Serial Saturday: "Fairies Under Glass" Part 19

Part 19

"The Dean's Office"

Lewis groaned and rolled onto his side. Why was his bed suddenly so uncomfortable? He opened his eyes, rubbing away what little sleep he'd gotten. Somehow he was laying on top of his bedding, fully clothed, and his shoulders ached terribly, like he'd pulled a muscle or two.

He reached up to his shoulders and felt the small tears in the fabric. The pain that lanced through him at the mere touch of his fingertips brought everything in the last twelve hours rushing back in painful clarity. The museum!

Lewis rocketed awake and sat upright, glancing down at his hands. The Chain rested against one palm, and there was the Gyth shining up at him from the blanket down at his feet. On instinct, he went to set the two pieces of the Phantasmagyth beside each other, but the memory of the chaos the restored Phantasmagyth wrought prompted him to keep them as far apart as possible. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, noticing that he was still wearing his warehouse jumpsuit, and there were definitely tears in the shoulder. He quickly slipped that outer layer off, noting the further damage to his own clothes underneath.

A small hum of chatter had begun in his closet, and when Lewis opened the door, a whole throng of tiny bodies tumbled out, sparkling as they zipped through the air, and crawling along the ground. Every inch of space was now filled with strangely-shaped gourds, and it smelled strongly of bubblegum.
Lewis snatched a shirt and shoved it over his face, pinching his nose shut as he staggered backwards. "What the heck are those things?" he spluttered.

The elves around his feet were giggling and running through the carpet fibers. A passing fairy paused to answer his question.

"They're special houses we make for ourselves in a safe, dark place. Our word for them is misti."

"Yeah, well now my closet smells like an air freshener factory!" Lewis complained, throwing the shirt over his head and storming to the bathroom to brush his teeth and hair.

Queen Evalia sat on the tile countertop, attended by a gaggle of fairies. "Ah, good morning, Lewis!" she called up to him. "I hope you slept well after yesterday's ordeal."

Lewis groaned as the smell of the misti wafted up from his own shirt. He wrinkled his nose. "Okay, but did your fairykind have to build those funny-smelling gourds in my closet, with all my clothes in there? I don't want to walk around smelling like a girl!"

Evalia tilted her head, then nodded. "Ah, you must be referring to the misti. I'm sorry, the smell is actually quite pleasant when we can spread them out over a larger area--and it is strongest when the misti are fresh. It should wear off in a few days or so."

Lewis returned to the room to fold up his ruined cover-alls and grab his backpack for the day's classes. "Here's hoping, anyway," he muttered. "I'm going to see what the damage is over yesterday's catastrophe. I think all of you should stay out of sight till I can figure out if Krasimir Schlimme is on the lookout for you or not."

He returned to the bed and put the Chain safely in the small pocket at the top of his backpack. The gyth, he wrapped in his ripped shirt and stuffed in a shoebox, which he placed on the shelf lining the top of the closet. He'd have to figure out someplace more secure for what looked like a diamond the size of his fist, but that would have to do for now.

Out in the hallway of his dorm, Lewis glanced at everyone who passed him, his ears picking up on snatches of conversations, listening to what people might be talking about. There were plenty of people mentioning "the museum", and "what the heck happened yesterday", but other than a large poster declaring that Moulton House was "CLOSED FOR REPAIRS", he didn't see much.

Out on the streets of the Browning Academy campus, it was a different story. Warehouse 31 trucks rumbled up and down, along with dumpster trucks for hauling construction debris. Lewis saw a team of Warehouse 31 workers heading toward the museum and walking past him, but when he tried to wave, one of them stopped and pointed.

"You!" she snapped. "You're that kid who did the ride-along yesterday, when the whole building went berserk!"

Lewis felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, but it did seem like everyone who caught her comment was infinitely more intent on ignoring them and keeping out of it, than expressing any interest.
"Um, yeah," he stammered. "I was just going to trade in my jumpsuit--"

"Don't," she said, yanking the bundle out of his hands. "Stanley's pretty steamed; word is he's already been to the Dean and complained. You're off the roster, kid. They've never had a student ride-along go so badly. Guess you have to find a posting somewhere else." She shrugged and kept walking, taking his ruined jumpsuit with her.

Lewis stood on the sidewalk, feeling so much like a rowboat set adrift in choppy water. What was he going to do about a job, now that working at the warehouse wasn't an option? The semester had already started, but surely there were openings somewhere! He shrugged and headed to the educational facilities. If he didn't have work duties to report for, the least he could do was attend his classes for the day.

In the Algebra classroom, many students held quiet conversations, spinning theories as to what might have caused the uproar on the day before. Some chalked it up to a prank, others said that the building was old and it just collapsed all of a sudden, while others seemed to think it was sabotage somehow.

"Whatever it was," said one knowledgeable young man with sharp features and sleek, dark hair, "The museum's just going to stay closed for the rest of the year. I hear a bunch of really expensive artwork got damaged by the rumpus."

Lewis could feel his heart thumping, and he wanted more than ever to just melt into a puddle and fade away. How much longer could he hold out until someone figured out he was to blame?

After class, Lewis found Melanie waiting for him in the quadrangle just outside the building. Keats was being his usual adorable self, yapping and rolling onto his back for belly-pats.

Melanie chuckled. "Glad to see he still wants to be friends with you," she remarked. "Come with me. The Dean asked me to bring you to his office for a chat."

Lewis felt the blood drain from his cheeks. The Dean! Stanley had complained about him specifically, hadn't he? Of all the people on campus to know that Lewis Grant had caused the wanton destruction of priceless displays, the Dean would definitely know it was him--and then what? Would Lewis be expelled from Browning Academy? Would he tell Lewis' parents? Evading Krasimir Schlimme was one thing, but trying to hide the truth from his own parents? Lewis didn't think he could, if they asked him at this point.

He felt nothing but trepidation and fear all the long way to the Administrative Block at the far end of campus. Here, there were few students walking about, if any. Mostly faculty tended to have any business at all being in this region of campus, as there weren't any shops or classrooms here, just private offices.

The Dean's office was at the end of one of these buildings, with a plaque bearing his name bolted to the wall just beside the door: "William J. Rushford, Dean of Students." Lewis had only met Mr. Rushford once, at Orientation Night the year before, when he'd first arrived at Browning Academy. He remembered being intimidated by the man, almost terrified of him, but whether that was because Dean Rushford was a terrifying person, or the whole Academy experience had just been dreadfully new to the young man, he couldn't recall. But he was duly terrified now, all things considered.

Melanie led Lewis into the building, and pointed to a few chairs placed alongside the wall while she approached the secretary's desk.

"Lewis Grant is here to see Dean Rushford," she said.

The secretary nodded. "I'll let the Dean know he's here," she answered.

Melanie gave Lewis a small wave as she left. The secretary stepped softly over to the imposing door along the far wall, tapped on it, and poked her head in briefly to say something Lewis couldn't hear. After a moment, she left the door and nodded to the petrified young man. "He's ready for you," she said. "Go ahead."

Lewis took a deep breath to steady his nerves as he crossed the room and entered the door.

Dean Rushford sat at his massive oak desk, but he left his chair to meet Lewis at the front of the room with a ready smile and a firm handshake. He had brown hair streaked with silver and receding a bit from his face, but his straight teeth and clear blue eyes bespoke welcome, not disappointment.
"Lewis Grant," he said warmly, gesturing to one of the chairs placed in front of his desk. "Please take a seat. Good to see you."

Lewis swallowed the lump forming in his throat as he dropped into the seat. He couldn't keep his hands from fidgeting as the Dean returned to the tall leather armchair behind the desk. He shuffled a few papers from a file in front of him. Lewis had a pretty clear idea what those papers might contain.

"Okay, so you're a second-year student here at Browning Academy, it looks like," Rushford murmured. "Grades are looking good, class attendance fulfills expectations..." He set the paper down and clasped his hands in front of him, looking right at Lewis. "It seems that your job security is the part that you've been having trouble with. Why don't you fill me in on why that seems to be the case?"

Lewis opened his mouth, but any words he might want to say seemed to scramble on contact with his brain. "My jobs..." he stammered, but he couldn't finish the sentence. What could he say? I was just fine working in the janitor position until I found out that the artist whose exhibits I cleaned was a sadistic maniac who got away with trapping and displaying creatures from another dimension simply because they weren't human. "Well, uh, it's been... tricky, you know, sir..."

Dean Rushford nodded. "The second year is always the hardest--just when you get the hang of classes, school policy throws you another curve by adding in a work shift you have to keep track of, a job you might not have any experience in, and I know it can be tough." His eyes dropped to the papers on his desk. "Now, from what I can see here, Daniel Gilroy had no issues with your work ethic. He confirmed that you always showed up on time, and wanted to do the best you could with whatever assignment he gave you."

Just hearing the adult saying good things about him was enough to quiet Lewis' nerves.

The Dean continued. "The trouble, it seems, centers around the guest artist we allowed to open an exhibit at Moulton House. I received a letter from Mr. Krasimir Schlimme this morning, telling me that he'd found your skillset sub-par, he has accused you of stealing his artwork, of intentionally defacing some of his displays, and he seems to think that yesterday's debacle had something to do with you." He furrowed his brow in confusion. "Is there anything you'd care to explain to me? Who am I to believe? Mr. Gilroy, who says you're an admirable student and a trustworthy employee, or Mr. Schlimme, who seems to think you are a thief and a troublemaker? Don't worry; nothing you say here will be communicated in any way to Mr. Schlimme, or even Gilroy, for that matter. You can speak freely and in confidence, Lewis."

Actually I can't, Lewis thought to himself miserably. Not one syllable of his true motives could ever be shared, or else the fate of these creatures would be sealed! "Well, sir... I--" Lewis swallowed hard and tried to come up with the right words to say how earnest he was. "I would say that every time I entered Moulton House and put on the uniform, I made it my goal to do my best work, every time."

"And did you, at any point, end up bumping or breaking a display or two, no matter how slight or even accidental?"

Lewis slumped his shoulders. "There were a few times," he began slowly. "Once, when a group of children came into the space during a birthday celebration, they broke a lot of displays and caused a lot of mess. Maybe he was referring to that. There was one other time when I was cleaning and Mr. Schlimme came up behind me and I accidentally knocked a display off the wall... but he was there, and he said not to worry about it."

Dean Rushford leaned back in his chair and tapped his chin. "And at any point, to the best of your knowledge, did you ever see any displays go missing?"

Lewis gulped. How much did Schlimme really know about his attempts to rescue that first group of fairykind? "Well, um," he stammered, "The exhibit hall changed many times, and displays would be in new configurations, or whole new sets of exhibits replacing old ones, but I always assumed it was those Warehouse 31 techs that were responsible for taking the old things down and putting the new ones up. I never did anything like that, as the janitor."

A glint flickered in Dean Rushford's eye. "Except the day Mr. Schlimme was preparing to add the giant sculpture, correct? He enlisted your assistance in transporting the displaced art--"

"To storage, yes," Lewis supplied quickly. It occurred to him that in all of this he never really considered the cameras, the way they were watching him even if Krasimir or Adolf wasn't in the room. "But I never took the pieces out of the museum itself." Because they weren't pieces, they were fairies! His thoughts justified.

Dean Rushford nodded. "Yes, that does seem to coincide with what we saw on the security camera footage. Thank you for your honesty, Lewis." He clasped his hands on the desk in front of him. "Unfortunately, that brings us to Warehouse 31, and Stanley Finch's complaints. He said that you asked a lot of strange questions at the beginning, but that he never expected any issues--until the ride-along where everything went wrong. Stanley insists that he's never had a ride-along that resulted in such a fiasco, yet from everything you've told me, I can't help thinking that he's exaggerating when he tries to pin the blame on you. Again, I've reviewed the camera footage and it seems you weren't even in Exhibit Hall G when the displays collapsed. The foreman sent you to Hall B, didn't he?"

Lewis felt his spirits lift. Really, not even the cameras had noticed his little detour with the Gyth! "He did," he nodded. "I was in there when I heard all the screaming and crashing and shouting." He wagged his head. "Was anyone able to figure out what happened?"

Rushford grinned. "The safety responders found evidence that some pipes running through the ceiling and the outer walls had burst, leaking water and particulate-laden air into the building and causing irreparable damage. It was nobody's fault, really. I just wanted to see what you had to say about it." The Dean nodded slowly as he allowed the news to sink in. "Anyway, that leaves you without a job to fulfill the student-work requirement for your grades, and I'm sorry to inform you, Lewis, that there aren't currently any job openings here on campus. It's after the start of the semester, as you know, so all openings have been filled, with the exception of the warehouse tech position you are of course vacating at this point."

Lewis stiffened. His lack of employment would affect his grades? "What am I going to do, then?"

A smile flickered around the Dean's mouth. "I said there were no openings on campus, but you're in luck! There's a carnival setting up nearby, one that Browning has worked with before, and the manager has said he's willing to employ Academy students while they're here. It's more of an evening shift, you'll need to take the bus to and from campus every time, and you might have to work a few extra days to make up the hours, but the school is willing to sponsor your bus ticket and waive any missing hours, so long as you can keep the job for the duration of the carnival." He stared at Lewis with his piercing gaze. "Can you manage that? No getting into trouble this time?"

Lewis nodded. Anything to keep his grades up! "I'll do my best to stay out of trouble, sir!"

Dean Rushford grinned and reached out to shake his hand. "Wonderful! The manager's name is Mr. Thaddeus Storm. You'll report to the carnival grounds on Friday, right after your classes for the day."
Lewis stood and nodded as he shook the Dean's hand. "Yes, sir. Thank you!"

He exited the office in a much better mood than he'd been several minutes ago. Sure, it didn't sound like much of an arrangement, and leaving campus every day probably meant Lewis had a lot of late nights in his future--but his grades wouldn't suffer, and at least he'd have something to keep him busy while he figured out what to do next to help his Phantasmian friends.

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