16:20, empty; 16:25, empty; 16:30, empty.
Even when given the freedom to skip class and play with friends, none did. Of course, this wasn't always the case: in the first half of the first semester, trailing into the third quarter, Arthur would see deserters in the hallways regardless of what period it was, or what facility they were a part of. This demonstrated the psychological nature of humans to disobey; but when they are granted freedom, they will do wrong, but bore easily, and eventually be set back on the right path.
This is another one of the Headmaster's many successes; he is a brilliant man who nurtures greatness.
I wish I could converse with such brilliance again.
Approaching the Inferior Archives, he abruptly stopped at the entrance.
I must continue.
He greeted the librarian and walked past five, ten rows of neatly arranged bookshelves, each column of a row being two-sided, and filled with books that he had fully run through.
Row 12, Column 6B. I have found nothing yet, but the works here have much knowledge. The quality of the copies is one thing, but the contents are extraordinary. Two-fifths of all major original works held by the Mage Association are in this library; and the rest are in Superior Archives.
I've only learned of Monstrology since I began my search, and there are at least ten more rows of bookshelves before the topic of the works change. I doubt there will be much new information to be discovered, and I begin to bore; but I must be precise here, so I do not jeopardize myself by skipping what may be the only clue in here.
Someone was recently made the new Keeper of the Archives just before the end of the last semester.
I have felt their energy, but I have not seen them yet; which I hope means that they have not noticed me yet.
From their energy, I can tell they are powerful, but they can't be omniscient, or omnipresent.
I just need to be careful–
He peered past the visual obstruction of the book in his hands.
Footsteps.
In the middle of a period?
He pushed the book in his hands into the nearest slot.
12, 6B, 3R, 14. I'll return for you later.
He took two large steps to the table he was using, and organized the pile of open books into three neatly organized stacks, before pulling himself to a complete stop, and pulling the seat out to sit down; exhaling the sudden influx of CO2, caused by the burst of movement, at a slow, continuous pace through his nostrils.
"Cedric?"
Arthur recognized that deep voice.
Ordain?
They stared awkwardly at each other, neither moving from their position.
He seems nervous. I'll play the innocent child and speak first.
"How are you, sir?"
His head jolted back and he blinked once.
"Well, I feel fine, no good--I'm well. Well."
Arthur smiled. "You must be uncomfortable holding your head down to see me. Please sit."
He gestured his hand at a chair to his right, on the end of the oval table.
"Shall I make some tea? I've been here many times; I know where all the materials are," Arthur said as Ordain reached the chair, beginning to get up himself.
"Tea? No, no; I can make it myself–I'm not in the mood for tea right now. There's no need."
He was looking down now; he could not see the contempt in this arrogant adolescent's eyes.
"If I may ask, why are you not in class; Have you given up?" His eyes proceeded upwards with caution, and as he spoke his last word, Arthur found his eyes shocked down.
Given up?
"Hmm, I'm not sure if I've given up; but the physician instructed me to not perform any physically-stressful tasks."
"You're injured?!" Ordain roared, tensely examining him with his now fully-open hazel eyes. He was so close that Arthur could smell the herbal leaves in the tea Ordain drank before arriving.
Maybe by this, but more likely by the implication of his action, Arthur was stunned for a moment.
Possibly a genuine smile—who could tell—Arthur spoke: "No, no; I just had some blood drawn. It's not that serious."
"Oh, I see." Seemingly acknowledging his own unusual actions, he retreated.
How simple.
"Sir Ordain, it was you, right?"
Arthur's hands gently slid across the smooth table, and clasped them together. He could not see it, but he knew Ordain was uncomfortable.
"You were the one who fought for me to stay in the Honor Class even when I failed to perform."
"And you saved me."
He looked down at his slightly opened hands.
"Hah–I thanked you for that, did I?"
Their eyes met.
"Thank you, I owe you my life."
"Oh– you don't have to say that; I was just doing my duty. I wish–" He paused, and his expression faltered.
"No, I'm sorry. I'm not worthy of any praise, and no one owes me any debt. I'm just here trying to make sure no intruder can ever take a life here again."
His eyes detached from the table, and he was reminded of his audience.
"I mean–"
He tried to find the words, but failed.
"I'll be here in this library if you ever need me."
He pushed away from the table and hurriedly walked away.
If he meant that, that means he did decide to leave the Judicial Board.
He will be easy to manipulate because of his guilt, but his strong sense of justice and his presence in the Archives may hinder my search for the Necronomicon.
The best way to ensure he doesn't interfere with me, while still retaining his help when I need it is to make our relationship more awkward.
The way this interaction left off was pretty awkward, but it might not be enough.
If he bothers me again, I'll pull onto that guilt that he holds so strongly.