Chapter Seven
Alexandr Miroslav
It was during my quiet breakfast that I caught wind of the news. The gossip mill at Castle Hill seemed to work around the clock, and news travelled as though by wind.
I heard whispers all morning; a girl in front of me turning to her friend and speaking in a rushed whisper on their walk to campus. I’d only caught the beginning of her words.
Did you hear?
It wasn’t until I’d settled in the back of the Dining Hall that August, ever the persistent parasite, clambered down in the seat facing me. “Did you hear?”
I didn’t look up from my plate of well-seasoned purée and steak, choosing that over the sweeter breakfast option, and only rolled my eyes. “You have no idea how much I’ve heard that phrase today. Seems it’s got these people in a whirlwind.”
August snorted. “You have no idea.” He dug into his fruit toast rather strenuously. “The Saltford-Windsor patriarch passed away last night.”
I might’ve gotten whiplash from how fast I’d lifted my head at his words if I hadn’t been so eager to, for once, hear what August had to say. “Last night… You mean–”
He nodded like I’d picked up what he put down. “Around the time that we’d received those letters–earlier, possibly.”
“How do you know?”
He looked around before realizing there wasn’t a chance anyone could hear him, considering there was no one around. “The family released a statement last night saying he took his last breath at sunset. Maybe it’s a lie and they’d only said so to make his death a memorable one.”
Come to think of it, it did sound more plausible. “Well, it's giving this entire thing a wide berth. What does he have to do with any of it?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. But it can’t be a coincidence. Anyways, his son, Thaddeus Saltford-Windsor, has taken his seat as head of the family. You know what that means.”
When I failed to reply, and he hadn’t heard anything back, he lifted his head from his food and sent me an obvious look. “You know what this means for people around here? Business owners, politicians. Any and all deals were with Thaddeus Sr., and now that he’s dead…”
I finally nodded in understanding and murmured, almost to myself, “All dealings are now void.”
This was, despite it not concerning me, quite interesting. Students with anything left to their name as inheritance were at stake.
I’d seen multiple of my peers glued to the telephones, some taking phone calls as though it were their last, clutching the line with vigour.
It was all piecing itself together now. The hierarchy was shifting.
The board members would remain in power, but those once considered close to the Saltford-Windsor circle would change, from the looks of trepidation among the student body it seems it already has.
Alliances would shift, friendships would break, and the world would continue to go round, the working class none the wiser.
August and I watched, as though from the outside looking in, as students passed in a flurry, darting from this person and that.
“This should be interesting.”
August huffed out a laugh. “You have no idea.”
And interesting it was.
Walking into Law, I’d grown anxious with each step closer to the classroom, but upon looking at Mr Browne’s face, something made me relax and realize I’d be the least of his worries. His smile was genuine, large and sharp. Like a wolf that’d found its supper.
I wondered if he had anything in it for himself. Any deals he made in which he was waiting for a payout. Knowing him, he probably did.
“Everyone, please take your seats. I know today has brought us quite a morning, but we still have a lot to go through. There is a folder already placed on each of your desks. Do not open them–I’ll explain the exercise you’ll be working on in pairs after the lesson.”
The class settled down, and Wolf rushed in right at the final bell, throwing an apologetic wave as he took his seat next to me.
I was slumped back in my seat, the tie of my uniform hanging loose, as I’d tied it once and left it big enough to fit through my head in hopes that it’d save me from dealing with it every morning. So far, my clever idea, brought forth by my laziness, was proving to be rewarding.
I sent a sideway glance to Wolf, watching him busy himself with unpacking his books.
“But before that… I wanted to hear your thoughts on the recently deceased Saltford-Windsor. Anyone? Anything you noticed in the newspapers, from their relatives?”
A girl whose name I did not know raised her hand, along with a few others.
“I think the media is taking this as an excuse to showcase their hatred for the wealthy and powerful. It isn’t anything new, that there will always be people on the…
other side of the fence if you will, that will disregard even a semblance of empathy if it is for a highly distinguished man. ”
God, he’s dead, you’re not getting any points for defending him.
She seemed almost on the verge of outrage, but looking around at the other students nodding along, I understood where her words had come from.
If the media can create a smear campaign of a dead man just because of his wealth, well then, they’re not getting any better treatment when their time finally comes.
But if the Saltford-Windsor family was an influential one; wouldn’t the media be in their pockets?
Another boy whose name I didn’t know was pointed at next.
“I think that many groups around the world, activists most specifically, are glad of his death because of his radical beliefs, such as when he introduced the idea of stronger surveillance in neighborhoods with high crime rates–and sure, some groups of people may take it the wrong way, but be that as it may, radical ideas are what change the world. We as humans did not evolve because of echo-chambers. Sometimes, it takes someone willing to step outside of the norm to change the world for the better.”
Seriously? Surveillance was his only solution?
I did nothing but watch with passive eyes, but I could feel my skin tightening, my cheeks warming, at how eagerly I wanted to participate.
For the first time in my high school career, I wanted to raise my hand.
I could already imagine what I was going to say. But my hand remained motionless on my desk, and slowly, my heart calmed from the adrenaline falsely released into my bloodstream.
Mr Browne, of course, didn’t nod or shake his head, disagree or agree with any student. He tried to remain impartial; a passive expression fastened over his face.
After a few more students, ironically, bounced ideas off each other in an almost echo-chamber-like manner, Wolf Kingsley raised his hand. I tilted my head towards him, narrowing my eyes in anticipation.
“I… think that for the first time, we are not reading through events but living them, and so instead of being taught what to think and who to side with, we have to do that on our own. I also think that because we’re too afraid to pick a side, we tend to over-empathize with what we’re familiar with.
And…” he nodded to the second boy who had spoken.
“On Percy’s note about radical ideas, how far is radical?
Can ideas be too radical? I mean, the man was practically inciting violence towards marginalized groups.
I wouldn’t classify that as a fresh idea.
It is important that we don’t have echo-chambers–I wholeheartedly agree with that–but when the alternative is bordering on rallying an extremist army off hate speech alone, I would rather stick to the echo-chambers. ”
For the first time since students began this discussion, Mr Browne’s lip quirked up just slightly, a smile hidden in his eyes. “Okay, last one… Rain, you had your hand up.”
Her name came out with a surprised tone.
I straightened, wanting to hear this. She spoke with an air of self-assurance that I was sure others couldn’t master in a lifetime.
What was slightly corrupt, however, was that whatever she said would become a conceptual law, every student willing themselves to follow that viewpoint, from this moment onward.
And I was able to discern that off one day alone.
I wonder how long everyone else in this room was subject to her unspoken rules.
“I think echo-chambers are dangerous. They suppress innovation and dull creativity. But… it is a little comical, the resemblance of an echo-chamber in theory and one in practice in this very room.”
Mr Browne was practically beaming when she finished.
“Thank you, Miss Jett, for finishing off this class discussion with a radical idea, if you will. You see, this is precisely why the sharing of ideas is important, and you all demonstrated it perfectly. We can all share ideas, no doubt, but if we want to advocate for radicalism, we also must be open to it from others. Many of you were exchanging similar ideas, which isn’t exactly wrong, but I saw your faces sour at Wolf’s perspective.
I want you all to sit with that for a little while and really dig deeper in yourselves about how easily you are willing to accept different worldviews. ”
About a second afterward, my attention waned and I leaned back in my chair out of boredom, no longer interested as he resumed his lesson.
Looking around the room, I spotted August up front, who appeared to be looking back every few moments at me and Wolf. It didn’t take long to catch the longing in his eyes, the way they took on the sadness of a neglected puppy.
Almost like a poison, slow and yet awfully present, a sense of injustice filled me at his lack of opinion. His silence. August was just as much held in the same regard as marginalized groups, as any lower-class person is, and yet he hadn’t said a word.
It took Wolf speaking up, being the first to bring forth a different outlook to the class discussion, for others to begin pondering how close-minded they might be. It was brave, and I had to applaud him for it.