DelluthMeetsTear"Introduction to Poisons and their Antidotes" was an upper-level class, and met in one of the smaller lecture halls in the College of Medicine. Morning sun streamed through the windows and across the arrayed seats as about twenty students arrived in a room that could probably hold thirty-five. Prof. D. T. Corrino (according to the course catalog) was not present as the students, some locals and some Chaosians, arrived and settled themselves in their preferred groupings. You might not have noticed her at first, lost in the throng of mature students. Diminutive even for her young age, the little girl appear positively miniscule in comparison to her peers. Her rounded face peeked out from an armload of textbooks almost as big as her. She paused in the doorway for a moment, scanning the room for a place to sit. A female student briskly pushed her out of the way, nearly spilling her books on the floor. The mouse of a girl clutched her books all the tighter and scurried over to the far side of the lecture hall. She chose one of the front seats and climbed up into it. Most of the remaining students gave her a wide berth, but made certain she noticed their dissatisfaction regarding her presence; pointing fingers, laughing, and making snide remarks. The girl pretended to ignore them and removed her stylus and an odd looking journal. For Solitaire Helgram, the College of Medicine continued to be more than an academic challenge. She tried not to think about the hateful attitude her peers had for her. It wasn't her fault that most of them were in their early twenties and she had just turned fourteen. She wet her stylus and wrote, "Poisons & Antidotes" on a fresh page in her ethereal notebook. The instructor finally appeared as the University bell tolled the half-hour, two steps ahead of a last student who scurried to the nearest available seat. The professor was a tallish man, his build hard to discern under the long, black robes the faculty all wore, and had a pleasant face that he seemed to be trying to arrange into a firm expression. He swept to the a halt in front of the class and surveyed them for a moment, his gaze snagging only briefly on the diminutive student in the front row. Tear cringed under his gaze, even as brief as it was. Her violet eyes stared up at him, as she were about to be struck down by a god. She gulped audibly and glanced down when her blank pages became incredibly interesting. Much to her relief, the deity-professor decided to address the class rather than smite her. "Good morning," the instructor said at last, smiling; his voice was a little deeper and much more resonant than his appearance suggested. "I am Professor Delluth Telutci Corrino; you may call me 'Professor.' This class is Introduction to Poisons and their Antidotes; if you're in the wrong place, you still have a moment to escape." There was a slight shuffling in the room, but no one left. "Good. Now, I don't take attendance in this class. Somebody is paying for you to be here, after all. If for some reason you have to miss a class, you will of course find someone who will led you their notes, or as a last resort, speak to me about the material you've missed. I say 'of course' because in this subject, what you don't know might very well kill you some day." Serious now, he raked the room with his gaze. Apparently satisfied, he gave a brisk nod. "As you know, it's impossible to discuss a topic unless it's properly defined. We'll be starting with exactly what a 'poison' is, and then with approaches to classifying poisons." The tall blackboard at the front of the room saw a lot of use over the next two hours, as Professor Corrino launched into his subject with all the enthusiasm of a devotee; he seemed to think the problem of classifying things was as interesting as the things themselves. "And that," he finally said, glancing at a pocket watch he extracted from his robes, "will do for today. Members of the special section, please stay behind for a few moments." Tear and a half-dozen Chaosians stayed put while the rest of the students filed out, keeping their opinions of the class to themselves until they reached the corridor. Professor Corrino found a handkerchief and wiped chalk off his fingers. When the door banged shut, he gave those remaining another smile. "As you've guessed, the special section is for students of Chaosian extraction. The study of poisons is an essential part of your education, as you know, and this class will be only the beginning of it. The other students will not have lab work unless they take the next courses in the sequence, but you need to begin immediately the process of learning to identify the commoner poisons and their antidotes. By immediately I mean after we've covered some of the basic information. Your final exam will also be more 'practical' than that of the other students. If you do not have conscious control of your shapeshifting, I need to know that; you may approach me after class or at my office about that. Are there any questions?" "Yes, Professor," one of the girls raised her hand. "Why is there a half-breed in this class?" Until that point, Tear had been intensely involved in what could only be described as 'multitasking.' As she took dictation of Corrino's words by hand, another stylus appeared to be making cross-referential notations in her textbook—without being touched. This peculiar talent had manifested in a variety of ways during the lesson; as books opened, pens moved, and notes shifted into proper order all by themselves. However, at the girl's smarmy remark, the stylus dropped and rolled off the desk with a resounded clatter. Tear glanced up, biting her lip as color rose to her cheeks. "Because I like to give extra work to people who ask irrelevant questions," Professor Corrino said flatly. "You, for example, will present a three-page essay on, hmm, the key differences between organic and non-organic poisons, by next week. You will also ask your mother exactly why it is important to use insults carefully." He stared fixedly at the girl until she nodded and then said, "Yes, Professor." She almost succeeded in concealing her smoldering anger. Tear shrank in her seat and began searching for the nearest exit. She'd attracted yet another enemy; adding to the legion of rivals she'd already accumulated during her first year at college. Over time, the little girl had learned to avoid them as best she could and hide the bruises when she couldn't. This new one, however, would seek her out specifically for this insult. She sighed weakly to herself and closed her books. He released her and looked around. "Any relevant questions? No? Very well. You may go." Tear waited until the other students had filed out. If she delayed her exit long enough, she hoped her future tormentor might move on after growing impatient. She gathered up the fallen stylus and then put it away in her tote bag. In an attempt to extend her stay longer, she turned to meet Corrino with a timid smile. He was staring after the other students, frowning. "Hard to believe her mother's a diplomat," he muttered to himself. "Professor?" she said in a mouse's squeak. "My. Ummm. My shape-shifting. It's limited, sir. I can't heal myself consciously. I need magic to do so. Will that. Exclude me from the group? Professor, sir?" "Eh? Oh, no, Baroness," he said, turning to smile at her. "Not at all. I just don't want to kill anybody by accident. Even idiots who don't know who they're talking to," he added, with a hard glance toward the door. He paused, his mind visibly changing gears. "Did you say you can heal yourself with magic? You mean sorcery, yes?" Tear shifted the books in her small arms to properly maintain the literary shield between herself and the imposing professor. Being who she was, she thought the remarked had been directed toward her, rather than the bigoted girl that had just left. She shuffled her foot and stared at the doorway with yearning eyes. But his following question rooted her to the spot. "Umm. Yes. Professor, sir," she said, craning her neck to look up at him. "I've been learning since I was ten. I can cast some rudimentary spells right now. Healing is one of them. I want to be a doctor someday. It's why I'm here. I've arranged my schedule so I can study with the Master in the mornings. Your class follows right after that. And then I have Professor Bona'Dea's Life Studies in the early afternoon. So I'm fresh and can compare how to heal the body, as well as destroy the body. In short order. Sir." Her pale cheeks continue to blush. "And then I take Logrus Manipulation after her class. Because I think…" Tear bites her lip and hides her eyes. "I'm sorry, Professor. I'm bothering you." "Bothering?" Delluth's brows tried (and failed) to climb all the way up his high forehead. Still, the import of her mannerisms was not lost on him, and he deliberately softened his voice and smiled and gently as he knew how. "My dear g -- er, Baroness, any teacher who finds an enthusiastic student 'bothersome' is an idiot. And I'd be the first to tell you that I am not an idiot." Tear's smile bloomed at his words, a musical giggle filling the air. She clutched her books tighter and blushed, but the smile remained. Her violet eyes flickered like guttering candles. "Please, sir," she said. "Call me Solitaire. My mother is the Baroness. Or was. I'm too young to be a noble. Even though people tell me otherwise. I'm just me. Tear. The half-breed." She shivered noticeably, her shoulders slumping forward. "Please don't do that," he said softly. "You're reminding me of my daughter. When we had to move back to the Courts ..." He paused, schooling his expression to calmness. "Her mother was a demon. You can't tell to look at her, but ... people knew." "A demon, sir?" Tear said, a violet flash igniting in her eyes. "I've always. Wondered about them. I see them now and again. But not the really, real ones. Do you have a picture, sir? You carry a watch. So. I assume you've had access to technology. My uncle is one of the only people that can make watches and clocks work here. And I haven’t seen you there before. Sir." Despite her rambling, Tear straightened her shoulders as the Professor had requested. She had always been eager to please father-figures; Professor Corrino having now been filed under that category. His expression lightened as the girl stopped looking quite so beaten and poured out a new stream of comments and questions. "I bought this watch from Gilliam Eynhollow, if that's your uncle. Maybe you've seen me browsing covetously in his shop. Or ..." He shrugged. "I'm here at the University a lot, of course, and I do have a bit of a walk to get here from where I live, in the Artists' Quarter. As for a picture of Jerine, no, I don't have one. She's been dead for quite a while now." It was almost easy to say now, after more than a hundred years. "Yes sir," Tear nodded enthusiastically. "That's my Uncle Gloomy, sir. I must have been helping my auntie when you shopped there. I probably saw you in the streets. I walk up here every day. I make them you know. Watches. And clocks." She bit her bottom lip and cocked her head. She'd dealt with death all her life, so recognized the comfort of past grief when she heard it. It made the Professor more genuine somehow, less godlike and imposing. "I'm sorry to hear about your daughter, Professor, sir. I lost my mother when I was very young." "I've been unclear," he responded. "Jerine was my wife; my daughter, Jerusha, is alive and kicking. Often literally." His smile was wry. "You won't be meeting her. I'm too eccentric for her taste, and she's all grown up now." “Oh! I’m sorry,” Tear exclaimed and then tugged on her ear harshly. Delluth could hear her muttering, “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” to herself. After a brief, if rather extreme self-admonishment, the young girl wrapped her tiny hand back around her books. A dozen emotions passed over her features before settling on curiosity. She stared back at Delluth with a sudden sense of hope to change the subject. "Sir? Will we be studying metamorphic poisons? I know this is a rudimentary course. But I was curious. I've been researching Logrus-based mutagens, but I think a self-aware carcinogen might also be useful as a base for my current work." Taken aback by the girl's behavior, the professor takes a moment to engage with the question and produce a response. "Er, what exactly is your current work?” "Elemental grafting, sir," Tear said, straightening her books. "Most of my work has focused on the polymorphic manipulation of Elementals. Mostly Water Elementals right now. You'd be surprised how diverse their morphotypes are. Lakes. Rivers. Ocean. Rain. But all of them are associated with healing and the phlegmatic humor. And I think if you could graft an Elemental with a Terrestrial, you could receive the direct benefits of their alchemical powers. Beyond that offered by normal shape-shifting. "But to do that, you need to induce a kind of Elemental and Terrestrial polymorphism. And the only way really to do that is to create a genetic instability. Well. Even more than that really. Because of the arcane aspects of such a fusion. After all. You don't want the patient's essence being subsumed by the Elemental. They're rather precocious creatures. So, I need to find methods of breaking down the genomic structures while maintaining the individual." She smiled pleasantly, blinking her violet eyes as if she'd just said, 'I think puppies are neat.' Delluth took a deep breath, wondering how many instructors had tried to squelch the girl for talking over their heads. He could understand the temptation. "Some of the metamorphics were actually developed for use against shifters who can take non-living or energy forms. But I can't speak to how they would interact with, er, entities of local magic. And I'm afraid we don't cover those at all in regular classes. You'd have to," he heard himself say with dawning horror, "get private tutoring, and only after you'd mastered the material in the regular classes." Tear nodded lightly, considering this information and the possibilities it might offer. She glanced back up at him, violet eyes filled with childlike hope. "If I complete the material covered by the regular class, would you be willing to tutor me? I can pay. Master Mandor says I have monies from being a Baroness. I usually just spend it on food for Tanstaafl. But this is important." "Tansaafl," he repeated. "Don't you eat, too?" Then he held up a hand, shaking his head at himself. "Never mind, never mind. Yes," he said, sighing, "I'd be willing to tutor you. But you should know that after next semester I'll be on sabbatical for a while. Eight months or more." The half-hour bell rang, reminding them both that they had places to be. "Look, I'll still need to talk with you about the final exam." He smiled ruefully. "We seem to have gotten a bit sidetracked. How about this -- no, tomorrow afternoon, can you come to my office?" Tear jumped at the sound of the bell and then pouted quite prodigiously. But the frown disappeared when Delluth offered to meet with her again privately. She nodded her head. "Yes, Professor, sir. I was going to do some duck-butt watching down by the pond, but I can come to your office instead. I have about an hour or so. Then it's off to Theoretical Sorcery. But that's a lab, so I can be a little late if need be." She straightened her books again, "And it's okay if you go on Sabbatical. I think a semester should be enough." She smiled softly, not a hint of arrogance or doubt in her eyes. "I see," Delluth said, not quite faintly enough for her to notice the difference. He ushered her toward the door, saying, "Perhaps you should speak to Lord Mandor about paying my fees sooner rather than later, then." "I will," Tear said happily. She curtsied politely and as best as her stack load of books would allow. "It was a pleasure Professor Corrino, sir. I look forward to our private sessions. And the main class too. Thank you so much." She positively skipped out of the classroom; a complete transformation from the sullen mouse that had scurried in that morning. She paused at the door, "See you tomorrow!" And then she was gone. When they had parted ways, the professor's shoulder slumped slightly, and he wandered toward his laboratory with an even more absent-minded expression than usual. He was sure he had met people just as frighteningly intelligent before. Dworkin, for example. Except he'd never actually met Dworkin. ~This is going to be interesting,~ he thought, and smiled crookedly. ~Yes, an adventure right here on my own doorstep.~ Maybe he'd put off that sabbatical for a while. The next afternoon, Tear entered the College of Medicine's office building. The Pharmacology Department had its own wing, according to the elderly man occupying a desk near the entrance. Unlike the classroom buildings, these halls were carpeted with a dull green stuff that muffled Tear's footsteps. In the main hallways, professors, some students, and unclassifiable adults eyed her curiously or ignored her. There were fewer of all of them as she approached her destination. The mousy Baroness slipped through the thinning crowd as if traversing the currents of a river. She smiled and nodded where such manners were appropriate, maintained a cool indifference when they were not. Most probably thought she was a professor's daughter, rather than be an actual student. She no longer tried to correct them this common assumption, having realized the Sisyphean challenge that represented. Having only her grimoire to carry, she could move with far more deftness and speed than normal, allowing her to reach her destination in short order. Professor Corrino's office was the fifth door on the left of the Pharmacology wing. In the hallway between the fourth and fifth doors, a large, elegant-looking dog lay on the floor. It raised its head to look at her as she approached, and its tail thumped against the floor once or twice. Upon entering, Tear smiled brightly at the animal. She marveled at its unapologetic regality and dared to take a step closer to it. Cautiously, she extended her hand so it might get a good sniff of her. Tanstaafl had told her 'a sniff is as good as a handshake,' and she assented to his wisdom when it came to canine etiquette. At the same time, she realized Professor Corrino's door (labeled with his name on a brass plate) was ajar, and she could hear an almost familiar girl's voice. Then the professor spoke, in the flat, cool tone she had heard him use once before: "I accept your apology, Miss Rubiyan. I trust you have learned an important lesson from this episode." "Yes, sir," the girl said, very subdued. "Then you may go." And then, "Of course, I still expect your essay next week." "Yes, sir," came the desperate reply. The girl who had made that obnoxious remark about half-breeds the day before emerged from the office, stopped dead when she saw Tear, and fled in the opposite direction. Tear clutched her grimoire tight against her chest, staring up at Miss Rubiyan. Before she could open her mouth, the student had fled; leaving the young girl more confused than ever. In her few years in public, she'd witnessed that expression more than a few times; a turbulent mixture of fear and disgust. The Master had always ignored her questions regarding this common reaction, but she could not dismiss the feelings as easily. Part of her wanted to call out after the girl and apologize for whatever retribution she'd brought upon herself for the offhanded comment. But the moment had passed, the opportunity lost. She turned away and walked over to the office door. "Professor-Corrino-Sir?" she said as a singular word. "Ah, Baroness," he said, looking up from the still-sealed letter he held. "I see you've met Zhenechka." The dog had, in fact, gotten up and moved to the doorway with her; part of her mind was startled to realize its head was nearly level with her shoulder. But the professor was going on, with a trace of a frown: "You seem upset." "Sir?" Tear said, biting the inside of her cheek. Her violet eyes flickered with worry. And then she started, as if someone had pinched or scared her. "OH! No, no. I was just. Worried for the girl, sir." Her cheeks colored with embarrassment. "I didn't mean to. But I heard you. Through the door, sir. And she seemed rather. Upset. I. I. Hope she's okay." She glanced back to where the other student had fled and sighed. There would be no helping it for now, so she returned her attention to more important matters; namely the dog. "Zhenechka," she said, reaching out to pet him gently. "Noble One. Roughly, anyway. And he certainly is. Pravil'nyj, Zhenechka?" Bemused, Delluth waved her forward. "Come in, close the door, have a seat, please. Zhenechka, you want to stay and be flattered, don't you?" Indeed, the dog moved its tail out of the way, so the door could close, and when she sat down, deliberately placed its head on her lap and stared up at her with wide brown eyes. Tear did as she was told; dutifully closing the door and climbing into the offered chair. She giggled at Zhenechka's blatant vie for attention and began to pet his head. As she did so, she began to study him as well. She'd never seen this breed of dog before and found it delightfully curious. Delluth watched her settle in, reminding himself that solving this puzzle was going to take some care. "Forgive me, Baroness, but I had thought you were at least as insulted by Miss Rubiyan's remark yesterday as I was. Why is it that you are now worried about her well-being?" Tear nodded shyly. "I was. I mean. It did hurt me. Yes. I know the context it was said in. And it wasn't nice, true. But, I guess. I'm just used to it now. I think an extra report would be punishment enough. Yet when she came out. She seemed. Almost scared of me. And…" She bit her lip, focusing her eyes on Zhenechka's narrow head. "I'm afraid of a reprisal too. The older students have a long memory. And enjoy tormenting me, if given a reason. Or even when they're not. That's all." "Astonishing," Delluth murmured. Zhenechka sighed happily and closed his eyes. "You see," the professor went on, deliberately keeping his voice calm, almost soothing, "I make a point of knowing a bit about my students. And I've asked a few more questions since yesterday. As I understand it, your 'Tanstaafl' seems like he might be a sorcerer’s familiar. You've essayed the Logrus - at your age! - and presumably have learned something of its use. You're a Baroness, and not of just any House, but one of the Great Houses, and not of just any of the Great Houses, but Helgram. And you are the student of Mandor Sawall, Prime Minister of Amber, and the man who pulled off the biggest power play the Courts have seen in the last hundred seventy-five years -maybe even longer. "And you let people bully you." Tear didn't look up at Delluth. She didn't dare; lest he see the shame and sorrow darkening her narrow features. Instead, she smiled at Zhenechka and continued to run her fingers through his lovely fur. "Ten," she said in a half whisper, hardly more than breathe. "I was ten when I essayed the Logrus, Professor-sir. But I can only summon it right now. I still don't know how to Shadow travel." She braved meeting his gaze and shrugged her thin shoulders. "I just. I needed to figure it out. I don't understand why people make such. A fuss." She rubbed the dog's ear between her fingertips, soothing the never centers there. "And Tan isn't a familiar yet. We haven't bonded just yet. But I summoned him during my Dark Sleep." And then she caught on to the gist of Delluth's words. "What do you mean, I 'let' them bully me? What does any of that have to do with why they hate me? Sir?" "Oh, I doubt they know it. Or not all of it; or they haven't thought it through - if you can call what goes through their heads 'thinking.'" He sounded almost amused now, in a dry sort of way. "No, the reason they bully you - and I'm sorry, but I doubt their feelings are strong enough to be called 'hate' - is because they think it's safe to. I daresay Miss Rubiyan's mother has disabused her of that notion." He studied the incomprehension in her face and sighed. "Baroness, do you understand why I took offense at Miss Rubiyan's remark? Or why it's offensive at all?" Tear glanced up and quirked the corner of her mouth at his question. She tugged on her ear again, considering this in depth. "Well, because of your daughter, I suspect. From the way people treat demons. They consider them inferior. Just as the consider Amberites inferior. So. I guess by calling me a half-breed. She stirred some of the pain your daughter must have suffered as well. Basically, she's saying we're lesser people because of our mixed blood. Sir." Tear sighs, "I just don't understand why they think it is so terrible. Being of both races. We all have our advantages. And disadvantages. Chaosians and AMberites don't. Like those who are Balanced." Delluth took a moment to parse her last two statements into the one sentence they should have been. "It's because the Universe has a sense of humor," he said then, half-smiling. "Or at least a sense of irony. Consider: the children of Chaos, devotees of the Serpent that is also the Logrus, are convinced that the 'human' form is the pinnacle of perfection, and seek to have their lines conform to it, disdaining all who do not. And consider the children of Order, devotees of the Unicorn, whose capital city contains such bastions of chaos as the Artists' Quarter and Reek Bottom. It is a conundrum, and, it seems, too much for most people to bear thinking about. Instead they take refuge in hating each other." As he warmed to his subject, illustrating his points with his hands, his voice seemed to expand to fill the office; Zhenechka lifted his head to look at him. Tear listened intently, her violet eyes burning with wonderment at his voice. She appeared to thrive on the sound of his voice and consumed each syllable with a deep hunger. A shy smile warmed her features as she watched his hands move; a habit she shared. "But it makes no sense," she said. "History shows us that the Amberites are descended from Chaos. Although they embraced the Pattern and the Order that it provides. They still have the blood of Chaos in their veins. Shouldn't then people of both bloodlines. But considered more favorably, sir? They are. The bridge between two eras. Two forgotten ancestries." "Well," he said, his voice quieting. "The problem is, not everyone has the same idea of what 'sensible' is. On the practical side of things, as opposed to the philosophic, what Dworkin did was create a wholly new power base, separate from the Logrus, and one that the Serpent's followers did not control. Some of the people from that era are still alive; some of them wield considerable power in the Courts. Their influence animates a great deal of Chaosian policy. And their idea of 'sensible' leads them directly to conflict with Amber. Relations between the sides are colored by that conflict. Which is not to mention the effect of the recent war, which was hardly calculated to inspire affection in the Amberites." Tear reached over and resumed scratching Zhenechka's ears. "Is that why they don't like me then, sir? Because my blood is both. It reminds them of the differences they all share. Rather than the connection. The war ended almost a century ago. And we're living in relative peace, aren't we?" She glanced away for a moment; a dark cloud passing over her face. This 'relative peace' had stolen her parents from her, after all. That tragedy gnawed at her emotions, infecting her heart with doubts. "I want to believe. That we can. Find common ground," she said without looking up. "But how can we? When the division between Conquerors and the Conquered remains?" He sighed. "Seeing the problem is not the same as solving it," he said. "It isn't even ... wise to talk about these things openly. And my own influence is quite limited. Partly because I prefer to spend my time with low and base persons." He shrugged. "Not that anyone would dare say so to my face - which does bring us back to your problem. "First, I do doubt that many of your classmates have any high-minded ideas in their heads about Order versus Chaos and all the rest. In my experience, Chaosians and Amberites and people all across Shadow tend, without thinking about it at all, to, hmm ..." He paused, staring at the ceiling as he tried to select the clearest words. "Define the groups they belong to by abusing those they exclude from their groups. Miss Rubiyan, for example, simply suffers from such an primitive state of consciousness that she feels a need to define her 'inclusion' by abusing 'excluded' persons such as yourself." Tear bobbed her head. "I feel sorry for her," she said softly. "I mean it hurts. What they say. But I don't think they understand the world. And while that frustrates me. I guess it's also sad for them. To hate like that. It must make them so lonely inside. She seemed so hurt when she came out of your office. I guess being made to see that emptiness inside is frightening. And shaming. "I wanted to be like my mother. A diplomat. To help people understand one another. But I'm not a good speaker. The Logrus, I understand. Spell formulas, I understand. But not people." She rubbed her hands through Zhenechka's fur and let out a deep sigh. "I prefer the Logrus to people. It makes more sense. Maybe that's a little selfish of me? Or cowardly?" "I would say, dangerous. Not right at this moment, I would hope, but in the future." He drummed his fingers on the edge of his desk, while Zhenechka leaned against Tear's knees, and worked at speaking gently. "Hoping the world will give up and leave you alone is not an intelligent strategy. Neither is always trying to think the best of people." Tear began to tug on her ear again, worrying her lip mercilessly. He could hear the soft mutter of ‘stupid’ hissing over her teeth. The dog’s presence, however, appeared to calm her and the moment passed in short order. She gazed up at her with curious eyes. “So. I should be like my true self. Balanced, I mean. Don’t always trust people. And don’t always try to hide either. But something in-between? It’s just hard, Professor-sir. I like people. I want them to like me. But I don’t know how. And as for bullies…” She pauses. Her violet eyes flicker with an unnatural luminescence. “Sometimes I want to hurt them, Professor-sir. Like this thing inside me wants to come out. But I know if I let it. Things would be very bad.” "Mmm," he said, apparently undisturbed. "I would be very surprised if you didn't feel that way sometimes, Baroness. No one is perfectly virtuous. Strategically speaking," he went on in a more businesslike fashion, "your position is not good. Extracting yourself from it is not going to be easy. But let me offer an example of a good position, by way of contrast. I," he said, smiling wryly, "have just extracted a verbal and a written apology from two Rubiyans, simply by punishing the younger one with schoolwork and telling her to speak to her mother. Her mother, whom I know slightly, knows that I have a history of taking exception to slights against persons with, let's say, 'imperfections in their ancestry,' because of my daughter, of course. She also knows that I have the backing of House Corrino, as long as I don't go too far in expressing my displeasure. The most public cases of my taking exception, as far as I know, involve one young gentleman subjected to vomiting for six hours, and a young lady who broke out in large purple spots for, in Amber terms, about two days. These seem like petty things, I know, but they served to illustrate the fact that I have the knowledge and resources to kill people, should I choose to do so." Tear blinked, her eyes suddenly growing impossibly wide. Up until this point, she’d captured some of what her instructor had been saying. She’d never understood this politics-thing or the Chaosian obsession with it. But to purposefully harm people—possibly kill them—with this knowledge. It made no logical sense. “Kuh…kill people, professor-sir?” she stuttered. “But. You wouldn’t choose to do that. Right?” "For personal reasons? No. Not unless they are trying to kill *me*, anyway. Which has happened," he said almost off-handedly. "But I've never been insulted badly enough to demand fatal satisfaction. You see, I've established a strong enough position that I can expect that no one will do that. It's a strategy. By making it clear that I *could* do worse, I make it less likely that I will ever have to." Tear tugged her ear again and considered this at length. For as long as she could recall, strategies and their ilk fascinated her. She played Gateway as a child and still did with Master Mandor. As grisly as the concept of murdering for an insult happened to be, there remained a logical and understandable truth to it. She peeled back the layers to see what lurked beneath and expose it in the light of Reason. "It's a warning to others," she finally said. "Not the offender, themselves. Although they are cautioned as a result, nonetheless. It's a statement that you can and will respond ruthlessly, if you are harmed. But because the severity of your response is greater. The next person will be more hesitant to act against you. Am I right, Professor-sir?" "Exactly," he said, a little surprised despite his experience with her so far. "Of course, if one makes a mistake the result can be an escalation and loss of face, or worse. If I didn't know the Rubiyans, I might have done something else. Or if I had erred in predicting their response, there might have been a further problem. 'Know your enemy' is an aphorism for a reason. "There's also the status of one's House involved," he added. "To a degree, one's honor is an extension of one's House's honor; defending oneself is also defending one's House, which is why my House will usually back me as long as I don't miscalculate too badly, and I have a definite advantage there since Corrino is the Imperial House. Rubiyan is a minor House. An insult from a Helgram, for example, would be a very different problem to deal with." He smiled to take any possible sting out of the mention of her House. "My House is a powerful one, isn't it?" Tear said innocently. "My mother hinted at it in her journals. But no one has really. Told me much about it. Except what I read. I know I'm a Baroness. But not of what. I didn't realize that not responding this way harms my House's honor. Maybe I should. Start acting more appropriately." She buried her face in Zhenechka's fur with a heavy sigh. Apparently, the prospect did not appeal to her young and naive sensibilities. After drawing comfort from the dog's warmth, she sat back in her chair. The hollowness in her voice spoke volumes, violet eyes glimmering with the betrayal of youth. "Did you teach your daughter this too?" Delluth was watching her with sympathy. "Some of it. The rest she picked up on her own, just from living in the Courts. She was ... tougher than I made her sound yesterday. I think I'm the only person who ever knew how unhappy she was sometimes. "But it isn't all grim watchfulness, you know. People are friends, colleagues, friendly rivals, and the rest, without worrying about politics and status, a great deal of the time, even across House lines. Still ..." He shrugged, looking wry. "If it suited me perfectly, I wouldn't be here at the other end of the Universe, would I?" Tear giggled. "No. I guess you wouldn't be." She took a deep breath and took some solace in his words. "I think I would like to meet your daughter. She sounds like she could. Help me adjust." "Maybe one day," he murmured. She petted Zhenechka's head as she continued to talk. "I try to hide behind my studies. I know that. Master Mandor is always pushing for me to learn politics. And I do read about them. Mother being a diplomat and all. But…" Tear glanced away at the door. "I just don't understand people. I don't think I ever will." She returned her gaze to him. "Is this. The tutoring you wished to give me? Not just the poisons?" "Conversations tend to get away from me," he said, "but I did have something of the sort in mind. I like to know who I'm going to be teaching dangerous and deadly things to. The other students in the class - they'll just learn the basics, and that only because every sensible Chaosian needs to know them. You, on the other hand ..." Tear smiled softly and nodded. "Well. I'll do whatever you wish, Professor-sir. I can tell you have a wonderful mind. And an open one, at that. Not like some of the other professors. They get very angry when I talk. Well, my Logrus instructors do anyway." She shrugged her shoulders, as if this explains everything. "And thank you," she said sincerely. "You haven't berated me yet. I know I'm not that smart when it comes to political things. But you've been very patient." "I've never seen shouting as conducive to learning. Now, I'm curious about what you've been saying to your Logrus instructors, but," he glanced at his watch, "we don't have all day. I also wanted to explain that the special section's final exam involves a mild test of the students' ability to resist certain poisons - unless they're not conscious shapeshifters. A non-shifter will *usually* be able to respond perfectly well, but the University, and I, aren't going to take responsibility for any accidents. So your test will only involve identification and neutralization. The tests will be individual, so no one needs to know that you can't shift. You probably shouldn't admit that to your classmates," he said seriously. "Yet another thing that leads to social stigma among Chaosians is not being able to shift at will." "Well," Tear bit her lip and shifted nervously in her chair. Her unease radiated from her body like waves of radiant heat. "I can shift some, Professor-sir. But not. Like I need to I suppose. It's sort of scary. But more comfortable when you really deal with the Logrus. But I'll stay quiet, sir. Thank you. For everything." She pet the dogs head a final time. "I'll give you some of my notes that. The other professors argue about. If you want." "Wait, wait," the professor said. "You're welcome, but back up a moment. Now I'm not sure you understood what I was asking." Then he moderated his tone, afraid she'd start cringing or pulling on her ear again. "I keep forgetting you weren't raised in the Courts, Baroness. Listen, the most basic level of shapeshifting skill is that of shifting between two or three basic forms. That requires a conscious decision, but not much skill. There is a level below that which is unconscious, simply the body's response to some crisis. So if you *can* shift 'a little,' you must have at least one alternate form, is that right? But you don't sound very confident about it." Tear nodded glumly. She glanced around for a moment, to see if anyone happened to be listening in on them. Then she leaned forward, embarrassed. "I become. A raven. Professor-sir. With feathers and claws and icky stuff." "And about the same size as your default form?" he asked, bemused by her attitude about it. Tear blinked at him dumbly and then opened her mouth as realization dawned upon her. "Oh. You mean the really-real me," she said. She rubbed her shoulders and grimaced. With a wrinkled nose, she grumped. "No. I get bigger. Lighter. Cause I can fly. But taller. It stinks that I have to become so gross to finally be tall." "Conservation of mass," he murmured, then continued, "I can see we have a great deal more to talk about. But to start with, if you're this ... uneasy about shapeshifting, I can't in good conscience subject you to the standard tests. So we're back where we started." Tear sighed deeply and resumed a bout of ear-tugging. He'd caught her between two opposing forces within her psyche: the fear of shapeshifting and the fear of failing at a given task. In the end, the perfectionist won out; at least for the time being. She gulped audibly, staring up at him with those innocent, violet eyes of hers. "I'll. Try. If. You'll teach me. Sir. I don't want to. Let you down. If I can take a test. I should take it no matter what." "It's not that urgent," he said, hiding the dark thoughts now percolating at the back of his mind about shifters being raised among non-shifters. "It seems to me that you have more than enough on your plate just now, Baroness. Such as another class you have to get to. I think we both have busy schedules, but perhaps we can find a larger block of time to meet in?" Tear smiled, unsure. She reached out and resumed petting her new friend. "Yes. I should get to my next class," she said, thankful to be out of this particular conversation. "But. I could come after school. Or. Maybe you could come to my home? I live alone now. Sort of. I have Tanstaafl to watch out for me. And Uncle Gloomy lives nearby. But we agreed I was mature enough to live on my own. And it's less hassle for my uncle. I could cook for you. And you could bring Zhenechka." "I ... could do that," he said slowly, then grinned. "We certainly can't talk about poisons in a restaurant, and I only cook when the other choice is starvation." Tear smiled brightly, overjoyed by his acceptance. She hugged Zhenechka excitedly, "Oh, you'll love my garden, Zhenechka. You can lie in the grass and look majestic. And Professor Delluth and I can talk on the patio and have dinner." She gazed up at Delluth with wide, adoring eyes. "I talked to Master Mandor. He'll pay you for your services. Just send him the invoices. And do you like spicy food? Or plain food. What wine do you drink? I can't drink wine yet. But I can get some. Well, Auntie E'lbram can get it. Or some Port! I hear professors like that stuff." His lips quirked. "I can live without wine for an evening, I'm sure. I've heard there's some very nice sparkling cider around that's actually native to the area of the city." Tear clapped her hands excitedly, wriggling her feet as ideas for menus and place-settings ran through her head. "Yep. And my Auntie has some great ones from Rebma. And the Valley. Oh this will be so fun." She hopped down, "I'll see you tonight then?" He blinked. "Tonight? Ah ... yes, tonight would be fine." Tear grinned brightly and hugged her book. “Tonight it is.” And with that, she skipped out of the room; hardly touching the floor as she went. |
