By Sunday afternoon, Mira had decided that my meeting with Duke Rosenfeld had gone well enough to warrant a celebration. She made me a paper medal with a rabbit drawn in the center and insisted I wear it while washing the breakfast dishes.
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“What is it for?” I asked.
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“For not stepping on the roses.”
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I had received less recognition for passing examinations. I pinned the medal to my shirt and kept it there until the water began to soften the paper.
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Evelyn arrived carrying a small packet of seeds. She had promised Mira help with her new drawing, but the child took one look at the packet and abandoned her pencils.
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“Are those Grandpa's?”
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“They're from his garden,” Evelyn said. “He gave me more than I can use. I thought we might ask Mrs. Fenwick whether there's room for a pot beside the marigolds.”
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“Can we grow roses?”
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“Not from these. They're sweet peas.”
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Mira studied the packet. “Will they be sweet enough to eat?”
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“No. The name is misleading, I'm afraid.”
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I put the medal somewhere dry. “This household has a complicated relationship with vegetables.”
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Evelyn's mouth curved briefly, but she was watching Mira turn the packet over, looking for a picture of the flowers. She had not told her father about the girl. I wondered how difficult it had been to accept seeds from him without explaining where they would end up.
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We took the packet downstairs to Mrs. Fenwick, who examined the window boxes and suggested a separate pot. Mira negotiated for a blue one. By the time we returned upstairs, she was more interested in drawing a future flower than planting an actual seed, so Evelyn spread the paper across our table and sat beside her.
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I prepared tea and tried not to hover. A week ago, I would have worried that every visit required some significant conversation about the future. Today, Evelyn was helping Mira decide whether a rabbit could reasonably stand on a garden bench, and neither of them needed me to settle it.
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***
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When Mira went to wash the green paint from her hands, Evelyn set down her brush.
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“Father asked about you after you left.”
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“Should I be concerned?”
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“He asked whether you always answer questions as carefully as you did yesterday. I told him you usually talk more when you aren't being examined.”
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“That is a charitable description of my behavior.”
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“He also said you understood the limitations of your project. He liked that you showed him the failed measurements.” She folded her hands on the table. “I don't think he's decided what he thinks of our relationship. I wouldn't want him to pretend otherwise.”
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“Neither would I. Did you tell him we'd come to supper?”
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“I said we'd discuss it. I wanted to ask you first.”
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I considered the invitation. Supper meant a longer visit, more chances to spill something on a valuable carpet, and perhaps an opportunity to learn why Evelyn still looked for her father's reaction whenever she spoke about her work.
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“I'd like to go,” I said. “Provided we can arrange care for Mira without making her feel we're hiding her away.”
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Evelyn nodded. “We can tell her we're visiting Father together. That's true. And if she has questions, we'll answer what we can.”
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From the washroom came Mira's voice. “I have a question!”
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“Of course you do,” I called.
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“Is green paint supposed to come off with soap?”
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Evelyn was already getting up. “I'll help her.”
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I followed with a clean towel. There were days when the future seemed like an impossible problem. Green paint, at least, came with instructions.
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***
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Monday morning, Mrs. Vale sent for me before my first class. Her note asked me to bring the copies of my seminar equipment records and made no mention of disciplinary proceedings. I still checked the wording three times on the walk to the academy.
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The lower equipment room was open when I reached the west hall. Two inspectors stood beside a row of cases while a maintenance worker removed a panel from the wall. Mrs. Vale met me at the threshold and asked me not to touch anything until she had explained why I was there.
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“We found the case,” she said.
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I looked at the numbered boxes. “The one recorded under my name?”
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“The same number. It was placed in the lower room after the maintenance transfer, but its contents don't match the register.”
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She led me to a table where a crystal rested in a padded tray. A thin fracture ran from one edge toward its center. The brass housing had been cleaned, but a grey residue remained around one of the screws.
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“Is it damaged?” I asked.
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“Yes. We haven't established when it happened. I want you to identify whether this is the case you collected for any approved exercise, using your own records. Please don't guess.”
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I compared the stamped number with Evelyn's calibration notes. The case wasn't one of ours. Its crystal, however, carried a second mark on the housing: a small triangular notch beside the manufacturer's seal.
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“I've seen that mark,” I said. “Not on our seminar equipment. On the west hall's barrier anchor.”
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The maintenance worker looked up from the panel. “The old anchor had a notch like that. We used it to distinguish the replacement fittings.”
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Mrs. Vale wrote down his statement, then asked where the original anchor was stored. He pointed to a covered crate near the wall.
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Under the cloth lay a bent bracket and a coil of wire darkened by heat. I remembered the bracket that had fallen during the practical session, the one that had prompted the inspection. At the time, everyone had been relieved that nobody was standing beneath it.
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“Could the crystal have been installed in that assembly?” I asked.
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“That's one possibility,” Mrs. Vale replied. “The maintenance log should tell us.”
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“It should,” the worker said, and the way he said it made her look at him.
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***
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His name was Deren. He had worked in the west hall for eleven years and did not appreciate being asked to repeat himself for a third time, although he did so without raising his voice.
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“The bracket was replaced before the semester began,” he explained. “We requested a new anchor crystal because the old one wouldn't hold a stable charge. The replacement was delivered in a sealed case. I signed for the case, but I didn't sign the student loan slip.”
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“Do you have your receipt?” Mrs. Vale asked.
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“In my workshop. I keep my copies because things go missing from the central books.”
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She asked an inspector to accompany him. I waited by the table, looking at the fracture without touching it. The crystal had been treated as missing property, then as evidence of a loan I had supposedly taken out. Now it was part of a damaged safety assembly. None of those descriptions explained why my name had appeared on the slip.
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Evelyn arrived while I was still waiting. Mrs. Vale had requested her calibration notebook independently, and she looked relieved to find me in the room rather than being redirected to another office.
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“Have they found it?” she asked.
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“Yes. There's damage, and they think it may have been used in the west hall anchor.”
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Evelyn approached the tray and studied the fracture. “May I see the manufacturer's number?”
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Mrs. Vale held the label where she could read it. Evelyn copied the number and turned to her notes.
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“This crystal was rated for a fixed barrier support,” she said. “Our moving-target trials use a different load profile. I can't tell you what caused the fracture by looking at it, but I can show you the specification we were given for this model.”
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“Please do,” Mrs. Vale said. “And make a note of where you obtained it.”
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Evelyn wrote carefully. She didn't look at me until she finished, and I was grateful. If we were going to be useful, we needed to be two witnesses with separate records, not a couple trying to agree on a story.
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Deren returned with a receipt bearing the same case number and a date three days before the supposed loan. His signature was unmistakable. The countersignature belonged to the stores office, though the name was difficult to read.
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Mrs. Vale laid the receipt beside the other documents. “The student loan entry may have been created when the maintenance transfer was copied. We still need to determine who entered it and why the authorization field was completed incorrectly.”
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“Does that mean I can use the west hall again?” I asked.
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“No. It means I can amend the note beside your name. The hall remains closed until the assembly is inspected.”
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I had never liked paperwork so much in my life.
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***
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Evelyn and I spent our lunch in the smaller study room. She had brought bread, cheese, and two apples; I had brought a notebook and the misguided belief that I could finish the seminar analysis before eating.
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“Your apple,” she said, placing it on top of the page.
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“Is this an official instruction?”
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“No. If it were official, I'd require a signature.”
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I put down my pen. She took the seat beside me and opened her own notebook to the crystal specifications.
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“The fracture worries me,” she said. “If that model was installed correctly, it should have tolerated the anchor's ordinary load. But we haven't seen the maintenance drawings.”
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“You think they used the wrong part?”
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“I think we don't know yet. I want to compare the drawings before I suggest a cause.”
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She ate a piece of bread and waited while I considered the numbers. The original novel had given the academy's grand battles entire chapters. I couldn't remember a single line about the fittings holding up its practice halls. Perhaps that was because the people who repaired them never received a point-of-view chapter.
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“Could our moving-target work help?” I asked. “Not to prove what happened, but to show how a barrier behaves when the anchor is stressed unevenly?”
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“Possibly, with a safe apparatus and the department's approval. We shouldn't turn an inspection into an experiment without asking.”
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“Agreed.”
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Evelyn closed her notebook. “Adrian, I'm glad your name is being corrected. I was worried someone would decide the easiest explanation was the student who couldn't afford to replace a crystal.”
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I hadn't wanted to say that aloud. Hearing it from her made it less difficult to acknowledge.
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“Thank you for bringing the records,” I said.
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“You kept them. I only brought my copy.”
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She pushed the second apple toward me before I could reply.
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***
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At home, Mira had finished her drawing. The rabbit stood beside a blue flowerpot, and three people occupied the garden bench. She pointed them out without being asked: herself, Evelyn, and me.
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“Where's Grandpa?” I asked.
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“He's watering the roses over here.” She indicated a small figure near the edge of the page. “I didn't know if he'd want to sit with us yet.”
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I looked at the space she had left between the bench and the rosebush. It was wide enough for another chair.
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“Would you like us to ask him someday?”
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“Yes,” she said. “But first Mommy has to tell him my name.”
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“We'll talk with her about when to do that.”
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Mira nodded and went to find a brown pencil for his gardening gloves. I set my amended academy notice on the shelf above her paints. It stated that the loan attributed to me was unverified and that the case had been located under maintenance custody. It did not say who had written my name or how the crystal had cracked.
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Tomorrow, I would ask permission to review the anchor drawings with Evelyn. Tonight, Mira wanted help making the bench long enough for four people, just in case.