Chapter One

I was thirteen-years-old when I first met Clive. At the time, I was a small and bony sort of creature, built with sharp elbows, knobbly knees, and visible ribs that poked up from under my skin like bumps in a road. So skinny was I, in fact, that my new socks kept slipping down my legs and bunching around my ankles as I wandered the grounds of my equally new home: Dreycott School.

It was quite intimidating to a young girl like myself, or anyone really, for that matter. The school looked more like a medieval fortress than any sort of place where children were welcome. A massive structure of gray stone topped with battlements and turrets, it reminded me of a bank of heavy-laden storm clouds that had managed to touch the earth. In many places thick shrouds of ivy had crept across the surface of the stones, so that the entire building was rather mottled.

Although I was certainly no expert on the matter, I quickly realized the place must have been built in increments, perhaps the work of several successive mad architects, as it seemed to have no symmetry or balance or any sort of continuity whatsoever. It sprawled haphazardly this way and that, flinging sharp corners and sloping rooftops in all directions. Two enormous wings jutted from the building at odd angles like broken arms. Between them lay the lawn, locked in a crooked embrace. The lawn itself was overgrown with bushes and trees and cut in half by a crumbling gravel walk that meandered past benches and a fountain. Wrapped about the whole mess was a wrought iron fence, looking useless and far too delicate in comparison to the behemoth structure it contained.

To tell the truth, there was a distinct air of abandonment about the place, as if I were alone among undiscovered ruins, a feeling which happened to suit me just fine. The day had been long and after the events of the evening had ended, I had fled to the lawn in need of solitude. Here I could think in peace about all that had happened that day and all that was to come.

Could it really have been only that morning that I had said goodbye to my family? So much had happened since then that it felt like a month had passed.

"It will be difficult at first, Amelia," My mother had told me as she fixed the collar of my jacket, the sound of the train's engine rumbling behind us. My mother was a small, tidy woman, her dark hair pinned up neatly beneath her hat. She glanced at my baggy socks, looking as if she wanted to adjust them as well, "It's difficult for everyone who leaves home, but it always gets better."

"That's right," my father had piped up. In contrast to my mother, he wore wrinkled trousers and a watch that rattled on his thin wrist. His golden blond hair matched my own, except his was receding while mine hung in two thick plaits tied with navy blue ribbons. "Before you know it you'll be meeting interesting people and making friends, having all sorts of grand experiences you'd never find at home."

"Grand experiences, yes," my granddad added, slowly raising his patchy eyebrows. He was similar in appearance to my father, but saggier, scruffier even. His eyes, though, were always keen as ice. "But I daresay you'll have a few miserable ones as well."

"Dad!"

My granddad stepped closer to me and placed a bony hand on my shoulder.

"Now, I'm not trying to frighten you, Amelia. But you must know that out there on your own you'll run into all sorts of people. Every one like a piece on a chessboard, each with their own patterns, their own schemes, their own way of walking through the day. "

My father rolled his eyes, but I could see a smile trying to break through on his lips.

"Dad, not another chess analogy."

I didn't bother hiding my smile.

"Don't listen to him, grandad. I like them."

"Erm, yes, what was I saying again-Ah! Yes! Chessboard. People." My grandfather scratched his scrubby gray blond beard, "All different kinds. Each moving across the grand board of life in their own way, each with their own perspective. You will simply be acquainted with most, while with some you will inevitably clash. And then there will be those precious few who have your best interests at heart. Look for those who are sincere and thoughtful, who don't think they have all the answers, but have strong convictions nonetheless. Look for-"

A train whistle blew and the guard issued a final call for passengers.

"Oh, dear. I'm out of time. Anyway, take this," My grandfather pulled something from his jacket pocket and held it out to me. It was a piece from his favorite chess set, a king made of polished mahogany.

"Take this and remember me and remember that people are pieces on a chessboard-well, no, they're like pieces, no wait, what I meant is people are like a chessboard and, you see-"

"Thank you, grandad," I reached out and hugged him about his middle, "I understand what you mean...I think."

The goodbyes, I love yous, and promises to write often being said in short order, I placed the chess piece in my pocket, picked up my suitcase, and straightened my shoulders. As I headed to the train, I looked back just once, to wave and to capture a final snapshot of my family. My father smiling encouragingly. My mother returning my wave. And my grandfather slowly pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose in his own funny manner of farewell. Then I was aboard a car and the door was shut behind me. On my way to London, to Dreycott-all on my own.

The trickle of the fountain pulled me out of my memory. It was coming up upon my left. As I drew nearer to it, I slipped my grandfather's king out of my pocket and rubbed it between my fingers thoughtfully, feeling quite torn in two. As excited as I was to be at the school I had dreamed for years of attending, I also wanted desperately to be back home in the settled rhythm of my old habits, among the people I knew best. Today had been anything but settled. After I had finally arrived in London and taken a bus to the school, a flurried succession of activities had followed, each one beginning before the previous had scarcely been completed. The sound of the fountain faded as I let myself retrace the events of the afternoon, after I had finally arrived at Dreycott.

Two older pupils, a boy and girl who looked to be twins and wore matching silver sashes, had been waiting in the foyer of the school to greet me and the other first-year pupils. They introduced themselves as Greta and Garret, the official Dreycott Welcoming Committee. Once all of the pupils had been accounted for, they divided us into two groups. Garret broke off with the boys, while Greta wasted no time ushering us girls in the opposite direction. She marched us through several long hallways, pointing at doorways left and right, and snapping out directions, instructions, and the odd historical fact about our new surroundings. Hurrying through such an enormous place left me so dizzy I didn't quite comprehend what was happening when Greta stopped at the start of yet another hallway and handed each girl a numbered key. Mine read "16" and I stood staring at it until Greta spoke up.

"Start unpacking, ladies. Supper will be in half an hour."

With that she was gone, leaving all of us to find our respective rooms. Beyond the door that matched my key, I found a small space crammed with a bed, a desk with a lamp, and a set of drawers. I set to work unpacking and had only just finished when a knock signaled it was time for dinner. This was a whirlwind of new faces, long tables, clattering forks, and food that tasted too unfamiliar to be of any comfort. I thought longingly of my bed throughout, but my hopes were dashed when we were all ordered to a welcoming assembly in the school's impressive lecture theatre. This assembly stood out the most in my mind. It had made me wonder if Dreycott was truly the place I wanted to be.

When I had first walked through the doors and into the theatre, I had to stand for a moment and turn in a small, slow circle in order to take everything in. The hall was much like a traditional theatre, with a pitched floor and sloped seating arranged in a semicircle around a stage with a single microphone attached to a stand. Unlike a traditional theatre, however, the hall had windows which were narrow and so tall that they almost touched the vaulted ceiling.

Outside the sunlight looked tarnished and nearly spent. I folded my arms tightly across my chest as I took a seat and waited for the assembly to begin, wishing my jacket was heavier. All around me pupils were sliding into seats, talking and fidgeting. A group of distinguished looking adults, teachers presumably, sat near the front of the hall close to the stage, as did a group of around twenty or so pupils who each wore a silver sash, just as Greta and Garret had.

I was just wondering about these sashes when a hush fell across the hall and a thin, elegant woman strode towards the stage. It was hard to tell her age, especially from afar, but I could see that her hair was a silvery gray that fell nearly to her shoulders in a smooth sheet. She wore a fashionably tailored pinstripe suit that was several shades darker than her hair and heels that echoed grandly as she ascended the stage.

The woman deattached the microphone from its stand and silently gazed out over the crowd. Finally, she spoke.

"I want to welcome you all to Dreycott School. For all of those among you who are new to our school this year, I want to extend a special greeting. I am Professor Rosen, the headmistress here at Dreycott. For almost six hundred years our school has been providing pupils with the finest education London has to offer."

There was a smattering of applause, most of it originating from the teachers and sash-wearing pupils. The professor continued.

"Throughout the years our school has molded some of the most brilliant minds of today. Names such as Oswald Whistler and Bill Hawks come to mind."

Oswald Whistler, that pianist with the wild hair, and Bill Hawks, a member of parliament or something. I wondered how many other famous faces had crossed Dreycott's threshold. It was somewhat thrilling to think my new school had once been the home of such talented individuals.

"I want you all to know that this legacy will continue. I understand that some of you are still concerned by the accidents that occurred last term, but I want to assure you that I have taken every possible measure to ensure that such accidents will never happen again. These measures will involve some changes here at Dreycott, changes that will affect all of you in one way or another, but I assure you that they will be implemented first and foremost for your safety."

I could hear muttered conversations rippling across the room, as pupils wondered aloud to their friends about the changes. I myself wondered what accidents Rosen was referring to. I felt an odd tingle in the pit of my stomach, but the headmistress was talking again and so I ignored it.

"I hope that every one of you here today will strive to greet this new term with a fierce hunger for knowledge and a desire to achieve. When my grandfather, the late Headmaster Arthur Rosen, embarked upon the difficult journey of reopening this school, he had nothing more than the empty shell of a building to work with. Today that empty shell has become a hallowed institute of learning, a bastion of knowledge, a place where the wisdom of the past nourishes the men and women of the future."

The audience broke into applause again and the headmistress bowed her head in acknowledgment. When the clapping died down she looked up and stood a little taller.

"Before I dismiss this assembly, I would like to make a special announcement. Eric Hilberg, would you please stand and approach the stage?" Everyone in the room shifted their gaze to a confident looking young man with glasses striding towards the stage.

Professor Rosen had, in the meantime, retrieved a length of silvery material. When Eric Hilberg stepped up onto the stage, Professor Rosen held up the material.

"I hereby dub Eric Hilberg the newest member of the Dreycott Patrol." The crowd began to applaud again as the headmistress looped the material diagonally across Eric's chest and pinned it into placing, forming a sash.

When she was finished, Professor Rosen turned back to the crowd.

"The Dreycott Patrol is comprised of those pupils who have shown themselves to be especially honorable, diligent, and disciplined in all aspects of life here at Dreycott. They are an integral part of our school, helping to maintain order and provide guidance to all other pupils. May each and every one of you strive to reach their lofty ranks. Thank you all for your time. Good night and good luck to you all. Praeteritum est, non tacet."

As the hall echoed with applause for a final time, the headmistress descended the stage and was lost in the crowd of teachers and patrollers who were surrounding Eric Hilberg, offering him congratulatory handshakes and shoulder pats. Everyone else began to trickle out of the hall, chatting and laughing, relieved that the assembly was over.

The feeling inside me was growing stronger and, as I stood, I realized it was not so much a tingle as an ache. The professor's mention of accidents had unsettled me, but I wasn't sure this was the only reason for my weariness. As I passed a window on my way out of the hall, I saw the empty lawn and suddenly that was the only place I wanted to be.

Now the light was very dim. With a sigh, I stopped to examine the fountain, which was like none other I had seen. It was certainly old. The stone was very worn and much of it had been claimed by pale green lichen. At its center was a statue of a young girl upon a pedestal, carved with exquisite detail. Her dress looked stiff and formal, but her long hair was loose, appearing to be tousled by the very breeze that stirred my own. She was holding a wide-mouth vase from which poured forth a steady trickle of water into a pool at her feet. The girl's eyes were downcast, looking empty and sad, as she stood performing her unceasing task. I looked up into those eyes and felt an odd sense of kinship.

Exhausted, I sat down on the edge of the fountain and rolled my grandad's king between my fingers, trying not to think, not to let my fears overwhelm me, but to simply exist in the moment, to feel the breeze against my cheek, the gentle swaying of my braids. I closed my eyes, but only for a moment. They quickly snapped open again at the sound of a voice calling across the lawn.

"See, I told you. Over there!"

In the deepening twilight it was hard to make out anything other than three figures striding towards me, a short figure leading two taller ones. In a minute they were close enough that I could identify them as a girl and two boys, fellow pupils, who looked to be several years older than myself, perhaps sixteen or seventeen. The girl suddenly broke off from the group, her stride quickening.

"You there," she said and stopped, standing right over me. She had a thick copper ponytail and a sprinkle of freckles across her nose. Her arms were folded across her chest. The girl smiled, but it didn't look at all friendly.

"You were right, Stewart," she said, turning to the shorter of the two boys as they joined her. The boy Stewart's face, long and bony with saucer eyes, lit up.

"Of course I was right. I mean, I wouldn't drag you out here for nothing, would I? I mean, have I ever dragged you out here for-"

"Shuttup, Stewie," the other boy muttered. He had broad, mountain-like shoulders and neatly parted brown hair. Perched upon his nose like a delicate insect were small wire-rimmed glasses. I couldn't help but think he looked a bit like a gorilla turned scholar. Both he and the girl were wearing silver sashes. Patrollers. The girl held out a hand.

"I'm Vivian Chesterham."

"Amelia," I said as we shook, "Amelia Ruth."

Stewart moved forward as if to shake my hand as well, but Vivian firmly shoved him back.

"It looks like you're one of the new arrivals. That must be why you're still out here."

"What?"

Vivian sighed.

"Listen. We have rules here at Dreycott, Amelia. Rules that form the very backbone of our institution. But what happens when those rules are ignored...?"

I could tell this was a speech she'd given before, one which she relished delivering.

"Anarchy, right? I mean, that's what it's called right?" Stewart looked to his comrades for confirmation but Vivian only gave him a sharp look.

"When the rules are ignored, our school ceases to function properly. Thus, someone has to enforce those rules. That's us. The Dreycott Patrol." Vivian indicated her silver sash, faintly glinting in the dying light. "You no doubt heard all about us at tonight's assembly. I'm head of the girls' House myself."

"Oh, I see," I hesitated, "Did I... do something wrong?"

Vivian sighed again and I could hear plainly her exasperation.

"Must I make this so obvious? You are out past curfew, Ruth. Curfew is nine o'clock sharp. You should know this."

"I'm sorry. I must have lost track of the time." I replied, my voice even softer than usual.

Vivian appeared to take my words in a very wrong way. Her eyes narrowed, her brow lowered, and her lips pressed together, until her whole face was scrunched into an expression of utter disgust.

"No excuses. Did you even read the school handbook?"

"Yes." I tried to steady my voice, but my next words came out in a sudden spill of choppy fragments. "I did read it. But I wasn't paying attention. I didn't realize it was so late. I'm sorry. I'll go to bed now." I started to rise from the fountain's edge, but the larger boy held up a hand.

"Not so fast," he said, "Because you broke the rule you have to pay a fine. Isn't that right, Vivian?"

"That's right. The handbook says so in Chapter 8, section 19."

"I believe it's section 18, but never mind that." The large boy adjusted his glasses with a beefy hand and raised an equally beefy eyebrow at me. I felt a horrible dread begin to uncoil inside of my stomach.

"A fine? But I don't have any money with-"

Vivian held up her own hand. Her eyes shifted focus towards my lap.

"Never mind that. What's that you have there in your hand?"

I blushed, not sure how to explain.

"It's-it's from my grandfather. He loves chess and-"

In one smooth movement, Vivian plucked the king from my hand and held it up to the fading light, squinting at it.

"Hmm." She tossed it to the bigger boy, who seemed to be having trouble keeping his trousers up. Despite my unease, I felt a spurt of faint relief at not being the only one with a wardrobe malfunction.

"What do you think, Trevor? Worth anything?"

Trevor looked at the piece carefully.

"It's a bishop, I think."

"It's a king," I couldn't help saying.

Trevor ignored me. He scratched the surface of the piece with his fingernail.

"Looks to be made of wood."

"Valuable wood?" Vivian demanded.

"Can wood be valuable? I mean it can...right?" Stewart looked unsure.

"Could I have it back now?" My voice was firm, even though it felt like little icy snakes were slithering inside of me.

Vivian leaned in close and smiled again. I could smell a strong flowery perfume wafting off of her clothes. More suitable for a sentimental old grandmother, I thought, than a school girl.

"Your little trinket will do nicely," she said, her voice sweeter than her perfume, "Now get to the dormitories, please. Chop chop."

My mouth dropped open. I could think of a thousand things to say but not one came out. I opened and closed my mouth several times, trying to find a crumb of nerve.

"Hey, look," Stewart said, grinning stupidly, "She looks like a fish, right? I mean she does, just look at her."

Vivian straightened and snatched my king out of Trevor's hand. "Enough, Stewart. Let's go. I think I saw someone else over by that tree."

Without another look, the three strode off. Soon their figures were almost lost in the gloom. The shivery snakes inside me were growing colder and it felt like they were devouring me from the inside out. I knew it was just a chess piece, but it was also a bit of home, a small comfort in an unfamiliar place. What would become of it? Tucked away in a drawer next to slingshots and confiscated love notes probably, in an office in some far-flung corner of the school. Who knew if I would ever see it again? I felt a terrible helplessness grip me, the kind you feel in a dream when everything is falling to pieces. I began shaking. They just couldn't take that from me. They just couldn't.

It was then that my body finally unlocked itself from whatever trance it had been held under. I leapt up from the fountain and raced after the trio.

"Wait!"

Vivian ignored me, quickening her pace. I caught up to her, panting as I attempted to match her stride.

"Give that back! Please! I'll go to bed straightaway. I promise. Just give it back."

Vivian examined the piece once more and let out a small scoff.

"What's so special about this? It's pretty worthless without the rest of the set."

"I told you. My grandad gave it to me before I left for school."

"Oh, your grandad?" Trevor smirked, "Must be quite the kook if he thinks some chintzy game token is a proper gift."

Stewart started snickering and my eyes flashed hotly with tears. The iciness twisting inside me turned bright and livid as dragon's fire. Maybe if I hadn't been so exhausted, so frustrated by everything that had happened that day I wouldn't have done what I did next. I lunged sideways, towards the piece held in Vivian's hand. The girl quickly stepped out of my reach and I slammed into Trevor instead.

"Hey, watch it!"

In one swift move, he shoved me aside. I stumbled, tripped over what I think was Stewart's foot, then hit the ground, the air tearing itself from my body. My tears blurred my vision as I gasped for breath.

"That was a warning, Ruth. Never interfere with the Dreycott Patrol. Now off to bed with you." Vivian brushed past me and continued across the grass, the boys close behind, smirking down at me. I wanted to chase after them, to rip their stupid little sashes off, to snatch my king back and fly off into the night, onto a rooftop where they could never reach me. But I could only lay in the cold grass, panting in competition with my racing heart.

"Give it back, Vivian."

The sound of dry grass rustling. Twisting my head to the side, I saw a pair of shoes materializing out of the gathering gloom. My eyes traveled up past a pair of trousers, a gray blazer, and into the defiant face of a boy with unruly hair. His left eye was open merely a slit, surrounded by a dark purple bruise.

Vivian stopped again. She was really starting to look peeved.

"Dove? Is that you? I am sorry, but if you have problem with us doing our jobs you're going to have to take it up with Professor Rosen." Vivian tauntingly waved the king in front of the boy, "Unless you want Trevor to do some more work on your face. It's not very symmetrical right now, you know. But he could fix that easily."

Trevor took a step toward the boy. His pants sagged slightly, but he regained composure by hoisting them up in a menacing manner. The boy took his own step forward. For a tense moment, I thought a scuffle might break out, but then a sly smile crept onto the boy's face.

"Oh, Vivian, I forgot to mention that Professor Xander has been looking for you. He's curious to know who was rifling through his desk earlier today. His locked desk, I should add. You're part of the Patrol. You would surely have some idea who did it."

Vivian's expression remained unchanged, but I could see her cheeks flush scarlet.

"And what if someone were given permission to do that?"

The boy shrugged his thin shoulders indifferently.

"Either way, I'm sure he'd love to know who did it."

Vivian threw the king onto the ground.

"Fine, have it. But next time you get in my way, Dove, you'll have a matching set."

Vivian grabbed her two friends by the backs of their collars and hauled them across the lawn. When they were well enough away, the boy scooped up the king and turned back to me. I quickly wiped the tears out of my eyes as he offered me a hand.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes. I'm fine, thanks." I managed as he pulled me up. I knew I was in pitiful shape right then, sniffing and shaking, dead leaves in my braids, my socks drooping at my ankles. My flicker of inner fire had utterly abandoned me, as had any sense of dignity. I had never felt so stupid before. My face began to burn with shame. Leave, just go away, I thought, as I brushed myself off, not daring to look up at the boy. But he didn't leave. Instead, he placed the king in my palm.

"Think nothing of it. My name is Clive. Clive Dove."

I looked up. The boy's tawny bangs brushed just up against his bruised left eye. As I noticed this, he carelessly swept them to the side, but they immediately fell back into place.

"Amelia Ruth."

"It's nice to meet you, Amelia Ruth. Sorry you had to meet Vivian on your first day."

"Professor Rosen, she-she made them out to be so wonderful," I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

"That's Rosen for you. Runs this place like a battleship."

"But your eye, that's awful! Does no one care?"

Clive frowned.

"Hardly," he muttered. He quickly glanced down at the king, "I take it you like chess?"

"Yes, that's right. But not as much as my grandfather. He's the one who taught me, you see, and gave me this, for luck, I suppose."

"You've already signed up for the chess club, I'm sure."

I nodded.

"We'll have to play a game together sometime. They keep a set in the library, you know."

"Oh, yes, I'd like that."

My eyes drifted down to my baggy socks. I felt shy all of the sudden, not at all an uncommon occurrence for me, but annoying just the same. I wanted to say something, anything really, but nothing would come out. Finally, Clive stifled a yawn as he looked about the darkening lawn, "I don't know about you, but I'm getting rather tired."

"Yes... it's been a long day."

"Come on, then, we can walk to the dormitories together."

I followed Clive across the lawn, around the corner of the west wing, and through a neglected-looking side entrance into a dimly lit hallway.

"Just go up those stairs to the left and you'll be at the girls' dormitory. The boys' is down this hall."

"Alright, then," I hesitated a moment, then held out my hand. "Er, thank you, again. For standing up to Vivian."

Clive took my hand and shook it.

"Of course. But remember, you owe me a game of chess." With a wave, he headed off down the hallway and was gone. I blinked, realizing I was all alone. Had he been a ghost, some sort of specter who appeared only at dusk? He had come and gone so quickly, it seemed a definite possibility. But no. I gripped my recovered king piece. I was only tired. Turning, I started up the stairs. I took each step slowly, not only so that they wouldn't creak, but also because I needed time to think.

My grandfather had told me about three different kinds of people I'd meet.

You will simply be acquainted with most.

It was true, I had met more than my fair share of staff, teachers, and classmates that day; all blurring together into a sea of blue and silver uniforms.

With some you will clash.

Vivian's smirk, Trevor's beady eyes shining behind his glasses, Stewart's scraggly hair topping his long face, each passed through my mind in turn. I never would have imagined I would clash with the Patrol and on my very first day. Were they all going to be as bad as Vivian and Trevor?

And then there will be those precious few who have your best interests at heart. Could Clive be of the third kind? If so, then I would have to return the favor. I didn't know how, but I would try and look out for him, as he had for me. His black eye was emblazoned in my mind; a darkened stamp that rekindled something within me that I was sure had gone out.

Reaching my room, I kicked off my shoes and socks then slipped between the covers of my new bed, not even bothering with pajamas. So many loud thoughts were clamoring for my attention: the accidents Rosen spoke of, the Patrol, the food, my family. But beneath all of these thoughts was a different one that was growing quietly, but insistently. I just couldn't quite grasp it.

Before long, my eyes grew heavy as marbles and their lids closed of their own accord. My heartbeat settled into a soft rhythm, my breath became slow and deep. Silence prevailed.

It was then that the thought finally crept in, like a sprout imperceptibly pushing its head through the topsoil.

I have a friend at Dreycott.

And whether or not it was actually true, for the first time since I'd left the railway station, I let myself smile.