The Weaver's Web: Book II, Chapter 3

My amusement was absent the next day when I walked into the doors of Arcadia. As a student.

I tagged some of the people around me but fought the impulse to do it to everyone. If the Wards did go here, the PRT had to have security measures in place. Students were walking in, talking, looking at me.

Not like they had at Winslow. Here, for most of them, I was an unknown quantity.

I stood out.

I didn’t like it.

Under the ground, ants went berserk, but I kept my measured pace to the principal’s office. When I got there, I noticed how clean everything was. The floor gleamed like it was polished at the end of every day instead of every week.

I’d been here before for tutoring, but now… this would be my school. And it was odd how intimidating the idea that this was a school with money, where kids whose families had money went. Arcadia wasn’t the most elite school in town, that went to Hamilton High, set up in the hills behind the town, but it was still…

Elite. Especially compared to Winslow, even now. Most of the kids here didn’t worry about drugs, or drive-bys.

But they may worry about other things. My studies of criminology had brought more than a few tales of the horror hiding behind some respectable facades. Some of the stories I’d read… Well, The Slaughterhouse might be a horror, but I wonder if they could match the betrayal.

Thoughts for another time. The secretary waved me in, and I walked into the office.

It was larger than the one at Winslow, a broad window letting in the light.

“Taylor, is it?” The woman nodded, and gestured at me to sit down. “I’m Principal Jane Umbridge, no relation to that Umbridge.”

I nodded. “No magic?”

“And better fashion sense, I hope. You’ve done very well with the tutoring sessions, both for yourself and for Aisha Laborn.” She paused. “And you are aware that Ms. Laborn may have extracurricular activities.”

“She’s very gifted,” I said.

“Yes, she paid a high price, however.” The woman leaned back. “But you understand that any hint of her extracurricular activities to other students, before she’s ready to talk could be counter productive.”

“Very.” She knows. But not about me, I don’t think. They probably just informed her that I knew of Aisha’s identity. And the PRT was probably hoping Aisha would change her mind.

I didn’t think she would. Not with the request for the speech. That sounded like she was going to throw her identity in their face.

“Now, as for yourself. Because you’re a new student here, we’ll start you on your regular Winslow class schedule, but you do have two electives. It’s a bit late in the year, but you can take the new two days to audit classes to see which two you would like.”

Winslow had never had enough teachers to offer that kind of choice. I knew already, however. Shop and the Robot Rumble. The first to provide me with some cover for my work and the second because it would expose me to some of the best designs for non-tinker, non-military robot systems around—and give me more cover for my other activities. The Wards were here, and that likely meant the PRT had the school under close observation.

I took my schedule from her and nodded.

“Taylor, another thing. The district has… not treated you as it should be. First of all, we have a school counselor, and if you need her, she is confidential. The only time she might be forced to inform someone else would be if you are at imminent threat of harming yourself or others. Secondly, we have a zero tolerance towards bullying—verbal or physical. Please understand those are not just words.”

“I will.” After all, at this school, the children had parents with money and—

I pulled that train of thought to a halt. They did, but equally, I expected Ms. Umbridge believed what she was saying.

[hr][/hr]

A number of teachers had come into the tutoring sessions, so I knew them. Most of the students were polite, but well, they didn’t know me, and from what I heard, evidently, Winslow was known as everything from a hang out for criminals to one for capes.

I almost laughed when I heard one girl earnestly assure the other girl that the basement of Winslow was where Hookwolf ran his fighting ring, and sometimes he took kids to use as victims.

I expect that Hookwolf had far too much taste to use Winslow’s basement, even if there had been room.

The first class on my schedule was Parahuman Affairs, and the man teaching it looked to be in his forties. I’ve never seen him before since tutoring hadn’t been dealing with Parahuman Affairs. He took roll call and then perched himself on his desk, the missing arm obvious.

“What’s the biggest problem with dealing with parahuman criminals?”

“They’re powerful?” one girl asked.

He shook his head. “That’s not the big one. Every power is different. Even two people who do the same thing might do it differently. You’ve all wanted to hear the tale of how I got the cruel nickname of “Lefty” as a teenager.” Everyone leaned forward. “So it was 1986, and I was going to the miniature golf course with my girlfriend, the sweet Angelica.” One girl gagged, but he didn’t pay any attention to her. “And then my arm fell off, and the sweet Angelica screamed and passed out.”

The class was silent. “See, earlier that day, a man had brushed up against me and some of my friends as we were leaving school. I didn’t know it, but you might remember the name of King from the Slaughterhouse Nine. He got into a shoot out with the local PD, and they assumed he was a Brute and so shot at him. But King wasn’t a brute in the sense that he ignored bullets—but he could transfer wounds to others. I didn’t just become Lefty that day, I also became the best in my class, because my class went from sixty seniors to 12.”

“The PRT has scales—we’ve gone over them, but they’re just used as a short hand. In reality, the PRT has entire books on any given parahuman power, because they are all different and for all the studying, nobody’s really found an effective way to guess how a power will express itself—which can be problematic if you’re trying to stop him. So! Since we’re done with the boring stuff and have a few days before I have to start talking about parahuman economics, your new job is to pick a known parahuman, either deceased or incarcerated, and write an essay on how their powers might cause problems for anyone who isn’t fully aware of their capabilities and weaknesses. Even if they know broadly what that power can do.”

Interesting. Gladly hadn’t gone over this but I had. I wonder… One of the students in the case I’d studied had lost an arm.

Huh. Small world. I wonder if this kind of lesson was mandated? Maybe as a way to remind people how dangerous parahumans could be?

Well, I think I was going to surprise him and have some fun. Who should I pick… Teacher, or Marquis?

And it was interesting to note that he’d ruled out investigating currently active parahumans.

Maybe the school had a Greg? I suddenly had the vision of someone from Arcadia trying to get Oni Lee to sit still long enough to interview him about any weaknesses in his power.

It was enough for a small smile.

The school moved quickly, and the students were polite, if stand-offish.

Or maybe that was me.

But soon enough, school was over, and it was time for The Investigator to make her appearance. I kept my bugs out, verifying that nobody was near my cache, dressed and then kept out of sight until I was far enough away that nobody could connect Taylor with The Investigator.

I’d made some changes. Armsmaster’s comment about my bust, or lack thereof had stung but… I’d slimmed down the top a bit, made it so that it didn’t look like I was adding padding, which would hopefully keep anyone else from noticing the discrepancy and just assume they were natural.

It didsting just a little, and the comments in the back of my head were in Emma’s voice.

But now it was time to visit Brandish at her firm. I did have some information.

And I had called ahead. Manners were a vital part of cape relations, after all.

I was ushered inside quickly—evidently, capes, even minor capes, didn’t have to wait.

Or maybe the documented lack of self-control on the part of some capes saw the secretary wanting to hand me off to Brandish as quickly as possible.

“Hello,” Brandish said. “Would you like coffee?”

“Yes, please,” I preferred tea, but… well, her office.

“I’m surprised you’re here so soon.”

“Issues have arisen. Nothing illegal, but my associate would benefit from resolving this quickly—in a legal manner.” I leaned back. “Mr. Timmis has had dissatisfied clients before. Yet few of them make complaints.”

“Few of them were in a position to do so.”

“Yes, but this is the Bay, and believe that some degree of coercion might have been involved.”

Brandish leaned back and raised one eyebrow. “You don’t need a meeting for that.”

“No, but I do need one to borrow a sarcophagus recorder.”

Brandish paused. I knew why. Sarcophagus recorders had been born out of the simple fact that papers were vulnerable, so were hard disks, to any one of a hundred different powers. While no technology was immune to all powers, the sarcophagus recorders used a system that engraved a synthetic diamond with data, data that could not be erased without destroying the diamond. Data that was inscribed along with a timestamp.

There were some that could subvert a recorder, Eidolon and the Fairie Queen came to mind, but the vast majority of parahumans could not, which made the recorders and their media a choice for secure records and interviews. But they were expensive.

“Why would you need that for interviews with possible witnesses? To use it would cost a 1,000 dollars, because we’d have to replace the data-slug.” Brandish seemed confused.

“Because I intend to interview Mr. Timmis, after letting him know I’ve used the same sarcophagus recorder talking to his dissatisfied clients. What person would waste such an expensive item unless they had good information that needed to be recorded in a way no court would discount? As The Investigator, I obviously used my dastardly thinker powers to ferret out his secrets.”

“And then?”

I tilted my head. “Either he does nothing, in which case we are no worse off than we are now, with the added benefit of more information, or… Well, thinkers are notoriously weak in combat, and I am a young girl. No doubt easily intimidated.”

“And if they did come for you?””

“Well, a witness would be helpful. I believe Glory Girl regularly patrols after classes?” I shrugged. “Alternately, I have a cell phone and could call for assistance. I do not believe my life would be at risk. He would seek to threaten, not kill.”

“Why?”

“Because the murder of a parahuman would lead to questions as opposed to a young, would-be hero, who for some reason stopped talking.”

“Very well, presuming this happens, let me give you another theory. Whoever comes after you is just someone who got a phone call and some cash. What then? How do you make the connection in a way the courts would agree with?”

Emily Piggot uses the justification of my involvement in the case to bring it fully under the PRT’s jurisdiction, and Armsmaster gets turned loose. But that wasn’t something I could say, not yet.

“The Bar Association isn’t just restricted to crimes a court deals with. Every attorney also swears to behave in a morally upright manner, including being honest with his clients.” I tilted my head. “If he sends someone after me or attempts intimidation or bribery… well, it’s plain that whatever is on the recorder is likely striking home. At the very least, he may be convinced to lay low and cease preying on the people of the Bay.”

“And if you’re wrong, and he does send someone with a gun after you?”

“I will see them coming and avail myself of a recent hobby.”

“Which is?”

“Running.”

She paused, then shook her head. “I don’t want to involve Victoria in this. She can be a little enthusiastic. I’ll be the one you call. But first, I want to go over the legal definitions and policies that describe the difference between talking to someone to entrapping them. You may not be a LEO, but the borders are vague when parahumans involve themselves in the law, and I don’t want this entire plan to go down the drain because the Bar decides that you did entrap him.”

I nodded. And I was interested. Reading was one thing, but Brandish was a trained lawyer. I might find out things that weren’t written down in books.

And the more I knew, the stronger I would be.