I was relying now almost entirely on Miss Daw's reluctance to turn me in. I had no doubt that Miss Daw might have seen the notes. She could easily have seen what Vanity had been doing all afternoon. But I had little to lose; she knew already that my memory was back.
I went to the Headmaster's office to get some stamps. We needed the Headmaster's permission to send out letters.
Boggin (I saw through the wall as I walked past the north wing) was still patiently lecturing Colin, while Colin (no doubt) was saying nothing but, 'Go on.'
No one was in the office but Taffy ap Cymru. He was seated at a desk smaller than Mr. Sprat's, with his feet on the table.
I showed him my resume, and the business card from Lord Talbot aka Mulciber, and explained I had a legitimate reason for sending out a letter.
I gave him my brightest smile and tried to look as innocuous as possible.
He frowned, looked amused and annoyed at the same time, and slowly climbed to his feet, then sauntered over to a locked drawer, where he took out a book of stamps. He actually had to sign a little book saying who was getting the stamp and why.
I also asked for a second stamp to place on a second envelope, this one addressed to the school, which I wanted to place inside the first envelope, to speed Lord Talbot's answer.
1.
I was back less than ten minutes later.
'What is it now?' asked Mr. ap Cymru.
'I have a question about the mail,' I said. 'May we talk privately? I mean, really and truly privately?'
He glanced left and right at the empty office. 'This is not private enough for you, Miss Windburn, or whatever your name is?'
I said, 'I was thinking of changing my name to Lav-erna. I understand that a person can legally change his name as often as he likes, provided he is not doing it for the purpose of perpetrating a Fraud.'
With a sigh, he heaved his boots off the desk again, and said, 'Come along.'
He led me down a short corridor past rich wall hangings and mannequins in chain mail, past fans of swords and crossed pikes, to a narrow door paneled to look like the wainscoting. Beyond that door was a corridor, much narrower, which was boarded with unpainted wood, and walls of dirty white plaster. A crooked stair led up around a bend, to another door, also unpainted. Here was a small attic room beneath a slanted roof. A single dormer window shed gray light on a cot, a dressing table, a wardrobe.
There was a single wooden chair with no cushion.
He closed the door behind me, moved a candlestick over in front of the mirror that was affixed to the back of the door. There was a second mirror affixed to the wardrobe door; when the wardrobe door was opened, the two mirrors were parallel. He lit the candle with a cigarette lighter.
The reflection in the mirror was not that of a man, but of a woman. When ap Cymru turned to face me again, he was no longer a man. She was a woman.
She was shorter in her woman shape, though her hair was the same color, cut now into a pageboy bob.
Her features were rather Italian, hook-nosed and red-lipped, with eyes large and dark and soulful in a way Northern people's rarely look. I do not know if a boy would have found her face handsome; she seemed a little too strong-featured for that. But I thought she was striking-looking.
The man's shirt seemed suddenly too baggy on her, except that it was tight around her chest. She hiked her pants up to her waist, and tightened the belt. They were loose around her legs, but tight at the hips.
She sat down in the chair and gestured to the bed. 'I don't have many guests. Welcome to the servants'
quarters. I suppose this is a part of the world you've never seen.'
I did not sit. It seemed hot and close indoors after my little expedition to the post box. I rummaged in my skirt pocket and took a step toward her.
She must have thought I was much more dangerous than I thought I was, because she reached into the cigarette box next to her, opened a false bottom, and pulled out a revolver.
She pointed it at me.
I raised my hands. I said, 'Don't shoot! I only want to show you the piece of paper in my pocket!'
She said, 'Sit down on the floor. Take this paper out of your pocket with the first two fingers of your left hand and toss it to me.'
I knelt down on the floor and drew out the paper with my fingertips. I tossed it into her lap.
She opened it up with her left hand. The letters were slightly smeared in the way that carbon copies are, so she could tell it was not the original.
She said, 'Mind if I smoke?'
'Well, you've got me at gunpoint, so I guess I am not going to object,' I said.
'Don't be smart. D'you want one?'
'A cigarette?'
'Do you smoke?'
'I don't know. I never have, so I suppose that means I don't.'
