Mrs. McNeil

Over the weekend, Richard stayed home and buried himself in his books, going nowhere.

Soon, the second week after the God-Descending Disk incident arrived.

That Monday, the seating arrangement in Greenwood's dining hall underwent a modest shift.

More precisely, two extra chairs had appeared beside one table.

Naturally, the change had not come out of nowhere.

On the night of the God-Descending Disk incident, Warren went home and told his family about it as a joke.

While he was telling the story, his younger brother even wanted to borrow the thing for a couple of days.

But their mother, seated across the dining table, had already set down her knife and fork.

"What did you say?!"

Before Warren could figure out what was wrong, his mother waved for the servants to leave the dining room.

"You bought some object of unknown origin outside, brought it to school, lit candles, and performed a summoning ritual in the classroom?"

"It wasn't really a ritual... We were just playing..."

"The candles went out?"

"Yes. They went out by themselves."

Dinner was left unfinished.

His mother rose and went to the study to call his father, who had not yet gotten off work.

Old Crowley was the vice chairman of the North District Coal Mining Association. Usually, he was rarely seen at home.

But that night, he shoved aside all his business and rushed back as fast as he could.

"Where did you put that thing?!"

Warren had never seen his father, who always maintained the bearing of a gentleman, speak so loudly.

"It's still in my schoolbag..."

"Take it out. Don't touch it with your hands—use a cloth as a barrier."

Warren quickly did as he was told.

The round wooden disk carved with ancient writing was wrapped in a handkerchief and placed on the coffee table in the sitting room.

Old Crowley stared at the disk for a while without touching it.

"You said the candles went out on their own. Of everyone there, did anyone behave differently from the others?"

Warren thought about it. "Williams."

"Which Williams? If I shouted 'Williams' on the street, half the people would turn around."

"Richard Williams. He's a classmate who sits in the third row behind me.

"He never got close to the God-Descending Disk. He stood off to the side the whole time, holding that cloth bag, and didn't take the disk out."

"And then?"

"Then he put the cloth bag on the table. When I took out the disk, the candles went out, and no matter how we tried, they wouldn't light again."

"After the candles went out, did he do anything else?"

"He... gave us a whole speech about science. Something about thought power, oxygen levels in enclosed spaces... He made everyone think the whole thing had been a scam."

As Warren said this, he noticed his father and mother exchange a glance.

The following evening, Warren was summoned to his father's study, where someone was waiting for him.

The woman wore a long gray wool dress. Her hair was wound tightly up, and there was a red mole on her cheekbone that looked as though it had been painted on.

"This is Mrs. McNeil," his father said.

Warren knew the name.

Around Exorcism Day every year, his mother would invite this woman to their home and shut herself in the sitting room with her for half a day.

Whenever she came, Warren and his brother were ordered to stay in their rooms, while all the servants were sent away.

Mrs. McNeil had Warren sit in a chair, then circled him twice, pausing at the top of his head and each shoulder.

She withdrew her hands and said to Old Crowley, "He's clean. Nothing has attached itself to him."

Old Crowley's shoulders relaxed. "Thank you, Madam. We'll raise your payment to—"

"No need. I didn't do anything."

Mrs. McNeil picked up her gloves from the table and slipped them onto her fingers at an unhurried pace.

"But that child you mentioned..."

"Which one?"

"The Williams your son spoke of."

After putting on her gloves, she adjusted the cuffs.

"He never touched the God-Descending Disk itself. He kept it separated with the cloth bag and only set it down just before the ritual began. Then the candles went out."

"If your son's account is accurate, then the God-Descending Disk had already been emptied before the ritual began."

The study fell silent for several seconds.

"What method did he use?" Old Crowley asked.

"I don't know." Mrs. McNeil wrapped her scarf around her neck.

"But someone capable of doing that was either trained, or born with... spiritual sensitivity.

"Either way, it wouldn't hurt for your son to build a good relationship with him at school."

She paused again at the door and turned sideways.

"Of course, it may simply have been a coincidence.

"But if it wasn't... Mr. Crowley, your family does substantial business in this city. I don't need to remind you why it is wise to maintain good relations with people like us."

The door closed.

At school, the result of this was Warren's overwhelming enthusiasm at the dining table.

So overwhelming that Richard began to wonder if the guy was gay. British tradition and all that.

Warren and Mason even took the initiative to help him move chairs.

"Williams, come sit over here... Uh, Fenton, you come too."

Gray sat beside them, quietly eating her meal.

When Richard carried his tray over, Hugh followed behind him.

Mason turned around. "Fenton, did you see Stanfield's goal yesterday?"

"I did, I did." Hugh hurriedly picked up the thread.

"That curve was ridiculous. The goalkeeper didn't even get a hand to it."

The two quickly got talking, but Richard noticed that Mason occasionally glanced cautiously in his direction while he spoke.

Sipping hot tea, Richard scanned the dining hall.

In the corner by the window, Barrett was still sitting in his old spot.

The peanut butter on his bread was as pitifully thin as ever. He chewed slowly and never looked toward the central area.

Beside Richard, Warren was spearing a piece of steak on his plate.

Greenwood's lunches came in two tiers. The basic meal consisted only of bread, vegetable salad, thin soup, and hot tea, and was generally very cheap.

The deluxe meals included various roasted and grilled meats, dairy products, soups, and desserts. They were priced à la carte, roughly the same as at restaurants outside.

On Warren's tray were steak, creamy soup, roasted potatoes, a dish of butter, and a glass of milk.

Richard did not have much appetite that day. His tray held only a little salad and bread. He had not taken any soup, only a free cup of hot tea.

Warren seemed to realize something and pushed his plate toward Richard.

"Want some? This steak's too big. I can't finish it alone."

Richard glanced at it.

The steak was indeed large, but he had seen Warren's appetite before. That piece of meat would leave him only about eighty percent full.

"No."

"Don't be polite."

"Really, no."

"Look how skinny you are..." Halfway through the sentence, Warren realized something was off and hurriedly shut his mouth.

The atmosphere stiffened briefly. Richard set down his teacup.

"Warren, you got stuck in two places in the third Latin passage."

"...What?"

"The third passage from Mr. Holland's class yesterday. You paused at quam diu, and you stressed eludet wrong afterward."

Warren's attention was successfully dragged away from the steak. "You remembered where I got stuck?"

"Of course. Your problem is with the perfect-tense endings of second-conjugation verbs.

"When you recite, you're guessing by feel. If you guess right, you get through it. If you guess wrong, you get stuck."

"...That sounded pretty convincing. You're starting to sound like Mr. Holland."

"I've actually been getting extra lessons from him lately." Richard raised his teacup and took a sip.

"If you don't mind, I can help you sort out the logic behind Latin conjugations."

Warren blinked.

He did not care all that much about his grades, really.

But his father had told him to "get along with him as much as possible." Now that the other boy had offered to tutor him, it suited him perfectly.

"Then how should I thank you?"

"Just add something extra to my meals whenever we eat."

Warren froze for a moment. That was all?

For him, that kind of extra food did not even amount to a fraction of his allowance.

"Deal. I can make good on it today. Order whatever you want."

"You said it. Then I won't hold back."

At the other end of the dining hall, Lillian Hayward sat alone.

Her tray was the same as usual—thin soup and bread, no meat.

Her spoon stirred slowly through the bowl, but her gaze rested on the center of the hall.

She saw Richard Williams sitting beside Warren's table, with steak and fresh milk actually laid out before him.

He was eating while explaining something to Warren, and Warren was listening quite seriously.

She lifted the spoon from her bowl and set it beside the plate.

Richard Williams.

Just last week, he had sat in the window corner like she did, with food on his tray just as meager as hers.

When called on in class, he had stood up and stammered.

And now?

When he spoke in Mr. Hutton's class, the classroom had gone quiet for several seconds.

In Mr. Holland's Latin class, Williams had recited the entire speech without getting stuck on a single word.

She had never dropped out of the top three in written exams, yet no one had ever called to her at lunch and said, "Sit over here."

Good grades might not have been the only hard currency at Greenwood.

Socializing required other things—ease, a desire to express oneself, or just the right timing and courage.

She lacked every one of them.

That was what Lillian believed. Slightly resentful, she withdrew her gaze and lowered her head to continue eating her thin soup and bread.

The soup had already gone a little cold.