Lesson Plans

First Graders

"Don't worry dear," says Miz Smith, "Jonny isn't quite as scary as he seems.  He's only as scary as he needs to be to keep bad people out of the school.  Come along - we need to get some bandages and clean clothes for Victoria, and put her somewhere where she can lie down.  She has had a difficult time."

Miz Smith begins limping down the hallway, holding Victoria in one hand and expertly ushering Marda with the other.

Marda yields gently to the pressure, stopping only for a moment to give Miz Smith's leg brace a clinical stare and say, "I can fix that for you if you want."

Mz. Smith limps through a door with a piece of yellowing paper attached with tape to the front, on which the word "Infirmary" has been neatly written.  "That's very sweet of you Marda," she says, "but I'm afraid I'm too old to have my leg fixed now."  She plops Victoria on a table (not anything so fancy as an actual examination table, just a table), and takes a look at her injuries.  "Well, someone has fixed you up pretty good," she comments.  Turning to Marda she asks "Did one of the people downstairs do this?"

Before Marda can answer Woofard bursts into the room, dragging Sam behind him.

Sam stumbles into the room, letting go of the pestering pooch, and then looks up at Ms. Smith and says: "Actually, No ma'am.  Some men drove into our parking lot last night and dumped her, literally.  We found your address on her so we decided to come and pay YOU a visit.  What do YOU know about this?"

As they burst into the room, Woofard looks about quickly to find the girls, and see if they are in any trouble. Seeing that they actually seem to be getting some sort of first aid, Woofard, huwffs once, and sits down, looking profoundly calm.

"So she was already bandaged like this when you found her?" asks Ms.Smith, moving so that she is between the newcomers and Victoria, and gently trying to herd Marda behind her.

Curious, Woofard leans to the left, where he sits, to see Marda past the woman.  Ms. Smith seems to be trying to put herself between Marda & Victoria and Sam.  She also
seems a bit nervous about something.  Perhaps she is hiding something.  Perhaps she knows more than she is saying.  Perhaps she has just noticed how Sam is dressed and has decided that he is a looney.  Ms. Smith smells like milk and bananas and flour paste and tears and snot and crayons.  She smells like she takes care of young kids all the time, in other words.

"No ma'am, when we found her we called a doctor and had her treated on the spot.  Now will you tell me what your involvement is with this child?"

"I'm her teacher," says Ms. Smith, still trying to put as much of herself between Sam and the kids as possible.

On the arrival of the human-canine dynamic duo, Marda yells out "Tata!  Ciine!" in delight.  Resisting Ms. Smith's attempts to keep her, Marda tries to run out to the pair, introducing them.  "This is my Tata!  And that's my friend Ciine!"  She then turns back.  "This is Miz Elinor.  She's Victoria's teacher."

Marda's outburst takes Ms. Smith by surprise, and Marda is easily able to dodge around her and get to Sam and Woofard.  "You... you are Marda's father?" asks Ms. Smith, clearly surprised.

"I'm her guardian and nothing like this," pointing to Victoria, "has ever happened to Marda.  You can't seem to be able to say the same for those in your care.  If you have any little secrets, I suggest you tell me before my friends get here.  They are even madder about this than I am."

Ms. Smith looks at Marda and notes the numerous Band-Aids on her fingers, the owies  and scrapes on her cheeks, the rather singed condition of her hair (luckily the taser burns are not visible at the moment) and then back at Sam, noting the bandages and bruises apparent on his hands and face as well.  Let's not even mention the clothes, no, let's just not.  She opens her mouth to comment, thinks better of it, and simply responds "I see."
 

Ms. Ashwari's Office

She leans forward, puts on a very attentive look and says, "Would you please fill me in on what happened to Victoria Moss?"

Ingar once more tells the story of the abduction, rape and torture of Victoria.  His gentle, even and compassionate baritone contrasts with the vile tale he tells.  He does especially emphasizes the appearance of the perpetrators, and questions Ms Ashwari as to whether they resemble any known group in the Great Men Barrio.

At the end of the explanation she shakes her head sadly.  "A terrible thing to happen to anyone, but ...  whoever did this is truly a monster."

Ingar snorts, wheezes and shifts his weight self-consciously.  "Calling someone a monster is just an excuse for not trying to understand them.  Let us just say that those who perpetrated this crime are deeply troubled and require immediate, forceful intervention."

Ms. Ashwari turns to look at Chris.  "You said you wanted to help.  Just what are you planning to do, and how can I be of assistance?"

"We want to find out who did it, how they got to her, why they dumped her in my parking lot, if they have done this to others, what outside assitance they had or have, and then kill them. Of course I can only speak for myself about killing them. Ingar there may want to take them out for dinner."

Ms. Ashwari looks at Ingar and blanches slightly.

Inger injects: "I strongly disagree about killing these people.  They should be treated.  But some force may be neccessary to apprehend them, and even in making them see the error of their ways.  I believe that taking them out to dine might be contra-therapeutic at such an early stage, but this will be evaluated on a case-by-case basis."  A dark tongue, much like an adroit slug, slides over teeth so discoloured they cannot properly be called discoloured. Whether they can be called teeth is another question.  They sit in an orifice, are excellently suited for cutting, and are greyish white with subtle nuances of most other colours.  Some of these colours are such highly unusual hue and saturation that painters would die to be able to put them on a canvas.  An obscure Dutch artist actually did, in the 17th century.  Ms. Ashwari watches in horrified fascination.

Chris stares hard at Ashwari.  "Of course you could make the process easier by telling all you know about Victoria and her parents."

"Young man," says Ms. Ashwari in an eminently reasonable tone of voice, "surely you don't expect me to give out information on this school's students, and particularly their families, to anyone who might stroll in asking for it."

Leo listens to Chris's rapid yet accurate summary, keeping watchful eyes on Ms. Ashwari for any reaction.  "You might put us in touch with them so we can tell them what happened to their daughter," Leo says in a strained voice -- thinking about what did happen to their daughter.  He adds, speaking slowly:  "And you might tell us whether this has happened before.  AND I'd like to speak to this Normand Souster who answered me on the phone when I called here.  Apparently he didn't give you my message."

Ms Ashwari turns her attention to Leo as he speaks, and a puzzled look comes over her face.  "I'm afraid I don't know what has happened to Norman.  He wasn't at his desk.  He must have stepped out for..."  A look of horror creeps over Ms. Ashwari's face.  "You...  you called him?" she says slowly.  "How long ago?  What did you tell him?"

Ingar stares intently at Ms Ashwari, bringing his full panoply of perceptive powers to bear on the woman. This probably does little to relieve her horror.

Leo looks at Ms. Ashwari with redoubled attention, unsettled by her reaction.  "I called here about..." he checks the clock, "45 minutes to an hour ago.  I asked to speak to the school director, but this Norman Souster, as he identified himself, told me the director was unavailable.  I explain that Victoria had been hurt, without giving details, and I asked him to let the director, her parents, and her teacher know.  At the time I thought we would take Victoria to the hospital, so I told him she'd be at D'Aubainne.  He said he'd give the message and hung up before I could give him any number to reach us."

He pauses, looks Ms. Ashwari in the eye.  "I didn't get a very good first impression of Mr. Souster, if that's who he was," he finishes.  "My gut feeling tells me he was hiding something -- and he obviously never delivered the message."  The circus artist is looking very tense -- this is not the role that suits him best.  He is upset and wary and completely out of his element.

An ordinary burger's day on Al Amarja.

"Check his desk," says Ms. Ashwari quietly, "Its the one out front with the computer on it."

Leo stares at Ms. Ashwari for a moment longer, then whirls around and stalks out to the desk she indicated.

While Leo goes to investigate Mr. Souster's desk, Ingar remains at Ms Ashwari's. He smiles encouragingly at her and makes a meaningless little gesture with one of his upper appendages (hands some may call them). "Dear Ms Ashwari, it seems proper that you should at this time tell us something more of this mister Souster, what he is like, what he looks like, why he has not accommodated Leo's reasonable request, and where you think he may have gone now. Your help would be deeply appreciated." He locks gaze with her, imploring her with large, sad and deeply human eyes.

"Norman?  He's the school's secretary and keeps our records.  He knows about computers - really he's the only one here who does except for Samuel."  Ms. Ashwari chuckles in that "polite" way.  "We're really a bunch of has beens here - behind the times.  He has a cel phone too.  He's been here about a year - quiet, keeps to himself.  Lives in Justice I think.  He's around 50, rather mousy looking really, blonde, wears glasses.  As for the rest, I really don't know.  He's English - maybe he stepped out for tea."  She chuckles again, and this time there is just the mildest edge of bitterness detectable.

"Why is this section of town so run down?" Chris asks.  "And why would anyone place a childcare center here?"

Ms Ashwari shrugs.  "Don't know," she says, "its been this way as long as I've been here,and I've been here nearly 20 years.  Great Men used to be a little better than this - sort of like what Four Points is now - and I hear that back in the 40's and 50's it was middle class like Justice.  You can tell if you look at the houses.  Now though...."  She waves one hand vaguely.

"As for why I started a child care center here, isn't it obvious?  Our children don't come in from Gold or Science - they're all local kids.  We get a few every once in awhile from the Brink, but the Garbage Men usually take care of their own.  Our goal is to provide quality early childhood education for the folks who live in this area.  Somebody has to."

Chris nods sagely.  "As a business man myself I can appreciate the difficulties of working in this area and I appreciate the service you are providing."

Dr. Forn speaks: "Dear Lotte - you do not mind if I call you Lotte, do you?  I would not want to get too intimate. Some people seem to resent being called by their first name, but I find it quite nice...  At any rate, Lotte, I have a feeling that you are not being quite forthright with me. And honesty is fundament of trust. And trust is the fundament of any good interpersonal relationship."  (Ingar's inner voices begins to clamour that ravenously devouring people is the way to a better intrapersonal relationship, but Ingar easily ignores this.  He is on a roll).  Wiping a fleck of spit from the edge of his mouth, he continues: "Your emotional reaction when Leo told you he had spoken to Mr. Souster remains to be explained.  Please do so, for Victoria's sake...  And if you know anything about this matter, please tell us.  We will HANDLE it.  But we need your full cooperation."

"I don't even KNOW you people!" exclaims Lotte

"Ms Ashwari, then" Ingar amends. "Please, we need you to be completely forthright with us.  Otherwise, something horrible might happen.  Furthermore," the good Doctor continues, "We would like to know how Mr Souster, and Serena, for that matter, got in touch with the school. Who funds the school, by the way? I doubt that the children of Great Men are able to pay tuition fees."

At the mention of "donations," Ms. Ashwari goes on a roll every bit as impressive as Ingar's.

"We're funded completely through donations from caring individuals such as yourselves - people who care about the future of Al Amarja's children, who want to give something back to the community, to help those less fortunate then themselves.  Those who send their children here do contribute what they can.  They are hard workers, dedicated parents, more than willing to chip in to help with repairs or repainting when we have the materials, willing to work at bake sales or fund raising booths in the Ramble.  We also get many of our materials at a discount from the Garbage Men.  But mostly it's just good folks who see our work here, realize that it's important, and want to make a difference in some child's life."

The sincerity, the dedication of Ms. Ashwari to the school shines through her words like a beacon as she speaks.

And turns off like an electric light when she is finished.  It isn't that she seems to be lying, or even scamming - its more like she just doesn't have the energy to keep that sort of enthusiasm turned on except when she absolutely needs it.

Ingar smiles radiantly at Ms Ashwari, trying to show that he finds such goodness and dedication most commendable. Unfortunately, he cannot avoid implying, with this gesture, that he just might eat her.  A small spasm passes through Chris unnoticed by him.  Ms. Ashwari notes the implication, and decides that she is really just too tired to care at the moment.

"Who's Serena?" she asks after a pause.  "Is she one of our children?  I don't remember meeting her."

"She is a young woman, slightly built and athletic, and when I saw her she was wearing a business suit." replies Dr. Forn. "I assumed that she had some sort of connection to your school, as we met her on the way in."

"I'm afraid I don't know who you are talking about.  We don't have any 'Serena' on our school staff."

"You mean you do not know her!?"  Chris moves to the edge of his chair.  "This woman was wandering around on the grounds and you do not know who she is?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so," replies Ms. Ashwari.  A small, tired smile crosses her face, but doesn't quite make it as far as her eyes.  "It seems to be a rather common occurrence this morning," she says, looking around the room.
 
 

Doing the Homework

"I guess we shouldn't mess up any finger prints or evidence," he says in a low voice to his companions.  He starts by examining the objects on the desk without touching anything.  Pulling a pen from his pocket, he uses it to press the switch and turn the computer on; and to pull drawers open to look inside.

One thing he looks for is a letterhead paper pad like that on which Victoria drew her picture.  He very much wants to examine the top page for indentations.  Written on a note pad on top of the various papers lying on the desk he reads the following.

N.S.  1414 Terrace Apt. 34 Justice 37348 c 685543
S.C. c 758329

Wordlessly, Leo tears off the top sheet of the notepad on Souster's desk, and pockets it.  He begins to go through Souster's papers with great care, pawing as little as possible but doing a thorough job.  He looks for note pads, planner, appointment list, business card file, telephone list, picture frames, photographs, pens with interesting business names on them, etc.  He also check the nature and theme of files to figure out what it is Souster's job is supposed to be.  Once he has gone through every single file on the desk top and in the drawers, he starts doing the same with the computer (unless someone else takes care of it while he handles the paper.)

There are several, with various notes scribbled on them.  Most of the notes are things like "Mrs C. re Jen no pickup - ovrnt?" and "Jamma sick".  A few seem to be lines of code scribbled down, but Leo cannot make heads or tails of them.  No planner, no appointment list, but an extensive rolodex, with entries for many businesses. No telephone lists, no picture frames, no photos.  Since the school gets some of its supplies from the Garbage Men there are lots of icky old half used pens from various parts of Al Amarja.  It is likely that many of them have interesting business names on them ("Cinema de Vivisection"?????) but none spring to mind as being inappropriate.

Both of the large drawers in the desk turn out to contain hanging files with literally hundreds of file folders crammed into them  File folders are alphebetized by last name, and contain a mish-mash of notes about children at the school.  It would take a good hour at least to go through them all even briefly.  Other drawers in the desk contain desklike items such as tape, paper, paperclips, etc.

The computer boots up and asks, in its computer way,  for a password.  It seems to be a pretty powerful machine for a place like this.

Leo pockets the pages that resemble lines of code and the Cinéma de Vivisection pen.  He stares for a moment as the computer screen comes alive with its request for a password, and frowns.  This is not his specialty...  Leo decides to turn back to the more low-tech elements, and rummages through the alphabetical files, looking for Victoria's under M for Moss.  Absent.  There is still a slight gap where it used to be.

Then he starts flipping through the card file, looking both at the front for anything that might ring a bell (e.g., Gun Metal, Glorious Lords, "Priape's Sex Emporium and Day Care Centre"...) and at the back for scribbled notes or phone numbers.  But he finds nothing particularly interesting in this attempt.

Leo returns to Ms. Ashwari's office, where Ingar, Chris, and (apparently) Goodness, Harvey, and Thompson are still discussing with the school director.  He pokes his head in to see how things are going and overhears Serena's name mentioned.  With his contortionist's talent, he might be able to squeeze in but then again it might not be a good idea.

He waits for a pause in the conversation and asks Ms. Ashwari: "I'm sorry, ma'am, do you have any idea why Victoria's file would have been removed from Souster's desk?"

"Not unless one of the teachers has it," answers Ms. Ashwari.  "I believe Ms. Smith is Victoria's teacher.  She's upstairs in room #3."

Leo nods.  "Can you tell me of anything about Victoria that would help us find the...  find the attacker?

Ms. Ashwari looks mildly embarrassed.  "I'm...  I'm afraid I don't work with the students directly much anymore.  Trying to earn enough money to keep the school running takes up most of my time I'm afraid."

"And do you know what Souster's password is for the computer?"

"Password?  No."  Ms Ashwari seems vaguely confused.  "I didn't know it had a password.  Norman is the only one who really uses it.  I never learned, I'm afraid.  Mr. Gold might know - he used to teach at D'Aubainne University."

Leo looks at his companions.  "If anybody wants to have a go at the computer..." he suggests.

Leo looks at Ms. Ashwari, pursing his lips.  "Hm.  About Serena...  Perhaps she has given you a different name; the one I knew her under was a nom de scène.  She's the athletic young woman with curly reddish brown hair, in a business suit, who just walked out of here.  Perhaps she doesn't work here, but had business with the school?  Or is a parent?"

Leo then turns to his companions.  "Well, how about we talk to the rest of the folks here, like Victoria's teacher and that nice Mr. 'Jonny'?" he suggests with a raised eyebrow and slightly clenched teeth.  "Maybe some of Victoria's friends might have seen something.  And we need to collect Marda, Sam, and Woofard..."

Before additional questions can be asked, answered, or otherwise contemplated, there is a shattering *CRASH* from outside in the lobby, followed by the sound of portions of the door bouncing off the walls and furnishings and an animal bellow of rage (imagine the velociraptors from "Jurassic Park" and you will have a good idea).  Into the silence left by the end of this bellow, PCs can just make out Jonny out there somewhere saying "Holy shit!" softly to himself.  There comes the clump of booted feet rattling over the remains of the door.
 
 

To Be Continued...