(( This is the follow-up to Silence. OOC comments are welcome. ))

"And you have had no contact since then?"

This was the sort of man who never used contractions, she thought. Sighing, the Headmistress shook her head. The investigator's face was like a tumorous potato, bulging in all the wrong places, whatever youth it might have had stymied by the severe and perfectly circular spectacles. She had disliked him immediately.

He made an annoying business of ordering a stack of papers by tapping the edges on the table in front of him. Tap, tap, tap. Scribble scribble. "All right," he said, showing off too many teeth without smiling. "And the carriage he took...?"

"He took a carriage?" Ophelia asked blankly, feigning surprise. "What about his flying machine?"

The investigator looked disappointed, and shrugged. "We have identified the burnt remains of his aeroship off the coast of Anaxas. As I might have mentioned, Headmistress, we believe it was used in the prison breakout."

The way he said Headmistress made her feel ill. It was in the same tone of voice as honey, said by a frustrated wife to her soon-to-be ex-husband. But what he had said troubled her - why had Devlin burned his ship? There were so many questions, and presumably answers, that they would never again have the occasion to discuss. She ignored the burning and twisting in her gut and smiled brightly at the man before her.

"Then it's good it's gone, isn't it, Investigator Box?" she said. "One less ship to worry about."

"Quite," murmured Box. He shuffled through his papers once more; she took note of his very clean fingernails.

She fidgeted. Fidgeting was not something she made a habit of. It was in her nature to have excellent posture and always sit still; she had even trained herself to breath quietly, and her tone of voice was pitched to an expert degree of pleasantness. But the investigation had gone on all through the night. She was exhausted; all she desired in the world was to retreat to her quarters and cry for a few days. It wouldn't do to dwell on the exhausting pain right now, though; it might show through. She quickly straightened up.

"Ah, here we are," he said to himself, apparently locating something of some importance. He withdrew a file. "Briefs, on the research Mr. Devlin was undertaking."

He can't even say 'Devlin's research', she thought, annoyed. "Yes. It was passives, if I recall."

"If you recall," repeated Mr. Box, raising his unseemly eyebrows so that they slid across his lumpy brow. "Madam Headmistress, if I recall, you cosigned for a good percentage of his research grants, and privately funded..."

"Yes, and you'll note I have privately funded the gardener, as well," she snapped in return, unsettled that he had already delved so deeply into her personal finances. "My interest in Devlin's research was purely academic, and he and Professor Moore had precious little chance of receiving the support of the other Chairs. They are fundamentally opposed to his field of study. In the interests of the academic community I allocated my funds as I saw fit. Is there a problem with this?"

She had betrayed him. In his world, she imagined, she might be killed for doing so. It wasn't too hard to imagine a similar fate awaited her at Brunnhold had the Seventen known she had betrayed them. Oh, there had always been stories of Headmasters being assassinated, yes, but she had never fully believed them until the steely glint in Box's eye chilled her straight through. This man knew. This was a game they were playing, and he thought he had already won.

She entertained herself for a few moments thinking up new names for him. Mr. Bulge. Mr. Pox.

"No...no," he said slowly, eyeing her carefully. "It is merely...an item of interest." More shuffling. "Would you care to comment on his research? What about it did you deem particularly necessary? Were you aware of its controversial nature?"

"You should take this up with Professor Moore," she told him. "I was never aware of the specifics of his research, but I worked with Magister Devlin for many years before my employment at Brunnhold, and it was on his word that I let him forge ahead." She realized her mistake too late; Box smiled. "Of course, we lost contact after his Magistership was stripped from him, but I continued to...respect him as a scientist. He was an asset to the school."

"Apart from being a race traitor, you mean," said Box, smiling thinly. Ophelia wished she could curse his despicable face into a million pieces. She bit her tongue. "I find it odd, Headmistress, if you will forgive my saying so, that you retained such a close relationship with Mr. Devlin and yet had no idea about his...unsavory dealings."

"You're implying that I withheld information?" she said. Indignation, she thought, this sentence calls for quiet indignation. "Investigator Box, I came immediately to the Seventen as soon as I had the slightest suspicion about Mr. Devlin. And it would be fallacious to say that we were close. Why, for most of the year he has been absent from his post as teacher. I barely saw the man."

Box tapped the paper again. "Yes, and if you will forgive me saying so, your devotion to the law is a credit to your character, Headmistress."

"It was not the law that drove me, but what is right," she answered.

"Naturally. And to your credit, I understand entirely what a...difficult decision it might have been for a lesser woman, Headmistress. To turn on such a long-lasting and important friendship, to discover an old friend was nothing but a liar and a murderer, would have broken the spirit of many."

He watched her face for a reaction, any reaction. Magic came easily to Ophelia; lying did not. She struggled to keep her mask on - graciousness, impatience, sleepiness, a lack of concern - and said nothing.

After a tense moment, Box smiled disarmingly. "Well, if it would spare you any worry, you should know that we discovered the carriage that was stolen and are 'hot on the trail' of Mr. Devlin. He appears to have gone forth to the city on foot."

"Vienda?" Her heart caught in her chest. No, no, you stupid man, don't go there.

"Indeed," said Box. "I hope this news pleases you. Soon, this entire matter will be behind us. I shall not keep you any longer, Headmistress. Thank you for being so cooperative. I will report the results of our interview immediately to Commander Megiro. Forgive me for the intrusion."

He stood and bowed low and respectfully to her.

You keep asking me to forgive you, Box, she thought.

But she couldn't forgive him. She couldn't forgive Megiro, or Morde, or Quicke, or any of the other lying villains who were trying to destroy her country. She found herself hating them, filled with the most base of emotions at the very thought of their smug faces. And the hatred filled her and nearly spilled out of her eyes as pure energy and rage.

She couldn't even forgive herself.

Ophelia managed a quick smile and a jerky bow. Later, it would be more interviews, more questions, and she would have to find time to visit Harper Moore and tell him to keep his foolish mouth shut. There was never enough time to do it all, but all she wanted right now was to sleep, for ages and ages.