While Dominique watches, you pinch off a tiny fragment of the metal. Your work is quick but delicate, and as you drop the metal into the acid, it fizzes wildly but does not overflow.
"That's amazing!" Dominique says, and Vere calls over.
"Yes, excellent," she says. "And of course Laurie did their usual good work."
Beaumont nods as though such a thing was only to be expected. They have already cleaned up their workspace.
The bell rings. Vere shoos you out, and you head towards your next class.
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Politics class takes place in Noble Clemence Marchand's classroom, which seems to be more of a plushly decorated office than anything else. The room is lined with books from floor to ceiling; it has been set up with a selection of deep armchairs. You spot a framed photograph of Clemence shaking hands with Prime Minister Edith Belke.
Clemence themself is a dark, broadly built person with cropped hair and large glasses, dressed in a blue tweed dress. They look in their forties, younger than Vere or Pascal, and greet you enthusiastically, shaking your hand with both of theirs. With Beaumont and Dominique, you settle into your armchairs and the lesson begins.
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"I can't tell you how much I've been looking forward to this year," Clemence says. "We're going to have such fascinating insights about the Queen and her governance here!"
Dominique, who has curled up in one of the armchairs like a cat, pipes up. "The Queen's lovely."
Clemence nods cheerfully. "Oh, of course," they say. "And the political implications of the role of the monarchy are always to be considered. Queen Estell has been relatively hands-on during her reign, compared to her mother who tended not to deal directly with parliamentary issues."
The others glance at you surreptitiously.
Beaumont opens their notebook and starts scribbling. "I'm sure it's all right for the royals to get involved as long as they know what they're doing," they say.
"Indeed," Clemence says. "In the past there have been some…clashes between the monarch and Parliament where disagreements occur, but that's not been a problem for a while now."
Clemence's face lights up. "That's so interesting! I wonder whether we'll see more of that throughout the year."
They perch on the edge of their own armchair, survey your little class, and launch into the lesson. The topic today is the vote.
Voting is always a hot issue, and even more so in the last few years. In Westerlin, adults may vote for Members of Parliament, so long as they have a title and own property of a certain value. That value keeps the vote firmly in the hands of the aristocracy, but many protesters have been petitioning this to change before the next Prime Ministerial election.
"Consider a hypothetical," Clemence says, steepling their fingers, and you focus.
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In this hypothetical, the suffrage protests become more disruptive," Clemence says. "As leaders, how will you convince Parliament and the papers that the right course of action is to issue a curfew?"
Beaumont is busily making notes. Dominique says, "Shouldn't they be free to protest if what they want is a good thing?"
"Some Members of Parliament," Clemence says, "would agree with a curfew, but others would not. Prince Irad Motahhari, your thoughts?"
"As long as a leader has a good reputation, they can get away with a great deal," you say. "Including blackmailing people when needed. It's the smart approach."
Clemence nods, taking in your words with evident consideration. "I'd love to hear more," they say. "Do you think it wise if…"
The discussion continues. Clemence is an intense teacher, and is clearly passionate about their subject; you cannot help but notice that they speak admiringly about the suffragists, and they seem to approve of the idea of allowing a wider variety of people to vote.
Eventually, the lunch bell rings. Clemence says, "Wonderful! Prince Irad Motahhari, Pascal asked if he could have a word with you over lunch. I'll show you the way!"
Dominique waves to you as you follow Clemence out.
Next
Pascal's office is situated in the center of the main building, away from the classrooms. In a smaller office beside Pascal's, a couple of secretaries are busy working at typewriters, keys clacking as they do so. Clemence goes in to talk to one of them, leaving you to knock on Pascal's huge oak door.
"Come in!" Pascal calls.
Inside, the dark paneled walls are covered with art: a jungle landscape, a metallic dragon, an eerie photograph of the coast. Like the hall, the leaded windows are stained glass, but here they are intricate geometric patterns whose colors dazzle your eye.
Pascal is sitting behind a vast desk, but rises as soon as you enter, shakes your hand vigorously, and invites you to be seated beside an elaborate fireplace. You sit in opposite armchairs; a bearskin rug lies upon the floor between you. While you get settled, a servant brings in afternoon tea: fresh sandwiches, salad, and cake.
"Now," Pascal says, "I hope you're having a good first day. We want to do everything we can to make things more comfortable."
Pascal throws back his head and laughs. "If I could make it happen," he says, "I would."
Still chuckling, he eats a few bites of his sandwich and stretches out his legs comfortably.
"I invited you to speak with me because I had a favor to ask," he says. "I'm sure you'll be discreet. This is to be my last year teaching here, and I haven't decided on my successor."
He wipes his fingers on a napkin, and sighs.
"It's a tricky decision. Vere and Clemence are my top choices, but I haven't chosen which yet. I'd like you to be my eyes and ears over the year, and give me information about who ought to take over."
Pascal nods eagerly. "That's the spirit!" he says. "I need someone with your determination on the case."
You finish up your lunch over the hour, savoring the cake and tea, until another servant sidles in to murmur that the animals have arrived.
"Excellent!" Pascal says. "Well, I won't keep you. No doubt you'll be eager for fresh air!"
The animals: that must mean your pet's here. An animal could hardly be transported on the plane, so your pet was sent separately. You make your polite farewells to Pascal, and head downstairs.
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