The air was heavy and silent—the sound of Tristan’s breathing was smothered, as though the walls were closing in around him. Bright spots danced along the corners of his vision, but when he waved his hand before his eyes, he saw nothing at all. It was hard to breathe the dense air. As he stood there, swaying, Tristan felt as though he was suffocating.
Gasping, he turned and began stumbling back up the tunnel, one hand digging into the sharp contours of the wall. The air of the tunnel was too heavy—it was folding around him like water, crushing his lungs.
At last he came around a corner, and the light from the hallway filled the ragged edges of the tunnel.
Tristan slumped against the wall in relief. “I’m an idiot,” he muttered, just to drown out the silence. He’d never been afraid of the dark before.
Sliding to the ground, Tristan crossed his arms over his knees and stared at the opposite wall. The uneven rocks dug into his back; he tried to ignore the discomfort, thinking instead of who had dropped the sandwich at the entrance to the tunnel. Whoever it was, Tristan wasn’t going to leave the tunnel until the person returned.
Soon enough, he heard footsteps crunching towards the place where he sat, the pace quick enough to suggest familiarity with the tunnel. What if it was a teacher? Tristan drew his knees closer to his chest and held his breath. What excuse could he give?
The footsteps came closer and closer. Before he was ready, the person came around the corner, almost running, and crashed into Tristan.
She shrieked as she fell—her knee slammed into Tristan’s shoulder, pinning him to the ground, and he yelled in pain.
“Sorry!” the girl cried out. As her weight lifted from Tristan’s shoulder, he grunted and raised himself on one elbow. The voice was familiar.
“Evvie?” he said, staring.
Tucking a strand of wild hair behind one ear, Evvie clambered to her feet. Once she had regained her breath, she scowled and fisted her hands on her hips. She made no move to help him.
Tristan jumped up, bruised shoulder throbbing. “Sorry, I—” He cleared his throat. “What the hell are you doing down here?”
Evvie’s frown deepened. “What are you doing here?”
Tristan smoothed his hair over his face, thinking fast. After a moment he settled on the truth. “I was trying to figure out who’d dropped their sandwich back there.” He gestured towards the tunnel’s entrance.
“Shoot,” Evvie said. She bit her lip, no longer meeting Tristan’s eyes.
“Now you have to tell me why you were down here.”
Evvie’s eyes narrowed. Then she turned abruptly and tried to hurry away.
Tristan grabbed her arm. “If you don’t tell me what you’ve been doing in the tunnels, I’ll report you.” He jerked her around to face him. “See if I don’t.”
Evvie tried to yank her arm free. She wasn’t strong enough, so after a moment she gave up and just glared. “I hate you, Tristan.”
He sighed. “I won’t tell anyone, okay? I promise.”
“Not even Leila?”
Tristan cursed. “No. Not even Leila.”
For a long moment, there was nothing but silence. Evvie glanced at Tristan’s hand on her arm; he grew uncomfortably aware of the warmth of her skin, though he didn’t dare release her.
At last Evvie spoke. “There are rooms down here, in the tunnels,” she said bluntly. “I thought...” She swallowed. “Well, I found one that I thought we could use as a—a second bunkroom. So we don’t have to stay with Zeke’s gang, you know.” She put one icy hand on her arm and tried to shove Tristan’s fist away.
“You’ve found another room for us to stay in?” Tristan blinked. “That’s amazing! Why is it supposed to be a secret?” His image of Evvie conspiring with the teachers deflated rapidly.
Evvie shifted her weight from one foot to another, and Tristan loosened his grip on her arm, afraid he was hurting her.
“I don’t know. I guess you can tell people about it,” she said. “Not yet, though—wait a bit. Please?”
Tristan nodded. “If you show me the room. Now, while no one’s around.”
Evvie glared at him. “You’re up to something.” She struggled once more against Tristan’s grip.
This time he released her. “I’m just curious,” he said, holding up both hands in a gesture of innocence. “Really, I promise I won’t tell anyone.”
Looking as though she wanted to punch him, Evvie shoved past Tristan and vanished into the dark recesses of the tunnel.
“Hey!” Tristan called, hurrying after her. An instant later the light vanished, so he pressed his hand to the wall for guidance. “Don’t run off.”
Evvie’s footsteps slowed, though she didn’t answer. Tristan scrambled along the tunnel, irrationally afraid of losing Evvie. After just a few paces he reached the branch where he’d turned back earlier; it was much closer to the tunnel entrance than he’d realized. Feeling a bit foolish, he paused.
“Evvie? Which way now?”
This time she actually stopped walking. “Just keep going forward,” she said briskly. “That tunnel doesn’t lead anywhere.”
Tristan extended one arm into the void before him. For a moment he teetered in place, afraid to move his feet, clawing his fingers through the black emptiness. Nothing.
He stretched his arm farther, doubling over. At last his knuckles scraped against cold, solid rock.
“Okay,” he said, trying not to let his voice sag in relief. “Where now?”
Instead of replying, Evvie began walking again, her footsteps padding softly. The tunnel continued as before, though Tristan thought he could feel the ground arching away beneath his feet.
“We’re almost there now,” Evvie called eventually. She stopped walking, and Tristan heard a rasp of gravel as she turned, followed by the hollow creak of a door.
The dank, cloying scent of old wood reached Tristan’s nostrils before his probing fingers found the door.
“Where are we?” he whispered.
Tristan heard a heavy exhalation, and a small lamp flared to life. Blinking, Tristan looked around.
The first thing he noticed was Evvie—the glow from the lamp cast a beautiful halo around her blond hair. From there the light extended weakly to the edges of the room, throwing everything into a sepia haze. The wide room was vaguely circular, its floor empty aside from a crumbling bookshelf.
“There’s only the one light,” Evvie said apologetically, glancing at the orb.
“It’s great.” Tristan grinned—his imagination was already filling the space with posters and bunk beds and polished tables. “Really, Evvie, this is amazing. You’re—” As his thoughts caught up to him, his face burned. “Thank you.”
When Tristan and Evvie returned to the bunkroom, the others were clustered on the floor, circled around Leila. She was telling a story. Across the wall, Damian’s gang listened just as intently.
Leila paused when Tristan entered. “Hey, you,” she said, smiling. “I’m nearly done with the story.”
Nodding, Tristan crossed the room and dropped to the floor beside her. He couldn’t recall why he’d been in a bad mood earlier.
Leila resumed her story. “The rich suitor crept in through her window that night, sword in hand, and cut off a lock of her golden hair. The girl had only feigned sleep, so she watched the man as he clambered back down the vine. She knew then that the rich suitor wished only to possess her.
“In the morning, the poor suitor knocked at her door with a handful of roses. ‘My lady,’ he said, ‘I am not worthy to be your master. I cannot try to win aught but your heart.’ At these words, the girl knew that the poor suitor was the only one who truly loved her. Though his gifts had been simple, he cared enough to respect her freedom. The end.”
Leila got to her knees as soon as she finished, not waiting to hear anyone’s response. Rusty grinned at her, but she looked quickly away.
“What was the story about?” Tristan asked as Leila rummaged in her book ba
g.
Leila paused and looked at him carefully for a moment. “It’s about a beautiful girl who everyone wants to marry. She’ll only marry someone who really loves her, so she pretends that she’s under a curse. Whoever cuts a lock of her golden hair will own her.”
“So she’ll marry the one who doesn’t steal her hair, right?” Tristan said. He glanced at Evvie, who had been watching him from across the room. Evvie shot him a threatening look.
“I’m glad you’re talking again,” Leila said.
“Sorry.”
Chapter 12: The Secret Underground Bedroom
Someone screamed.
Tristan bolted upright. Everything was dark. “Whassamatter?” he mumbled, throwing off his sheets.
The scream died abruptly, and then a girl’s voice began shouting.
“I’m going to murder you, Zeke Elwood!”
It was Leila.
“Leila, what—”
She didn’t notice Tristan. “You’re a wretched, hateful...where’s that bloody knife?”
Frightened, Tristan jumped down from his bed and dashed over to Leila’s bunk. “What’s happe—”
Tristan stopped abruptly. Rusty had blown one of the lamps to life, and by its glow Tristan could see exactly what was wrong. Leila’s hair—her beautiful black hair, long and sleek and always trapped in a braid—was gone. The entire plait had been shorn off, leaving nothing in its place but ragged curls.
Tristan opened and closed his mouth, gaping.
“Get away from me, Tristan,” Leila said in a low, threatening voice. Lurching to her feet, she grabbed a pencil from her bedside table and brandished it like a dagger. A moment later she was hurtling towards the dividing wall.
“Don’t!”
Tristan dove after Leila. When they both went crashing to the floor, he wrapped his arms around Leila’s shoulders to restrain her. “You—can’t—do anything,” Tristan grunted. Leila struggled and jabbed him in the chest with her elbow.
Several lights on the other side of the room were now glowing. Zeke and Damian stood beside their bunk, laughing so hard they weren’t making any sound.
The other students from Tristan’s side of the room were starting to gather behind Tristan and Leila, curious and almost protective. Then Rusty stalked over and stood above Tristan.
“Give me that.” Rusty yanked the pencil out of Leila’s hand. He tossed the pencil to the ground and strode forward, glaring at Zeke.
Zeke was still laughing. Tristan clenched his fists, chest tightening.
“What—d’you think—you’re gonna do?” Zeke choked out, still laughing. He collapsed on his bed and pounded the mattress.
Without a word, Rusty drew back his fist and punched Zeke full in the face.
There was a hideous crack.
Zeke howled.
As blood began to dribble down Zeke’s upper lip, Damian’s laughter died at once. Without pausing to wipe away the blood, Zeke lunged at Rusty, yelling. He slammed his fists into Rusty’s his stomach and bashed his shoulder against Rusty’s jaw—
Rusty roared in pain and lashed out at Zeke, pounding an elbow into Zeke’s chest.
Then Damian threw himself into the fight—the three boys crashed to the floor, writhing and kicking in a furious tangle.
Tristan’s hands were numb with fury. Grabbing the edge of a desk, he wrenched himself to his feet and threw himself at Damian.
As Rusty wriggled free of the tangle, Tristan’s fist connected with Damian’s ribs.
Leila hurtled into the fight right behind him. With a shrill curse, she rammed her knuckles into Zeke’s eye.
Zeke screamed.
Taking advantage of Tristan’s distraction, something slammed him in the stomach—he fell backwards, arms flailing, and cracked his head against the frame of Zeke’s bunk. A spasm of pain ripped through him, blacking out his vision.
He couldn’t think.
Dimly he noticed a hot trickle of blood seeping down his forehead; he tried to blink away the darkness, hoping the blood wasn’t his own.
“STOP!”
The roar came from the doorway. Still dazed, Tristan tilted his head back to see who had shouted.
It was Drakewell.
The headmaster stood just inside the bunkroom, his sunken eyes flashing as he watched the brawl. Even half-conscious, Tristan was frightened.
Leila punched Zeke one last time before the five of them broke apart, crawling and stumbling away from one another. Wiping his forehead on his sleeve, Tristan struggled to his feet and nearly fell over again as the blood surged to his head. He clutched a bookshelf, waiting for his vision to clear.
Rusty and Zeke had definitely taken the worst beatings—blood was smeared across Rusty’s battered chin, and Zeke squinted past a swelling black eye.
“Damn you,” Zeke spat at Leila. He no longer looked handsome.
With a rueful smile, Leila stood and helped Rusty to his feet. “I forgive you now,” she told him.
He grinned and licked blood off his lip.
Once Tristan, Leila, Rusty, Zeke, and Damian had changed out of their bloodied, torn pajamas, they were patched up under Grindlethorn’s irritable care. Not one of them dared to speak.
Drakewell was waiting for them in the hallway, looking angrier than ever. Tristan shifted on his feet between Leila and Rusty, his head throbbing miserably.
“Despicable behavior,” Drakewell spat. “Are you nothing more than criminals? Prove that you can do better. Prove that you are more than delinquents, or you will be treated as such.”
Each of them received twenty hours of punishment, and they were immediately put to work cleaning every toilet in the school. Between feeling guilty and regretting that he hadn’t been able to hit Damian more, Tristan wished there weren’t so many bathrooms in the school.
Tristan and Leila started out by cleaning the boys’ bathrooms. Since they were scrubbing the tiles on their knees, they had rolled up their jeans and kicked aside their shoes.
“This damn magic is completely useless,” Tristan said, sloshing water irritably over a black scuff mark. “What’s the point of it if we’ve still got to clean by hand?”
“Hmm,” Leila said. She paused, dangling her scrubbing brush in the air. “Do you think my hair could be grown back magically?”
“Probably,” Tristan said, not looking up, “though you look nice with it short, too.” Actually, he thought she looked prettier with her hair curling around her face like this. “Are you going to ask someone to grow it for you?”
Leila shook her head. “I’ll keep it like this. I just wanted to know I had a choice.”
For the first time in nearly a month, Tristan, Leila, and Rusty sat together at dinner. Now that his head had stopped throbbing, Tristan was so cheerful that the three of them were on good terms again that he forgot to be angry at Damian and Zeke.
“We should do punishment with Alldusk tomorrow,” Rusty said. “Helping him restock shelves sure beats scrubbing toilets.”
Leila grinned. “And he’d probably let us off easy. He likes you, Triss—you’re still the best at collecting magic.”
“Amber’s better,” Tristan reminded her. Quinsley was coming around with plates of chocolate cake—Tristan, Leila, and Rusty each took a slice and dug in with relish.
Just as Tristan finished scraping the last dollop of frosting off his plate, Evvie appeared and drew a chair over to their table.
Ignoring Leila’s scowl, Evvie said, “Tristan? I’m going to tell people about that room, okay?” She cast a nervous glance at the table where Zeke and Damian sat.
Tristan nodded. “That’d be amazing.” Turning to Leila, he said, “I wanted to tell you about this yesterday, but it’s Evvie’s secret, and I promised her I wouldn’t say anything...”
As Evvie began to describe the room in the tunnels, Leila’s expression quickly turned from irritation to delight.
“It’s perfect, right?” Tristan said once Evvie had finished. “Our entire half of
the bunkroom could move down there—then we’d be safe from Zeke, and we could turn the room into a real home.”
Rusty’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, though he hesitated for a moment. “Didn’t we say we’d try and stay out of trouble?” he said, chipped tooth showing as he bit his lip.
“Good point,” Leila said. Glancing from Zeke to the teachers, she shrugged. “Still, I think Drakewell is the only one who would punish us if he found out. After last night, I’m willing to risk it.”
“What if we’re locked away forever?” Rusty asked, eyes widening. “We’d starve to death in those tunnels, and—”
“Come on; I’m sure he wasn’t being serious,” Tristan lied.
After a moment, Leila nodded. “I think we should do it. Telling that story last night was a stupid idea—I don’t want to share a room with Zeke any longer. Are there beds in that room already?”
“There’s nothing but a rotting old bookshelf,” Tristan said with relief, “so we’ll have to drag our mattresses down.”
“We’ll do it tomorrow, then.” Leila frowned at Rusty. “Are you coming?”
A reluctant grin spread over Rusty’s face. “Oh, all right,” he said.
After dinner, Evvie and Tristan retraced their path through the tunnels, Leila and Rusty stumbling blindly behind them. Even as Tristan laughed at Rusty, who kept tripping, he felt a nagging shame for his own fear the night before.
When they finally stood in the empty room, blinking in the flare from the single lamp, Leila and Rusty beamed at him.
“This is brilliant,” Leila said. She gave Tristan a brief hug from behind, ragged curls tickling his neck. “We need more lights.”
“Delair would probably donate a few if we asked,” Tristan said.
Leila nodded. She made a slow circuit of the room, appraising every contour of the walls. “We should come up with a list of everything we need—mattresses are a good start, but if we’ll be spending more time here we’ll want a table, a new bookshelf, and a rug if we can find one.”
“Okay,” Tristan said. He could already imagine what the room would look like, bright and cozy and full, once it was finished. “Let’s see if we can get this whole place ready tomorrow.”
Metal and Magic: A Fantasy Journey Page 47