Alan stood looking at his father's gravestone. It was a curiously shaped thing, more like a shield than any tombstone he had ever seen. A red cross ran from top to bottom through the center and then from side to side. In the center, where the two lines met, was the same crest that stood over the entrance to the school and in several other places.
"Did you know him well," interrupted a voice over Alan's shoulder in a British accent. It was a tall man in the same scarlet gown he had seen several individuals wearing at the funeral. He looked to be about his father's age.
"Not really. Let's just say my feelings for him were... complex."
The man smiled wryly. "Non miror."
Alan looked at the man. Latin, he guessed. "Non" was easy enough. "Not." Miror was one of those funny words.
"I do not wonder?" Alan asked.
"Something like that. 'I am not surprised.'"
"So what's with the Latin?" Alan finally asked.
"You have time for an espresso?"