Soldier at the Door(73)

Mahrree peered into the shack, the one in which she and Perrin had shared a kiss the day after they were engaged. A too-large desk was crammed in there, and the walls were now lined precariously with stacks of pages, not rakes and spades.

“I certainly hope so,” she said crisply, craning her neck to find the person that belonged to the mousy voice. “I understand the Administrators have decided to tell us what our children should be learning in Edge. I’d like to see a copy of the plans.”

Mahrree evaluated the man the peeked cautiously between two stacks to see her. Mr. Hegek was perhaps in his mid-thirties and only slightly larger than Mahrree, with black hair that could be ratty if not combed constantly, a nose too pointy, green eyes that were far too small for his head, and arms not much thicker than hers.

Yes, she could like take him in a fist-fight. Perrin had taught her a few defensive moves that could easily turn offensive.

He raised his eyebrows as he searched his desk overflowing with stacks. “Of course, of course,” he said cheerily, which grated on Mahrree’s ears. “I have them here somewhere.” He stood up and looked through folders and pages. “And what age is your child?”

“I don’t have any in school yet. My oldest won’t be ready for another four years. I’m planning for the future.”

Mr. Hegek stopped searching his desk and slowly looked up. “Then why are you worrying about it now?”

Mahrree smiled as sweetly as she could, although her eyes were poisonous. “Shouldn’t I be worried about what all children in our village are learning?” her voice dripped syrup. “As a concerned citizen, I should be aware of what my future shop keepers, lumberjacks, and weavers are being taught, shouldn’t I?”

He stood fully—but shortly, Mahrree noted with hostile approval—and looked her in the eye. “I suppose so. I only haven’t heard anyone expressing interest yet. I’m not so sure I can give you a copy.”

“No parents have expressed interest?” She was stunned. Just as recently as three years ago, the last time Mahrree started a new school year, she was being briefed by her students’ parents on what they expected her to teach their children. Now complete strangers were deciding what their children should learn, and not one parent was concerned what that might be?! To have so much trust in leaders they didn’t know . . .

Mahrree struggled to remain sweet while a bitter taste grew in her mouth. “So why can’t I have a copy?”

“They’re for the parents,” he shrugged. “Of children in school now,” he clarified.

“And no other parents have come in inquiring about their children’s education?”

Mr. Hegek, perhaps recognizing he was not much larger than Mahrree, tried to look a little taller. “Well, none so far—”

She sharpened her glare. “When did the parents first hear about the new lessons?”

“Perhaps five or six weeks ago.” His stature slowly began to shrink.

“And how long have you been here, with the copies of those lessons?”

“Two weeks now,” he melted.

“And in that time no one has come for a copy? How many do you have?”

Mr. Hegek cleared his throat. “Forty. I believe.”

Mahrree gave him half of a genuine smile. “Certainly you can sacrifice one copy for me, then?”

“Look, Mrs. . . . Mrs. . . ?”

Time to represent the name properly, but likely not in the way Perrin intended.

“Shin,” she said as heavily as an army.

Mr. Hegek’s eyes grew big as he shriveled another two inches. “As in Captain Shin? High General Shin?”

Mahrree smiled fully, thoroughly enjoying the effect. “As in Mrs. Mahrree Shin, but yes, some connection there. You see, I taught in the past before my first baby was born, and I most likely will return to teaching again someday—”

She didn’t elaborate to say, In my home, teaching only my children.

“—and I merely want to know what to expect in the future. I also tutor ten boys.”

“Of course, of course,” Mr. Hegek said nervously. “For you, Mrs. Shin, I’m sure I can make an exception.” He rummaged around his desk for another moment, held up a finger in remembrance, and turned to a large crate next to his desk. He pulled up several thick documents. “Do you want the full version for parents, or the shortened version for the teachers?”

“Two versions?” Mahrree stared wide-eyed at the volume of papers involved for one year’s planning of school. She could usually keep all that she was going to do with her students summarized on two sheets of parchment.