Filling the space between the buildings were beautiful and meticulously tended lawns and gardens. Paths wound through rigorously regimented flower beds and between hedges that looked to be pruned with a ruler and scalpel.
At the very centre was a field of vibrant grass, which was filling with students all dressed in their finest clothes for the festival. The Summerhillers stood stiffly in their tightly tailored dark suits with starched collars and polished buttons. The Chateau du Printemps residents were the complete opposite, wearing flowing gowns in ostentatious colours with plunging necklines. The Vertheim crowd dressed as though they were going into battle, with polished metal breastplates beneath fur-trimmed capes. The Lodgers weren’t nearly so unified, wearing everything from ripped jeans to shimmering ballgowns, with many not bothering to change out of their school uniforms.
Kuro was pulled along in a bit of a daze by Charlie toward the athletics field, where a lacrosse game was getting under way.
Kuro did his best to enjoy the game. He’d never played nor watched lacrosse before. From what he could gather, it was more fun to watch than play, as everyone on the field looked angry, tired, and sweaty, while the audience was endlessly excited about it.
Kuro tried to work out how the game was played, but his friends were of mixed helpfulness. Charlie explained bits and pieces between cheering, but she kept forgetting what she was saying whenever anything exciting happened in the game. Arthur was happy to explain in detail, but he was too quiet to hear over the crowd in general, and over Charlie in particular.
Marie was more helpful, but most of what she could tell Kuro was about the subtle differences between wizard lacrosse and the Blandlands version. In the version she’d played, the fields were somewhat smaller, girls and boys rarely played on the same team, the sticks were made of metal and plastic instead of wood and gold, the ball was made of rubber instead of salt, the players spent much more time on the ground, and nothing was ever on fire.
From Kuro’s view, the best part of the game was watching the other players try to deal with Meredith. Some people on the opposing team were faster and better equipped, but she was at least twice the size of anyone else on the field. Whenever she got the ball, other players would just bounce harmlessly off her in any attempt to reclaim it. When she took a shot on the goal, everyone would dive out of the way instead of trying to block. It was like someone had brought a cannon to a darts game.
The end of the game marked the start of dinner, the main event of the festival as far as Kuro was concerned.
The school shuffled from the field into the grand pavilion tent, which was filled with tables for dining. It wasn’t like Autumn Lodge, with just rows of benches along bare wood tables. Each table was set with only four chairs around it, proper chairs with padded seats. Each seat had multiple plates and bowls and glasses at it, as well as several complete sets of cutlery. There were tablecloths, cloth napkins, and flower arrangement centrepieces with fairy lights in them. It was fancier than the fanciest restaurant Kuro had ever seen through the windows in Bytown market.
The room was also flush with servants from the other residences, all dressed in fancy matching uniforms. They moved like ghosts through the space, smooth and silent, somehow walking at twice the speed of any of the students filing in and never looking hurried or getting in the way of the diners. They were almost the perfect opposite of the lutin, who did most of the cooking at Autumn Lodge and were notably absent.
Charlie led the way through the ambling mass of students. She walked with her nose held high so she could look down it at everyone, with her arms stiffly at her sides. Kuro wasn’t sure if she was trying to imitate the wealthier students or make fun of them, but it made him giggle either way. She claimed a free table for the four of them and threw herself into a chair gleefully.
Kuro had a brief fight trying to sit down in his. As he was about to climb into it, a serving woman in her white and gold uniform tried to take his chair away from him. He grabbed it and tried to pull it back, frightened that he wasn’t going to be allowed to sit with his friends. Then there was a bit of a pause in the tug of war as Kuro realized that he knew the woman.
He didn’t know her name or anything about her. He’d never spoken to her, but he knew her youthful freckled face, short dirty-blonde hair, and world-weary eyes. She was a stray who had wound up surviving in Detritus Lane. She and Kuro had rattled cups next to each other as beggars and crossed paths more than a few times outside the shops kind enough to leave their stale bread and unsold vegetables outside at the end of the day for vagrants.
She’d lasted less than a year. That wasn’t uncommon. Many strays would decide to go back to the Blandlands, for better or worse. Some others would figure out enough about the fey realm to find employment and make a life of it. It seemed she was the latter.
She and Kuro exchanged looks of surprise, then mutual recognition, followed by a polite nod. Kuro released the chair into her care, and she placed it gingerly onto the ground a couple feet from the table. “Would sir care to take a seat?”
She gestured to the other tables where the servants were assisting the students to get properly seated. Kuro knew that the rich were lazy, but he hadn’t realized it extended to sitting down.
“Yes, right,” he said, climbing onto his chair and allowing her to push him into place. “Thank you, um?”
“Sam,” she said with a more genuine smile than those plastered on the faces of the other nearby waitstaff. “I’ll be your server this evening.” She proceeded to seat Marie and Arthur in the same manner, though with considerably less conflict, before offering each of them a thick piece of cream-coloured paper covered in elegant calligraphy with gold decorations. “This evening’s menu,” she said before breezing off to fetch something.
Kuro couldn’t read the cursive script, but it was very pretty. He considered putting it up in his room as a decoration should he be allowed to keep it. Someone nearby clearly could read it, however, and was less impressed.
“This is a fine selection.” It was the unmistakable voice of Evelyn Lemieux: refined, musical, and loathsome. “Not what I would expect were I at home in Ys, but quite impressive under the circumstances.”
A chorus of pompous chortles echoed her sentiment.
Kuro looked to find Evelyn seated at the next table over along with a collection of highborn hangers-on: Freya Mimirdottir, Charles Tewkbury III, and Dominique Gauthier, all trying to out royal each other.
“Oh, I agree,” said Charles. “Well done working with what they can get up here. Couldn’t imagine a Samhain back in New Camelot without fresh mussels, but you can’t possibly get them this far from the great lakes.”
“Quite so, quite so,” agreed Freya. “You truly can’t have a Samhain without a narwhal steak, but who outside of Alfheim would know how to prepare one properly?”
They continued to boast about what fine foods would be served at a proper festival back home while Kuro devoted himself to ignoring them. That task was made easier by the return of Sam with a basket of fresh rolls.
Kuro stood up on his chair to reach and snatched one as soon as the cover was off. It was villainous to leave fresh bread to cool any longer than necessary.
His uncouth behaviour caught the notice of the royal table nearby.
“It seems they will let any stray trash into the feast nowadays.” Dominique’s words dripped with disdain.
“Now, now, Monsieur Gauthier,” Evelyn soothed. “If they’re not allowed to observe how things are done properly, how can they hope to better themselves? Consider it a public service to the lower classes.” She then gently floated a roll from the basket on her table onto her own plate and onto each of the others’ at her table. A condescending sweep of her hand indicated that was the correct way to partake in the breads.
“I could try that if you want,” said Kuro. He spoke in an even, polite tone, but the table of nobles tensed. The threat of Kuro attempting magic in a room full
of delicate glassware and sharp knives was enough to keep even Dominique from attempting any real assault on their dinner.
Charlie, in the meantime, floated four rolls and a knife, sliced them in half, and buttered them before distributing them around the table. She grinned back at Evelyn, who sneered and turned away, unable to bear the offences to her sensibilities. Kuro thought he caught Sam hiding a smile behind her hand before returning to an alert yet disengaged stance, doing her best to disappear into the background.
Next came a salad. It was a collection of vegetables and fruits that Kuro didn’t recognize, so colourful and artfully arranged that he thought they might be replacement centrepieces rather than food.
He set about selecting his fork, weighing the merits of each of the four he’d been given. He selected the second smallest. It was an excellent fork, he thought. A good size for his hand, with four straight, sharp tines, and a nice balance point. It was very satisfying to hold. If he’d brought his bag to keep it in, he might have considered borrowing it for the rest of the school year.
Before he could start to enjoy his salad though, Freya couldn’t help but interrupt. “What in Odin’s name are you doing?” she asked.
“Choosing my fork,” replied Kuro, holding up his selection.
“You are meant to use all of them,” Evelyn explained, her polite veneer starting to peel and her cultured civility becoming strained. “One for each course.”
Kuro looked back at the cutlery and held up the largest of the forks with incredulity. “My mouth isn’t big enough for this one,” he said.
Marie laughed, Arthur covered his mouth in shock, and Charlie spat out a bit of her roll. Sam even let out a little snort before regaining her composure.
Kuro took a moment to realize what he’d said. He hadn’t meant to insult her, but having done so, he wasn’t particularly remorseful.
Evelyn balled her fists and clenched her jaw. Some of the curls in her hair started to droop a little from the heat that began pouring off her. Not willing to allow some commoner to unravel her royal manners, she turned back to her table-mates and began a rather forced conversation about the lacrosse match.
Soup was next and it was, much like the salad, more beautiful than it was delicious. It contained a rainbow of vegetables but somehow managed to be boring anyway. Kuro commented on it, and Marie explained that it was “grown-up food.” She said that adults stopped liking things that had real flavour and could only taste how much things cost.
Soup was followed by the main course. It looked like someone had taken a whole turkey dinner and shrunk it. On Kuro’s plate was a complete roast bird, a pile of potatoes, and carrots, but all of them were tiny and looked lonely in their sections of an oversized plate.
After giving the children a chance to try the food, Sam checked on the quality. “Is everything to your satisfaction?” she asked in a small gap in conversation, which only appeared when Charlie was taking a drink.
“The sauce tastes a bit like dirt, but the pigeon is pretty good if you scrape it off,” Kuro answered.
His review was interrupted by a painful screech of metal scraping on fine china. Kuro’s comments so upset Evelyn that she nearly punched her fork through her plate. “This is a hand-raised albino quail in a wild golden truffle pâté.”
Kuro hadn’t heard of any of those things. A subtle gesture from Sam at the menu indicated there was a good chance that Evelyn hadn’t either, as she had just recited what was on it. It was much easier to read when he knew what it said.
Kuro nodded his thanks to Evelyn for clearing up his misunderstanding. It seemed the thing to do at a fancy dinner even if she was horrible. He had forgotten the setting. It was a fancy dinner, and he should be at his most polite.
“The albino quail pigeon is delicious, and the truffle stuff is some of the nicest dirt I’ve eaten.” He offered one of his unused forks to Sam. “Would you like to try some?”
The smirks from his server and friends told him he hadn’t gotten it quite right. The insults earned from Evelyn confirmed his suspicions.
“How are you so barbaric?” she seethed at him. “You are nothing but a thief and a scoundrel. How the school stoops so low as to allow you to stay is a travesty.”
Her tirade was cut short by their server interposing himself and with great deference, offering her a choice of desserts. He was a pale man with thinning hair who, despite his rigid politeness, exuded a sense of exhaustion.
Sam joined her colleague in his attempt to prevent an argument and offered the two dessert options. Kuro chose the scintillating cream cake over the buoyant vanilla mousse as he was still hungry and wanted something heavier.
Kuro was satisfied with his choice. The cake was a thin wedge of a glossy white substance that shimmered like a rainbow whenever it caught the light. It was somehow both very rich and kind of bland, like eating a lightly sweetened stick of butter. While he’d have preferred a candied artichoke muffin from the lutin at the lodge, the cake filled a hole and left Kuro feeling drowsy and satisfied.
Nearly everyone else got the mousse, and Kuro was glad he’d avoided it. It was served as a sphere of white foam held down to the plate by a thread of licorice tied to a raspberry. It looked delicious but had to be eaten very carefully, or the connection would break, and the mousse would float off. The roof of the tent ended the dinner with several blobs of Avalon’s finest delicacies stuck to it.
Charlie managed to snag three such desserts for herself before they reached the roof, as she was one of the few students skilled enough to hold on to an unstable mass with her mind.
The dinner was followed by dancing around a bonfire under the stars. A band of enchanted instruments played a wide assortment of lively jigs, gentle waltzes, and shanties that demanded to be sung along to.
Kuro had thought himself prepared for that. They studied all sorts of dances in music class. Kuro was nimble, so although his sense of rhythm was a bit weak, he could do the steps and movements pretty well. It turned out, however, that the dancing taught in class bore no resemblance whatsoever to any of the dancing happening in the field.
The dances were split almost entirely along court lines. The Summer students held themselves with the stiffness and rigidity they always did, but their feet were a flurry of motion. They skipped and bounced in unison in an array of patterns, with their arms held tightly at their sides, as though afraid of straining the seams of their shirts or accidentally brushing up against one another.
The Spring Quarter was the complete opposite. They partnered up and twirled around the field like petals on a river. The more experienced pairs of older students moved as though they were a single body, elegant and fluid.
The Vertheim crowd were less interested in fancy steps than they were in making noise. They clumped together in groups, arms over each other’s shoulders, swaying to the music and singing loudly.
Kuro’s residence was, as always, a delightful mess. There was no consistent style or recognizable organization to their movements. The fireflies bunched together and danced in what Kuro assumed to be Blandlands fashion. There were a lot of swaying hips and flailing arms involved. Most of the others engaged in something that reminded Kuro more of the lacrosse match than a dance. They were aggressively stealing each other’s partners, and any pair that stuck together long enough would turn on each other: spinning, lifting, and dipping until one of them collapsed in exhaustion or laughter.
Marie and Sean pulled a pair of first-year fireflies into the Blandlander pile, where they’d be safe and comfortable. Charlie dove into the competitive portion of the field and danced like a marionette tied to a propeller with any girl brave enough to get near her, while Arthur and Kuro stayed safely on the sidelines with some of the other meeker residents.
Meredith deemed that unacceptable and urged Kuro into the fray.
“But I don’t know how to dance,” he tried to argue.
“Does it look like anyone else does?” sh
e replied.
Reflecting on the general chaos by the fire, Kuro had to concede.
“Arthur, are you coming?”
Arthur was almost too engrossed in the scene to answer, his face shifting to match the dancers he was looking at as he gazed around the dance. “No, thank you,” he said. “I like watching.”
Kuro felt a bit absurd dancing with Meredith at first. They were as mismatched as two people could be at the school. But that awkwardness was swept away as he found out how fun it was to be spun and lifted and thrown around by someone more than twice his height who wasn’t trying to kill him. Once enveloped in the fray, he was pulled from partner to partner, spun till he was dizzy, and treated like any other Lodger.
He climbed into bed that night happy, well fed, and feeling better about life on Avalon than he ever had before.
Thirteen
Le Chateau du Printemps
Kuro’s good mood lasted almost all the way to breakfast the next day.
He slept well and woke drowsy and content. He sat down for a nice bowl of snap pea yogurt with a generally positive attitude and hope in his heart. But he wasn’t even allowed to finish before Vice Principal Flint arrived at the lodge. Kuro sighed and went to fetch his bag but was stopped. “Not this time,” he grumbled. “Come with me.”
Flint was too surly and tired for pleasantries. He just pointed, and Kuro walked. He thought he was being led to Flint’s office, but they skipped the turning for the school and kept on to the gates of the Chateau du Printemps.
Kuro had never been on the Chateau grounds before. They were filled with sprawling gardens, weeping willows, and cherry trees, all perpetually in bloom. They walked past a long, shallow reflecting pool, which served no purpose except for petals to float delicately on.
The chateau was a palace much more than it was a residence. Marble from top to bottom gleamed white in the morning sun. Tall narrow columns flanked tall narrow arches, which framed tall narrow windows, giving the whole thing the look of having been stretched upwards several stories.
Volume 2: Burglary Page 12