Will looked at him with suspicion. He hated to reveal the depth of his ignorance, but— “What’s a neuter?”
“Not a man or a woman. That stuff gets taken out, or cut off, or whatever. She might have started off as a man.”
“No!” said Will, bunching up his fists. For the first time ever he hated Hart, and longed to throw himself at him and wipe that superior look off his face. Ironically, it was Hart’s training that stopped him. Will had learned not to respond to the callings of his temper.
“I didn’t know it would bother you,” said Hart. “It’s just a rumor.”
Will got up and left. He didn’t know what he would do if he stayed. But for weeks the thought tormented him: That Miss Smith was something else, that she might have been a man! It was in the back of his mind all the time—at school, at home, with Hart—especially at night.
Recklessly, he decided to do something about, it. He knew the way into the teachers’ dormitories. He would sneak inside, hide somewhere—in Miss Smith’s room, or the local spit, or the showers—and he would see for himself. The plan was a little vague, he knew, once he got inside; but there was no hope for that—he had no idea how the residence was laid out.
Cowardice had never been Will’s problem. No sooner did he fasten onto the idea than he put it into practice. Late one evening he made sure no one was watching, then he cut into the tunnel by the recycling plant. He climbed up a walkway to some access tubes and crawled inside, first shaking water from his shoes. He knew from his excursions with Hart which tunnels were dry and abandoned, which were messy and dangerous. He opened an emergency hatch at one point and found himself looking quite far down into the teachers’ courtyard, above the statue of Saint Adrian the First. “Give me some luck,” he said to the saint. He crawled on. The next emergency hatch would be inside the residence.
It opened in the base of the wall of an inner hallway. There was nobody there (for which he thanked the saint); should he take a chance and go out now, or try for another hatch? He would have more chance of locating Miss Smith’s room if he were outside.
He pulled himself out and closed the hatch behind him very carefully, making sure that it didn’t catch. He made his way down the hall. It dead-ended rather quickly and he took the left branch, wondering if he were getting just a bit far from his exit. At the end there was a big door of dark wood, with scenes from the Book of Sawyer carved in squares all over. It was old and dusty. Will pushed it very slowly about an inch open.
There was a large kitchen inside, with six teachers working. He recognized them all: Miss Tofler, carrying the pot of soup, Miss Ryneth, with the dirty dishes … but no Miss Smith. Will backed hastily away from the door and started retracing his steps. People were always walking in and out of kitchens.
At the end of the other hall was a staircase, and Will followed it to the bedroom level. He felt slightly more confident now; evidently everyone was downstairs doing the evening chores. He found a row of doors, all unlocked. There was a small cell beyond each, with a cot, a bureau, and a tiny desk. Books and papers were stacked in most, and a quick glance at them was enough to say whose room each must be. The end of the hall was Miss Smith’s room. He recognized the assignments of his own class lying in a pile on the floor.
Now what? In the back of his mind he’d never expected to be even this successful. He’d anticipated finding a way into the residence (at best) and then making a quick withdrawal. As for his vague plans of hiding and watching ... there was no place to hide in this tiny room. Not even a closet.
Unlike the other rooms, there was almost nothing of personal possessions here. The only exceptions were a box of scented powder on the bureau top and a conservative (for Sangaree) lipstick lying beside it. Will lifted the powder; it was Miss Smith’s scent. He remembered her bending to assist him with his religion assignment.
He’d better get out of here. Will left the room and started back down the hall. As he passed, he noted there was a spit at Miss Smith’s end of the corridor. The one she was most likely to use ... He’d gotten in all this way. Should he waste it all now by leaving?
Willie had not been brought up with any sense of spying on a lady as an ungentlemanlike activity. It was now a question of success or failure, of what one could get away with. He entered the spit. There was a bank of four showers and two spit-seats. There was also a mirror on one wall, and Will recalled now that he had seen no mirrors in the cells.
One part of him noted that he was pressing his luck into oblivion. That he was crazy. But he’d come so far … and an inspection of the walls showed an entry to the recycling system (no surprise, considering the nature of the room)—and there, beside it, was the emergency maintenance entrance for major system repairs. Clearly Saint Adrian was on his side in this. How could he possibly leave now? He let himself into the access tunnel, leaving the hatchway open a crack, and waited.
Hours went by. Apparently nobody used this spit. Eventually he heard faint sounds of doors closing and voices saying good night. Everybody was going to bed except Willie Stockton. So much for the great adventure …
More hours passed. He was a mass of cramps when Miss Smith came in. She wore a respectable
