Leila nodded at Tristan, looking pleased; then she must have noticed something in his expression, because her smile faded. “What’s wrong, Triss?”
As though to give them privacy, Quinsley crossed to the opposite side of the kitchen and began washing dishes with an excessive clatter. Lowering his voice, Tristan told Leila how he and Rusty had run into Alldusk after working off their punishment. When he got to the destruction of Alldusk’s classroom, she cut across him.
“Alldusk said what?”
“Don’t worry,” Tristan said quickly. “Alldusk doesn’t blame us for it. Course, Drakewell probably won’t let us off so easily.”
Leila started muttering furiously under her breath—a lot of it sounded like cursing. Leaving the soup to simmer, she turned to the counter and began mashing a bowl of potatoes with vehemence. “This is all that stupid Evvie’s fault,” she said at last. “Evvie and her stupid—wretched—interfering—” She punctuated each word with a thrust of her potato masher.
“What?” Tristan said, watching the potatoes turn to starchy bits under Leila’s masher. “How is any of this her fault? We’re the ones who went into Alldusk’s room, aren’t we? I’m the one who dragged you and Rusty there. Evvie had nothing to do with it.”
Leila slammed the potato masher harder than ever against the counter. The bowl of potatoes spun away from her hand, teetering on the edge of the counter. Tristan grabbed it.
“Damn it! Drakewell’s going to kill us.” Leila flung her masher at the counter.
Quinsley turned at the clatter and studied Leila with a raised eyebrow. “I’m not even going to ask,” he said, eyes flicking from Leila’s disheveled braid to the glass bowl Tristan was setting back in place on the counter. “The feast is about to start, though, so you might want to get out there and enjoy yourselves.”
It was a gentle nudge to get them out of the kitchen; scowling, Leila wiped off her hands.
“I’m not sitting with them,” she said as soon as they stepped into the ballroom, pointing to the table where Rusty, Hayley, and Cailyn were clearing away pumpkin seeds and gooey orange innards.
“You can’t ignore Rusty forever,” Tristan said, though he was equally reluctant to join the cheery crowd. He and Leila made for the one empty table.
The feast was delicious, but Tristan was too worried to appreciate it. Delair had come up for the celebration, joining the other teachers at the largest round table, and even Quinsley took a seat beside Gracewright once he’d finished serving the sizzling turkey and rich gravy. There were still two empty chairs—Alldusk and Drakewell were absent. Tristan didn’t want to think what this meant.
The ballroom was decorated beautifully. Eleven jack-o-lanterns leered at them from the edges of the raised platform, candlelight flickering behind their gaping eyes. The chandeliers had been dimmed, and the ballroom floor had been transformed into a nighttime graveyard scene. Headstones hulked above the polished floor, draped in dusty cobwebs and shrouded in curling brown leaves. The whole room smelled of pumpkins and pungent candle smoke.
“Maybe we should try to forget about Drakewell,” Leila said gently. She had followed Tristan’s gaze to the decorations. “We don’t need to worry all the time.”
Tristan snorted. “Don’t be stupid; I don’t think we worry nearly enough.”
“Yeah, but it’s Halloween,” Leila said. She smeared gravy over her potatoes with a spoon and took a large bite.
Nodding absently, Tristan dug into his mound of stuffing.
As the heaping plates of food steadily diminished, Tristan grew sleepy and content. Eyes slitted, he watched the shadows of two bats darting across the ceiling.
Just as Quinsley reemerged from the kitchen, balancing two silver trays stacked with pumpkin pies, the doors to the ballroom crashed open.
Tristan jumped, though he wasn’t at all surprised to see Drakewell striding towards the platform.
“Teachers,” he snarled, sunken eyes flashing. “Your vigilance has failed.”
The hall grew silent.
“There has been another attack, in the very heart of this school.”
Gracewright muttered something to Quinsley, and Merridy grew pale.
Drakewell stood still for a tense moment, nothing more than a ghostly shadow amidst the gravestones. Eventually his gaze moved away from the teachers and lit upon Tristan and Leila. The corners of his mouth curled down.
“Fairholm. Swanson.” Drakewell scanned the other students until he found Rusty. “Lennox. Come with me.” His voice was tight with anger.
Rusty jumped to his feet and stared at Drakewell with a wild expression, like he’d just been stung by a wasp. Tristan and Leila followed him warily to the door.
The three of them could barely keep up with Drakewell’s clipped pace as he strode down the hall. Instead of turning into his office, he continued to Brikkens’ classroom. Once they were inside, he slammed the door behind him.
“Sit,” he said coldly.
They sat.
Drakewell touched one hand to the hourglass at his neck and then slapped both palms on the table. “Explain yourselves!”
Rusty flinched, but Leila glared at Drakewell, matching the intensity of his hollow stare.
“You were discovered in Professor Alldusk’s office, mere hours before the place was destroyed. Will you speak for yourselves, or should I lock you away at once?”
Tristan swallowed. “We didn’t do it,” he said, trying to keep the tremor from his voice. “I swear we had nothing to do with it.”
“How convincing.” Drakewell sneered at him. “That would explain why you broke into Professor Alldusk’s classroom, of course.”
Tristan and Leila glanced at each other, uncertain.
“We—” Rusty began. His voice cracked; Tristan and Leila looked at him in surprise. “That is, me and Leila were arguing. Tristan wanted us to shut up, and he said the teachers were gonna get mad at us for making so much noise. Alldusk’s classroom was open, so we hid in there and kept yelling at each other.”
“Yeah,” Leila said, taking up from Rusty when he faltered. “Only Professor Merridy caught us then, and she sent us out. Nothing was wrong with the classroom when we left—ask Professor Merridy if you want the truth.”
Drakewell’s scowl deepened, though he seemed momentarily satisfied with their explanation. “I will say no more tonight. However, remember this—you students have no idea of the magnitude of our work here. If something happened to this school, even I cannot guess at the consequences.”
He sighed, a sharp hiss. “Fairholm, you remember our conversation. I will add this—there is a place somewhere in these tunnels where we have been gathering magic for eventual use. If anything were to disturb this place—anything at all—the magic would combust with unimaginable force. The whole Lair would be destroyed. The vandal would kill us all.
“I would have preferred to keep this information private, but given that you are implicated in the crime, I must make the three of you aware of the severity of sabotaging our school. If you or any of your classmates know anything whatsoever about the perpetrator, you must come forward.”
Drakewell hooked a clawed finger around his hourglass. “There are a series of dungeons below this school. If I should come to the conclusion that any one of you three is responsible for this—” He stared at each of them in turn, the muscles in his neck tightening. “Let’s just say you would never see the sun again. Now get out of here.”
Tristan, Leila, and Rusty sat frozen for a moment.
When Drakewell rose stiffly from the chair, Tristan scrambled to his feet and hurried out of the classroom. The three of them started running before they reached the end of the corridor, bounding down three flights of stairs to the bunkroom.
Inside, they collapsed onto the floor beside Tristan’s bunk, breathing hard. Tristan’s heart thudded painfully against his ribs.
Leila was the first one to speak. “Why us?” she said angrily. “Wretched teachers—they’re
such...”
“We haven’t done anything,” Rusty said earnestly. He shook his sloppy hair out of his face. “They can’t get mad at us. It’s not right.”
“They don’t really seem to care about what’s right.” Tristan shook his head. “Remember when Zeke got rewarded for cheating? If their precious school is in danger, I think they’ll try and keep it safe no matter what.”
“So you’re saying we’re screwed, no matter what we do?” Rusty was indignant.
“Probably,” Tristan said. “Of course, we could always try and find out who’s actually been attacking the school, so we have proof it wasn’t us. I think that’s the only way we’d be cleared.”
“How’re we supposed to do that?” Rusty said.
Tristan shrugged. “I guess we could watch the other kids and see if they do anything suspicious,” he said. “Or we could poke around in the tunnels.”
“No.” Leila’s voice was sharp. “That’s exactly what got us into trouble—being in the wrong place. If we go exploring, we’ll only put ourselves in more danger than ever.”
“Yeah, but—” Tristan began.
“No. I’m not doing anything stupid.”
Alldusk was bleary-eyed and disheveled when he greeted them on Monday.
“The classroom is a mess, as I’m sure you know,” he said, ushering them in.
It was worse than Tristan had expected. Most of the lanterns had been ripped from the wall, leaving the room shadowed and gloomy. In some places the wall itself had been gouged away; Tristan was reminded forcibly of the time Zeke had blasted a hole in the bunkroom.
Where hundreds of jars of liquids, rocks, and odd plants had once been stacked, the shelves now lay bare. The floors and tables had been wiped clean, but this served only to draw attention to the emptiness.
“Sorry about all this,” Alldusk said wearily as he took his place in the center of the room. “We obviously can’t hold regular classes for the present; instead, we’ll take the chance to study the chemical uses of magical ingredients.”
“You mean we’re making potions?” Eli said eagerly.
Alldusk frowned. “No. First of all, we don’t have any ingredients to play around with, so we’ll be studying the magic rather than working with it. Second, what we are primarily concerned with is dissecting plants and rocks into their magical elements. There will be no brewing of potions in this class.” He took a stance at the back of the room, with nothing but the polished dark wall behind him. “Take out your notebooks and pens. I’m sorry, but this means copying down what I tell you.”
With a collective sigh, the students reached under the desks for their books. When Tristan straightened, he saw a line of glowing green script written across the wall behind Alldusk. He blinked.
“That’s awesome,” Rusty said, staring at the glowing words. “Why don’t the other teachers write like that?”
Alldusk chuckled, his expression lightening fractionally. “Glowing chalk is largely impractical. It requires that the room be poorly lit, which makes it difficult for students to take notes.”
“There isn’t a library in this school, is there?” Leila said in Tristan’s ear.
He tore his gaze from the hypnotic green chalk. “What?”
She was looking left, at a pile of books that Alldusk had used to prop up a broken table. “Do you think all the teachers have private hoards of books? Because if they do, we should see about getting our hands on a few of them.”
Tristan raised an eyebrow at her. “What happened to staying out of trouble?”
“This isn’t trouble,” Leila said. “It’s learning.” She grinned.
Chapter 11: The Lady with the Golden Hair
The first half of November came and went, time passing much slower than usual since there was no Thanksgiving break to look forward to. Though the skies were clear on most days, the sun never shone warmly enough to melt the ground layer of frost.
Two days before what was supposed to be Thanksgiving, Gracewright met the students outside of her greenhouse and redirected them to the longhouse on its left. They hadn’t held class outside of the greenhouse in months—had there been another attack?
But the professor was bouncing happily on her toes as she shepherded the students into the longhouse, flyaway hair bobbing beneath her knitted hat.
“We just received our shipment of Prasidimums,” she said cheerfully, pulling the door shut behind her. The Prasidimums were not immediately obvious; eventually Tristan noticed a pile of what looked like dried tulip bulbs.
“What the hell’s a Prasidimum?” Damian asked, scowling at the bulbs.
Gracewright dropped to her knees on the grass. “They’re magical plants.” She brushed the crumbling skin off the largest bulb. “Very rare, and very potent.”
Finley Glenn raised his hand. “I thought no one else knew about magic,” he said, shoving his glasses up his nose. “So where are the shipments coming from?”
“An astute remark,” Gracewright said. “Not everyone trained at this school becomes a—a professor.”
What did the teachers do when they had no students to instruct?
Dropping the bulb, Gracewright clapped her hands. “Back to the Prasidimums. Once fully grown, these plants become a protective barrier, a very special barrier that only allows certain people through. We will be growing the Prasidimums without magic—unless allowed to flower properly, these plants become an impenetrable wall.”
“Wow, that’s just fascinating,” Zeke said, smirking.
Gracewright smiled patiently at Zeke. Then she started passing around bulbs and clay pots. “We’ll tend to the Prasidimums at the start of class each day. It takes about twenty days for them to flower, at which point we’ll replant them around the school.”
Tristan took a seat on the grass and eyed the shriveled bulb. Leila joined him, dropping her book bag by her side. Rusty found a place at the opposite side of the circle—he and Leila still weren’t talking.
“Hey, Leila,” Zeke called softly, leaning forward to talk around Finley’s broad chest. She looked up suspiciously. “You know what this bulb looks like?” He held it up and squinted in her direction.
Tristan nudged Leila in the knee. “Ignore him,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.
Leila threw her bulb at Zeke’s head.
By the end of the hour, most of the students were covered in dirt, most of which had been thrown by Zeke or Leila. Gracewright let them out early to change before their next lesson—she hadn’t minded the dirt fight, since the Prasidimums had ended up in pots in any case.
Tristan hung back as everyone filed out to the snowy lawn, hoping as always that Rusty and Leila would simply forgive each other. Evvie was one of the last to leave—she stopped to ask a question, but before Tristan heard what she said, Leila grabbed his arm and hurried him out of the door.
“Couldn’t you just give Rusty another chance?” Tristan said, annoyed.
“No,” Leila said flatly.
“I still don’t know what the big deal was.” Tristan glanced around to see if Evvie was following them, but she was still in the longhouse. “What if I just stopped talking to you? Then would you let Rusty apologize?” He glanced at Leila. “I think he might, if you gave him the chance.”
“Please don’t say that, Triss.” Leila was frowning at the scuffed-up snow. “You know I wouldn’t have any friends if you abandoned me.”
Tristan let out a sharp breath. “Do you really think I’d do that? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m too damn scared to talk to half of the kids here. And the teachers—it’s their fault I thought I was going crazy or some—” Quickly he broke off what he’d been about to say.
Leila stopped walking suddenly.
Tristan slowed. He’d been thinking of Drakewell, and of the glowing walls that had scared him for so long, but hadn’t intended to say the words aloud.
“What do you mean?” Leila whispered. Now it was Tristan who avoided her curious eyes; Leila took his
hand and squeezed it gently. “What is it?”
“I didn’t say anything,” Tristan said shortly. Shaking Leila’s hand away, he kicked a snowdrift and stalked off.
Tristan was in a bad mood for the rest of the day. He struggled through the night’s homework in silence, ignoring Leila when she tried to talk to him. He didn’t want her sympathy.
“Triss? I was going to look over your geology essay, remember?” Leila said after dinner. “Do you still want help?”
Tristan was silent.
“We could play cards; I know you and Rusty like doing that.”
Tristan clenched his jaw, the page of text blurring in front of his eyes.
“I know you’re mad at me,” Leila persisted. “If you’ll just tell me what’s wrong, I could—”
“You know what?” Tristan said, finally giving in to anger. “When you and Rusty were still friends, you used to tell stories every night.” He slammed his textbook closed. “Entertain yourself for once, all right? I’m going for a walk.” Jumping to his feet, he stormed out of the bunkroom.
Near the end of the hallway, Tristan paused, because something out-of-place had caught his eye. There was a white cloth napkin splayed at the entrance to the dark tunnel, with a smashed tuna sandwich spilling from its folds. It looked as though someone had dropped it.
Curious, Tristan approached the tunnel entrance for a closer look. Someone must have passed this way recently.
“Hello?” Tristan called softly, peering into the darkness beyond the marble floor. His voice was quickly swallowed up by the gloom.
There was no response.
For a moment Tristan hesitated, trying to guess what Leila would say if she saw him. He was being reckless. Then he shrugged away the worry and turned into the dark tunnel.
The light from the hall faded almost at once, so Tristan pressed one hand against the wall to feel his way forward. The stone was rough and cold beneath his fingers, and the tunnel smelled like a musty old cellar. He crept forward, wincing at the crunch of his feet on gravel, while the air grew colder and drier on his skin. He edged down the tunnel until he reached a place where it swerved sharply to the right. Afraid of losing his way, he stopped.
Metal and Magic: A Fantasy Journey Page 46