16th December, 1891 — Professor Foxwood’s Office
Basil Foxwood
Basil Foxwood
The end of term was nigh – not that Christmas meant much to Aubrey save being shipped back and forth between Urquart’s house and the school again, in the eternal purgatory that was his life – but even if he had not been keeping track of the date, he could have guessed.
There was just the feeling of it in the air, like you could sniff it out. The children got restless, boisterous, more nightmarish than usual. They didn’t do their homework, they made a mess, they ate more candy than usual, and the spoilt ones wrote long, whiny letters home to demand particular gifts.
Aubrey, thirteen years past hoping for a Christmas miracle, had to seek a little peace and quiet elsewhere in the castle. He had traipsed to one of his favoured spots – there was plenty of reading material, no children, and only the professor’s talking to himself to disturb the silence. It was, quite frankly, free entertainment.
So Aubrey – having made the arduous journey towards Foxwood’s door in the after-dinner rush hour and sorely hoping the professor was back at his desk now, in the time it had taken him – rammed his body sidelong into the base of the closed door a few times in the manner of knocking. (He had just eaten a few potatoes for dinner and was too stuffed, presently, to squeeze himself through the reasonable crack under the door as he could sometimes manage, if he held his breath.)
There was just the feeling of it in the air, like you could sniff it out. The children got restless, boisterous, more nightmarish than usual. They didn’t do their homework, they made a mess, they ate more candy than usual, and the spoilt ones wrote long, whiny letters home to demand particular gifts.
Aubrey, thirteen years past hoping for a Christmas miracle, had to seek a little peace and quiet elsewhere in the castle. He had traipsed to one of his favoured spots – there was plenty of reading material, no children, and only the professor’s talking to himself to disturb the silence. It was, quite frankly, free entertainment.
So Aubrey – having made the arduous journey towards Foxwood’s door in the after-dinner rush hour and sorely hoping the professor was back at his desk now, in the time it had taken him – rammed his body sidelong into the base of the closed door a few times in the manner of knocking. (He had just eaten a few potatoes for dinner and was too stuffed, presently, to squeeze himself through the reasonable crack under the door as he could sometimes manage, if he held his breath.)
Formerly known as Davis, Elijah Urquart's pet hedgehog.