Chapter 4: The Demon Lord at Miskatonic High School (2)

"To sum up, the famous Et tu, Brute? that Caesar utters before his death is Shakespeare’s invention. We don’t know what he actually said when he saw Brutus — his alleged illegitimate son — among the conspirators," concluded Ms. Whitmore, the literature teacher.

The woman barely had time to close the book before a boy with amber skin and a faint black beard shot his hand up.

"I know what Julius Caesar’s last words to his son were! Want to hear them, Ms. Whitmore?"

The teacher rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Go on, Mr. Al O’Tep. Let’s hear what you’ve got this time."

The boy cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and...

"He said: I knew it! I should’ve come in your mom’s ass that night!"

Absolute silence, broken only by a few awkward coughs.

The boy looked around desperately, searching for even a single laugh to reward him for the joke.

Nothing. Not even the hint of a smile.

Everyone was staring at him with expressions somewhere between disgust and pity.

Lars included.

What an idiot.

Ms. Whitmore didn’t even dignify him with a response.

She simply resumed the lesson as if nothing had happened.

"As I was saying, not even the most authoritative ancient sources tell us exactly what he said before he was assassinated. And with that, we’ve finished the Chapter on Shakespeare."

"He didn’t say anything," Lars interjected flatly.

The entire class turned toward the back row by the window, where Lars was sitting.

"Excuse me, Mr... von Rosen?" Ms. Whitmore asked, more curious than annoyed by yet another interruption.

"Shakespeare wrote that Caesar uttered those words near the end of the attack. In reality, he died instantly from a blow to the back of the head. He didn’t even have time to realize he’d been betrayed."

"I don’t know what they taught you at your previous school, but no source gives an account like that. Suetonius clearly states that Caesar was stabbed twenty-three times."

"Just an exaggeration to make the death of one of history’s greatest military leaders more dramatic and theatrical."

"A claim like that needs evidence. No source from the time mentions a blow from a hammer. Would you kindly tell me what your source is?"

"I am the source."

A nervous grimace crossed Ms. Whitmore’s face.

"Oh, really? So I suppose you had a front-row seat in the Senate when it happened, huh?"

"No."

Lars paused briefly.

"I’m the one who struck him with the hammer."

Once again, silence fell over the classroom.

The completely serious, matter-of-fact way Lars said it drew a few quiet laughs. Others had to make an effort to hold theirs back.

Ms. Whitmore let out a long, exasperated sigh.

"As if Mr. Al O’Tep wasn’t enough. Now we’ve got a new court jester. Thank God I’ve only got two years left until retirement."

Lars’s remark had monopolized the entire class’s attention.

Some were put off by his audacity, while others appreciated the sudden, understated humor.

Mr. Al O’Tep in particular, seated to Lars’s right, seemed to have enjoyed the unexpected irony more than anyone else.

He stared at Lars for several moments, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide.

His surprise was understandable.

From the moment he arrived, Lars had given everyone the impression of being dark and taciturn. Until then, he had barely said a word aside from introducing himself to the class.

"Damn, you’ve only been here one day and you’ve already managed to make them laugh? I’ve been trying for years with zero success... Looks like the audience has decided you’re funnier than me," Mr. Al O’Tep whispered with a broad, playful grin.

"Not that it takes much."

"Seriously! That dry, understated sense of humor of yours is killing me, I swear!"

"Good for you."

The boy held out his hand.

"By the way, my name’s Niall. Niall Al O’Tep. I know what you’re about to ask: what kind of name is that? Let me clear that up for you."

"I actually don’t care," Lars replied coldly, but Niall didn’t seem to have heard him at all.

"My father’s Egyptian, and my mother’s Irish. They both wanted me to have their last name, so in the end they decided to combine them. Interesting, right?"

"You have no idea..."

"If I remember right, your name is... Larry van Basten, right? Nice to meet you, Larry."

Niall still had his hand held out toward Lars, waiting for a handshake that never came.

"It’s Lars von Rosen."

"That’s what I said, isn’t it?"

Lars let out a long sigh.

"Forget it."