The Heir Chronicles: Books I-III

by Cinda Williams Chima

  “Collared shirt or sweater. No jeans or sweats.”

  “Okay. Give me a minute.”

  Trevor hovered by the door while Seph changed his clothes and ran his fingers through his hair. They descended the stairs and pushed through the front doors.

  The frail autumn daylight had already fled. It would have been pitch-black under the trees, save for the tiny lights that outlined the paths between buildings. Seph braced himself for questions or comments about the peculiar events in the cove, but none came, so Seph said, “That was pretty weird. What happened at swimming, I mean.”

  “You never know what’s going to happen around here,” Trevor said, shrugging.

  “What do you mean? Are you saying weird things have happened before I—before now?”

  “I mean nothing.” Trevor hunched his shoulders like a turtle retreating into his shell.

  “I ran into this guy in the woods. A student, I think, kind of stocky, with glasses and an inhaler. Do you know who that would’ve been?”

  Trevor looked him in the eyes. “I don’t recollect anyone like that.”

  Seph debated whether to force the issue. He guessed he could get what he wanted from Trevor. But decided not to push it. It’s my first day, he thought. I can use all the friends I can get.

  Trevor took his role as tour guide seriously, pointing out features of the campus: the tennis courts, the amphitheater.

  “There’s almost a hundred students here, freshmen through seniors. They come from all over, and a lot of them get scholarships. There’s also a bunch of alumni living here on campus, doing research with Dr. Leicester.” They passed more dormitory buildings. “All the dorms are pretty much the same. The alumni have their own dorm, cafeteria, and commons area.”

  “Why would alumni hang around on campus after graduation?” Seph asked. “What about college?”

  Trevor looked away, focusing on the path ahead. “You’d have to ask them.”

  They walked through Gareth Hall, the classroom building, past empty lecture halls. “School’s been going for a couple weeks, so you’re going to have to catch up with your assignments,” Trevor said. “Let me know if you need help with anything.”

  The art and music building was farther north along the shoreline. “They make us all take a musical instrument,” Trevor explained. Seph nodded. Typical. He’d brought along his saxophone.

  Next Trevor led him down to the waterfront and out onto the dock. “Dr. Leicester’s a sailing fanatic. Our sailing team has held the Atlantic Seaboard Scholastic Cup for three years. Everyone helps.”

  “Mmmm,” Seph replied, committing himself to nothing. He couldn’t very well tell Trevor he expected to be gone by Christmas, given the start he’d made at the cove.

  “This is our boathouse.” Trevor pushed open the door to the small, weather-beaten building Seph had noticed when he arrived. It was a plain, square wooden structure with a rough planked floor. A narrow wooden walkway ran along the far side of the room, surrounding the boat slip. The water sucked and slapped at the pilings underneath. The building smelled of marine gasoline and what Seph assumed to be fish guts.

  “They keep the motorboat in here most all the time, and sometimes the sailboats if they need to be fixed.

  You’ll get really good at slapping on varnish, believe me.”

  That was no problem. Seph was used to hard work. He’d spent every summer cleaning and changing beds and washing dishes at Genevieve’s bed-and-breakfast.

  “Time to eat,” Trevor announced, and turned back toward shore.

  The dining hall was on the first floor of the admin. building, with a full wall of glass overlooking the water. Servers circulated through the room, clearing tables and refilling water glasses.

  In addition to burgers and pizza, there was hand-carved roast beef, a fish entrée, a sauté of the day, a vegetarian wrap, grilled sandwich, and a salad bar. Could be worse. Seph had been raised to appreciate good food, but he wasn’t a snob.

  Seph scanned the dining room, but he saw no sign of the boy with the glasses.

  He and Trevor carried their trays to a large, rectangular table by the window. A half dozen boys were already seated there. Conversation died away when Trevor and Seph sat down, but then everyone took turns introducing themselves. Troy was a small, scholarly-looking black student, dressed in a white dress shirt and bow tie. Harrison had the kind of clean-cut, preppy look that is often misleading, while James was blunt and cocky with overdyed black hair and multiple piercings and tattoos.

  Troy was from Philadelphia. “I’ve been in public school, private school, every religious school you can think of,” he explained. “They said I was hyperactive.” Seph found that hard to believe, given his buttoned-down appearance. Troy was a senior, and said he hoped to attend Yale the following year.

  Harrison and James were juniors, Harrison from San Diego and James from Houston. Both readily admitted to a history of heavy partying.

  “I had a trust fund, you know?” Harrison said, stuffing down the last bite of a burger and chasing it with soda. “So I didn’t see much point in school. I got high a lot, cut class a lot. Meanwhile, my parents were spending all their time getting a divorce. Then my grandfather said I had to come here, or there would be no more money. I guess I forgot that a trust fund has a trustee.” He laughed loudly and punched Seph playfully in the shoulder.

  This place is full of misfits, Seph thought, rubbing his shoulder. Just like me.

  Well, not exactly like me.

  Once again, he waited for mention of the incident of the cove, but it didn’t come up. It might as well have never happened.

  “What about you?” James asked Seph. “How’d you end up here?”

  “I had to leave my last school.” Seph tilted back a bit from the table, resting his palms on the edge of the hardwood, rocking back in his chair. “I had a difference of opinion with the administration.”

  “About what?” Troy leaned forward.

  “They thought I should come to class,” Seph replied, making eye contact with each of them. “I had other priorities.”

  “Like what?” Harrison grinned in anticipation.

  “You know. Hanging out with girls. Hacking into the school computer.” He rocked forward, so all four legs of the chair struck the floor with a bang. “Skinny-dipping in the faculty pool.”

  This brought hoots of laughter from Harrison, smiles all around. An end to the inquisition.

  Time to change the subject, he thought. Seph never had any difficulty directing a conversation. “How do I get my schedule? I guess I should’ve asked Dr. Leicester about it.”

  “They’ll deliver it to your room before Sunday night, with the books you’ll need,” Trevor replied.

  Seph went through the rest of his usual list of questions. All the students had mailboxes in the administration building. He could get money at the cashier’s office, but there wasn’t much to spend it on. He could use his student card to rent movies and order pizza through the bookstore.

  “So what do you do for fun around here?” Seph asked, pushing a last bite of fish around his plate.

  “Not much,” Troy replied. “Watch movies, hang out. And hey, you can go see the bears and raccoons at the Dumpster.”

  Harrison added, “There’s lots of sports, like cross-country skiing and snowboarding. Sailing’s over, but it’ll start up again in the spring. Over at the rec. center you can do tennis and racquetball.” He shrugged. “That’s about it.”

  “Don’t worry about having nothing to do,” Trevor said, rolling his eyes. “They work us pretty hard.”

  “What about girls?” Seph had attended boys’ schools before, but mostly in cities, where there was ample opportunity for socializing.

  “You’ll have to wait until summer,” Harrison said regretfully. “Or winter recess, anyway.”

  Seph took this news philosophically. N’exigez pas beau-coup et vous ne serez pas déçu. Don’t expect much, and you won’t be disappointed.
>
  One thing he did expect was Internet access. “What’s this deal about not being able to go online?”

  “It’s weird,” Harrison said. “They’re up-to-date in a lot of other ways.”

  “Let’s go ask Dr. Leicester about it,” Seph suggested. This was greeted by a notable lack of enthusiasm. Which was surprising, because people always liked his ideas. He tried again. “We could get up a petition. Have a demonstration.”

  Troy cleared his throat. “Um . . . I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

  “Don’t you even care?” Seph demanded, exasperated. Being online was like having access to oxygen.

  “You could ask Dr. Leicester about it,” James ventured, making it clear Seph was on his own. “But I wouldn’t get your hopes up. I think the alumni go online, but that’s it.”

  “That’s another thing,” Seph said. “The alumni. What’s up with them? What are they doing out here in the middle of nowhere?” He looked around the table, but nobody met his eye. “I mean, aren’t you curious?” There was some shrugging of shoulders and clearing of throats. But no real response.

  “Okay. So you’re not curious.” Seph pulled out his cell phone, wondering if the change in location would make any difference. It didn’t. “My cell phone isn’t getting a signal. Should I change providers?”

  “I guess there’s no transmission towers around here,” Trevor said. “Nobody’s phone works. You’ll have to use a land line.”

  This was the most passive group of students he’d ever met. It was as if something had taken the rowdy right out of them.

  “Is there a Catholic church near here?”

  “There are no churches of any kind that you can get to,” James said. “You’ll have to make it up to God in the summertime.”

  “There’s nothing?” Seph looked around the table. “I can’t believe that.”

  “They have an outdoor chapel here, though I can’t tell you why, in this climate,” Trevor said. “There are ecumenical services once a week, either there or in the admin. building.”

  Genevieve had been a devout Catholic, so Seph had attended Jesuit schools until she and the Fathers had disagreed on how to deal with his magical extravagances. The Jesuits had proposed an exorcism. Genevieve had declined.

  Church had always been a sanctuary. The Latin Masses relaxed him. He liked the reassuring cadence of the old language, like ancient charms against the darkness, the perfumed smoke rising from the censers, the cavernous architecture within which his problems seemed small and manageable. He seemed to have an affinity for ritual.

  No Masses. Well, he didn’t expect to stay long.

  “Which one of you is Joseph McCauley?”

  Seph looked up, startled, realizing that the table conversation had died away. Two young men, perhaps college age, stood at the head of the table. One was tall and whippet thin, with hair and lashes so pale as to be almost transparent. The other was dark haired, broad shouldered, and bulked-up. The kind of guy who had creases in the back of his neck and needed two-a-day shaves.

  “That’s me,” Seph said, raising his hand and waggling his fingers. “What’s up?”

  “Dr. Leicester would like to see you in his office.”

  Seph noticed that everyone else at the table was focused on the floor. Like in class, when you hadn’t read the chapter and were afraid the teacher would call on you. “Oka-ay. And you are . . . ?”

  “I’m Warren Barber,” the blond one said. “This is Bruce Hays.” As if that explained anything.

  Seph glanced at his watch. Almost eight o’clock, and, despite his nap, he was bone tired. Best to get this meeting over with so he could go to bed. He pushed back his chair and smiled around the table. “Hey. Good to meet you. Thanks for all the inside. Guess I’ll see you later.”

  They all studied him as if they were trying to fix his image in their minds, like they might forget what he looked like after he was gone.

  “Good luck, Seph,” Trevor said softly.

  “Welcome to the Havens,” Hays said as they climbed the stairs from the cafeteria level to the administrative offices on the third floor.

  “Thanks. Ah—are you faculty members?” Seph asked, while trying to imagine what these two could possibly teach.

  “Nah. We’re alumni,” Barber replied. “We’re the alpha wolves in this organization. Hate to tell you, but you’ve been dining with the sheep.”

  “I ...um ...” Seph had no clue how to respond to this.

  “Dude, you’re going to like it here,” Hays said, clapping him on the back. “We promise.”

  Dr. Leicester’s office occupied the choice position at the front of the building, with the best view of the ocean. It was like no headmaster’s office Seph had ever seen: sleekly modern, with a fax, computer, printer, and scanner. He saw none of the usual diplomas, awards, and other detritus of interschool competitions, save several large sailing trophies.

  Seph looked longingly at the array of cutting-edge hardware, then leaned his hip against a table by the window. “So. What exactly do you do here?” he asked Hays and Barber. “Are you like, teaching assistants?”

  Hays and Barber looked at each other. “I guess you could say we’re more like, you know, research assistants,” Barber said, grinning.

  Seph thought they looked more like, you know, thugs. If you saw Hays and Barber walking down the street, you’d cross to the other side.

  Well, maybe good help was hard to find. “What’s your research about?” Seph asked. “Do you have a grant, or what?”

  “Dr. Leicester will tell you more about the—ah— research,” Hays said. “The thing to remember about us is that we rule on this campus. We answer only to Dr. Leicester.”

  Well, if so, it’s kind of a remote kingdom, Seph thought. I’d rather rule a few square blocks of Toronto than—

  “Hello, Joseph.”

  Seph swung around. Dr. Leicester stood in the doorway.

  “Thank you for coming up. Have a seat.” Leicester pointed to one of two chairs drawn up to a table in the corner. Seph sat. Leicester took the other seat. “You’ve met Mr. Hays and Mr. Barber? Good.”

  A file folder lay on the table. Leicester pulled it toward him and began leafing through the contents. “Joseph, I told you earlier today that here at the Havens we pride ourselves in tailoring the curriculum to the student. Based on your record and the difficulties you’ve been having, I suspect that you may require special attention.”

  Seph peered at the pages between Leicester’s hands, trying to read upside down. “I’m not sure what you mean. What difficulties?” Muddled by fatigue, his mind was not as nimble as usual. “I’ve been doing really well. If you look at my transcripts, you’ll see that . . .”

  “I’m talking about the episode down at the cove this afternoon.”

  Admit nothing—that was his first rule. “I’m sorry I was late. I’ll make sure it won’t happen again.”

  Leicester waved away his answer impatiently. “The ocean very nearly came to a boil. Most unusual, even in midsummer. In fact, it’s never happened before.”

  Appeal to logic—second rule. “What’s that got to do with me?” Seph looked from Leicester to the two alumni and back again.

  “We believe you were the cause—intentional or not.”

  Delay the inevitable—third rule. “Look, I’m really tired, and none of this is making sense. Could we talk about this tomorrow?”

  Leicester riffled through his papers. “You’ve changed schools four times in three years.”

  “Sometimes it takes a while to find a good fit.”

  “I understand there have been other incidents. Fires. Explosions. Flying sheep?” Leicester raised an eyebrow.

  Seph was baffled. If Leicester knew his history, then why had he been admitted in the first place? He shoved back his chair and stood. “Flying sheep? Sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve really got to go.” He turned toward the door, but Hays and Barber blocked the way.
r />   “Sit down, Joseph,” Leicester said calmly. “Please. Trust me, it’s in your best interest to hear me out.”

  Hays and Barber weren’t moving. Seph returned to the table and sat.

  “That’s better.” Leicester sighed and thought a moment, as if unsure how to begin. Finally, he reached out and closed his hand on Seph’s forearm. Seph flinched, expecting the crushing grip characteristic of men who make a religion of working out. What was surprising was not the strength, but the raw power that roared through.

  Seph sucked in his breath, struggling to keep a stunned, stupid look off his face and not sure he succeeded. After a moment, Leicester released his arm. The print of his hand remained.

  Dr. Leicester was a wizard, too.

  Leicester’s voice trickled into his brain, exploding with a heat like Genevieve’s brandy. “None of what’s happened is your fault, Joseph. Wizards need training, and I expect you’ve had none. You are very powerful, from what I’ve seen. And power will find its . . . outlets.” He paused, then spoke aloud. “So. Am I right so far?”

  Wordlessly, Seph nodded, still trying to grapple with this sudden twist of events.

  Leicester patted him on the shoulder. “I know this must be a bit . . . jarring.” The wizard settled back in his chair. “Once, Mr. Hays and Mr. Barber were just like you—gifted but unschooled. Now they are well on their way to becoming masters.”

  Hays and Barber smiled modestly.

  If I were a master of magic I would work on my appearance, Seph thought.

  “What about everyone else?” he began. “Are they all ...?”

  “Most are not. Most are only what you would call wayward.” Leicester shrugged dismissively. “We recruit students who’ve had difficulty elsewhere because often that includes persons like yourself. The untrained gifted.” The headmaster toyed with an elaborate ring he wore on the middle finger of his left hand. “How much do you know about the guilds and the elements of power?”

  “A little.”

  “Tell me.”

  Seph searched his memory. “Um. The gifted are born with Weirstones, a crystalline source of power that sits behind the heart,” he recited. “The power runs in families. The . . . ah . . . kind of Weirstone you have determines the nature and extent of your power and which of the guilds you belong to.”