Page 84 of The Black Table
Emrys removes the transparency with a flourish and replacesit with a new one: a pretzel-looking squiggle from, according to its footnote, an 11th century book of hours.
“That’s an ampersand,” someone calls from the back.
“Mm, indeed,” says Emrys, his face lit up in eerily harsh orange light from the old-school projector. “And its name means?”
“Um…that’s just what it’s called?”
“Et per se et,” comes the deep voice to my left. Kingston. “It’s a combination of the letters in the Latin word for and: E T.Et per se et.Hence the word ampersand.” I turn imperceptibly, but can’t make out any of his features, let alone his expression.
“Exactly,” Emrys cries. “Et. You see how it forms the letters E and T?” He points. “Such a familiar little flourish, just a piece of Latin hiding in plain sight even to this day.”
I’m fascinated, of course, because I’m a hopeless geek. Who would have thought that Latin is hiding in our iPhone keyboards?
Kingston, though, does not seem as tickled by the trivia, despite the fact that he’s literally the one who pointed it out. He doesn’t seem affected by anything, really.
Even his new housemate being a girl.
It’s spooky. Almost supernatural.
Emrys switches off the projector, its humming sound rattling to silence, and restores the overhead lights. “Well, that’s enough tedium for today, I suppose. Review the photocopies I’ve made for you and perhaps I’ll give you a quiz next time.” He shrugs, as if he hasn’t really decided yet. “Ah, and—Mr. Pendragon, Ms. Vale? If you don’t mind…”
He gestures towards his desk. The rest of the room packs up, shuffling papers and muttering about coffee, while Kingston slides his single elegant notebook into his leather satchel and I shove together all of my various belongings.
Even standing at Emrys’s desk, Kingston only acknowledgesmy presence with the barest of glances. And this time, for some reason, it pisses me off.
So you’ll help me, but not show me any human emotion?
“You wanted to see us, professor?” Kingston says.
Us.Despite my pissed-offedness, something about the plural pronoun makes me shiver a little.
Like we’re a team.
A unit.
An…anything.
“Ah, yes, yes, my illustrious champions.” Emrys pushes his reading glasses further up his face and cranes his neck as the last two stragglers depart the classroom. Once they’ve definitively disappeared, footsteps barely audible, he turns back to us and procures a fat leather folder from within his desk drawers.
“For you two,” he says. “Your prize.”
I stare at the folder. Stare at Emrys. Stare—or glance—at Kingston.
No one says anything.
Fine. I will.
“What is it?” I ask.
“A text, of course,” Emrys says. He gives the top a little pat. “A new project for you two to tackle.”
“Our prize is more work?”
Kingston’s words are blunt, even if his tone is polite. And I have to say, I agree. It’s not like we don’t already have loads of homework for this class—not to mention all the others.
“The finest prize there is.” Emrys nods. “More to read.”
Kingston’s jaw ticks. I bite my lip—intrigued, but confused.
