Best Mate

Farley stood in front of the fireplace, retying his cravat in the brassy looking glass that leaned haphazardly on the mantel. “Do we have any brandy, Fipps?”

Fipps uncrossed his legs and stood from the armchair stuffed in the corner of the room, tucked between adjacent bookcases. “Farley, when do we not have brandy?” As he crossed to the silver plate that held the decanter and glasses, he conceded, “Well, I suppose when you drain an entire bottle on an exam night.”

“Do I detect reproach, Fipps?” Farley gave the cravat a tug, brushing down the silk with abrupt fingers. “You know my mind runs on the stuff.”

“Your legs don’t.” Fipps pointed out as he poured a scant knuckle-length. “You could barely walk to your political theory examination.”

“And yet, I still managed to write six glorious pages on the machinations of oligarchy before the evening break for tea.” Farley accepted the glass, saluting his classmate before pouring the contents down his own throat in a single torrent.

“Lands of ruin, Farley.” Fipps shook his head. “Do you intend on being able to walk to this meeting, at least?”

“Do you really think so little of my tolerance?”

“First impressions-”

“I’m well aware of the importance!” Farley snapped, his jolly bravado disappearing as he set the empty glass down with an ill-humored clink. “Lands, why do you think I’m drinking brandy at all? I’ve half a mind to bring up the whiskey from the safe.”

“Don’t you dare.” Fipps reached out to straighten the lapels of Farley’s scarlet coat. The ridiculous garment fell just to his knees and displayed embroidery of curled, twining creatures with ferocious teeth made out in thread. “That’s for graduation, and you know it.” He shook his head at the crooked cravat and set about disciplining the misbehaving neckwear as Farley tapped his foot. “I hope these society folk have your tolerance for unseemly dramatics, old boy. I wouldn’t wear this coat to breakfast in the hall, let alone to a midnight society-”

“My coat, thank you very much, is entirely appropriate for the society.” Farley said, rolling his eyes above his friend’s ministrations. “The very essence of the society is rejecting convention in the pursuit of bold, neo-economic endeavors.”

“Neo-economic!” Fipps said through a snort as he stepped back to admire his handiwork. “Is that what you fools call it? And what will you do if caught? Your little society takes these back-alley precautions for a reason, you know. And take off those boots. They’re not yet even fit for a back-alley.”

Absentmindedly, Farley complied as he mulled over the question. “I really don’t plan on being caught.”

Fipps snorted again as he held the right boot to the light of the fire and reached for his wire-bristled mud brush beside the poker.

“But,” Farley continued, folding his arms. “should the board of the university come howling at my door, I shall simply make a dash for it. The life of a fugitive can’t be so distressing, not when there are so many novels about it. And I’d have Tom for sparkling company, of course.”

“Howling at our door,” Fipps said in correction, glowering at the soiled boot in his hand and reaching for the blacking paste.

“Why, my dear Fipps, of course you’ll know nothing of any sordid matters!” Farley leaned against the fat volumes of philosophy and natural history that stuffed the far bookcase. Fipps wondered if he’d every cracked a single book of the lot, courseload or no. Then again, his friend had likely read the entirety of the collection between turns in a single round of dice. He could likely recite them from memory, along with the first names of every barkeep in the city, Fipps thought as he gave the left boot a vengeful swipe with the blacking cloth.

“The board will have no reason to incriminate you.” Farley was saying as he examined his fingernails. Bitten off in one of his darker moods, no doubt. “You’ll only be another of my victims, seduced and deceived by my charm, my dishevelment, my enchantingly fickle love affair with academics. Your record here, my dear man, is revoltingly spotless. The college would rather employ a pimp as headmaster than throw you out.”

“I’m glad you’ve taken such consideration for my position.” Fipps said, tossing the boots back to Farley without looking at him.

The fire crackled in the silent parlor as Farley slowly slid his feet into each boot, his face uncharacteristically perturbed. “You’re even chillier than your usual cloudy temperament, Fipps.” he said at last. “This isn’t concern for yourself; you’re too dull and selfless for that. This frost comes from - ah.”

“Yes, ‘ah’!” Fipps said with the elegance of a misfiring pistol, rising from his crouch on the heart and dusting off his hands with sooty rage. “What of Jessica, man? Have you no thought for your attachment to my sister, what it will mean for her prospects if you go on the run like some highwayman in a serial? If not her reputation, have you no thought for her feelings?”

“I assure you,” Farley said slowly. “Your sister is a source of much thought in my endeavors. She provides much of the motivation for my entering this society.”

“Lands of ruin, what are you talking about?” Fipps blazed. The flames behind him seemed to crackle and pop in supportive indignation. “You can’t mean that you’ve dragged her along with you and Tom in this, convinced her to stake her future on your damned ‘neo-economic’ schemes-”

“My dear man,” Farley seemed to be attempting most manfully to hold back his chuckles. “I really oughtn’t to be saying this - they may cut out my tongue for the indiscretion- but who do you think invited me to the society in the first place? Headmaster Doms?” Laughter had victory at last, and he strode out of the parlor, chuckling heartily as Fipps stared after him. “So, you see,” he called from down the hall, “you really have nothing to worry about except those nasty diagrams or some such you have due next week.”

Fipps rushed after him, stumbling into the bedroom that opened up into the tiny balcony overlooking the back garden. Standing by the rail, Farley pivoted to grin at him. “I think Jessica and I will have a splendid time. She’ll be much more competent than your poor, wastrel friend,” He laid his hands on his own chest. “Or so I predict. But in any case,” He stepped onto the stone rail, ridiculous coat fluttering in the breeze from the river. “If I had to choose between ‘stuffy graduate’ and ‘overeducated pirate’ to etch on my tombstone… well, you know which I’d choose, Fipps.”

Still smiling, he stepped off the railing, plunging into the dark courtyard where Fipps knew Tom would be waiting. A wingbeat later, the ebony dragon soared up, past the balcony, one ochre eye rolling to wink at Fipps. His scarlet-clad companion waved a cheery farewell from his back, and then, with a duck between two chimneys, they disappeared. 

Fipps stood in the balcony’s doorway, smelling the fish and were-smoke on the breeze. He only remained a moment; after all, it was late, and classes started early. He left only a brief note on Farley’s dressing table before wandering back to his own room.

When you finish with tonight’s neo-economic endeavors, the notes for next week’s astronomy examination are in the kitchen, under the biscuits. Be thankful draconian pirates are so much more fashionable than the maritime variety, or I’m not sure I could associate with you any longer. Cheers, your much-put-upon flatmate.