Ah yes. One of the privileged few to enjoy a truly private education until the necessary evil of the communal system became inevitable. Edmund couldn't deny his envy at the luxury of it, but he dearly wanted to give the impression that it really didn't mean all that much to him. "Your suffering must have been great indeed," he replies dryly. "To only have to bear a few years of fagging, and a fearsome Braig before that. I count myself lucky indeed."

His sardonic tongue seems irrepressible, even when his arrows find their marks. "I shall...consider it," Edmund promises, tongue between his teeth, focus turning to the precise fit of the pin against each click of the lock. The first one is always easy. The second makes him heave a furtive sigh. Yes, this is always the maddening part. "But I would hardly be a very worthy archrival if I wasn't curious at all about you and your doings."

"Tell you?" He's genuinely confused by the question for a moment. He jiggles at the second key-pin. It creaks stubbornly at him. Budge, damn it. "Oh, about the notes and things? Perhaps I shall. If you give me a good reason to assure me that - how did you put it? - you won't turn and snitch on me. Or turn and snitch whatever you find to those old friends of yours. Gone though they might be."

He's reasonably sure Ienzo still has a way to get in touch with them if he really needed to.

The second gives way, almost grudgingly, and the third groans as he pokes at it. His fingers used to be more adept at this business. He makes an irritated noise at it, as if that will convince the rusty old lock to give up any of its gates. And Ienzo is probably just sitting back, laughing at him. "This was supposed to be a revision for lockpicking, wasn't it? The glories of Private Education in the modern young man's development? A great help, you are!"