“Yes,” Phineas said dispassionately, “How are your puffer-fish eyes – I mean, professors?” He corrected himself hastily to the latter; the former was a suspected ingredient in the moustache wax he had just scribbled down on the parchment. He was getting his lines crossed.

His top lip curled as he twirled the quill between his fingers thoughtfully. “How are they treating you?” With utmost regard, he hoped. “Are there any incompetents amongst them?” He rather fancied a firing, if he could only find an excuse.

---