As always, the task for every day this month is to write. If you had a look at my outline, you will already see that I have veered from it. I like the veering though and it still lets me incorporate the elements I created. I will have to figure out what is in the letter I wasn’t expecting him to receive but for now that is a note on the edge of my outline and I might have to come back to that during editing. For now, I like the slight alterations…
Day 2
Ames thought about altering his steps, of changing his path to avoid Bacol. He was not in the mood for such a meeting today and knew it would put him in a sour mood. Unfortunately, he left changing course too late. Bacol saw him. To change course now would be tantamount to admitting the man got to him. He would never allow Bacol to think he got under his skin, let alone ran away from him.
‘I am his superior,’ Ames thought. ‘Technically,’ he amended for the sake of fairness.
As head of the department, he was nominally in charge of the department. The university kept a tight reign on the history and archeological departments though, so his power was limited. His authority was mostly limited to paperwork. There had been too much bad publicity over the Enerin Affair and the administration was not about to see a repeat.
‘But on paper I am in charge,’ Ames reminded himself.
He squared his shoulders a little as he continued towards Bacol. ‘No,’ he corrected. ‘I’m walking towards the building where I have a class, Bacol just happens to be in the way.’
“Dr. Stosia,” Bacol said when he approached. “Good morning.”
“Morning Professor,” Ames said willing to at least start off being publicly social.
The fact that his greeting pointed out that Bacol didn’t have the title of doctor and made do with professor was merely a side benefit. While he didn’t concern himself overly much with titles, he knew it bothered Bacol and was willing to use that to his advantage.
Both men knew they had to at least be seen to be polite when dealing with each other in public so they each did their best to make attacks seem like conversation where only they registered the insults. Ames saw the hit land as Bacol narrowed his eyes. He looked Ames up and down, his generally polite expression fixed into place like a mask.
Bacol looked him up and down as though seeking a weakness. His gaze landed on the bag Ames carried, spotting the slight bulge made by the drinking cup.
“Bringing one of your trinkets to class?” Bacol asked, his smile dripping poison. “One of the cheap little relics from one of your digs?”
“A replica of a museum piece,” Ames replied with an icily polite smile. “One of the drinking cups the museum likes to feature on the cover of their catalogs.”
“Oh, yes,” Bacol said. “The superstitious soul sucking demons,” Bacol replied. “The students will no doubt be amused by the salacious horror story.”
“My dear Bacol,” Ames said deliberately leaving off any honorific. “You know as well as I do that superstitions are a reflection of the culture that spawned them and speak to a deep reflection of their fears and social norms. After all, you use early empire superstitions in your lectures, do you not?”
Ames saw the muscles in Bacol’s jaw tighten and release. “I teach about the pantheon of Early Empire gods, a well-defined religious system.” Each word was snapped off as though Bacol bit the edges off as they emerged from his mouth. Ames liked to think that he was sheering the words he couldn’t say from those he could only allowing the acceptable terms out.
He had high hopes that one day Bacol would one day chock on a backlog of the racist bile he couldn’t afford to allow to escape in public.
“Exactly,” Ames said, smiling politely and nodding in agreement. “The superstitious belief system of the age of the Early Empire. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to explain the use of belief and superstition as a reflection foo culture to my students.”
“You will be in class all morning then?” Bacol asked. There was an edge to the question that set alarm bells ringing in Ame’s brain. These were harder to ignore than the morning alarm clock. Ames refused to let the surprise and suspicion make a mark on his politely neutral expression. It was never a good idea to let Bacol know he suspected something, anything.
“Was there something you needed me to look over or approve?” Ames asked instead of replying.
Bacol snorted, the word ‘approve’ clearly sliding under his skin like itching powder. “No,” he replied. “I just wondered about your schedule. If today was a teaching day or if you planned to be in your office. It is quieter when you are away, that’s all.” Bacol turned away. “Perhaps if you are out of your office, I will manage to get some work done without interruptions. Have a good day, Dr. Ames.”
“You as well Professor,” Ames said as Bacol stalked off.
Ames headed towards class, as he replayed the conversation, studying each word. There was something off with it and he knew Bacol was planning something. A side effect of Bacol’s belief that he was both naturally superior and smarter than anyone around him meant that his plans often weren’t that subtle or that well thought out. His comments had all the verbal cues Ames learned to look for when Bacol had a scheme in motion.
‘It’s not the noise,’ Ames thought.
Bacol frequently complained about noise, in fact he complained about everyone’s noise. Students visiting for a consult, phone conversations that drifted through doorways, keys clicking too loudly and even just basic environmental controls clicking on; all cause for complaint. Bacol would be happier if he were in a soundproofed office wing all by himself.
‘He’d still find reasons to complain,’ Ames thought as he entered the building.
Ames checked his watch. He was running late, and ought to just go to the classroom, but he still had a few minutes and Bacol now had him worried. The plots of the professor were easy to derail but only if they were caught in time.
He turned left instead of right and fairly sprinted up the stairwell instead of waiting for the elevator. Ames reached his office, and darted a glance to Bacol’s closed door. There was a message posted on his door regarding his absence and the time he was expected back. Ames wasn’t certain why he bothered as none of his students ever dropped by.
Bacol did not encourage visitations. He lingered at the end of each class and if a student had an issue they took it up with him then. He never put his office number or hours on any of his course work. Ames dismissed the thought and unlocked his own door. He saw the light blinking on the office phone immediately.
It was blatantly obvious as the shades were drawn and the rest of the office dark. Ames left the office dark and walked straight to the phone. He retrieved the message.
The message was from the dean of the college and was quite straightforward. The Land Management Bureau came across an archaeological site. It was uncovered during recent flooding and they wanted an expert to look at the finds to determine further steps, possibly including a dig before the next rainy season destroyed what remained. Their in-house staff thought the site might be either pre-empire or early empire but wasn’t willing to make a determination beyond.
Ames smiled to himself knowing this was what had Bacol scurrying across campus. He suspected Bacol was on his way to the Dean’s office to ensure the site fell under his purview. It was easy to see why. Working with the LMC would make the University look cooperative, something they were all advised working to do in order to erase the stain of past events from the minds of both the government and the public. It could, depending on the site, also lead towards professional advancement. Ames dialed the Deans’s number directly. The dean’s secretary answered.
“Marcola,” Ames said warmly as she answered. “I just got the Dean’s message and would be happy to provide my expert opinions on the finds. I have class starting in a moment, but I am free after. He can send someone to the office if that works, or I could come to him whichever is preferred.”
“Of course, Dr. Stosia,” Marcola replied. “I know he was hoping you would call.”
He could fairly hear her smiling on the phone. Over the years, Ames made it a point to be on good terms with every secretary, receptionist and assistant of all his superiors. He made certain it never crossed a line into the overly familiar or to look too oily, but he was always careful to build those relationships. They served him well, especially when Bacol, his greatest rival, treated all staff as beneath his notice.
“I’ll have the representative meet you in your office at 10:30 if that would work for you?” Marcola told him.
“That would be excellent,” He told her. “I look forward to it and will even move a stack of books off my guest chair before his arrival.”
“I’m sure that would be appreciated, Dr. Stosia,” she replied with a laugh.
“It’s the little things I suppose,” he said. “Oh wasn’t Ryan’s Bostan Match this weekend? I spotted my own Bostan baton as I left this morning and remembered he was playing. I hope it was a triumph.”
“It was and he took second place,” Marcola informed him, he could hear the pride in her son’s accomplishment through the phone line.
“Excellent, I can’t wait to hear all the highlights,” Ames said.
Marcola laughed. “If you did, then you would miss your own class,” she said.
Ames sighed heavily. “I would I suppose. Later then,” he told her. “Class now and I’ll see the Land People at 10:30,” he told her. “With highlights to follow soon.”
Ames ended the call and turned around heading back out of his office. He locked the door and raced towards his classroom, knowing he would be walking in just as the class began. As he strode down the halls, he rearranged his schedule in his head.
He had planned on working up another article after class but clearly the opportunities of the site had Bacol excited and he couldn’t let the man win. He would always rearrange his schedule for that. As he approached his classroom door, Ames slowed his breathing and his steps. He brought the first line of his planned lecture into his mind. Through the door he could hear the students settling down. Ames took a deep breath and launched into the first line of his lecture as he entered the class room.
“Superstitions can be a useful tool when studying the peoples of ancient cultures for many reasons,’ he began as he stepped into the room. Talking ceased as the students scrambled for notebooks.
