Page 66 of New Angels

“Sir, are ye developin’ a conscience?”

He folds his arms, gazing into the distance, and says nothing for a long time. I sense the battle raging inside his mind as he decides which side of himself to reveal to students who mostly detest him. “The Nicola Miller case has me concerned,” he states quietly, eventually, and these seven words floor me. “It has enormous legal ramifications.”

For the first time since arriving at Lochkelvin, I feel as though I’m being treated like an adult. Like someone worthy of respect, of open conversation, of the truth. While the rest of the staff hides behind bland platitudes, refusing to engage with us on anything contrary to Antiro’s political dogma, to hear these calmly measured words — fromDr. Moncrieff— is like breathing after being pinned underwater.

Even Rory looks shocked. “But… you started this.”

“I know.”

“Arabella’s wrapped herself up in all of it.”

With a brief flash of pain, Dr. Moncrieff again says, “I know.”

“Ye’re whit, then, havin’ second thoughts—?”

“I did not say that,” Dr. Moncrieff states carefully. “I can agree with certain things and disagree with how others are handled.”

“No, you can’t. Not under Antiro law. There is no safe middle ground in this fight.” Rory gives a dark, humorless laugh. “You should be thanking your lucky stars I’m not recording you. The brother of the king has just committed treason — or, to give it its correct name these days, blasphemy.”

“Is the Nicola Miller case really that big a deal?” I ask, disbelieving. Out of everything Antiro’s done,thisis what stops him in his tracks?

“I’ve been following her legal challenge. If she loses, journalism in this country is dead. There will be no such thing as press impartiality.”

“There never was,” Finlay mutters cynically.

Dr. Moncrieff shakes his head. “If you think things are bad now…”

He glances down at his watch. It’s only then that I realize, at what must be three in the morning, maybe even four, he’s still dressed in his usual suit. He must still suffer from insomnia, I think to myself, observing the dark rings around his eyes. I suppose it should be expected — howcouldanyone sleep after realizing all their actions have resulted in the political calamity engulfing the country? I have the dreams, too, and I was only the messenger. There must be some way back for him to the other side, to our side, away from Benji. As spiteful as I feel about Dr. Moncrieff’s infuriating short-sightedness, I understand when olive branches ought to be extended.

“It’s late,” he notes, although the hour is one he seems accustomed to. “I’ve kept you long enough and you need sleep.” He picks himself up from his desk, wandering over to the set of drawers and rummaging through the uppermost one. I meet Danny’s gaze, confused. Tonight has been a strange, strange night, and to leave it relatively unscathed in all but our dignity seems like a surprise victory. It’s tragic, but I wonder when we grew accustomed to the threat of being thrashed. “Unfortunately, I cannot facilitate in the assistance of your communication dilemmas,” he murmurs, still rooting inside the drawer. Eventually, he stops, pulling out something. It’s metallic and winks in the low light, held between Dr. Moncrieff’s thumb and forefinger. “But if by accident I happened to be inordinately clumsy and dropped a spare key, then you’d probably be interested to know that this classroom is usually empty after eight o’clock each night…”

The key clinks to the floor. We stare at him, stunned, wondering if it’s a trick. When nobody else moves, Danny slowly stoops to collect it and places it inside his dressing gown pocket.

“Why are you doing this?” Rory eyes Dr. Moncrieff suspiciously, distrusting him. I don’t blame him. We’ve been so trained to expect the worst from teachers that this could be a cruel double-bluff. But for some reason, I don’t believe it is. Even when he’s wrong, Dr. Moncrieff is at least sincere.

“Because I’d rather you met somewhere safe, and I want to minimize the punishments you receive. I’m starting to find the agenda against the four of you unsettling. The library is too exposed and they don’t check classrooms.”

“And if ye’ve bugged the place?”

Rather than looking offended, Dr. Moncrieff inclines his head. “It’s a good question, Mr. Fraser. I can tell you I haven’t until I’m blue in the face but I know you have no reason to believe me. If you can’t trust me, then you’ll have to trust your judgment. But you know by now that technology is… Lochkelvin-averse.”

It’s a strange way of phrasing it, I think to myself, as my mind catches on Dr. Moncrieff’s particular lilt. I’d always consideredLochkelvinto be technology-averse, but for it to be the other way around seems… important.

“Besides,” Dr. Moncrieff continues, winding his watch, “there’s to be an excursion to coincide with Burns Night, and I think you’ll benefit greatly from it.Ifyou’re able to stay out of trouble.” At our frowns, he explains, “Headmistress Baxter will speak more on it tomorrow but I believe it’s an excellent opportunity, and I don’t wish for you to miss out.”

From his tone, we should all be excited by whatever trip we’re going to be cajoled into going on. But from our last horrific outing to St. Camford, and the fact that our exams are already at the end of the month, it may be ungrateful but we really don’t need to take several days out of our crammed study schedules to visit wherever Baxter deems essential, just to advertise the school like obedient Lochkelvin monkeys.

Dr. Moncrieff nods toward the door. “Off you go. The castle will be clear at this time of night.” As we file out of his classroom, thoroughly bemused, he leaves us with a final, “And by the way, for those of you in my class — your essays have been improving marvelously. You’ve really taken steps to present your arguments in a genuine, thoughtful manner.”

This seems bizarre since, although my grades have certainly inflated recently, I don’t recall doing much differently from previous essays. I’ll take the A, of course, especially when Arabella’s grade is sinking, but I still don’t understand what I did to deserve it.

Drawling, however, Rory answers my curiosity by retorting, “Are we getting more thoughtful or are you just listening better?”

When I glance back at Dr. Moncrieff, he’s wearing a soft, troubled frown as though this possibility had never occurred to him. For all his talk of examining both sides and presenting strong arguments, he really believed himself infallible from bias.

I hover by the doorway. Having Dr. Moncrieff’s ear is too good an opportunity to pass up, so before I leave I blurt, “Do you know where the unicorn is?”

He cocks an eyebrow at me. “The unicorn?”

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