The House of Grey- Volume 1

by Earl, Collin

  Monson's breathing became heavy, and inevitably his thoughts turned to Molly. No wonder she didn’t tell him about this.

  "Guys," Artorius said, oblivious to the seriousness of the conversation. "Is it just me or is it really dark out here? I mean, like, zombie apocalypse dark."

  Casey snickered and he launched into baby talk. "Ahh, Arthur, you don't have to be scared of the dark. Cassius will protect you.

  His voice switched back to normal. "Oh, and as for the inevitable zombie apocalypse, if you'd just read that book I gave you, you'd be totally prepared."

  Artorius scowled. "Please, I could have gotten better zombie protection . . . . "

  His voice drifted off. He seemed to be listening to something.

  Casey laughed. "Sure, Arthur—"

  Mr. Gatt interrupted this time. “No, Cassius, I hear something— Monson, look out!"

  Monson looked up just in time to see a flash of bright light and a massive dark object hurling toward him.

  Chapter 7 – Taris Green

  “Good morning, my dear Hero.”

  Monson awoke from a very nice dream just in time to see a blurred figure pull open the curtains. The light was not welcome. “And how do we fair this fine morning, Master Grey?”

  “You mean besides my brush with death?

  Brian’s figure slowly became visible. “Yes, of course.”

  Monson shrugged. “Besides the near-death experience I’m just fine. Thanks for asking.”

  “It concerns me that you can be so nonchalant about a giant statue almost crushing you to death.”

  Monson thought back to the night before. Casey had been the one who sprang into action. The huge gargoyle crashed right where Monson had been standing, and it had been Casey who pulled him out of the way at the last moment. An at-the-buzzer save is a bit clichéd, but Monson would always take that over an unexpected loss. Mr. Gatt freaked out, of course, and immediately took Monson back to his room before he summoning Coren’s entire on-call medical staff. It was well after 2 a.m. before Monson finally convinced Mr. Gatt and the doctors that he was fine. Surprisingly enough, Monson slept like a baby after that.

  Monson shrugged at Brian’s comment. “Did you see Baroty’s Bridge? A giant falling statue is like a walk in the park.”

  Brian pulled at the covers, apparently unconvinced. “I’ll take your word for it, but know that I have my eye on you. Now, how would you like to take your breakfast?”

  Monson cocked an eyebrow. “You lost me there, Bri-guy. How do most people take their breakfast? With a fork, or spoon I suppose, depending on what you’re serving.”

  Brian laughed. For some reason, he seemed to find Monson very funny; it annoyed Monson. “What I mean, Hero, is that unlike most people here, you have a choice. If you prefer, you can take your breakfast with your classmates, or I can have it prepared and brought up here where you can breakfast in peace."

  Monson meant to answer Brian's inquiry, but was saved the trouble by a knock at the door.

  “I’ll get it,” Monson said quickly before Brian could respond. He moved briskly out from behind the wet bar toward the great oak door, ignoring Brian’s objections. Monson gave Brian a look over his shoulder; Brian just smiled and shook his head.

  “Whaaaaatz up!” Casey bellowed, strolling into the apartment even before Monson could finish opening the door. Artorius followed. “Aren’t you ready yet? We gots places to go, Hero. The clock waits for no one. Move it, already!”

  “And morning to you, Casey.”

  “What’s going on, Grey?" asked Artorius with a quick smile. “How you doing, you know, after yesterday—well you know.”

  “I’ll live, I think,” Monson winked. “It’s not my first rodeo in the near-death experience category.”

  Artorius smiled, but looked unsure.

  “Well, boys,” interrupted Brian. “It would be prudent for you all to be off for breakfast. You do not want to be late for your first lessons. Do any of you know the way to the GM?”

  They glanced at one another and shook their heads vigorously. “Well then, let me acquire a school map and I will show you.”

  Moments later, the boys found themselves in a sea of people. As Casey went into a full-out rant about football and something called the “power I,” Monson was left to observe his fellow students. This was his first time around the entire student body and he found the experience distasteful. Monson could already see cliques developing among the students, and for some reason this bothered him. Maybe it was because he suspected he had never been part of a group or crowd, and was jealous. He doubted anything would change; he couldn’t see himself inducted into the cool kids’ clique anytime soon.

  Monson looked back over his shoulder at the place that would be his home for at least the next year. He felt distaste rise up again. Looming in the distance, the student dormitory, affectionately called the “The Barracks,” by the student body, had two wings for males and females, and eight floors shared by grades nine through twelve. The Elite quarters, which housed private tutors and their pupils to make tutoring sessions more productive, was on another part of campus.

  In The Barracks, male and female students lived in the same building separated by a variety of “safety” precautions, including cameras and elaborate door locks. There were certain times when the electronic measures were taken down and the students could explore each other’s living spaces, but these were closely supervised. All students shared a ridiculously large, two-story common room that was adjacent to and continued underneath the Atrium. Nicknamed “The Jive,” the room boasted pool tables, Ping-Pong tables, vending machines, a couple of large TVs, and assorted other means of entertainment. The washing machines and dryers were there as well, though most of the students opted for the Executive Service, or “Ex Service,” which provided a staff to handle things like laundry and cleaning. It was a neat place to live, for most people.

  “Excuse me.”

  A sweet voice caused Monson to almost jump out of his skin. Wrapped up in his own thoughts, he now realized that not only were Artorius and Casey nowhere to be seen, but he stood in the midst of a group of very pretty upperclassman girls. A particularly cute girl with curly strawberry-blonde hair stood in front of him, smiling. He studied her, not sure what to say, and in an attempt to smile, barely managed a grimace. He heard murmuring behind him, but ignored it, focusing on the girl.

  Her appearance was abrupt and regal, yet demure somehow; quite the contradiction. Her curly hair obscured a portion of her face, which added a little mystery. She was altogether striking.

  “I am so sorry,” said Monson, addressing the redhead. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  The girl did not answer right away, instead studying him curiously with a strange look on her face. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

  “No…I don’t think so. Monson took a few breaths to steady himself; the stares of the girl’s companions were getting to him. “And if you’re trying to pick me up, you don’t need to go any further. You had me at hello.”

  The girl giggled. “But I didn’t say hello.”

  Monson answered without thinking. “You would have had me at hello?”

  He groaned to himself; did he really just say that?

  “It appears that our new Hero has a sense of humor,” the girl mused. Her gaze lingered on Monson; her expression was slightly mischievous. Monson was not quite sure what to do at this point. People like her didn’t look people like him in the eyes. What was wrong with this girl?

  Monson gazed at her. She smiled again. It was soft and inviting. This girl…there was something different about her. He didn’t know what to make of it.

  “I’m Monson.” Monson put forth his hand, trying to sound confident “How did you know that I’m the new Horum Vir?”

  “Alas, that is a long story,” confessed the redhead. “It actually took me a second to recognize you. I’m sorry about that.”

  Then, without warning, she curtsied.


  Monson just stood, baffled. The girls in the circle laughed again. Monson bowed awkwardly. It seemed like the best idea at the time.

  “You still haven’t answered my question,” Monson peered at her with an analytical eye.

  “You’re right.” Her smile was becoming wider by the second. He raised an eyebrow. Laughing slightly at his reaction, she winked and said, “Let’s just say you and I go way back.” She gave him a little wink.

  Gasps and muttering broke out from the surrounding crowd; Monson had to raise his voice to be heard.

  “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Taris.” Her voice, in contrast, was almost a whisper; nonetheless, he could hear every syllable. Every inflection. He could hear her perfectly. “Taris Green.”

  “Yo, Monson,” bellowed a voice from a ways off.

  Monson turned from Taris to see Casey and Artorius staring at him, looks of awe comically contorting their faces. Monson laughed and turned back to the redhead.

  “I’d better go.” He gestured towards his friends.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” she replied. “Maybe I’ll see you around, pretty boy.”

  “Maybe.” He smiled at her again. “But only if you’re lucky.”

  Without another word, he turned around and walked smoothly towards the still-gawking Casey and Artorius while thoughts bounced around his head like crackling popcorn.

  If you’re lucky? What’s up with that stupid comment? Who talks like that?

  Monson neared Artorius and Casey.

  “Has the world gone mad?” asked Artorius, placing his hand over his eyes and squinting into the distance. “How is that we find you in the company of Taris Green?”

  “Is that bad?” said Monson, awakening from his internal monologue.

  “No, it’s amazing,” said Casey, who looked just as bewildered as Artorius. “She's like one of the hottest girls…,” he struggled to find the word, “ever. And she’s like totally famous.”

  “She seemed really nice,” said Monson tentatively. “Do you guys know her?”

  “We’ve met,” said Casey excitedly, “but we’ve never had what I’d call an extensive conversation. I had a backstage pass to a concert last year.” His eyes faded as if he were losing the ability to focus. “There’s an outdoor amphitheater called the Gorge in Eastern Washington. She performed there. I met her then.”

  “I wouldn’t call our conversation extensive,” replied Monson. “We just introduced ourselves. It wasn’t a big deal. Though I must say that it was kinda weird when she knew who I was.”

  “She knew who you were?” inquired Casey. “That is weird. What did she say?”

  “Nothing, really,” shrugged Monson, “but she called me Hero. Though I guess she could have known that fact any number of ways. Don’t know, really; she was a little vague on the details.”

  “The plot thickens,” commented Casey, rubbing his face. He looked thoughtful, but quickly switched to confusion. “You certainly are full of surprises, Mr. Grey.”

  Artorius swore. “I can’t believe you were talking to Taris Green! I know people who’ve been here for two years who haven’t even seen her. She’s usually on tour.”

  Monson laughed; the opportunity was too good to pass up: “Yeah, I think she was kind of flirting with me.”

  Both Artorius and Casey gasped. They stared at him in total and utter disbelief. Monson tried not to laugh.

  “Come on,” Artorius finally said. “We can ponder the enigma of Monson’s popularity later. I’m starving.”

  He started to move away but stopped suddenly, a pained look on his face. “I can’t believe you were talking to Taris. Freaking. Green. Bastard!”

  Monson and Casey laughed and started walking, heading away from the group of chattering girls. Monson glanced over his shoulder as their pace started to pick up. To his surprise, he wasn’t the only one.

  Taris?

  “Interesting,” thought Monson, and then twisting back towards his friends he pushed the encounter from his mind.

  ***

  “So that’s what it looks like in the light,” commented Monson.

  Casey rubbed at his chin. “Yeah…are you sure you want to walk near that thing again?”

  “It’s either that or just stare at it, and hope we get nourishment through some sort of osmosis.”

  Casey nodded. “OK, but make sure that you walk a bit ahead of us.”

  Monson glowered. “You’re too kind.”

  The boys stood at an archway that marked the entrance to a massive garden and an even larger building that stood out like a mountain behind it. It took Monson a second, but he recognized it. The reception the night before took place in this building. It looked much different to him in the daylight. It helped that he wasn’t currently close to dying. The gardens were amazing. Flowers of every kind were divided into neat rows as if guarding the stone pathway, and gave off an intoxicating scent. The stone paths and flowers surrounded grassy knolls where willow, oak, cherry and even pine trees grew, providing both conversation and congregation points. As if this wasn’t enough, Monson thought he also saw the beginnings of a brush maze on the east side of the building.

  Monson looked a short distance off to where he was almost crushed by the falling gargoyle statue. The only hint of the encounter was some broken tiles and concrete, which a group of workers had quartered off and were cleaning. Pretty amazing, considering it happened only the night before.

  “The Halls,” offered Artorius, sounding like he was guiding a group of over-eager tourists. “Though it’s almost never called that.”

  Even Casey looked surprised at this revelation and inquired, “What do you mean by that, Arthur?”

  “Don’t call me Arthur!”

  Casey rolled his eyes but didn’t comment. Artorius glared at him but continued with his narration. “Anyway, many of the students call it 'The GM' or 'The Dungeon'.”

  “The GM and Dungeon, huh?” Monson chuckled. “What’s with all the nicknames? People at this school have too much time on their hands. OK…now I have to ask. Why do they call it that?”

  Casey laughed, and even Artorius smiled.

  “The GM stands for the Green Mile, after the movie,” said Artorius. “Apparently all the disciplinary offices are on the upper floors. You know, detentions — that sort of thing. The expulsion rate here has created 'The Green Mile' effect: If you get sent to the office at the very end of the hall, you don’t have much chance of coming out still a student.” He stopped, his gaze finding its way to the upper region of the massive building.

  “You’re right, Grey.” Artorius turned to look at Monson, “people do have too much time on their hands. Anyway, The Dungeon nickname has to do with a prank that kids pulled on a freshman a few years ago. Something to do with underground tunnels and a dead body or something.”

  “Craziness,” said Monson idly. He paused as the meaning of what Artorius said hit him. “Wait—did you say dead body?”

  His question, however, fell upon deaf ears. At that exact moment, a large group of girls walked by giggling and eyeing the trio. Many of them looked Monson up and down. He thought he heard Taris’ name whispered as they passed.

  “For someone with no game and the face of a leper, you’re awfully popular with the ladies,” declared Casey, as if he was saying something some both witty and profound.

  Monson went red at his words. “Shut up, Casey.”

  “How do they do that little hip shake thing?" exclaimed Artorius, his gaze following the group of chattering females. His head swayed back and forth with the rhythmic jive of the one of the passing ladies. A sober look on his face made him look very comical.

  Monson laughed at his expression. But he also wanted him to finish. “Artorius, focus, you were in the middle of a story.”

  “I was?”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I just asked you a ques—”

  “Good morning, boys.”

  All three boys whipped around to see Mr. Gatt dre
ssed in a crisp three-piece suit and standing in a semi-posed position, as if he wanted their approval.

  “Looking sharp, Mr. G,” said Casey, looking critically at Mr. Gatt.

  “Ahh, Cassius, your approval is most heartwarming.”

  Mr. Gatt eyed Monson. “And how are you this morning after your encounter?”

  Monson waved it off. “I’m fine. Accidents happen. Like I said last night. I didn’t get hurt, so don’t worry,” he said this more brusquely than he intended. Luckily, Mr. Gatt got the hint and didn’t say any more.

  Mr. Gatt gestured to them. “Come boys, walk with me.”

  Monson, Artorius, and Casey gave each other the merest of half-glances, and then fell into step with Mr. Gatt, who was already bounding towards The Halls with surprisingly briskness.

  “Mr. Gatt,” said Monson, wanting to make amends for his shortness. “I was wondering, what do you teach here? Like…what’s your subject?”

  Mr. Gatt gave him a quick glance but responded very casually. “Why do you ask, Hero?”

  “Just curious, I guess,” Monson hoped he sounded offhand.

  “Well,” said Mr. Gatt evenly, if you must know, I teach an experimental history course.” He smiled and added, “With the occasional P.E. courses mixed in for fun. You could say that I’m a dabbler in that field.”

  Casey interjected, looking perplexed. “Experimental history? What the–” Casey stopped short and quickly looked at Mr. Gatt’s knowing expression. “I mean what does that mean? What can be experimental about a history course?”

  Mr. Gatt smiled in a satisfied manner. “My history classes are both investigative and analytical in nature, not mere fact finding. The students in my classes study legends, folktales and other mysteries, and look at the different factors that might have gone into both their formulation and perpetuation.” He paused, looking thoughtful, then continued. “For example, King Arthur. Who was he and how did he acquire his reputation?”