Moving toward the edge of the table, H flaps a wing, preparing to take off. I grab his leg and scoot him back across the wooden tabletop. “Eeerp, watch tha tendons, I ain’t made of stone no more.”
I pass him my half-eaten slice of cake as a peace offering. “I can’t go to them with my suspicions unless we have some proof. Beatrice isn’t going to point the finger at her best friend. I need you to sneak in there and see what you can find out. Maybe try to whisper a conversation starter or two? Lay out a few knives and see if she reacts? You’re old and magical, you’ll figure something out.”
H pauses mid-lick, “Alright, mate, I’ll do it. But only because I want some more of this cake.”
“Cool, I’ll drop my tray off and say goodbye so they know that I’ve gone. You can hide under the table until no one’s looking and then find a way into the kitchen. I’ll wait outside, I saw a small seating nook out in the hallway.” I high five H and try not to wince as his claw catches me between two fingers.
I gather my items onto my tray and cross the room to the towering metal racks. It doesn’t take too much effort to make a ruckus given the number of half-empty, wobbly glasses ready to take a small tumble. I stick my head into the kitchen doorway, mentally patting myself on the back for my ability to get anywhere near this space, and call a loud goodbye and thank you to Beatrice. She’s deep in conversation with a skinny brunette in a chef’s hat.
“Come on, H, let’s get back to work!” I call out as I exit the dining hall. H looks confused, but then shakes his head and follows me.
“What are you doing?” I hiss.
“Ya called me and said ta get back ta work.” He hisses right back again, looking even more confused than before.
“That was PRETEND, so they’d think you were gone as well. You were meant to stay behind without them knowing. If we’re going to be a team, you’ll have to learn to catch my meaning.” I hiss in return.
H definitely has more to say on the topic, but he mutters it too quietly for me to hear as he does a 360, heading back in the kitchen's direction. I cross my fingers and toes before pushing my way through the swinging doors.
Outside in the hall I attempt to make myself comfortable on an old-fashioned fainting couch while I wait for H to report back. Are you supposed to lounge across it? Perch? I contort my body into several positions, each one more uncomfortable than the one before, before giving up and sitting far enough back that I can lean against the wall behind me and dangle my legs off the edge.
I eyeball my dress and wonder for the second time today whether the fox print was really a good choice. Foxes, hunting dogs, closets, Narnia… it seemed appropriately Oxonian when I saw it in the store. Hopefully my understated jewellery, sensible shoes and black patent leather belt are pulling the look together.
I lose track of time, caught up in people-watching all the students as they walk up and down the hallway. A loud clattering sound coming from the dining hall catches my attention, making me look up in time to see the doors swing open seemingly on their own. Shoving them closed again, H leans his wings against them, breathing harder than any self-respecting, magical wyvern should ever do.
I stand up and straighten my dress. “Did you get a confession?”
“A confession? I nearly got my loaf chopped off! I’m four ‘undred years old and I ain’t never seen a woman so quick ta draw a knife. She found me ‘idin’ in tha pots and pans and flipped. I barely made it out of there wiff my loaf on my shoulders.”
I shiver at the thought. “That sounds awful, but also somehow promising. I think I should talk to her, see if I can get her to say something incriminating we can take to the police. Come on, let’s catch her while she’s still here.”
“Catch ‘er? I’m more worried bout Claudia catchin’ me,” H whines.
“Hmm, you might have a point there. Better not bring you back into the kitchen area so soon. She’ll know we’re up to something.” I mull over my options, but none of them look appealing. So far, my Oxford chef interactions haven’t exactly gone swimmingly.
“I can’t go alone in case she is the murderer. You’re going to have to hide under one of the tables. Sorry to make you do that, but…” I barely get the words out before H loops around towards the dining hall.
“‘Ave ya seen ‘ow many crumbs are down there?”
“Hopefully you’ll be able to hear any calls for help over your chewing.”
❖
I quietly push the swinging doors open wide enough for myself and H to slip back through. We don’t need to attract any attention yet.
Inside, the kitchen serving windows are locked up tight, but I can hear enough dishes rattling to be reassured I haven’t missed her. I glance at H, hoping he will have some guidance. “What do you think, H? Any tips for starting a conversation Claudia?”
An imperial tone rings out a response. “If you’re talking about our sous-chef, I wouldn’t advise going in with any approach other than flattery.”
Unless H has suddenly developed a woman’s voice, we’re not as alone as I thought. I can’t see anyone, but wait - is that an arm sticking out of the portrait up by the high tables?
By the time I get up there, the older woman in the portrait is lounging comfortably on a wooden chair, a stack of books on one side and her loyal German shepherd on the other. She flicks
