Benedict paused at the threshold and cast a sidelong glance back before making one last remark. "There is one more matter. Marian suspects this whole arrangement is the Hemlock's doing. Gabriel chose this location to lend credence to your disguise."
Darwin sent him a vexed glance, but before he could respond, Benedict had already left the room.
He sighed and began removing his gloves. He placed each piece of protective gear along the desk's edge, and arranged them neatly. After sweeping his silvery hair back from his temples, Darwin folded his arms across his chest and reflected inwardly.
'Perhaps arriving too bundled would only render me more dubious,' he mused. 'She already assumes I'm in disguise, so shedding a little of it will hardly matter, it may even keep her from probing too much.'
In barely a few minutes, Benedict returned, this time accompanied by a young woman.
She bore herself with modest decorum; her black hair was drawn into a chignon that set off the austere luster of her steel-gray eyes and the sharp lines of her features. She did not so much as glance at Darwin, remaining quietly behind Benedict. Her arms were folded, her shoulders squared, her back straight.
Benedict stopped in the center of the room. "This is Ms. Marian Prentiss," he announced. "And Mr. Gabriel Audrye," he added with a slight bow of his head toward Darwin. "Though introductions may not be strictly necessary, it is proper to observe customary formalities."
At last, Marian's expression softened.
She stepped forward unhurriedly and extended her gloved hand. Darwin accepted it calmly.
"Pleasure to see you again, Gabriel," she intoned politely. "It's a pity our circumstances haven't allowed us more time together."
Darwin swallowed and withdrew his hand, curling his fingers into a tight fist.
'…More time together? I'd settle for knowing who you are first.'
"Indeed," Darwin replied with a friendly smile.
Marian glanced briefly at Benedict, then returned her attention to Darwin and inquired, "Shall we just find an hour another day to catch up properly?"
Darwin gave a cursory nod, then motioned toward the table that Benedict had already prepared.
Once seated, he looked back, but Benedict was already slipping away. Strangely, his absence left Darwin feeling oddly uneasy.
Even so, it should have been Gabriel's place to scrutinize Marian, not his own.
Marian's words drew Darwin from his thoughts. "What an interesting disguise you've chosen. I cannot say I have seen such pale hair before. Somehow it gives you a younger countenance."
Darwin sat up straighter and lifted his chin to meet her silver gaze.
"Indeed, such a disguise hardly conceals, as it makes one stand out." He gave a rueful chuckle. "Of course, these garments are unique, too conspicuous above the collar and too easily forgotten below. One cannot quite decide whether I am suspicious or tedious."
Marian maintained a courteous smile, but Darwin could sense her gaze sizing him up.
He leaned back slightly in his chair, allowing his usual composure to return.
"I find it puzzling," Marian said after a moment, "to be both visible and ignored in the same instant. I've long found such half-measures insufferable."
"Because they fail to fulfill either purpose?" Darwin suggested.
"Because they squander time..."
Darwin considered her words for a moment.
'Perhaps she means that choosing a disguise obvious enough to be noticed, yet subtle enough to be overlooked, only defeats its purpose.'
He drew in a slow breath, reminding himself that he merely had to offer enough for others to supply the rest.
Pressing further would only undermine him; it was wiser to hold back and allow their assumptions to carry matters forward.
'Though there is something I ought to verify for myself first,' Darwin mused.
He leaned forward and positioned his chin in his hand before addressing her in a composed tone. "Then let us not waste time, Marian."
A slight curve appeared at the corners of her eyes.
He cast a disinterested glance on the tabletop before him, noting the thin layer of dust and chalk over its surface.
Idly, Darwin drew a line through the residue, returning his gaze to her halfway before speaking again. "I was interested in your perspective on disguises… Suppose a man abandons his true identity, let us say he forsakes all obligations and lives without name or duty. If no one recognizes him, does that mean he has succeeded in vanishing? Or has he failed because he never truly let go of his own morals and past? He remains invisible, yet he has not fully become someone new. Does such a disguise still count as wasted effort if he's managed to fool everyone but himself?"
Marian thought before answering. "Well, you're right that one cannot abandon morals as easily as duties. In the end, a person's true character shows in those small, unexpected moments. It is the man who feels no need to prove himself that others are least inclined to care for." She waved away his question. "I couldn't care less for eloquent speeches or carefully refined answers."
Darwin's hand twitched imperceptibly on the table.
"However, for yourself," Marian added, "it seems that either you do not fully trust my identity, or you are merely trying to unsettle me with hypotheticals. If you mean to question me like this, give me a clearer scenario, so I can show why my ideas hold merit."
"You didn't think I was casting suspicion on you, did you? We're familiars. You know my manner leans toward the indirect; there's nothing else to it." Darwin waved his hands as if clarifying a minor misunderstanding.
Marian observed him in the candlelight. After a short pause, she said, "That does sound like you."
'Did my excuse work?' He inwardly exhaled, then scoffed.
"Does it? Then wouldn't you agree that a man such as myself gains reward from what you deem idle effort? It seems I must either enlighten you on the value of standing at the center of a scale in some circumstances, or you must demonstrate why such effort is truly wasted when it includes some performance."
Marian gave a polite nod.
"Very well. Since we are already in a schoolroom, let us play at school, then." She paused briefly, organizing her thoughts before continuing, "You surely recall the nature of a standard copybook. The better instructors do not judge a student by perfect handwriting, but by the mistakes they make. Such errors, in many cases, teach far more than any rehearsed answer."
Darwin immediately pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, suppressing the urge to frown at her. After some thought, he couldn't help but recall the methods Gabriel had used to approach him.
The peculiar individual preferred to set up a situation and observe how one responded, rather than pose a direct question.
It was evident that Marian was currently using a similar approach.
He fell silent for a moment before letting out a discreet sigh.
"Then perhaps you shall be the one to set the lesson," Darwin said calmly, "since it was your suggestion, no?"
"I hope you don't mind if I alter the subject a bit, then," she said.
"Not at all."
"Good. Then today's question shall be this: If someone truly wishes to vanish, they must ensure there is no one left to remember them. You said those without obligations drop to the bottom of the bucket.' But suppose a man casts off all his duties and identity, does he vanish completely then? What about everything else? Consider that scenario."
Darwin pressed a thumb to his bottom lip, then turned to her. "And in your copybook, what would be the pupil's first mistake?"
"To assume that something will disappear on its own overlooks the very thing that lets it persist. However, it is among the easiest ways to vanish. Of course, still, the truth will naturally require confrontation from time to time."
Darwin mulled over her words. "So the student supposes that memory will fade of its own accord, even if it leaves behind inner turmoil."
Marian pursed her lips. "Mm, they believe as well that being overlooked now will mean being overlooked forever."
'Oh?' Darwin felt a grin curl at the corners of his mouth.
Although the topic felt uncomfortably coincidental given the only conversation he'd ever had with Gabriel, he wasn't about to let that sway his judgment.
Either way, the discussion before him had already been arranged in a manner that favored him, and even if it truly hadn't been that way, there was something else he had become inwardly certain of just moments ago.
For now, he planned to carry this exchange to its end and demonstrate that his capabilities were, at the very least, up to standard.
First, Darwin considered their notions individually, and in doing so, he recalled Gabriel's dictum: that inevitable consequences were more just than any punishment another might impose, a sentiment that likewise revealed the nature of his morality.
It meant he likely would have scoffed at any method that left one's deeds to be abraded by time, insisting rather that one must appoint a custodian for secrets.
For Gabriel, sustaining a given guise required constant upkeep. He once told Darwin that an alibi isn't the absence of proof but proof planted in capable hands.
In other words, one's traces were never wiped away by simple neglect, but by steadily reorganizing one's life, bit by bit.
And permanence was no end, if a witness could carry their existence safely to the grave or repeat a single planted narrative, that was better than leaving the populace oblivious. 'Above all,' Darwin thought, 'Gabriel would choose the path that grants him the greatest control.'
Darwin cleared his throat and began explaining in a mild tone, "The student's first failing is in supposing that time by itself will efface a secret. One does not drift into oblivion unaided. You must appoint a custodian, a clerk, perhaps, or the porter who seals the records." He paused, then continued. "Second, whether you're merely concealing yourself or attempting to assume an entirely new guise, such things never come without exertion. If you genuinely wish to leave nothing behind, then you must bury what was, and overwrite your original life."
He looked steadily at Marian, catching the dwindling reflection of the flame in her iris. "And third, the gravest mistake is in believing permanence is necessary. Permanence is a conceit of the pious. What truly matters is dominion over those who have seen you; your disguise will remain intact, so long as its witnesses, and those tied closest to them, eventually fade away."
Darwin shrugged as if the truth of it were self-evident.
However, Marian's manner had not changed.
She tapped the desk with one fingertip, as if in thought. "You've given me meticulous corrections, indeed," she said. "Yet a pupil may still err if he sees time as an ally. As you say, only labor teaches with true rigor. Permanence, after all, need not trouble the student. The real lesson lies in discerning whose hand controls what remains. One may witness everything, but only the cunning ensure what's left matches their narrative."
Marian sniffled quietly. "I have one final question for you, Mr. Gabriel."
As Darwin made a gesture, Marian bowed her head and asked, "Would you judge a student by his misstep or by how he corrects it?"
"Isn't it simply a matter of whether a misstep exists at all? After all, many things are subjective. In the end, each of us bears secrets, and so we offer differing accounts of ourselves..."
Darwin paused briefly to straighten a single button on his vest before concluding in a low, accusing undertone, "...all to disguise our true nature."
Marian allowed herself a faint, amused smile. "I cannot say if that was bravado or sincerity."
A subtle tension lingered between them.
Marian let out a thoughtful hum, then veered the subject without warning. "Benedict conveyed that we are to hold this session as an analysis. How very droll of him, to make everything seem official."
Darwin raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Are you close with Benedict as well?"
"In only a cursory way," she replied at once. "We've met a few times. He's a rather perplexing child, simple in some ways, yet confounding all the same."
Darwin smiled awkwardly. "Naturally."
The chair scraped back slightly as Marian abruptly rose to her feet. "That, then, is my report. Shall we await his return? I see nothing amiss, so you may inform our superiors accordingly and write me back."
Darwin blinked slowly, restraining his relief as best he could.
Marian reached into her jacket and produced a small, plain tin.
Without opening it, she placed it beside the candle where the lamp's glow dulled the metal. "Matches," she said softly. "In case the candle tires prematurely."
Though she had set it near his hand, her tone sounded neither inviting nor reprimanding.
She tilted her head and tucked a stray lock of dark hair into place. "By the way, there is one simple matter that has been on my mind."
Darwin arched an eyebrow. "And what matters is that?"
"Your left hand."
He looked down and cleared his throat. "What of it?"
"You rarely took off your gloves in the past. When you did wear one, it was always on the left hand. You once said a draught troubled you as a child, and you even boasted of wearing that glove for seventeen years."
Darwin opened and closed his mouth at a loss for words.
"And yet," Marian added drolly, "you've set it aside now. This surely isn't another one of your disguises?"
In an instant, the candle went out, and darkness enveloped the room.
Darwin exhaled slowly, feigning impatience.
He lifted the tin with his right hand and shook it until its jagged edge faced him. "Men embellish their reasons when they have an audience."
With a rasp of sulfur, he struck a match and leaned forward to relight the candle. When the wick caught flame, Darwin flicked the spent match aside in one swift motion.
Marian watched him quietly across the table. "Isn't that so? But you are not one for such pretense, Gabriel, you've already shown me the scar. Do you not recall?" she inquired, resting her hand on her cheek.
Darwin's tongue moved nervously over his teeth. "Have—have I?" he stammered.
As Marian gave a small, knowing smile, the mood between them turned askew.
Before he could think of what to say, she reached across the table, took his left hand, and held it near the candle flame.
"…"
Moments passed. Then Marian released his hand and folded her own in her lap.
Even though Darwin had intently pondered over his answers a few moments ago, he evidently had no way around his own body.
He began to tap his foot in agitation until Marian finally spoke again. "You appear rather vexed, Mr. Gabriel."
"Only mildly so," he managed, with a brittle laugh in his voice. "I suppose I hide it better than most."
Marian's expression remained unreadable. "Indeed," she said. "I must also confess, the conversation was growing rather tiresome. I even began to wonder why you hadn't said anything."
Marian suddenly reached out and pressed the candle's wick between her fingers.
After going out, a thin sickle of moonlight slanted through the window, as pale as silver.
Darwin pressed his hands together beneath the table and waited to hear the woman's voice again.
"May I trouble you to accompany me somewhere better lit?"
He briskly straightened in his seat. "Am I being placed under arrest?"
She shook her head. "No, I am merely confirming your identity. If you truly are who you claim to be, no harm will be done; it is only a precaution to ensure no outsider slips away with knowledge they should not possess. An appearance does not a man make."
Darwin bowed his head and stood up without hesitation.
As he gathered his few belongings, his thoughts churned. Where in God's name is Benedict?
Marian ordered Darwin to keep his hands visible before they exited the schoolroom together.