Chapter 44: Burnt-Top Basque Cheesecake (Part 2)

Before leaving the dining hall, Milo grabbed himself a meal. Delaying new habits until tomorrow was a good way to never implement them at all.

With no role left to play and no principals or instructors in sight, he headed back to the staff room.

There, he slept as much as the Gauge allowed him to. No one checked on him. Clearly, everyone was busy with other matters.

He got off the two chairs and straightened, the chain clinking alongside him.

Mr. Cald was getting more and more paranoid. It was only a matter of time before he’d catch Milo off guard and search him.

At first, the plan was to wedge the flail between the furniture or under some kind of mattress.

But the instructor ought to know every inch of his nest, including the hiding spots.

After brewing himself a cup of tea, he got up and went over to the room with the confiscation closet.

The unsealed door opened onto the brick dead end. His breathing shortened before he had even stepped inside.

Bad associations.

Milo knelt down and stopped to listen for a few seconds, making sure that no one was shuffling nearby.

He wedged the flail into the gap between brick and doorframe, leaving its head clear of the floor. The closed door would hold it there. If anyone opened it, the Bookmark’s outline would drop and he’d know somebody had found the hiding place.

Under his palm, the weapon was steady, but it began to slip whenever he eased the pressure.

He forced it farther into the corner and dashed out. He swung the door, slamming it shut with his shoulder as the head started to fall.

Click.

"Success!"

Through the wood, the outline stayed lodged.

Free to walk unrestricted again, he strode to the exit when something flashed from the windowsill.

A bowl.

The bowl, a singular dried noodle stuck to its side.

He had raced out into the battlefield without thinking of what he’d be leaving behind.

With Cald searching for reasons to stop him, it was probably time to finish cleaning up after that meal.

His eyes slid back to the dead-end door.

There was another thing he was leaving behind, and this one belonged to a dead man.

But he survived sleeping in that damn gap.

Cald had grabbed his sweater once already. Even a pat on the wrong shoulder could expose the chain. At least behind the door he could watch the flail without having to keep an elbow pressed against it.

Milo took the bowl and snuck out of the staff rooms.

Scanning the corridor and seeing no one, he tiptoed toward the staircase, remembered Still Step, and quickened his pace.

Once the bowl was back in the dining hall, someone would wash it with the other dishes.

Nobody needed to know where he found it.

More chatter rose from the first and ground floors as he made his way down to the dining hall, debating whether to hide the bowl under his sweater or just maneuver it out of sight.

He froze one step away from the ground floor’s landing.

Grace lingered beyond the staircase’s railing.

The last time she pulled him aside, two people died.

Since there were other staircases, he retreated to the first floor.

"So? I told you, impossible."

Henry’s voice came from the left.

Milo sped down the corridor Aldous had slid on, hoping to get past the bathroom before anyone called him back.

"Milo! Come over here, would you?"

Shit! What now?

Mr. Thwaite was standing in the bathroom’s doorway, sleeves rolled above his hairy forearms.

"Good morning, sir. What do you need me for?"

"Why are you carrying a bowl?"

"Food."

"Ah. Well, come on in."

He followed the principal, the sweet scent of alcohol stinging his nostrils. Miss Rolt was not the only one with vodka.

Inside waited Mr. Cald. As the two men no longer glared at each other, perhaps they agreed to inspect the vent and be done with it.

Milo nearly smiled. He would finally have nothing to be held for.

"Why are you carrying a bowl?" Mr. Cald’s eyes narrowed.

"Food," he explained, again. "Contrary to popular belief, I eat."

"Cooks are occupied by the preparations, aren’t they?"

"Louise has been looking after him." Mr. Thwaite flapped a hand. "I doubt she sent him away hungry."

"I’m asking him. Where is your spoon? Fork?"

They stared at each other.

"It was soup, sir." Milo nodded at the empty dish. "I drank it from the bowl, simple as that. There’s a shortage of cups. Because of the guests."

The principal scratched his nose. The instructor turned to the vent’s lip and lifted binoculars from his belt.

Binoculars?

Milo took a step back as the man bent in half and switched on his flashlight. The beam travelled over the metal plates.

At least he’s not crawling through it.

The flashlight clicked off, and Mr. Cald straightened.

"I can’t see far enough from here. I’ll have to go in."

Nevermind.

"You can fit?" the principal asked.

"I should."

Milo leaned back against the stalls as the instructor jumped up and squeezed himself into the passage. He fell out once, sprang back up, and kicked the wall a few times before finding his balance and clicking the flashlight on inside.

Faint light spilled from the lip as Mr. Cald’s legs hung in the air.

What, he isn’t going to detect sweat and pin it on me, right? It’s ventilation. Air shifts.

The man continued his inspection in silence.

Mr. Thwaite faced Milo.

"While we’re here, Milo, what was that about the blueprints? You told Mr. Cald you’d read them."

"I wanted him to let go of me, sir. I thought if I sounded certain he would stop asking. I’m sorry."

"All right." Mr. Thwaite nodded, rubbing his nose yet again. "James, have you found anything?" No response. He knocked on the duct. "Hello?"

The instructor switched off the flashlight and dropped back to the floor.

"Someone smaller could get farther in," he said, eyes on the entry. "I’d like Milo to try."

"You have seen the passage. What do you expect him to find?"

"I want to see if he fits, Andrew. He knew a great deal about this passage when I asked to inspect it."

"And if he fits, what will that prove?"

"That he could have used it. He’s near everything that happens in this building."

With the two men arguing beside the opening, Milo had a moment to decide how to answer.

Enough is enough.

He pushed out a breath and straightened from the stalls.

"Mr. Cald, could you look at something before you send me in?"

The two looked at him.

" You used to be a medic, yes?"

"I did."

"You were. Somehow, my face doesn’t look bad enough for you, sir. It was just Seb’s baton, after all. You know, a relic swung with a Field trainee’s full strength at an underfed, no, malnourished Studies boy who can’t remember the last time he managed a full week of lessons. No biggie, right? Sir?"

"Seb was punished for that." The instructor’s gaze flickered from him to the ventilation. "Before he..."

"I know. He didn’t deserve to die. But this..." Milo shifted the bowl against his hip so he could lift his sweater and expose the violet bruising across his whole chest. "This didn’t stop hurting when he was punished. It hurts every time I move, and you’re asking me to crawl over metal on it."

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⋆˚࿔ Coming right up: "Burnt-Top Basque Cheesecake (Part 3: Finale)" ... ⤵︎ [!]