as I eyed the giant city hall in front of me. What else had the footman relayed before he'd hightailed it out of the crowded city square16 FEET AWAY PEOPLE

Her words seemed to echo through my mind. Remember: the point is death. Right.

Definitely something not worth remembering.

But still, the city hall with its marble-y white surface blinding my eyes was a pretty good sight to come by, and Ro wasn't asking me to do something hard for her, so I could basically treat this like a free trip to the city hall. Hurray for Rosa's newfound status! Poor she may still be, but at least she had a carriage to do her will.

I wandered around the massive groups of people around me, absently fingering the silky handkerchief in my hand. Oh, there was the city hall doors. My jaw immediately slackened for a moment at how massive it was. At the same time, did a door really have to be this big? It was practically the length of our room! For a single door! For what?!

The first bell rang, and I schooled my expression back into place. Nonchalance, Filian, nonchalance. Act natural. It was almost time.

Every Wednesday, the city hall held some Very Important Meeting (about what, I didn't know; probably about the state of fish in the lakes and whether beavers ought to be sponsored to make dams or something utterly unimportant like that) with some Very Important People (like whom, I didn't know; probably stuffy old nobles with balding heads or a bunch of hyped up youngsters eager for a title, any title), and the start and end of each Meeting was sounded by two bells. The first bell told the tourists milling outside-- excuse me, I've misspoken. The first bell told the concerned citizens waiting to hear the results of the meeting that the meeting itself had ended. The second bell signaled the announcement that followed.

I wasn't sure how much time passed between the first and second bells, but from that one time we were here on Wednesday (when we were, like, six, and Rosa's dad was still alive, bless his soul), I vaguely recalled the two bells ringing close to each other.

But how was anyone supposed to remember something as mundane as the time when a fellow six-year-old girl diverts your attention with the potential mathematical calculations of the weakening of sound based on reflections of sound waves on physical objects? Yeah, nobody does. And thanks to that, this meant I had no time to reminisce about strange six-year-old girls unapologetically spouting theoretical equations. I shuddered.

I sidled up to the corner of the building as slowly as I could, heart beating loudly in my ears, looking around and acting the part of a very interested tourist. "Wow," I even mumbled to myself a few times, nodding appreciatively.

I peered at the marbling at the side of the doorway, humming a few notes of approval here and there, making surprised and awestruck expressions in turn. The handkerchief was in my pocket, hanging out just a bit. 

"Let me take a few notes," I said in a voice that clearly said I am an intellectual tourist interested in the state of the building. Ha, as if I could even write. I dug into my pocket with the handkerchief inside, putting my entire arm into it.

I tilted my head and grimaced. "Ugh," I grunted, "don't tell me I forgot it again."

I sighed, then pulled out my hand from the pocket to let the handkerchief drift innocently onto the floor. I clamped down the surge of triumph in my chest and turned my head sharply, as if something else had gotten my attention immediately. "Wait, is that...?" And off I went.

The second bell rang.

A slow grin worked itself up into my face as I faced the wall I was pretending to be very invested in. Perfect success, I thought to myself in absolute glee. I flipped my hair behind my shoulder and flounced about for a few moments, letting a bounce come into my step. Was I brilliant or what?

What was next? Forget about it for two minutes and then get back to it? Ask the people around you if they've seen it, like a little girl looking for their mommy, the footman had said, looking absolutely dead in the inside. Same, footman, same.

"Two minutes, huh," I sighed to myself. Well, acting like a tourist was pretty fun, like a giant inside joke to myself, so I went on running my fingers on the walls of the city hall and marveling at the golden chandeliers. "Is that pure gold or just gold paint?" I asked aloud, all keen interest and passionate observation.

"That would be gold paint."

"I see, I see," I nodded, brows furrowed, crossing my arms.

"If it was pure gold, it would fall off the ceiling, I'm afraid, and wouldn't hold the halls alight."

"Makes perfect sense," I agreed.

"Besides, nobody really needs pure golden chandeliers, don't you think?"

"You are perfectly correct," I announced, with a smile. I paused. The smile on my face froze. A chill ran up my spine.

Hahaha, congratulations, Filian. You just had an entire conversation without realizing you were in a conversation. 

Stay calm, I chanted in my head, then turned to the person who'd been speaking to me this entire time. I took a deep breath and let Customer Service take over. "That was some great information, thank you very much! Might I ask who you are?"

The man I found next to me was a stooped over, scraggly-looking old man, with a kind smile and a strange hat. Kinda like one of those wizard hats I always saw on Mother Lily's cheap romance novels, but on a white-haired grandpa rather than a dashing, robed stud with glasses on. Well, neither was I a drop-dead gorgeous noble girl being tortured by her stepmother, so we were pretty even.

"...the professor of the Academy," the elderly man was saying, his voice a bit raspy but still kind. "You may call me Professor."

"Oh, thank you Professor," I said immediately, my Customer Service voice in action. "I was really curious about the chandeliers, so that was very useful information."

"You're very welcome," he said, his eyes twinkling. "I never tire of relaying information to younger folks like you."

"What do you teach at the Academy?" I asked. (Customer Service Rule #54: appear to take interest in the customer to increase your likability.)

"This and that in the higher division, but mostly I teach the mathematics."

"Actually," I said slowly, a more real grin surfacing on my face, "would you happen to have heard of this one student I know in the higher division? I'm a close friend to her, and--"

He began speaking in a hurry. "Ah, but I don't remember my students too well, so you shouldn't expect me to--"

"--her name is Rosa Chesterfield," I finished.

A pregnant pause enveloped the two of us for a second, then the professor's eyes widened. "Miss Chesterfield?" he practically choked.

I nodded, holding my breath.

"Why, of course I do!" he cried, slapping his knee. His wizardy hat wriggled as he almost shook from whatever he was feeling. "She is the best student I've ever come across in the fifty years I've been teaching!"

Yeah, I suspected he would respond somewhat like this. I laughed, delighted.

"You should have seen her in class yesterday. Most of those noble good-for-nothing offsprings have no interest in the beauty of mathematics and numbers, but Miss Chesterfield-- she understands."

I nodded in mock seriousness. "She has always held numbers quite, er, close to her heart, Professor."

He straightened up, as if he'd been shocked. "I should've known. I should've recognized that similar spark in your eyes!" he said in wonder.

My hands flew up and I backed away a bit. "Oh, no. No no no. Please don't, please don't compare me to her." I almost said I'd rather eat a toad than be told I resemble Rosa but then remembered she was his favorite student, and insulting someone's favorite anything was never a good idea unless I wanted to anger someone. 

"No need to be so humble," he told me, and I awkwardly half-laughed, not really confirming his assumption but not denying it at the same time. "Your inquisitive voice must have been what made me more compelled to answer!"

"Ahaha, thank you," I said, inching away. Now was a good time to maybe run away. Two minutes had definitely passed since the second bell rang, so.

But what excuse could I use?

"Just the other day, Miss Chesterfield offered to write a theoretical expression in mathematical terms for the effect of objects interfering with possible velocity, and while I am no science expert, the idea was so entirely fresh that I couldn't help myself but--"

"Oh no!" I cried, and he stopped.

"Young lady, what's the matter?"

I made a show of patting my pockets frantically, looking around the floor near me, turning to search the spaces behind me. "I, I--" I turned back to the professor. "I think I lost my handkerchief."

He visibly relaxed. "Nothing to be so distressed about. I can--"

"No, sir, it was my mother's most prized possession," I said, letting desperation seep just enough into my voice.

The professor's eyes widened. Was, he must have noticed. As in nonexistent. As in, heavy implications of my mother has passed away and that handkerchief was the only possession I have left to commemorate her. Hehe, genius. But also, oof, the guilt.

Worry filled his face as guilt filled my heart. "Oh dear. Allow me to help you find it."

I wavered, but shook my head. "Thank you, Professor, but I'll manage." I gave him a weak smile (easy to fake, since I was feeling weak with guilt anyway), but I kept the act up, patting my pockets. "I'll, I'll go around and be right back."

I fled before he could say anything else, grimacing apologetically as I went. Man, I felt bad for lying. I technically hadn't told him my mom had died, and Mother Lily was kind of like my second mother, so it wasn't completely a lie, but still. A lie was a lie was a lie, even if it was all an act.

"Sorry, Professor," I whispered under my breath as I neared the corner of the door.

The handkerchief wasn't there. My heart sank even if I'd expected it, and a sudden image of Mother Lily's sad expression flashed through my eyes.

I sighed. Rosa better have a good excuse for all this. And it better not be "death."


A/N: Whee I'm back! Until I'm not! (Haha, jk... unless?)

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