Excerpt: SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES
Too bad his theory waswrong. Sylvia came strolling in among the last of the first group for question-and-answer.She didn't look happy about being there. Maybe because she strolled in entirelyalone. No followers, no admirers, no co-conspirators.
I paid attention to theQ&A because these select academy girls asked smart questions. Maybe becausethe students who came to the first session wanted to be there. They wereinterested in writing and doing research and what else they could do with theirstudy focus on language and writing skills when they got out of school. I listenedinstead of turning down my mental volume control. There were no multiple repetitionsof the same inane questions, proving nobody was listening to anyone. I liked listeningto my folks talk about writing, about research, about fun and freaky things thathappened to them or that they discovered. Mum made them laugh when she admittedhow she tried her hand at writing paranormal romances, and while doing researchon druids she learned about the Roman occupation of Britannia.
She then related how researchingthe Roman occupation led to learning about Boudica, the tribal queen who unitedthe tribes in revolt against the Roman overlords and destroyed ancient Londinium.Yeah, nothing like infuriating a warrior queen by declaring that since her husbandwas dead and there was no male heir, the Romans were going to disband the tribe.Excuse me? Her husband was king because he married her. That was how some Celtictribes handed down the leadership: the man who married the previous king's daughterbecame king. When you think about it, a very sensible way of handling things.
Mum never did write herstory set in ancient Britain, but she got the girls interested in doing researchand just having fun learning bits and pieces. From some of the comments I heardas they passed under the balcony on their way out, she got them interested in Boudicaand their own history, too. That was Mum.
Harry escaped while thegirls were still filing out. I waited until everyone was gone before I came downstairs.Pop went back to the archives with Dr. Butterfield, and Mum walked off with a knotof girls with specific questions about resources and searching.
There was nothing to pickup and move after the Q&A, not like other talks where Mum and Pop had booksor visual aids. I wandered around the room, looking at the stained glass, the chimneyson the lanterns with all the fancy brasswork and colored glass, the inlay on theends of the benches. There was a lot of history in this little room of ten rowswith two five-seater benches in each row.
"Thought so,"a familiar, whiny voice said, punctuated with a snort.
I looked at the door. There was Sylvia Grandstone, armscrossed, head tilted to display her golden curls. I wondered who she was tryingto impress. Ninety-five percent of the staff were women, and this was a girls-onlyschool. That was followed by a sense of "whew!" Her entrance stopped mejust in time, before I acted on an idea of floating up to look at some writing inthe stained glass panel at the front of the chapel. While I didn't really care whatSylvia Grandstone thought of me, I wasn't stupid enough to risk her making a fussthat the wrong people might listen to.
