�I need to rest, Brad,� Becky panted. �That was some climb.�
�Yeah,� Brad agreed. The two of them plopped down next to a granite statue of a giant man, his arm outstretched as if toward a distant future. �We can lean on this old fogey for a bit while we catch our breath and get a drink.� He proceeded to put action in line with his words.
Becky settled into the crook of the man�s other arm, looking out across the grounds of the high school. �You know,� she remarked, �the scenery�s really not so bad once you get used to it. I could almost feel that I liked it.�
�Almost felt you liked the grounds,� a strange voice boomed out. �That�s good. Uncommonly generous of you. I almost feel that I dislike you both, but do not let us be hasty. That is my motto. Count slowly and in step, and you will not make mistakes. Turn �round now and let me look at both of you.� Suddenly, the arm Becky had been leaning on creaked and moved, turning her with irresistible force. A startled yelp from the other side of the statue made Becky suspect that Brad was undergoing similar treatment.
With a firm hand on her shoulder, Becky looked up to find herself staring into a deep pair of black eyes, which gazed back at her with a curious intensity.
�Hmm,� said the man-statue slowly, for the voice belonged to him, �if I had trusted to my first impression and the whiff of garbage I caught from you, I should have taken you both for janitors and stepped on you without ever knowing the difference. Clearly, you are not janitors, but neither are you math teachers or history teachers. Yet you do not seem to fit in the old lists I learned when I was young, oh so long ago. Now let me see . . . How did they go?
�First name the sentient races, four in all
Math teachers, multipliers, adding and subtracting
History teachers, harmless, preaching factoids
Music teachers, maestros, making eight-counts
Gym teachers, game-masters, fiercely competitive
Hm, ah,
Bashful badger, fearless fox,
Mole in mountain, Dolphin in sea.
Lions and Tigers and Bears, oh my.
Hmm . . .
Snake-like serpent, wrathful water buffalo . . .
How was the rest . . . ? It was a long list; your pardon for my memory. But at any rate you do not seem to be on it. I am at a loss as to what I should call you.� The deep eyes seemed troubled, and Becky felt a violent shake as the giant shrugged its shoulders.
�Hmmph,� said Brad. �We always seem to get left out of the old stories. We�re what you might call students. We�ve been around awhile, probably almost as long as the teachers. You could put us in right by the four sentient races and you�ve got it.�
�Yes,� agreed Becky. �How about �Students, slackers, avoiding homework�?�
�Hmm, well, that would fit,� the giant said. �But here we are on top of this, I forget the name of it in English, a place where you sit and look out on things and direct imaginary bands.�
�A building, perhaps,� Becky interrupted.
�A building,� the giant said, rolling the noise on his tongue. �Yes, that is it. Though it seems a short name for something that has stood here for thirty years. Well, at any rate, we sit on this building and have not yet been introduced. Most people call me Kep, or some call me Kepperbeard. I am a Music teacher. And what shall I call the two of you?�
�I�m Rebecca, or usually just Becky,� said Becky. �And this is Brad,� she introduced him.
�Such short names,� Kepperbeard pondered. �But then, you are very short, so perhaps it makes sense.�
�But your name is just as short as ours,� Brad pointed out.
�That is the name I told you,� said Kepperbeard with some weight. �My real name would have us here for days. Real names should tell the story of the object they name.� An awkward silence followed this remark as Kepperbeard appeared to ponder the students in front of him.
�Well,� he said finally, �I shall take you to my home, and we shall discuss what you are doing here on my building. I am sure it is an interesting tale.� His great arms ground slowly as he lifted Brad and Becky up and perched them on his shoulders. He climbed slowly down the building and began striding slowly around the building.
As they walked, Becky told him the story of their adventure. He seemed genuinely interested, asking many obscure questions, mostly about Papa Resek and Butternut. He seemed particularly interested in the latter, interrupting them once to ask a strange question.
�Hmm, ah, you did not happen to see any Music Teachers on Butternut, did you? Well, not Music Teachers, Orchestra librarians, I should say.�
�Librarians?� asked Becky. �Are they at all like you?�
�Yes, hmm, well, no, not really; I do not really know,� said Kepperbeard thoughtfully. �But they would like your country, so I just wondered.� Becky and Brad shrugged and exchanged bemused glances.
Kepperbeard continued on, at last coming to a halt in front of a great door, which he opened without ceremony. He set them down and led them inside to a great office, cluttered with papers and pictures. There were no chairs, so Kepperbeard cleared off a space on his desk and Brad and Becky sat there with their legs dangling over the side. He poured them both drinks and then stood stiffly at the head of the table. Brad and Becky drank from their cups, but Kepperbeard did not move; the only sign of life were his eyes, which moved occasionally. Becky was just about to see if he had fallen asleep, when he awkwardly slammed down one of his stone-like fists on the desk.
"This Conner-darkness you speak of is outside of my knowledge," he said thoughtfully. "We music teachers must remain outside of such district power struggles, as we have always done. . . but Merrill. She is a different matter. She is a neighbor, and an English teacher. And now, her pakelbelandel, excuse me, these janitors, they are constantly stealing sheet music without even the bad excuse of feeding their boiler fires. An English teacher should know better. . . there is no excuse for this wanton destruction. We shall DO something about her!" A strange fire was glowing in his eyes, and he waved his hands angrily over his head. Becky and Brad looked at each other. Becky gave Brad a subtle thumbs-up sign.
After a short while, Kepperbeard calmed down. "I spoke in haste," he said. "I did not think things through with all the detail they deserved. Come," he said abruptly, sweeping them up in his arms and setting off.
"Where are we going?" asked Becky.
"Concert," was Kepperbeard's one-word reply, and he continued walking. Brad not-so-subtly gave Becky a thumbs-down sign, and she nodded gloomy agreement.