Scones upon scones were piled upon slightly scorched toast; boiled eggs were put in painted little cups; fried bacon and scrambled eggs laid on plates of white porcelain trimmed with gold leaf on the edges; bread rolls laid beside jars of marmalade and strawberry jam on glazed glass dishes; cereal were put inside big bowls; and boiled milk and cappuccino and tea were giving out steam in delicate majolica pitchers.
We plopped into our seats, and started to eat our piping-hot breakfast. Father looked closely at me and asked, “Are you alright?” I settled the butterflies in my stomach, gulped down my scrambled eggs and said glibly, “I’m fine, Father, just fine.” Tamara raised her dainty eyebrows but said nothing.
I met Quentin’s eyes over the table, and I knew he was thinking the same thing: There wasn’t that much food at St. Andrews.
“Father, wasn’t the Quaestor cutting food rations by half?” I commented shrewdly. Quentin gave me a warning glance. Don’t get him mad, he silently pleaded me.
Without looking up from his Invidian Informer, Father briskly replied, “Yes.”
I continued, “Then why is there so much food on the table?” Quentin desperately shook his head at me. Stop it, Pelly, stop goading him into losing his temper!
He unhurriedly stared up at me, his eyes narrowed. “I work hard for it, Pelly.”
“But where did you get so much food?” I pressed, leaning forward. Quentin’s wings had started to droop in despair, his head buried in his hands, blue hair covering his eyes. Tamara looked alarmed, and had put down her knife and fork. Tense silence hung in the air between us. No-one was touching a single scrap of food on the wooden table at that moment.
He did not reply, and merely stared deep into my eyes, his stony black ones reflecting my own.
That bastard! I stood up and put my hands on my hips. “Did you cheat the villagers out of their food rations again?”
Father snapped, “Sit down, Pelagia! How I obtain food is none of your business!”
“Yes, Father.” I reluctantly sat down, still glowering at him. But it is my business when you are exploiting the commoners, I silently added in my head. Quentin visibly relaxed, thankful that I didn’t continue the fight.
We continued to eat in silence until Father looked up from his Invidian Informer and asked, “Pelly, Quincy, what do you want for your enlikismos?”
I had heard the term enlikismos loads of times, but I had no idea what it meant. I was about to ask Father, but Quentin beat me to it. “What does enlikismos mean?”
Both my father and Tamara were surprised. Father put down the newspaper and leaned forwards. “You two really don’t know?”
We shook our heads.
“What on Earth does that Professor Fungusson teach you at that wretched school?! He doesn’t even teach you the customs of our country!” He exploded.
Both I and Quentin gulped. “It’s actually Professor Ferguson, Father.” Quentin timidly pointed out.
Father immediately lashed out at him. “His name does not matter! And don’t talk back to me, Quentin!” He shook his head. “The Quaestor had said that he exerted bad influence over youngsters but I never knew it was this bad! I bet it was him who taught you two those bad manners!”
I kept silent, hurriedly chewing on the greasy bacon. Quentin drank his milk, leaving a milk moustache on his mouth after. I couldn’t help but giggle at his expression, and he anxiously looked at our irate father, observing his reaction.
I watched as Father’s face slowly contorted into a scowl. “Stop laughing, Pelagia!” I immediately stopped giggling, and started giving my boiled egg dirty looks.
He warily shook his head. “The Quaestor was right --- I should have never sent you two to that boarding school. Look at you now!” he gestured at the two of us, “None of you is even remotely mature... And you, Quentin, were supposed to guide her, but you are just as childish as her.” We looked at our shoes guiltily, shifting our shoes.
He stood up and poured himself another cup of cappuccino. “I shall have no choice but to postpone your birthday celebrations and hurry you through your enlikismos. There is no other way.
“Tamara, see Doctor Schmidt and tell him we’re moving the surgeries to the ninth.” Tamara nodded and left for the telescreen room, leaving us alone in the dining room.
Surgeries?! What surgeries? I panicked, but I didn’t dare to ask Father. He was already in a very mad mood, and I didn’t want to irritate him even further.
Quentin glanced at me worriedly, and I knew he was thinking the same thing.
Father drank the last few drops of his coffee, and then asked us, “So what do you want for your enlikismos?” He paused. “Or birthday, seeing that you two don’t even know what an enlikismos is.”
I gulped down my scone and replied, “I don’t know…” Father looked pointedly at Quincy, but he only shrugged and continued munching on his toast.
“Can I go out with Quincy later to see what catches my fancy?” I asked slyly, crossing my fingers underneath the wooden table. I had missed walking along the streets of Invidia, stopping here and there to peep inside the tiny, cramped shops.
He agreed, waving his hand to dismiss us. “Just come back home before sunset --- the Quaestor has been kind enough to invite us to his winter villa for dinner.” He reminded us. “Really?!” I exclaimed, shocked. “But doesn’t he live in Ignotus?“ Ignotus was the capital of Kolasipublica, and was a few provinces away.
“Yes, but his winter villa is in Poulooei --- a mere ten miles away from us.” Quentin replied, to my surprise.
Father fixed his crooked tie, and then looked us straight in the eye. “Promise me you two won’t get into trouble again.” “Of course we won’t, Father," I said cheerily and dragged an unwilling Quentin up to our bedroom to change into something cozier.
＊＊＊＊＊＊
“Well, Invidia is starting off the week with some fog, but it will disappear by late afternoon, followed by some gentle snowing. It will get as cold as twenty four degrees Fahrenheit, so remember to wear more clothes, comrades! On the other hand, Pace is…” Quentin tuned out the telescreen and grimaced at me. “I really, really hate cold weather!” He complained as we bundled up in fur coats and fur caps to ward off the bitter cold. “It makes my feathers feel like they’re being dipped in icy water or worse.” he sniffed.
I glanced at him sympathetically. “You can cover your feathers with those wing warmers that Tamara uses, you know.” I suggested as we lumbered down the polished wooden stairs. He pretended to vomit, and then replied, “Those things disgust me! They look like gigantic plastic bags.” He shuddered. “I can’t even imagine what I would look like if I wore that rubbish!”
I giggle, and looked out of the windows in the living room. Ice crystals had frosted the glass, and I rubbed a small spot on the window until I could see through it. To my delight, the weather forecaster was right --- it was already snowing again. The snow drifted and gently coated the whole birch tree in the square and the tops of annoyed people’s fur hats. Why do they look annoyed? I thought curiously. It’s finally snowing, you guys! And Quaerieve is just a month away!
The pure white snow coating the streets were already turning yellow from people and carriages treading and stamping on it. No-one seemed to notice the beautiful snow at all, except for the people peeved about the snow ruining their perfectly groomed fur coats. I sighed. Why did Mama have to go? I found myself wistfully thinking. We could have gone out and built a snowman on such a beautiful day like this. Then Mama would make us some hot cocoa, like how she does when we ---
“Can you please hurry up, Pelly?” Quentin crossed his arms and tapped his boot against the mahogany floor, interrupting my thoughts. I heaved a weary sigh, suddenly not eager to roam around Invidia, and pulled on my thick leather boots.
He sat down beside me, unconsciously flipping his electric blue fringe. “Are you still thinking about your…nightmare?” He stuttered hesitantly. I shook my head. “I was thinking about Mama. That everything…would be perfect if she hadn’t left.” He let out a forced laugh. “Nah, I don’t think so, Pelly.” He said half-heartedly.
He stood up and pulled me to my feet. I looked down at the floor, and tugged at loose stands on my coat. The shiny leather on my boots reflected my forlorn face, mouth slowly forming into a pout.
I could hear Quentin letting out a sigh as he clapped me on my back. “S’ might be better for Mama to leave, with Father being so blatantly unfaithful and all,” he said darkly. I looked up right into his eyes, and said pensively, “But she could have left a note or something, to explain.”
“Do you really think so, Pelly?” He crossed his arms. “Father made Mama’s life a living hell.” He swept his arm across the grandiose room. The candles on the chandelier flickered and wavered. “If she stayed here in this room, this place for a bit longer --- she might have gone mad.”
I contemplated his words, thinking of all the times Mama saw Father bringing a woman back home; of how Mama looked so desolate when Father went out after a rough day dealing with the officers and holding meetings with the Quaestor; of how Mama cried when she found another woman’s underwear while washing the laundry with Tamara. “You’re right, Quincy. Mama would be happier without that pest around.”
Quentin smirked, and patted his chest. “I’m always right, you know --- I’m your eudaemon, your big brother Quentin!” I slightly smiled, and he grinned. He seemed to read my thoughts and became serious again. “Don’t be sad about Mama, Pelly. She’s better off without him.” He slung his arm over my slumped shoulders and steered me towards the door. “What Mama would have liked is for us to have fun, so let’s go and do whatever you want to do before dressing up like penguins and entertain our great Quaestor!” He concluded.
We both laughed at the thought of us wearing our evening clothes and pretending to be a pair of well-behaved twins for a night, while slinging our messenger bags over our shoulders. “It has been --- what? --- three years since we last saw the Quaestor,” I mentioned as I grabbed the keys. Quentin turned the brass doorknob and opened the door, gesturing for me to walk out. “It sure has been a long time,” he mused. I mock curtseyed, and he slightly bowed, his brown eyes twinkling as I pranced out, my long caramel locks bouncing up and down.
The fresh cold wind blasted in my face. My pensive mood dissolved the second we were out of the mansion and onto the icy streets where our family carriage was waiting. I tried to dismiss our chauffeur Knightley, saying that we preferred to walk instead. He groaned and ran a hand over his face. “The Aedile said to take the carriage, and that I should force you into it if you ever resisted,” he sighed. “He doesn’t want you two to get in trouble again.”
Quentin raised an eyebrow and coughed, his wings twitching.
Knightley immediately corrected himself. “Well, just you, miss. He said that Master Quentin could take care of himself, unlike you.” I rolled my eyes. “I can take care of myself too, thank you very much,” I huffed.
He winced. “You know it isn’t becoming for a young, educated woman like yourself to run around the city, as if you were no better than those demimondaines living in those slums,” He pointed over at the dark gray standardised apartment blocks and shook his balding head. “It just isn’t right, Pelagia.”
I pleaded, “Please, Master Knightley? I don’t want to stay cooped up in a dark and dusty cabin when I could be walking around and seeing the world myself!”
Knightley climbed on top of the carriage and took hold of the reins. “Very well then, Miss Pelagia; I shall look forward to when your pretty little head finally understands what is proper and what is not.” He tipped his hat and the four chestnut mares neighed in farewell, trotting off around the corner.
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