“Favoritism. Was he biased in any way when administering or scoring your exam? Because if someone decides he was, then you’ll have to retake it.”
Now I do stare at Mort, aghast.
“Darnelle figured it out, right?”
I don’t nod; I don’t shake my head. Instead, I hold absolutely still.
“And did he tell you about Ophelia?” Mort doesn’t wait for my answer, not that I plan to give him one. “Ah, I see that it’s yes to both of those.” He steps closer, as if his next words require privacy. “Listen, Pansy-Girl, this could get very complicated and very political very, very quickly.”
I swallow hard. “How so?”
“Gwyneth Worthington-Wells is a bullet train, and you need to step off the tracks.”
“I’m not on any tracks.”
“You spent nearly a week with her betrothed.”
“My exam?—”
“Principal field agents do not routinely administer exams unless they’re being punished for something or they’re interested in the examinee. And right now, Enclave gossip says it’s the latter.”
“Wait. What? There’s gossip? About me?”
“Well, to be fair, it’s more about why Henry Darnelle would extend his stay in some backwater permanent post like King’s End. But yes, you’re involved.”
“You’d think field agents would have better things to do than gossip.”
Mort laughs. “And deny the Enclave the fuel it runs on?”
“So does Gwyneth think?—?”
“Oh, she does, indeed. And if she wanted to press the issue?”
The Screamer in Mort’s grip squirms at this. It’s very crow-like in its manner, and I wonder if we simply see that because we can’t comprehend what it truly is.
“Does she?” I ask, voice smaller than I’d like. “Want to press the issue?”
“Not quite yet, but all it will take is a phone call to Botten, and then you’ll find yourself with a null and void exam on your record. She’ll probably rope Wendell into doing it.”
“Wendell?” I give my head a shake. I’m pretty sure I don’t know him.
“Worthington-Wells. Her brother. He’s an idiot, but keep in mind that Gwyneth is not. She’ll be pulling the strings, and trust me, she won’t miss a thing.”
In his grip, the Screamer squawks in agreement.
“How is that unbiased?”
“Oh, Pansy-Girl. That’s Enclave politics at their finest, or worst, however you want to think of it. She’s Botten’s protégé, and Darnelle is her one-way ticket to the High Council. You’re inconsequential in all this.”
Along with being unremarkable, I suppose. “So, what do I do?”
“First, stop making eyes at Darnelle.”
“I’m not making eyes.”
Mort rolls his own at this. “And get him to stop as well. He will if he knows what’s good for him.”
“Anything else?”
