EPISODE 8
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Two days later
Under the garden shed
Mr. Kamen sits with his newspaper spread wide. Tiberius nurses a glass of milk. Yancy Wil scrolls idly on his tablet.
Tiberius: Linda Whitmore is a very nice girl and I…
Mr. Kamen: (Without looking up, voice deep and heavy with frost) Do not forget the target, Tiberius. Or I must remind you?
Tiberius winces, straightens at once.
Tiberius: No, Daddy. Befriend Damen Von Brandt, son of General Rodion Alekseevich Von Brandt, so that he may support your campaign. Though we are in different classes, the connection remains achievable.
Mr. Kamen: Good. Anything else to report? (Glances across at Yancy Wil).
Yancy: Oh no, sir.
Yancy's eyes narrow slightly; he rubs them gently with his fingertips.
Yancy: {Goodness gracious, I rather think I shall need to get myself a pair of spectacles.}
Assistant Kuznetsov: (Provocative tone) Would you mind demonstrating how your class teacher prays?
Tiberius: (Bright at first) Well, you have to put your hands together and say— (freezes, realisation dawning) I—I—I… I don't know what you're talking about.
Assistant Kuznetsov: Oh? So you're claiming ignorance of the fact that your class prays before lessons every single day?
Tiberius goes rigid.
Mr. Kamen slowly lowers the newspaper. The glass trembles in Tiberius's small hands.
Mr. Kamen: (Calm, but colder) Is what he says true, Tiberius?
Tiberius: (Swallows hard) D-Dad…
Mr. Kamen: (Lifting his black coffee, measured) I am disappointed.
Tears well in Tiberius's eyes.
Yancy Wil watches in silence, jaw tight, swallowing the surge of anger.
Assistant Kuznetsov: I shall take my leave now, sir. (Departs)
Yancy: (Quiet sigh, rising) If you'll excuse me, sir.
Outside, as Assistant Kuznetsov approaches his car, Yancy calls from a distance—hands in pockets, the usual bright smile entirely absent.
Yancy: What exactly do you hope to achieve by this?
Assistant Kuznetsov: (Turning) Pardon?
Yancy: Are you lot trying to turn him into some sort of living automaton?
Assistant Kuznetsov: Please, do be more specific…
Yancy: Tiberius. What on earth do you hope to gain by stripping away the things the boy actually enjoys?
Assistant Kuznetsov: And when exactly did I—
Yancy: (Approaching steadily) You are Mr. Kamen's secretary. With the greatest respect… (drops to a low whisper) kindly leave anything to do with Tiberius's personal affairs to me and stick to your own remit.
Assistant Kuznetsov meets Yancy's gaze. Yancy offers only a faint, cool smile in return.
Yancy: (Turning to leave) The poor lad can scarcely set foot beyond these walls, and yet here you are trying to suffocate the little bit of joy he has left. (Raises a casual hand) Farewell, Mr. Kuznetsov.
Assistant Kuznetsov stands frozen, still processing.
Magnus steps up beside him.
Magnus: Got you thinking, huh?
Assistant Kuznetsov: (Exhales sharply) I'll have to report him to—
Magnus: I wouldn't if I were you.
Assistant Kuznetsov frowns in confusion. Magnus gives a small, knowing snort, his mind drifting back two days.
From the balcony, Magnus and the Head Butler watch Tiberius chase Yancy Wil, who darts ahead with gleeful mischief, bag swinging.
Manservant 1: So you're telling me… right before that ceramic dish smashed into Smiley Nanny's face, he caught it one-handed?
Manservant 2: Yep. Swear on my birthday cake.
Manservant 3: Looked so damn cool doing it.
Manservant 2: And his voice—nice and soft when he went (clears throat) "Don't run, I'm unharmed."
Manservant 1: (silent beat, then walks off) Y'all need help.
Magnus glances at the Head Butler.
Head Butler: (Calmly departing) I know nothing whatsoever of the matter.
Magnus: (Dry) Who even asked you? Hmph.
Later, in the Empire Security Quarters' monitoring room.
Magnus: Replay the footage.
The technicians oblige. The plate arcs; Yancy's hand snaps up—perfect timing, perfect catch.
Magnus: Rewind. Slow motion.
They comply. The calculation is unnervingly precise.
Magnus: (Soft snort) {Interesting indeed.}
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Later
Empire forest, beneath an old oak
Tiberius sits hugging his knees, face half-hidden.
Yancy Wil settles quietly beside him.
Tiberius: (Voice small, moody) Daddy called the school. They're changing my class. I won't be with my first real friends anymore… all because I prayed.
Birdsong drifts through the branches; a cool breeze stirs the leaves. Yancy watches the boy curl tighter. Then Yancy tilts his own head back. Sunlight filters through, brushing gold across his face. He exhales slowly and looks down again.
Yancy: Right then, come along. Put your hands together.
Tiberius: (Muffled) Why?
Yancy: To teach you properly how to pray, naturally.
Tiberius lifts his head, startled—first at Yancy, then instinctively toward an invisible camera, then back. Yancy gently presses his little palms together in demonstration.
Tiberius: Are you trying to get yourself the sack…?
Yancy: Now listen here, Tiberius. Whatever it is you truly love doing—as long as it's decent and not harmful in the slightest—
I shall support you. Always. 😄
Tiberius snorts despite himself; a small, surprised chuckle escapes.
Yancy: (Wide, toothy grin) 😁.
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