Chapter 21: Our Night

The label maker had printed the chart, and it hung on the inside of Cassian's bathroom door.

ODD: NOAH. EVEN: CASSIAN. SHOWERS: BY MOTION.

Under it, in pen, someone had written TONIGHT IS ODD and drawn a very small bee.

"We should practice the public session," Noah said.

He stood under the shower head with the water running down his chest, wearing nothing and a very serious face.

"Now?"

"The appeal is Monday. They'll ask you things in front of three hundred people. I want you ready."

"In the shower."

"It's the only room in this house with a working echo."

Cassian stepped in, and the hot water hit his shoulders, and Noah put a bar of soap in his hand.

"I'm the dean," Noah said. "You're the accused."

"I'm not accused. I was cleared."

"They'll accuse you anyway. Stand up straight."

Cassian stood up straight, naked and steaming, with the soap.

"Mr. Haverstock," Noah said, in a flat professional voice. "Did you encourage the conduct of the defendants?"

"No."

"You said sure to the question at the first hearing."

"I said sure because..."

"Because?"

"Because I didn't know what the question was."

"Mr. Haverstock. Were you listening?"

"I was listening to the bees."

"The bees," said Noah the dean, and his mouth twitched. "And what did the bees say?"

"That the drone only mates once."

"And then?"

"And then he dies."

Noah lost the voice.

He put a hand over his face, his shoulders shook, and the water ran off his elbows.

"That's the worst witness I've ever heard," he said, wheezing.

"You asked about the bees."

"I know I asked about the bees. Come here."

Cassian came there.

Noah took the soap out of his hand, set it in the dish, and slid both palms down Cassian's wet chest.

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