Chapter 13

Minerva’s eyes cracked open as she sprawled in bed. For a moment, she couldn’t remember why she was here, or how she had gotten wherever she was. Instead, she floated in a comforting pillow of unreality and confusion. The bed was comfortable, the lights were warm and dim and distant, and she could just enjoy the feeling of profound dislocation. When she blinked again, it felt as if everything around her had shifted. A beautiful redheaded woman stood beside her bed, and was holding up a small bag full of a sloshing liquid that Minerva wanted to recognize ... but couldn’t. The woman turned to glance down at her, and murmured a soft word that Minerva wanted to understand ... but couldn’t.

“Hey,” Minerva said, seductively.

Her lips were numb. It came out slurred. “Eyyh.”

“Sleep, Miss Schross-Sableknight,” the woman said, quietly. Her palm brushed along her head. “You took a nasty hit in a duel and are recovering.”

Minerva felt somewhat annoyed. She was in a magical school, with magical spells. “Mahh?”

The nurse seemed to intuit her angry questioning mumble. “Magic? We fixed you up so you won’t die. It’s more calorically efficient to heal the old fashioned way. If we were in a hurry ... well, we aren’t. Now, shush. Back to sleep. Back to sleep.” Her palm brushed along Minerva’s head again.

Minerva found this all quite obnoxious.

When she woke again, she ached in her belly and felt more focused. Her lips weren’t numb any more and she was able to sit up. The light of the warm afternoon sun was shining through the windows of the infirmary, but the other beds were empty. Beside her table, she saw a wreath of flowers, and a collection of letters and notes, one of them in bright Sildanus colors - the clashing orange and blue rectangles making her wince slightly. She saw that the bag that had been near her bed was gone - had it been a blood donation? She supposed if they were going for caloric efficiency, that’d mean getting a bottle of Type-1 blood and draining it into her.

She laid back into the bed with a grunt, her eyes closing.

“I got the bitch,” she muttered.

Distantly, she heard a voice.

“I’m afraid that she is most likely still unconscious.” It was the nurse.

“Well, I’d still be interested in seeing such a brave warrior.”

Ugh.

Minerva opened her eyes and scowled. She recognized that voice, even if she had only heard it once before.

Vane Villamont entered into the infirmary then, followed by the nurse and the headmaster. He swept towards her bed, smiling with a light that actually managed to reach those dead eyes of his. He saw that she was awake and murmured.

“Why, you really are Maxmilian’s granddaughter, aren’t you? I really admired the man, especially his political writings, and given the ... ahem ... fates of his more direct descendents, I’m quite impressed.”

“Thank you?” Minerva shifted in her bed. “What do you want?”

“I wish to offer to you a bit of an olive branch. I am aware that my more enthusiastic followers touched a nerve, somewhat? They do tend to be a bit too eager to press things. I am sorry to give offense. But someone such as you could go quite far in Ars Magick,” Vane Villamont said, his hand taking hers and squeezing it. “We’re not as ... narrow minded as the Sleepers who parrot some of our ideology - there’s more than enough places for women at the top in the world we wish to make.”

“Wearing the boot?” Minerva asked, before she could stop herself.

Villamont chuckled. “You have a razor sharp wit, Miss Schross-Sableknight. Or ... can I call you Minerva?” he asked, waving his wand and murmuring a soft Carrien Flyht Selda to draw a stool from across the room to his behind. He settled himself down and beamed down at her. Minerva felt a crawling awareness that he was trying to bring the full force of his ... attentiveness on her. She had the hideous vision of him rumpling her skirts and tried to not shudder out of the bed.

And then...

An idea occurred in her mind. She had seen enough films about the War to know that the femme fatal could flutter her eyelashes at some Prussian officer and get all the plans for some deadly offensive - she just needed to be like that now. She pushed back her immediate disgust and thought of Kat’s hands pinning her arms above her head, her lips pressing to her neck, her warmth enfolding her as the cold stone bit against her back. The memory brought a flush to her cheeks that she hoped he would mistake as inspired by him.

“Y-You may, uh, Mr. Villamont,” she said.

“Minerva, then,” he said. “Ars Magicka needs students like you.”

“I ... am not entirely clear as to your, uh, direction. Leslie did not exactly sell it properly,” she said, nodding. “Is it true you’re subservient to Mosely?” She threw that bit out, wondering if Villamont would bite.

“Subservient to a Sleeper who can’t even organize his own party? A man who’s all talk, all ego, no real ability?” Villamont chuckled. “Of course not. Half his speeches were slipped into his mind by my agents and written by myself. Do you think they’d have eighty eighty thousand members with just Mosley at work? Five Members of Parliament at work in the House of Commons? And there was a rally this September, it would have been crushed without a few ... suggestions that my people gave to the police in London. Really, Mosley would be a harmless crank without me.”

Minerva nodded, slowly. “So, the British Union of Fascists are your puppets?” she asked.

“Hardly. We don’t need to lead them around, they push our agenda admirably anyway! They just benefit from a bit of magical help here and there, same as any other party. And once they’re in power in the mundane government and we are in control in the magical government, the British Empire will, for the first time in two hundred years, have effortless and total cooperation between the two co-equal magisteria,” Villamont said.

“And what will you do then?” Minerva asked.

“We’ll take a stand against the two largest threats that the modern magical world face - discovery and exploitation by capitalists and the disorderly and unwizardly wrecking of the Reds,” Villamont said.

Minerva bit her lower lip, and tried to look thoughtful. “I see,” she said. “And what do you need students like me for?”

“This school is a haven for ... subversives,” Villamont said, leaning in slightly. “Your grandfather, you know, stood against the exact kind of subversives that are at work here. Communists. Labor organizers. Rootless cosmopolitan types.” He inclined his head slightly at the very thought, as if to indicate the possible dangers beyond Minerva.

Minerva arched an eyebrow. Then she knew, exactly, how to get him to spill ... everything. She sat up, her voice softening.

“You mean ... Jews? Here? I was assured that this was backed by the Church of England.”

“You’re surprised? They are always turning up in places of importance,” Villamont said. “And this is one of the most vital war resources of the British Empire, if you can believe it.” He looked at her with even more open lust, Minerva could see it smoldering in his eyes. The fact she couldn’t tell if it was for her body or of her the potential of her support made her skin crawl. Then Villamont made it ever so clear by shifting his posture so that the nurse and headmaster could not see the placement of his hand - then he placed it upon her thigh, squeezing her through the thin blankets that were draped across her body. Minerva forced down her every single reaction, her knuckles tightening beneath the blankets she wore - he couldn’t see them whiten, couldn’t see her fingernails digging into his palm.

“Mr. Villamont...” she whispered, her emotions making her voice husky and tight. She hoped he mistook it for excitement.

“This school is the source of half the vampire blood in England. It is also the heart of several important projects and ... well ... having someone with your abilities on the ground is going to be of great import,” Villamont said. He reached into his pocket, then withdrew a small card. He held it to her and Minerva took it. It had several intricate runes that were so precise and so perfectly made that it looked like they had come from a printing shop. Then she noticed the legend at the bottom; Printed with Pride at Milderbree’s and Sons Magical Printing Incorporated.

“This will give you a direct line to me when you fold it in half,” Villamont said, standing up. His smile was warm. “And will allow me to contact you.”

“T-Thank you Mr. Villamont,” Minerva said, tucking the note into one of the letters she had been given.

Then he turned and was off. The nurse walked to her side, shaking her head and clicking her tongue. “I hope he didn’t distress you overmuch,” she said, quietly. “Did he ... he can’t just boss around a student.”

“I-It’s fine,” Minerva said. “I just need to rest for a moment.” She tried to look as pathetic and sleepy as it was possible to be. The nurse smiled warmly at her, ruffled her hair, then turned and headed off to her offices. Villamont, meanwhile, had swept Headmaster Merlin into his arm, and the two had started out, heads together.

Minerva slid from the bed. She almost immediately collapsed - her arms flailing as she realized that while she did not hurt as much as she might have, she had not yet recovered. But as she plunged forward, sure that the slap of her hitting the ground and her cry of pain would draw attention, one of the letters waiting for her rustled and something swift and small shot from the collected flowers and wreaths ... and her desk shot under her arm and grew several sizes, expanding until it was the size of a suitcase. She leaned into the desk, which bobbed at her cheerfully, and Minerva whispered.

“You were waiting for me?”

The desk rattled the hinged on its shelves like a set of chiming bells, making a rising and falling pattern that sounded whimsical. Cheerful.

“You are ... a lovely little desk,” Minerva whispered. “Come on.” She shifted and then managed to swing herself onto the desk, which swooped down to assist her. With it floating bare inches off the ground and remaining relatively small, it skimmed her silently and easily to the door. She opened it a crack, peeking out, to find that Headmaster Merlin was standing a few paces away from the doorway, shaking his head.

“The wand, Merlin,” Villamont said. “I require it.”

“It isn’t finished, Mr. Villamont,” Merlin said, his voice steely. “And more? It is to be given to the War Ministry - not to a politico, no matter how many elections your party has won.”

“Ars Magicka runs our War Ministry, Merlin,” Villamont said, quietly. “And we’ll be running the Sleeper one soon enough, and perhaps then Education Ministry, and-”

“And Hexgramatica would remain an independent school,” Merlin said dryly. “We are, after all, by technicality, a parish of the Church of England and owned by King George.”

Minerva wished to pump her arm - go Headmaster! She thought - but then Villamont smirked slowly. “An independent school but a follower of the laws of the Empire. I wish the wand to be handed over quietly. With as little fuss as required. But if need be, I can have General Agustus Miller here within the week. He would have the right to take the wand, no?”

Merlin opened his mouth, then closed it. “Quite.”

“And that would be quite legal. Yes?”

Merlin inclined his head. “If General Agustus Miller came and asked for the wand, he would have it. Yes. But the wand is not complete. It’s not safe to be used, it-”

“It is required for the future of the Anglo Saxon race and our traditions of wizardry to survive the 20th century,” Villamont growled. He stepped closer and Minerva winced to see Merlin give a step backwards. “Will you bequeath the wand to General Miller?”

Merlin did not sigh. He did not bend, physically. But he did nod. “Yes, I will.”

“Good,” Villamont said, then turned and started to walk away.

Minerva gaped and shook her head slowly. Horror filled her as she watched Merlin put his palm to his red face, rubbing it as his spade-tipped tail twitched from side. Then she almost fell off her desk as Merlin said: “You may come out, Miss Schross-Sableknight.”

Minerva blushed and leaned forward ever so slightly on her desk. It skimmed along the ground as she came out into the corridor, where Merlin turned to face her. He looked very tired and very old for such a young man.

“Why?” she asked.

“Why is our government going down the drain? I could answer that in a million ways. Or do you mean why does he want the Wand of Silver?” Merlin turned to face her, his eyes sparkling. “Or did you mean to say what? Because students aren’t meant to know of the wand. Yet, you seem remarkably unsurprised.”

Minerva flushed.

Merlin smiled, thinly. “I’ve seen a great many terrible mistakes made by wizards. This Ars Magicka business has a new stink to it. Entirely modern. I worry that the government isn’t taking seriously just how very modern it is - but, well, I am not exactly allowed in the halls of power anymore.” He spread his hands in a shrugging gesture.

“Why are you just giving it to him then?” she asked.

“I have no choice,” Merlin said, frowning. “He’s followed the law to the letter. General Augustus Miller may be a loathsome fascist, but he was appointed to the War Ministry by Parliament. If I did not hand the wand over, I would be at fault.”

“But he’s going to use the wand to-” Minerva winced. She had spoken so forcefully, her stomach had knotted so that her stab wound had flared with agony. She put her arm to her chest. “We have to stop them.”

“I am doing everything in my power, Miss Schross-Sableknight,” Merlin said, quietly. “And you should be doing everything in your power to recover. Go.” He placed his hand on her shoulder, squeezed. “Lay down and rest.”

Minerva frowned.

She let herself be led backwards.

She laid into bed.

But rather than resting, she thought. She thought around and around and around, playing over what Vane Villamont had said.

Someone has to stop him, she thought.

Who’s going to do it? You? Seemed to bounce back deep from the rear of her mind.

Minerva frowned. She lifted her hand as the nurse came into the hospital and began to close the blinds, cutting off the light from the sun. As shadows fell over her hand, Minerva clenched it, then unclenched it. She remembered the visceral thrill of feeling that lead pipe crunch into the side of Leslie’s head. She wondered if the other woman was being tended to in some other part of the infirmary, or if she had simply paid extra to get healed faster. In the end, Minerva decided it didn’t particularly matter.

Instead, she thought.

And thought.

And realized the dizzying feeling when one leaned in to kiss another woman was remarkably similar to the exhilaration of deciding that it was time ... to cause some mischief. She grinned in the dimness and closed her eyes.

Exhaustion stole her into sleep.

Minerva remained in bed for an obnoxious length of time. Fortunately, she was visited on the first day, before she really began to process how long she would be recovering. That meant when Gina, Harry and Kat arrived, with Selene following up the course behind her. Selene carried with her a small pot with a little bulbous plant sticking out of it, while the others were carrying yet more flowers and cards. Minerva, who had had no chance to even read the cards, smiled at them as they walked towards her.

“You do know I still have a lot to read, yes?” she asked, while Kat grinned and leaned forward to plant an extremely chaste, sisterly kiss upon her forehead, placing what she was carrying right on Minerva’s lap.

“Yes, you do,” she said. “Here, your classwork, I knew you would be gnawing off your arm without your classwork.”

“Oh my slavemaster,” Minerva said, dryly, while Gina swarmed over to her side and gave her a series of kisses on her cheek, while loading her down with what seemed to be an entire pile of small boxes and parcels with bright labels and white packaging. Minerva took one up, frowning as she saw it was Jumping Jellies and the box was beginning to wriggle and bounce in her hand. “What is this?”

“Jumping Jellies, Singing Rhubarbs, Little Gnomes!” Gina said, beaming at her. “I figure you need something fun to have around here, since they’re being damn lazy.” She glared at the nurse, who shot her from as she bustled by with a broom.

“If you really wanted to cheer me up, you should have brought a newspaper,” Minerva said, leaning back in her bed. “That awful Villamont showed up and was bragging about some ... rally that Mosley’s maniacs had thrown and I’d rather learn about those things before it gets tossed at me by-” She cut herself off as she saw Harry’s ashen face. She blushed. “I apologize for any awkwardness that his arrival has stirred up.”

“It’s not your fault,” Harry said, smiling at her as the box of jumping jellies bounced and wriggled against her tummy.

Gina shook her head. “He came around to harass you for ... that son of a-”

“No, worse!” Minerva cut her off, laughing and wincing as she felt her belly wound twinge against her. “Mmm.” She shifted in her bed, trying to find a comfortable place to lay. “He was impressed.”

“That does sound like Mr. Villamont,” Harry said, shaking her head as Kat scowled slightly at the memory. “He didn’t hurt you?”

“Oh, no, we discussed a great many interesting things,” Minerva said, her voice growing dry. “In fact, did you know that he was deeply concerned about rootless cosmopolitans in this school?” She let herself smile. “He was quite taken with my concern and shared his ideas on how to rectify the situation.”

Gina blinked down at her with a gentile’s simple innocence. Minerva took her hand from the box of jellies and took Gina’s.

“He meant Jews, dear,” she said, quietly.

“Oh!” Gina exclaimed. “But ... you’re- I ... oh! Ohhohoho!” She laughed as Kat grinned in a very Kat-ish way.

“What’s his plans?” she asked, quietly.

Minerva glanced at the nurse as she came back, carrying a tray covered with surgical wands, several of them still smoking and hissing gently.

“Not now,” Minerva said. “Once I’m out of here.”