Teamwork

Chapter 6

All Saints' Day morning was brutal. The staff room seemed to be a sick ward. Slumped over the staff room table, their heads buried in their arms, Kessler and Gregorov alternately moaned and cursed. Occasionally, something intelligible was mumbled as they would try to sit up, but the light seemed far too bright for their eyes and they would resume their positions with loud groans.

Lowenstein looked paler than usual as he cradled his coffee and moved very carefully to settle onto the couch.

The rest of the staff stood about the table, each with a cup of coffee or tea except for de Rais, who leaned against the back of the couch, smoothing the last details of the wax doll's face. The effect would have been comic if it were any other day.

"Pathetic." De Rais glided over to where his coat hung by the door and draped it over his arm. "They do not have to be functional until this evening?" The question hung as de Rais, his coat and the poppet left the chamber.

Clearing her throat, Jones asked, "So, Gregorov, which demon are you summoning?" Gregorov answered by way of a groan as he pulled his arms in tighter around his aching head. Jones sniffed and took a sip of her coffee. "At least you only have to do it once. I think you better stick with one of the minor ones. Maybe Acham or Bechet." No response. "Are you just using just a circle of protection or are you using the form with the star, too?" The lack of a response only bothered a little. The morning wasn't starting out as badly as she'd feared. It could have been worse. She'd been afraid that Gregorov would n't be in the building this morning and that she'd have had to search the dormitories. Wouldn't that be special? She finished her coffee, setting the mug down with a thud out of arm's reach of the hungover men. "I was doing some reading in de Spina..."

"Shut up." The order was muffled against the tabletop.

"I think he's dead. Maybe we should get de Rais back." Wronski couldn't resist the temptation to push down on the end of the table, causing it to rock under the casualties. He was rewarded by profanity in both Russian and German.

"I wonder what sort of shape the Headmaster is in. Maybe we could get a reprieve until they're healthy?" Jones looked over at Rabe who quashed that hope with a shake of his head. She paused for a moment and then decided to change the subject. "Uh, I ran into a couple of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professors last night."

That managed to wrench Rabe's gaze away from the moaners. He tilted his head at an odd angle as he looked at her. "Ja?"

"They said that they were going to..." her vocabulary faltered and she started to haul out her dictionary.

Haken broke in, "Professor Jones claims that they would be interfering with our work tonight."

"Well, yes. Of course." Rabe looked anywhere but at his staff.

"Hey! What haven't you told us?" Jones demanded. It would be like Rabe to leave something important unsaid.

"It was felt that it might be a better display if we were to have some competition. To show our strengths." Rabe tried to meet her eyes, but couldn't hold the gaze. "I have complete faith in your abilities."

The staff that was able to stand upright stared at their department head. Gregorov managed a rude hand gesture from his sick table. The only sound was the drip of the faucet.

"Were you going to tell us anything?" Jones reached into her satchel and retrieved her pack of cigarettes. "Did you ever think how we might react?" She struck her match and watched it burn down to her fingers, not flinching when it went out.

"It is to be a friendly competition." Rabe took on an offended air and moved to get his things together. "This is not a duel." The drip of the faucet answered. Looking ruffled, he strode out of the room.

"I vote for duel." It was the first coherent thing Gregorov had said that morning.