The Story So Far. . .
Following the encounter with the Sentient Statue, the group decides to split up and investigate further both Hyacinth's death and the eye of Araneae, an important piece of school lore. Amelia and Bernard discover that Hyacinth drowned in the well located on school property and that she and her family may have lived on the school's fourth floor. The morning of May 17th, Gemma wakes Amelia to tell her that the Statue has already struck again. . .
Chapter Twenty
The last place I expected to find myself that morning was an infirmary full of swooning female classmates, but there I was, less than a quarter of an hour after Gemma woke me, standing at the edge of a crowd of girls suffocating a certain football captain as he lay in a cot, his right leg in a cast.
"This is hell," Bernard said beside me, with his usual decorum.
He and Clive had already been at the scene when Gemma and I had arrived, waiting for the crowd to disperse. So far, it had only done the opposite, girls pressing closer about the cot, as two new visitors squeezed past us, giggling and clutching get-well cards. Archie, the captain in question, seemed to be in somewhat of a daze as he answered questions and accepted cards, but his grogginess only seemed to drive the fervor of his admirers.
"Thank you, it's lovely," he said, looking over the latest card that had been shoved in his hand, "Lots of...er..."
He shook the card and it shed a cloud of sparkles.
"Glitter?" The maker of the card chirped, blushing like an overripe strawberry, "I wanted to use lots and lots of it, because, well, it reminds me of your eyes."
"Thank you," Archie replied, scratching his chin thoughtfully, "I never thought of my eyes being glittery before...that's a good thing, right?"
As the girls burst into a chorus of twittering laughter, Bernard made a show of rubbing his throbbing brow, a low growl of a sigh escaping his throat.
"We're not leaving until we talk to him," Clive said, glancing at Bernard. He'd already taken his ever-present notebook and pen from his bag and was now tapping the one against the other as he leant against the windowsill.
"What about Juliet?" I asked, "Where did she go?"
"I've heard she's shut herself in her room and won't let anyone in. Not even Ursula," Gemma replied, watching with amusement as the two newcomers paled and clutched their hearts at the sight of Archie's leg. "She's a regular brat, but I still feel bad for her."
One of the girls suddenly whipped out a marker and began looping her name in fancy script across Archie's cast, which immediately caught the attention of the others, who all started clamoring for a turn.
"Oh-ho, this is priceless," Gemma snickered, "Wait 'til Vivian sees."
Her words proved to be prophetic, as, just then, Vivian barged into the room, looking pale and frazzled.
"Where is he!?"
Her eyes widened at the gathering of girls, who had all turned to gawk at her. Storming past us, she shoved every one of them aside until she reached the bedside of her boyfriend, covering her mouth at the sight of his broken leg.
"Why am I always the last to know things?" she said in a wobbly voice.
"Viv, it's alright. It'll be good as new in a few weeks," Archie said, with a lopsided shrug.
"It is not alright!" Vivian stamped her foot causing several of the girls to jump back, "First off, what were you and Juliet doing together in the rotunda at five in the morning!?"
"Her watch was over and she didn't want to walk back to the dorms by herself. We cut through the rotunda to avoid some of Felix's gang."
"And then you saw it!?"
"Saw something...I dunno. The lights went out and everything started shaking and..." Archie rubbed his forehead, wincing at the memory, "Next thing I knew, I was in the back of an ambulance." He shrugged again, "Now I'm back. At least the season's already over."
"At least the season's already over!? Is that really all you can think about!?"
Vivian pushed back hair that was already pulled tight by her ponytail.
"I don't believe is–this is–I'm going to–"
She turned and stalked past us again, muttering to herself, fists swinging rigidly at her sides.
Archie sighed and sank back into his pillow, shutting his eyes.
There was a loud clap as the resident nurse, Mrs. Fledgle reentered the room. She was old, but solidly built with a face like granite and arms that looked like they could pulverize bricks. Her starched frock was as white as her hair. Both reflected the rather sterile severity of her dominion.
"Girls, let Mr. Blaze rest now."
"Yes, Mrs. Fledgle," the girls muttered as they began to file out the door. As they dispersed, one of them broke from the crowd. It was Madge, wearing bright green parrot earrings and an eager smile today.
"Amelia!" She waved a yellow flyer in the air.
"Oh! Hello, Madge. What's that?"
"See for yourself."
I knew what it was before she had even handed it to me. My eyes skimmed quickly over the words, catching Blackburne Junior Chess Tournament, Winbrey Hall, July 28th, scholarship, last chance to sign up.
"Oh." It was all I could manage. Shelby and Madge had been badgering me about the tournament ever since they'd first brought up the subject near the beginning of the school year, but I'd always managed to evade giving a definitive answer.
"You should really, really, really talk to Mr. Grambler about signing up. We're getting down to the wire. There probably won't even be a chess club next year, Amelia," Madge clasped her hands together, "You may be the best player at Dreycott...ever. It would mean a lot to us. Especially Shelby. He already has his heart set on marrying you, you know. He says you two could be the chess power couple of the century."
"That's...lovely," I said, wondering how that was supposed to help persuade me, "Erm, I'll think about it, okay?"
It was the answer I always gave, one that was little more than a lie. This time it came out sounding even more annoyed than usual. There was too much going on to humor Madge for even a second. Thankfully, she didn't seem to notice my tone.
"Thank you, Amelia! Thank you!"
She shook her head, however, when I tried handing the flyer back to her.
"Keep it."
"Ahem."
Madge hunched her shoulders, eyes darting towards Mrs. Fledgle
"Whoops, gotta go. See you at club!"
As she dashed from the room, Mrs. Fledgle folded her arms and turned to the four of us with raised eyebrows. Clive took a step forward.
"Please, Mrs. Fledgle. Can we ask him about what happened? We won't be long."
"Friends of his, hm? Fine. You have five minutes, unless he'd rather you leave now."
"Thank you."
As Mrs. Fledge disappeared through a side door into her office, the four of us approached Archie's cot. He had since reopened his eyes, fixing them forlornly on his cast.
"She used to be sweet," he mumbled, "Well, she still is, but now it's more like baby viper kind of sweet."
"Do you feel like talking?" Clive asked, pen and notebook at the ready.
Archie shifted his eyes toward Clive.
"Oh, hello, Dove," he nodded at each of us in turn, "Trewinkle. Ruth. And, ah, you're the–" he caught himself just in time, "I mean, Mudget, right? You wanna know what happened?"
"If you wouldn't mind telling us," Gemma said.
Archie scratched his chin.
"Well...see, the Prof wants me to keep quiet about it until she gets a handle on things."
"Oh, don't worry. We already know all about the Statue!" Gemma replied.
Archie blinked in surprise.
"Oh. Hm. I guess Trewinkle did see it for himself, didn't he?" He sat up a bit straighter, "I'd be happy to tell, then. Talking helps me to know it was real. Still feels like I'm in a dream or something. All happened so fast..."
"Start from the beginning. You and Juliet cut through the rotunda on your way back to the dorms?" Clive asked.
"Yeah. See, we have a bit of a feud going on in the DP. Don't tell Viv I told you. Jules didn't want to run into Felix's gang by herself, so I said I'd walk back with her. We cut through the rotunda to avoid them, but the lights went out."
"And this was around five this morning?"
"Right, right. Anyway, it was dark. Usually is at five in the morning."
"You don't say," muttered Bernard.
"And, er, I stopped because I couldn't see. Then I heard something like really creepy humming. And there she was. On the other side of the room. Don't ask me how I could see her, but it was this ghosty gray girl."
"The Statue?" I asked, although I was already certain of the answer. My own encounter with the eerie stone girl still loomed vividly in my mind. It was funny how calm Archie was, given the circumstances. Then again, he never had been that excitable.
"Probably. I mean, she was kinda far away, but she did look... statuey. Statue-like? Very stiff."
"Did she say anything?" Gemma was nearly trembling with excitement beside me.
"No..." Archie trailed off, his brow scrunched, "Wait. Come to think of it, yeah. She did say something. It was sorta hard to hear her, though, because Juliet was screaming so much. She said something like, erm..." He squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating, as he haltingly recited, "'My... strength grows as, er, my binds, or bonds or something, weaken. The round room, the three days...the ninth hour, soon these will...will hold no power over me."
"You're sure that's what she said?" Clive said, writing madly.
"Yeah. Yeah, I am. Honestly, it was too weird to forget."
I decided not to mention that Archie had only just remembered the Statue's words himself.
"So what happened then?" Gemma asked.
"Then...then everything started shaking. Like an earthquake. And Juliet started screaming louder. Or maybe I just started screaming, too. And then boom, this terrible, nasty pain," Archie shrugged, "And, er, I'm in an ambulance."
"Do you know what happened to your leg?" Clive asked.
"It was a chunk off a column. Got shaken loose or something. Pinned my leg. Not big enough to completely crush it, mind, but it's still bad." Archie laughed uncomfortably, "My parents are livid."
"Wait a minute," Gemma cut in, "So, are you and Juliet afraid of earthquakes?"
Archie swept his long bangs out of his eye.
"Oh, yeah, that whole rumor about the Statue showing you your greatest fear? I guess it is true. I'm not afraid of 'em, but Jules was terrified."
"What are you afraid of, then?" Gemma asked, "Er, I mean–"
"No, no. S'alright. I'll tell you. See, when I was ten one of my mates hurt himself real bad playing rugby. Fell on his arm the wrong way and it got all twisted up. Awful. Sorta scarred me. I was always careful after that. Never had a break myself...'til now that is."
"Thank you, Archie," Clive was still writing, "Anything else you can remember?"
Archie laid back on his pillow.
"That's it. All it took was one chunk of stone and now my leg's broke, my girlfriend hates me, and my parents will probably make sure I'm transferred before the end of term."
"Aw, cheer up!" Gemma said, "At least you have tons of adoring fans! I mean, you're one of the least hated patrollers probably ever!" She patted his shoulder, "That's an accomplishment."
Archie gave her a weary smile.
"You're alright, Mudget. Sorry about the...you know, the rumors," His eyes returned to his leg, "And for the time we locked you in that closet, Dove. And threw you in the rubbish bin. And the time we stole your–"
"Er, it's fine," Clive interrupted, "Just try to get some rest."
Archie bobbed his head as his eyelids fluttered. A moment later, his chin slumped to his chest as a low snore escaped him.
"Let's talk outside," Clive said quietly, to the three of us.
As we turned towards the door, we ran into a broad-shouldered man with a large nose and a tied patterned with Egyptian hieroglyphs. He offered us a broad smile. I recognized him as Donald Porter, the Head of Boy's Boarding and an upper-year history teacher.
"Ah, good morning. I came to see how Mr. Blaze is doing."
"Sleeping now, Mr. Porter," said Mrs. Fledgle, leaning out from her office. I wondered if she had been listening in on our conversation or if she even knew the true cause behind Archie's accident, "These four were just leaving."
"Ah, I see. I'll just have to come back later..." Mr. Porter sighed, straightening his jacket, "Such a shame. Archibald's been such a reliable head boy. He'll be hard to replace."
"Replace?" Clive asked, cocking his head.
"Yes, well. He'll be out of commission for awhile with his leg. And his parents..." Mr. Porter trailed off, coughing, "Let's just say we're already considering candidates."
"Like who?" Gemma asked.
Mr. Porter frowned.
"In the end, it's the Professor's decision. But my pick would have to be Mr. Rimswald. Such a dedicated young man! And very popular among his peers, too," Mr. Porter nodded at us, "Anyway, I should be going. Good day, children."
We said goodbye to him and watched him leave before exiting the room ourselves.
"Felix as head boy!?" Gemma immediately said, once we were down the corridor a ways. "Over Rosen's dead body. She would never allow that. I mean, she's already kicked him out of her inner circle, so it's only a matter of time before he's booted from Patrol, right?"
"I hope so," Clive said, "But you should see what an enormous toady he becomes whenever Mr. Porter is around." He shut his notebook, "Let's worry about that later, though. I have to admit, this caught me completely off guard."
"It's a relief, is what it is," Bernard said, "Now we don't have to make a decision."
"I don't understand it," Gemma said, "Why did she appear so early? And after we spent all that time figuring out her schedule!"
"There's your answer right there," I said, quietly.
"What do you mean?" Clive asked.
I turned to him.
"You heard what Archie said. The Statue told him, 'the round room, the three days, the ninth hour, soon these three will hold no power over me.' What do you think those three things refer to?
"The round room...the rotunda?" Gemma asked.
"And the three days and the ninth hour... The three days we theorized the Statue would appear, three very important days related to Hyacinth," Clive continued, "And the hour of her appearance, right around nine. Everything fit last time the Statue appeared. All our calculating was correct."
"Exactly," I said, "I don't think it's a coincidence that as soon as we figure out when the Statue will appear it announced what it did to Archie."
"So, you're saying it's because of us?" Bernard said, "We thought we had the timing all figured out, so the Statue goes and strikes when we least expect it?"
Clive nodded.
"I think that message was meant for us," he said, "Although, remember, last term the Statue appeared outside of the rotunda, during the play. Even if we hadn't caught on to anything, I think the plan has always been for the Statue's appearances to become more random concerning when and where, more frequent, even...maybe we just helped speed things along."
The thought made my stomach lurch.
"So, it'll get to the point where we have no idea when or where the Statue will appear? Then why have a fixed schedule to begin with? I've always thought it sort of odd. Too convenient."
"I'm not sure," Clive closed his eyes, frustration tightening his features,"I feel like someone is just toying with us from behind the scenes. Allowing us to think we've got it all unraveled and then pulling the rug from out beneath us."
"Why bother?" Bernard said, "Are we really that much of a threat to whoever's behind this?"
"It only makes sense," I said, "Unless you want to believe the Statue really is some sort of supernatural being."
Gemma opened her mouth, but immediately shut it into a grin when she saw Bernard was ready to fly into outrage mode.
"I've had enough of this doom and gloom," she said, "Let's get some breakfast before they shut everything down. I think what this investigation needs is some bacon to fuel it to victory!"
I didn't object and neither did the two boys. If I was honest with myself, I had to agree with Bernard. I was relieved that our decision of whether or not to confront the Statue again had been made for us. But this relief was mingled with apprehension. Hyacinth was still set to appear one more time this term. But when? Or perhaps even more unsettling: where?
My stomach growled in answer. For all my anxiety, I was feeling quite peckish and in that place where even my most troublesome thoughts began to dull until I had something hot and filling inside of me.
I almost didn't get the chance, but, luckily, we made it to the dining hall just in time. The patrol table was already nearly empty, so I didn't even bother with it, joining my friends at a table near the window that framed another fog shrouded day.
As we tucked into bacon and eggs, I noticed that something had caught Clive's attention from across the room, causing him to frown. I followed his gaze to Cathy Cromwell sitting at a far table, watching our own with narrowed eyes, her long fingers drumming the surface.
Clive started fiddling with his tie when he realized I had seen Cathy.
"She's always staring at me," he admitted quietly, embarrassed, "I'm not sure what she wants, but I–well, I think she might fancy me."
Bernard and I glanced at each other with amused expressions.
"What?" said Clive, starting to blush, "That's the only logical explanation I could think of. I–I wish she would just leave me alone."
"No fair!" Gemma said, looking between the three of us with a pout, "I want in on this, whatever it is."
"Sorry," I said, suppressing a small smile at Clive's completely bewildered expression."We talked to her yesterday. I don't she fancies you, not really. She needs your help with something."
"Who!?" Gemma cried, slamming the table.
As if on cue, Cathy stood and started towards our table. Gemma followed our gaze and her expression immediately brightened.
"Aw, Clive. Why didn't you just say so! If you're having lady troubles, I am here for you."
"Wha–!? I'm not having lady troubles!"
We all quieted down and sat up straighter as Cathy neared.
"Am I interrupting anything?" she asked.
"Nope!" Gemma said, a bit too loudly, "Just swapping gossip."
"Mind if I join in?" Cathy hesitated, her eyes flitting to Clive who still looked a bit flustered, "Look... maybe I'd better be blunt about this. That always seems to work best for me."
She suddenly sat down across from Clive, interlacing her fingers on the table before her in a business-like fashion.
"Here's the short of it. I need your help."
Clive blinked.
"You need...my help? Is that why...?"
Cathy smiled thinly.
"Is that why I was being a shameless flirt with you? Yes. I didn't want anyone getting suspicious about my interest in you and I thought it might make you more willing," she shrugged, ignoring Clive's expression, which had turned quite baffled, "No matter. I see now a direct approach is best."
Gemma couldn't contain herself any longer.
"What do you need his help with?"
"It's no secret you have a bit of a reputation here," Cathy continued, "As a rule breaker and someone who knows how to, shall I say, pry valuable information loose from the cracks?"
Clive's eyes shifted off to the side.
"A reputation not entirely deserved."
"I'm aware you're conducting some sort of informal investigation. I'm in the middle of one myself. Unfortunately, I find that I'm not very fit for the more...covert aspects of the job."
I thought back to Cathy's attempt to infiltrate the Patrol initiation and had to agree.
"And you think I am?"
"Correct."
Clive hooded his eyes, clasping a hand to his chin, his initial embarrassment forgotten at the prospect of a challenge.
"I'm listening."
"As you know, June 19th is the Midsummer Masquerade."
Beside me, Gemma's face lit up like fireworks.
"I'd almost forgotten!" she suddenly frowned, "Though I'm still not old enough."
"Wait," I said, feeling a bit stupid, "What is it exactly?"
The name sounded familiar, like I'd heard other girls talking about it, but I often tuned out the more giggly conversations I was privy to.
Cathy rolled her eyes.
"One of the last remaining vestiges of this school's inordinate sense of extravagance."
"For once we agree," Bernard muttered.
"It's the annual school ball," Gemma added, "There's costumes and dancing and food and tons of drama and romantic tension. Like six couples broke up during the ball last year! But it's only for Year 11s and up. Boo."
"But it's not only for pupils," Cathy continued, "Rosen uses the event to show off the school to all its financial backers and benefactors, as well as attract new ones. You know, like flies and honey? Now, I've caught wind of a particularly juicy bit of news concerning this."
We all leaned closer, intrigued.
Cathy smiled again.
"At this time, there are two persons most responsible for keeping Dreycott afloat. The first is Constance Dove."
I glanced to Clive in surprise at the name, but he remained focused on Cathy.
"Go on."
"The second? A businessman named John Harrier."
"John Harrier?"
"Yes. A bit of an enigma of a man. I do know he has a lot of powerful connections and without his financial support this school would find itself in a very bad way. Now, according to my source, the night of the masquerade Mr. Harrier and Professor Rosen are planning on holding a private meeting."
"During the masquerade? Where did you get this information?" Bernard asked.
Cathy narrowed her eyes.
"That's beside the point. All you need to know is that it's reliable."
She turned her attention back to Clive.
"I don't know exactly when or where this meeting will occur, but if my source is correct some very important matters are going to be discussed. It could even decide the fate of the school."
"Dramatic!" Gemma said, "That would sell a lot of newspapers."
Cathy shifted in her seat.
"Er, yes. Yes, it would," The slight catch in her voice made me think she was holding something back, "At any rate, it is essential that I find out what is said at that meeting."
"So," Now it was Clive's turn to drum his fingers against the table, "You want me to find out where and when this meeting is and eavesdrop?"
"Yes, that's about it. Of course, you friends can help you if they like. It doesn't matter to me. As long as I get my information."
"No doubt Rosen will be mingling with hundreds of guests at the ball," Bernard said, "How would we ever find this Mr. Harrier?"
Cathy reached down to dig through her bag.
"Oh, don't worry about that. I've got a picture of him."
She slid a newspaper clipping across to Clive. We crowded closer to see it and drew in a collective breath.
"The Man in the Green Suit," I said.
Even though the black-and-white clipping made it impossible to determine the color of his suit, the face was the same. Non-descript with a vague expression that was difficult to place.
"You know him?" Cathy sounded both surprised and intrigued.
"We know of him." Clive replied, still studying the clipping, "We've seen him a few times about the school. Always speaking with Rosen."
"Yes..."
Clive finally looked up.
"I have to say I'm keen to know more about this meeting myself. But..." He trailed off, eyes shifting to the side once more.
"I would never ask you to do something for free," Cathy replied cooly, "Do this for me and I'll make you a real journalist."
Clive blinked.
"What?"
"For the Daily Dreycott, I mean. You could write about whatever you like," she winked at him, "And of course, my sources would be your sources."
The four of us remained silent as Clive closed his eyes, deep in thought. For some reason, Cathy's idea bothered me, but I didn't want to look too hard into it until I knew what Clive was thinking.
"Do you want me to decide right now?" he finally asked, reopening his eyes.
Cathy stood.
"Of course not. We've still got a few weeks 'til the masquerade. Take your time," She shot me a significant look and I knew she expected me to uphold my end of the deal, to somehow persuade Clive to take her up on her offer. "Ta-ta, now."
With a little wave, she was gone, leaving the four of us to stew over cold bacon.
"You're going to do it, right?" Gemma said, almost immediately, "I mean why the heck not? It's a win-win. We get to learn more about what the Professor is up to and you get to write for the D.D.!"
"Such an honor," Bernard grumbled, "You know, I really don't trust her or her 'source', which is more than likely that scatter-brained photographer of hers."
"What about you, Amelia?" Clive asked, "What do you think?"
I didn't say anything. The fact was, I wasn't comfortable with the idea, but not for the same reason as Bernard.
Since coming to Dreycott I had done many things that I wasn't really proud of. Infiltrating the patrol, lying, listening in, and poking around where I wasn't supposed to. Mostly small things, true, but granddad had always taught me that people were ends, not means, and were to be treated how I would like them to treat me. I had written off these actions as mostly spur-of-the moment decisions, but this– planning ahead to listen in on the private meeting of someone who trusted me enough to invite me into her inner-circle–I wished it wouldn't bother me so, it left me feeling like a stickler, but all I could picture was my granddad and what he would say if he knew. He wouldn't be angry. He rarely got angry. But he might be disappointed and that somehow felt even worse.
Besides, where had all our rule-breaking gotten us in the end? Fights with the patrol, and worse, the terrible heat and clamor of Clive's memory.
"Amelia?" Gemma echoed.
"I-I don't know," I finally said, "It doesn't quite feel right."
"But think of how much we might learn!" she replied, "The mysterious Man in the Green Suit! Finally exposed! You remember the letter he gave to Rosen. He's obviously caught up in it all somehow."
"Not necessarily," Bernard put in.
Clive remained silent. He seemed to be discreetly studying me, waiting for something.
"A part of me wants to do it, of course. But so much we've done, finding those passageways, and breaking the rules to confront the Statue. It all ended badly. And–and there's my granddad..."
Beyond these concrete reasons, there was something deeper, too. Something I wasn't quite sure how to put into words. A sort of pang that felt like an internal warning, reminding me of a line I wasn't supposed to cross.
"I think I understand," Clive said quietly.
"Y-you do?"
"It's the same with my mother."
"Your mother?" Gemma asked, clearly surprised.
"Adopted mother," Clive corrected himself.
"Constance Dove?" I wagered.
"Yes. She knows I've uncovered a mystery here at Dreycott, but not about the Statue."
"Neither does my granddad," I murmured, "I want to tell him, but maybe the real reason I haven't is because... I'm afraid. How he would react if he knew some of the things we've done..."
I blushed, mortified at myself for admitting that out loud. It was a relief, though, to finally put into words what had been floating just under the surface of my mind for so long.
Clive nodded, his eyes losing their focus as he stared at his hands.
"She took me in after...after I lost my parents. The thought of keeping secrets from her, of doing anything that could wedge itself between us..." He sighed heavily, "I'm not the rule-breaker everyone makes me out to be. I've overstepped here and there, but always with good reason." He fiddled with his tie again, "When you're labeled a rebel, it's easiest just to act proud of it, but I don't know if I am."
"You two act like we've committed murder or something," Gemma said, laughing, "We've just done the things you have to do in a proper investigation. Sometimes you've gotta smudge the rules if you want to get somewhere."
"But isn't that exactly what the Patrol does?" I asked, "Smudge the rules to get what they want?"
"It's different," Gemma insisted, "We're the good guys. We're actually trying to help the school."
"You do have a point, Gemma," Clive said, "It's a difficult situation. Things are very wrong at Dreycott. People are getting hurt, facts are being covered up, and we have the potential to expose the truth. But that will mean continuing to overstep and keeping some things secret until we get to that truth."
"But until then, what about your mother? My grandfather? Gemma, your parents?"
It was the same sort of question I had asked the other day. One that refused to let me be.
Both Gemma and Clive lowered their eyes. I had never seen the latter look so conflicted before.
"I'm not sure," he said.
"I'm not sure, either," I replied, suddenly feeling ashamed myself. I hadn't meant to make them guilty. I was only confused and for once voicing those confusions out loud seemed less difficult than trying to keep them inside my head.
"I've already told my dad everything."
We all turned in surprise to Bernard who had, up until then, been listening quietly.
"What did he say?" Gemma asked.
"He didn't listen," Bernard shook his head, "There's nothing he could do anyway. Listen! We've already talked about this. There's nothing any of our parents could do to fix things here. Not really. So either we see this thing through to the bitter end or else we drop it completely. I'm sick of being on the fence about it," Bernard straightened, "And I have no moral quandaries about spying on a woman who runs this school the way Rosen does. I have no quandaries about defying a bunch of bullies. Neither should any of you. I don't trust Cathy, but this could be a turning point for us."
There was a long pause.
"You're right," Clive said, and his composure seemed different. That vulnerable edge had disappeared from his voice, replaced by a more composed, business-like tone, his features hardening with a determination I was only too familiar with now, "I promise we'll get this all sorted out with our parents. But for now, we need to buckle down and do what we can to get to the bottom of this."
For now, for now...that was always his answer, one that created a safe wall that blocked from view any glimpse of the future, how we could potentially fail if we were wrong. "I think when all is said and done, they'll understand."
His words were confident, but the hint of uncertainty in his eyes betrayed him. He smiled faintly, "And I know my mum had her own share of adventures when she went to Dreycott."
"So did granddad," I replied. But not like ours.
I rose from the table, shouldering my bag. "I've got to get to class. But...I'm willing to help."
Was it true? Or had I only said it to make myself believe it was? At any rate, Bernard's words had helped to soothe my conscience a bit. If there was a chance that Rosen was involved in a plan that hurt her own pupils, then perhaps eavesdropping could be justified.
"Right," Clive said, "How about we finish our investigations into the murder and eye, then at the end of the week we meet and discuss all our findings? The masquerade is June 19th. And the Statue is supposed to appear June 1st, but that's no longer for sure. In any case, we've got a lot to prepare for."
We each went our separate ways that morning feeling the weight of his words. Yet, as the day progressed, I felt there was so much pressing down upon me that it was almost easier to focus on my classes, simply because of how overwhelming everything was, and how little I could do about it all. I hated that feeling of helplessness more than anything, like accidentally waking a wolf and then, by some twisted dream logic, watching yourself get dragged away in its jaws.
Our advantage over the Statue was gone. And Cathy had turned out to be more crafty than I originally thought. What was she really after? The fact, too, that she had tried manipulating Clive through her interest in him made me queasy. What sort of person did something like that only to brush it off like it was nothing? These questions only further tangled the already conflicted feelings I had about helping Clive complete her request.
There was one thing, however, that I still felt I had some control over and that was the next step in our investigation into Hyacinth's death. If I could make some sense out of that mystery, then perhaps the rest would follow, like a brilliant play that signaled the turning point in a chess match. Bernard and I were both busy that afternoon, but we agreed to meet the next day after lunch in the Red Room once again. From there, we would set out for the fourth floor in hopes of finding Hyacinth's old bedroom.
Unfortunately, yet another delightful surprise already lay in wait for me.
As before, Bernard had not yet arrived by the time I made it to the Red Room, so I checked my post. A single letter from my father was waiting for me. Despite the fact my father was a postmaster in Luxenbelle, he didn't care much for writing letters and usually only sent me brief messages and doodles. This letter, however, was different:
Dear Amelia,
Hope all is well in London. I know granddad wrote to you recently and I assume he told you about his illness. I'm not quite sure I know how to tell you this without giving you a shock, so please know beforehand that we are all well here. Only, granddad caught an infection and had to be taken to hospital. Just for a short while as he recieves treatment. He's in very high spirits, you should know, and we go up to see him every day. He'll be out and at it again long before you get home from Dreycott. So please don't worry.
Which brings me to the second matter I wanted to write to you about. You know money's been a bit tight for us and with granddad's hospital visit it's only going to get tighter. We've always gotten by and always will, but your mother and I have been talking and we've come to the decision that Dreycott is just not a feasible option any longer.
As you know, granddad spent most of his savings on tuition, the rest he used to help us pay-off his doctor bills. I hate to be telling you this. I really do. If there was any other way, Amelia, we'd take it in a heartbeat. But the money just isn't there anymore. You'll be able to finish up this year, of course. I wanted to tell you now so you'd have a chance to tell your friends and say proper goodbyes. I know you've made some good ones there. And I promise we'll make sure you have a chance to see them again in the future.
I feel simply terrible breaking all this awful news on you at once, but I knew I couldn't put it off any longer. Please write back and tell me your thoughts.
Love, Dad
Somewhere inside me was a faint voice telling me I should be just as shocked as my dad assumed I would be, but as I read through the letter again, all I felt was a hollow numbness.
Well, this was it. The checkmate of a game I'd been losing since the beginning of term.
I set the letter down on the table, but my eyes remained glued to it.
Of course, I should have been expecting this. Isn't that what I did best? Examine every possible outcome, every feasible move? But this time I had intentionally shut out the idea that my granddad's illness could lead to something worse, only to have it creep through the door anyway. And as if him being hospitalized wasn't bad enough, now I wouldn't even be coming back to Dreycott. I almost had to laugh. Isn't that what I had secretly wanted all along?
I read through the letter a third time, the numbness spreading. All the drama of yesterday morning and now this. Gemma would have made a joke about the capricious nature of the gods or something. But why was I even thinking of jokes? Perhaps all this stress was finally doing a number on my mind.
The small sound of a throat being cleared. I jumped in my chair, my fixed gazed finally broken as I turned to look up into Bernard's heavily-browed eyes.
"Bernard!" Automatically, I jammed the letter back into its envelope, hoping he hadn't caught sight of it.
"You look like you've just swallowed an algebraic expression," he remarked.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Exactly."
"No," I tucked the letter into my bag, "It's just... déjà vu is all."
The Statue appearing again, another heated conversation in the dining hall, and now another letter from home that made it seem as if my legs were slowly sinking into the floor, taking all feeling with them.
"Bernard?"
"Hm?"
I closed my eyes.
"Have you ever felt like you've all the sudden aged 30 years? "
"All the time. Didn't you know? I'm actually 150,000 years old. No wonder I hate everything."
I sighed, then stood, pushing in my chair. There was time enough to let the letter sink in later. The fourth floor awaited. With that resolve, I took a deep breath and swept all thoughts of my father's news to the back of my mind, detaching myself from it until all that remained was the hollow feeling. It was a practice years of chess had honed in me.
"Ready if you are."
"I'm not sure 'ready' is the right word." Bernard said, as we made our way to the nearest stairs. "We've got nothing to go off of, except what Lily told us."
"It isn't much," I admitted, "But we can't let Clive and Gemma get all the good leads."
It was a desperate attempt at a joke, to force myself to remain focused through conversation, but, surprisingly, Bernard smiled.
"Oh, it's a competition now, is it? I suppose I would like seeing that smug grin melt off Clive's face when we show up waving some enormous clue in the air."
I shook my head, chuckling weakly, as we began our ascent up the three flights of steps that would lead us to the fourth floor.
"Sometimes I wonder how you two got to be friends."
Bernard scoffed.
"The idiot needs someone to keep him from getting himself killed. Not that I've had much success."
Silence. I scrambled for something, anything, to keep the talk going.
"Well... if it wasn't for you, Clive and I would probably be burnt to a crisp, so, so don't be too hard on yourself."
"Hmph," Bernard folded his arms,"Yes, well, I still owe him. Maybe that's the real reason I haven't dropped out of this goose chase."
"You owe him?"
Now I was genuinely intrigued.
Bernard paused on the third level landing.
"He listened when I told him about the Statue," Bernard shrugged, "That and he got a black eye on account of me. First day back, too."
I thought back to when I had first arrived at Dreycott and how Clive had stood up for me against Vivian. He had been sporting a black eye at the time and I'd always wondered how he had managed to get it before school had barely even begun.
"Felix's gang had me cornered. You know, wanting to welcome me back with a nice nose-bleed. Clive went right into the fray even though most of them were two times bigger than him." Bernard shook his head, "I thought he must be insane. I still think that. I know a thing or two about the human mind, but what goes through his head when he does stuff like that, I really don't know. But I'm glad he did it. He's looked out for me ever since."
Bernard started up the next flight of stairs, but I noticed his ears were starting to tinge pink. He suddenly looked back at me with a fierce, owlish glare.
"But I swear, if you tell him any of this..."
I smiled.
"Don't worry. I know you have a reputation to maintain."
Bernard didn't reply. We had cleared the last step and now stood before the long fourth floor hallway, which looked as deserted as ever. Sunlight had finally broken through the clouds and fog of the past few days, causing dust motes to shimmer before the grime-speckled windows. Spider-webs weaved across the rafters of the ribbed-ceiling far above. The scent of aging wood, an attic sort of smell, hung thick in the air.
"There used to be more dorms up here," I said, "But before that...the Dreycotts lived here?"
"It's a possibility."
I thought back to the second test that had lead to my becoming a patroller. It had taken place in a derelict looking parlor stuffed with hundreds of keys.
"You know, I think I might know where their parlor used to be. We could start there and then search all the surrounding rooms?"
Bernard gestured forward,
"Lead the way."
We started down the left arm of the hallway, as I tried remembering where exactly the parlor had been located. There were so many doors, it seemed that even if we did find the right room it would still take us hours to track down Hyacinth's bedroom.
Finally, however, I stopped in front of a solid door right where the hallway turned a sharp corner
"I think this is it."
As I reached for the handle, however, I heard something that made me freeze. Muffled voices coming from inside the room.
I twisted my head over my shoulder to Bernard standing stock-still behind me. "Should we–"
Footsteps as the voices grew more distinct. Whoever it was was heading straight for the door.
"Hide," Bernard said.
We spun around. There was nothing, no decor of any sort, to hide behind, so we dashed to the door across from us. Thankfully, it was unlocked, allowing us to slip into a bare room, just as the parlor door opened. Bernard and I huddle near the door's crack in an attempt to see who had emerged.
"That's not what I said."
The testy voice and shockingly ginger hair immediately caught my attention. Felix and a few of his friends were standing in the hallway now. One last patroller exited, locking the door behind him.
"But you told me–"
"Shuttup," Felix suddenly said in a low voice, raising a hand. The four patrollers glanced about the hallway.
"What is it?" one whispered.
My breath caught in my throat as I resisted the urge to stumble back away from the door.
Felix's head cocked to the side as if he were listening for something, then he glanced at his wristwatch.
"Never mind. Let's go."
We waited until their footsteps faded entirely before we risked coming back out.
"Good show we decided to hide," Bernard said, looking about nervously as if he thought Felix might jump from the shadows.
"What do you think they were doing up here?" I walked over to the parlor door and tried the handle, but it was locked tight.
"No idea. You think they went back downstairs?"
"I hope so. Maybe we should wait a few minutes and make sure."
We returned to our hiding spot and allowed five minutes to lapse in silence. Finally, Bernard shook his head.
"We're only wasting time. If we don't start now, we'll never get this done."
"Alright, but let's be careful."
We stepped back out into the empty hallway, the floorboards creaking softly beneath our cautious tread.
"Looks okay," I said, "So...you take the right and I'll take the left?"
Bernard huffed.
"Fine."
With the threat of Felix popping out of nowhere still hanging over us, our afternoon search for the bedroom of a drowned girl at the top of the school commenced. Many of the door were locked and since both of us lacked Clive's "special" skills in this department, we simply had to leave them be, hoping Hyacinth's bedroom wasn't behind one of them. The ones that were unlocked were not very promising at all. The first one I encountered with a handle that actually gave made my heart skip a beat. But when I open the door, I saw that it was almost identical to the room we had hid in. Nothing to see but a low, twisting light fixture hung overhead.
"I found something," Bernard said, when we had reached the middle of the long hallway.
"What?"
I turned, my heart quickening once more until I saw him standing in a doorway, kicking an ashtray.
"Someone's been smoking in here," he said, "The room reeks."
"Who would that be?" I said, peering past him into another disappointingly empty room that smelled strongly of cigarette smoke. A bit of sloppy graffiti marked the walls.
Bernard snorted.
"Probably Felix."
"I suppose all kinds of questionable activity must happen up here," I remarked as we continued on to the next set of doors, "No teachers after all. Not that they ever do much to stop the Patrol, anyway."
"My dad told me something about the fourth floor," Bernard said, jiggling another handle. He scowled when he couldn't get it to budge.
"Your dad?" I repeated cautiously, knowing how sensitive the topic could be.
"He told me not to come up here."
"Because Felix hangs out up here, you think?"
The handle to my own door proved to be just as stubborn.
"I dunno," Bernard shook his head, "Sometimes he'll go for weeks without saying anything much to me and then, 'oh, by the way, Bernard, you've not gone up to the fourth floor, have you? and 'No need to worry, Bernard, this school is old, is all. Easy to believe in ghost stories'."
"So, erm, you really told him everything?"
I found it hard to believe, seeing as I hadn't even told my granddad, the one person I usually told everything.
Bernard nodded as he tried the next door. Locked.
"I wanted to see what kind of reaction I could get. You know, it's kind of a game? See if I can upset him? Nothing ever does. He's the most agreeable person you'd ever hope to meet."
I wasn't sure how to reply to that. Unlike his last outburst about his father in the dining hall, Bernard now sounded cool and almost conversational, like he was merely discussing an acquaintance's father and not his own.
"Well...I suppose it could be worse," I finally said.
"Why? You think it's good for someone to be agreeable all the time? It's not," Bernard rattled the next handle, "You'll find there are a lot of agreeable people out there and they all have one thing in common. The inability to form any sort of conviction or real opinion of their own."
"That's a bit harsh. Just because someone doesn't like conflict doesn't mean they can't think for themselves."
"Ah, but it's not just that they don't like conflict, it's that they feel obligated to agree with everyone and everything. And if you try to believe in everything, Amelia, you end up believing in nothing with just a mess of contradictions you think you can harmonize."
I tried the next handle, mulling over his words. The room was unlocked, but like the few before it, it was mostly empty.
"Or maybe agreeable people just like to keep their real opinions to themselves."
"It adds up to the same thing. Everyone will like you, but no one will respect you."
"And you'd rather be respected than liked, I take it?"
"Of course."
I paused.
"What about me? Out of complete curiosity, do you think I'm too agreeable?"
"The fact we're having this discussion tells me you're not. You're quiet, of course, but I can tell you're always thinking."
"I don't know if that's a good thing."
We were nearly at the other end of the hallway now. The clouds had covered the sun again, draining the color from floor to ceiling.
I sighed, straightening one of my ribbons.
"What are the chances of the bedroom being one of the last ones we check?"
"Not very likely," Bernard admitted, "I'm sure it's one of the locked ones. But we've made it this far. Might as well try."
He moved on to the next door on his side and I turned towards the one on mine.
Locked or empty? I thought as I reached for the handle. It gave under the weight of my hand and the door creaked open. But the room beyond looked to be anything but empty.
"Bernard?" I called, heart thumping, "I found something."
The two of us entered the room together, still treading lightly, as if we were in an undiscovered tomb. Unlike all the others, this one had a few bulky, squarish forms draped in thick white sheets. Unwieldy ghosts that stood watching each other.
"Look," Bernard said, his head bent, "Footprints."
I looked down at my own feet. A smattering of large footprints traced a tangled path through the layer of dust. The implications were obvious.
"I'm sure this room was meant to be locked," Bernard said, "Whoever was poking around must've forgotten."
"You think it's her room?"
In response, he pulled off the closest sheet, revealing an old yellow-stained bathtub with clawed feet and a few dead crickets littering the bottom.
"I think that answers that."
As he replaced the sheet, I moved across the room, drawn to the largest piece of furniture standing near a narrow window. I grabbed the sheet that enveloped it, thick and cool to the touch, and pulled, watching it slide into a white heap at my feet.
My gaze shifted up to take in a wardrobe with a large faded tree painted across its doors. A pale blue ribbon twisted through the tree's sprawling branches while the school's motto, Praeteritum est, non tacet, arched overhead.
"No wonder that was covered," Bernard said, now standing beside me, his arms folded, "It's hideous."
"There's no handles," I said, running my eyes up and down the painted wood.
"What's this?"
Bernard reached out his hand and touched something near the base of the tree. It was a withered sapling with bare branches growing in the larger tree's shadow, painted a dull brown. An even duller gray ribbon, tattered and drooping, lay tangled in the sapling's branches.
"I'm not sure..."
I sighed again, this time in frustration. It was growing late and all we had uncovered was a wardrobe unable to be opened.
Bernard's fingers slid across the doors, up to the branches of the larger tree.
"There's names painted all over this ribbon, but they're too faded to make out. They all seem to have the last name 'Dreycott', though."
I stepped closer, so that my nose was centimeters from the chipped paint, and squinted.
"A family tree, maybe?"
From the nearby window, the sunlight suddenly returned in full force and a small, bright blue sparkle in the middle of the tree's trunk caught my eye. Some sort of faceted stone had been painted in shimmering blue and seemed to slightly pop from the paint surrounding it.
I glanced at Bernard, who nodded, and then pressed the small stone. There was a subtle click as it depressed, before the doors popped open a crack.
"I would love for all puzzles to be that easy," Bernard said,
Together, we dug our fingers in and pulled the doors wide.
"Oh."
That was the only word that came out. The wardrobe was completely bare save for a small wooden crate sat on the bottom.
"Pfft. What were expecting?" Bernard said, "A corpse?"
I bent down and grabbed the box. Its few contents rattled about as I took it and crouched near the floor. Bernard hunkered down beside me.
"There better be a bang-up clue in this box or I quit."
I carefully dumped the contents onto the dusty floorboards. Bernard immediately picked up the first item that dropped out with a clunk. A solid metal rod with a blue stone set at the end that looked identical to the one we'd uncovered in the secret passageway.
"Another one of these. Joy," he continued fingering it, "This one was a lot easier to get our hands on, eh?"
"What do you think they're for?" I asked, but my eyes had already shifted to an old photograph that had slid out of the box. Old, but not as old as I'd expected. I picked it up and studied it. Three children, two wearing Dreycott uniforms, one wearing overalls, were standing next to Hyacinth's fountain. A tall boy with dark hair, a strong jaw, and fierce, wily eyes. A willowy girl with heavy-framed glasses and long hair that nearly hid her face. And a younger boy, the one wearing overalls, whose crinkled eyes glinted mischievously as he held up a metal jack. He was the only one smiling of the three.
"There's something on the back," Bernard said.
I flipped the photograph over. Scrawled in hasty ink was a brief message:
Leaving what's left in the place it all started. There was never any story. Just jumbled pages and words and letters. Only misery to the ones who try to put together the pieces we found.
- A
"Oh my," Bernard said with a yawn, "Someone had a bad day."
I gazed over the rest of the box's contents. Two ribbons, one blue, the other silver. A thin volume of poems. A silver spider pinned in a small glass case. A deck of cards. A badge with Dreycott's insignia stitched across the front. A jack just like the one the boy was holding.
"I guess whoever wrote this wanted this box to be found. I mean, they would've destroyed it otherwise."
"The question is, why?" Bernard said, "It's all rubbish, not counting the weird metal wand thing. Then again, that's pretty useless too."
My eyes continued to scan the items. I couldn't help but feel as though they weren't random, that each carried a significance that connected it to the others. How exactly, I wasn't sure. The only thing I was sure of was that the handwriting on the back of the photograph was the same as the letter I had found written by a certain "Beatrice". The way the 'L' curled at the end, the tall "t's", the hasty dots of the "i's"...
"Well?" Bernard prodded, "Thoughts?"
"Let's take it with us," I said, finally, "All of it."
The discovery of the box ended our exploration of the fourth floor. We cautiously made our way back downstairs, where Bernard went back to his room to catch up on homework and I took the box back to mine.
Setting it on my desk, I slipped inside the two letters I had found previously and sat, eyes unfocused. The whole thing was frustrating. Instead of learning more about Hyacinth, we had uncovered clues that seemed to relate to an entirely different mystery. One I wasn't sure was even relevant to the Statue. Then again...as I started sorting through the box once more, I examined the back of the photograph. The note was signed with an "A". For Abigail, maybe? Could Beatrice/Thisbe really be Professor Rosen? I squinted closer at the girl in the photograph. The glasses and hair along with the poor quality of the photograph made it almost impossible to get a good look at her features. Still, if it was her, it wouldn't hurt to learn more about her past, especially since it seemed like this mystery girl was involved in some sort of investigation of her own.
As I put the photograph and the letters away, I finally allowed my thoughts to return to the other letter sitting on my desk, the one from my father. The numbness immediately swallowed me once more. I didn't feel sad or alarmed or anxious, just empty. And exhausted. This term had done nothing but drain me dry over and over again.
Granddad...
I should be with him. From my father's letter it sounded like he was already on his way to recovery, which was reassuring, but he'd need someone to keep him occupied so he didn't pester the nurses into playing chess or overwhelm the doctors by discussing Kant's categorical imperative. Maybe, I thought, I should just leave Dreycott now. Would it matter in the end? It was strange. A few days ago I had been worried Clive would want to leave Dreycott, now I was the one contemplating that very idea yet again.
Out of the numbness, a lump appeared in my throat.
Once I left, who knew when I'd come back to London. Despite my father's assurance, it would likely be a few years before I'd see Clive, Gemma, and Bernard again. So much could change in that time. Would they even care to see me? Would they have solved Dreycott's mystery without me?
The lump grew harder to swallow. Self-pity. Taking myself and my problems far too seriously yet again. I knew that was all it was. Always too lost in my own head.
I'd have to tell them, though. I'd have to tell them I wasn't coming back. But when? And how? And what would they say when they knew? And...What if? What if there was a way I could come back?
The question startled me. As much as I wanted to be with my granddad as he recovered, I realized I didn't want to leave Dreycott permanently. This term had drained me, yes, but it had also made me realize why I had chosen to return in the first place. My conversation with Bernard earlier that afternoon...Gemma popping into my room in the midst of studying...playing chess in the library with Clive...
What if?
This question and its companions dogged me throughout the rest of the week, grower ever louder and more insistent. There had to be a solution, some way I could find the money to return next year. During meals, I wracked my brain, tuning out the low patrol conversations, trying to see the situation from every angle, just as granddad had taught me to do during a game. While studying, my mind would slip back to the letter again and again, but by the end of the week I still had no answer and my brief burst of resolve had sunk, again, into a numb, fretful sort of acceptance.
Saturday evening we met in the Red Room. It was quiet for once, many pupils home for the weekend or studying out of doors. I sat with the wardrobe box on my lap next to Bernard as we waited for Clive and Gemma to arrive. I wanted to be excited about the box, but my stomach was too busy twisting in knots as my mind rehearsed again and again what I was going to say to them. I had already decided I couldn't put it off. I knew if I did that it might never come out and the last thing I wanted was to leave for home on the last day with the three of them still believing I would return next year.
"Hello, you two frowny-faces!" Gemma's chipper voice broke through my thoughts, "Sorry to keep you waiting."
"No, you're not," Bernard said, sitting up straighter, "You always say that, but if you really were sorry you'd actually come earlier the next time."
"My, you are a chatterbox tonight," Gemma replied, settling on the sofa across from us. Clive sat down beside her, notebook at the ready. His eyes had already found the box I was holding. They moved up to meet mine.
"So, how did your search go?"
"Fine," I swallowed. Should I say something now, get it out of the way, or should I wait? "Erm, but why don't you two go first?"
The words tumbled out before I could truly decide what I wanted to say.
"Alright!" Gemma rubbed her hands together, eye gleaming, "You're going to love it! We punched this 'eye' thing right in the...eye! Clive was good cop, I was bad cop. Interrogating people, you know? Demanding information! We were persistant!"
Clive cleared his throat. Gemma glanced at him in the midst of strangling an invisble neck.
"What? Oh, sorry."
As she settled back into her seat, Clive turned to Bernard and I.
"First, a quick review of what we already know," he said, "The eye of Araneae is an important part of, er, I'd guess you'd call it 'Dreycott mythology'. But it's especially important to the Patrol."
"Why again?" Bernard asked, scratching his ear.
"It's the Patrol's job to find it," I filled in automatically. Despite my worry, I couldn't help but be intrigued. "Supposedly the Patrol trapped Araneae beneath the school...all of her except her eye. It's still somewhere in the school and as long as it's missing there's a chance Araneae could escape. Or so the legend goes."
"It's bothered me for a long time," Clive said, "The origin of that story. Obviously, it's been highly exaggerated, but I couldn't help but think there might be something substantial at the center. Something concrete that the legend was built on top of."
"We asked around about the story," Gemma continued, "But most everyone we talked to didn't seem to know much about it."
"So I got to thinking," Clive said, "What if we were asking about the wrong thing?"
"What do you mean?" Bernard asked.
"The eye of Araneae seems like fairly esoteric patrol knowledge, but what if it was known by another name...?"
"So we asked around about the Dreycotts in connection to an eye and we finally got our answer," Gemma said, "From Mr. Porter, actually. He's sort of a Dreycott history buff. Anyway, get this. So the Dreycotts were super rich, right? Well, seems the source of some of their wealth was a gem."
Clive closed his eyes.
"The Oculus sapphire."
"Oculus...sapphire?"
I found I was genuinely engaged now. Something about the word sapphire nagged at me, but I didn't know why.
"Quite a famous gemstone, actually, or rather, infamous."
Bernard rolled his eyes.
"Let me guess, it's cursed."
"Not as far as I'm aware, but after doing so reading in the library we discovered it's supposedly one of the largest sapphires in the world. And, apparently, there was something peculiar about it...how it got its name...but I'm still looking into that."
"So, what happened to this sapphire?" I asked.
"It's documented history is long, but the Dreycotts were its last known owners," Clive said, reading his notes, "Supposedly, it disappeared several centuries ago and hasn't been seen since."
"You think the eye of Araneae is actually a sapphire?" I tugged at a strand of hair, "The Patrol think the eye is somewhere in the school…if that's true, then that would mean the Dreycott's misplaced a priceless sapphire in their own home. Doesn't seem likely. Or, perhaps, they hid it, themselves…hmm."
Clive ran a hand through his own tousled hair.
"It's a start, but not much more than that."
"Honestly, I really don't see how this connects to the Statue," Bernard said.
"On the contrary," Clive replied gravely, "Hyacinth said the eye would help to reveal everything. There's more to this sapphire, I just know it, but I think I've exhausted all of the school's resources. We'll need to look elsewhere for answers."
I suddenly snapped my fingers.
"The sapphire cycle!"
Gemma, Clive, and Bernard looked to me blankly.
"I knew there was something about sapphires. In the book about Dreycott in the special collection," I added hastily, "It talked about the sapphire cycle, remember? A series of puzzles used to test incoming pupils. And the puzzles in our hideout, they're a part of it."
"Hey, yeah!" Gemma said, "And you know that rod we found in the passage? I almost forgot about it, but it had a blue stone on the end!"
Gemma suddenly leapt up from her seat, her jaw nearly dropping to her knees.
"WHAT IF IT'S THE OCULUS SAPPHIRE!?"
The few other pupils in the room glanced our direction. Gemma sat down with a cheeky wave in their direction.
"I'm fairly sure it's fake," Bernard said, pulling from the box the other rod, "This one is, anyway."
Gemma snatched it from him.
"You stole it from my room!?"
"No, we found another one."
With Bernard filling in additional details, I went on to explain our own discoveries about Hyacinth's drowning, the Mr. Crimp mentioned in the clipping, Lily's advice, and ended by showing Gemma and Clive the box we'd found in the wardrobe.
When I'd finished, Clive studied the contents of the box for several long minutes, Gemma peering over his shoulder.
He finally picked up the deck of cards and turned it over.
"Hmm. Mind if I hold onto this?" he said.
"Er," I shrugged, "That's fine with me."
He pocketed the deck and then picked up the photograph, reading the back.
"'A'..." he finally said, looking up, "Abigail Rosen?"
"Exactly what I thought," I said, "If it is the Professor, it must be important somehow."
"Or 'A' could be for Amos," Gemma said, "You never know."
Bernard rolled his eyes.
"Yes, I'm sure Amos Crimp draws little curly-cues at the end of his 'L's."
"A person's handwriting can change over time, you know!"
Clive rubbed his brow.
"It's getting clearer. Hyacinth's death...the sapphire...Rosen...Mr. Crimp. We just need to figure out how it all fits together."
I glanced away, the enthusiasm that had overtaken me for a time suddenly draining. It was getting late, nearer to curfew.
"So, what's our next step?" Bernard said, after a pause.
"I think we ought to talk with Mr. Crimp," Gemma said, "What with that newspaper article and all. Maybe he knows something about this photograph, too."
Clive nodded.
"It's possible. We should try and talk to him before June 1st."
"What then?" Gemma said in a gloomy voice, "We've no idea when the Statue will appear."
Clive glanced around the room and I saw that the few other pupils were gathering their things.
"We'll discuss it more later," he said, slipping his notebook into his bag.
I felt a lurch in my stomach. It was time. Steady now. With a shaky breath, I forced myself to look up at the three of them.
"T-there's something else," I said, the words stiff and small, "Something I need to tell you."
"What?" Gemma said. She had already stood, but immediately sat back down, "What is it, Amelia?"
Clive and Bernard didn't say anything, waiting for me to continue. The tone of my voice had caught their complete attention. I opened my mouth to speak, even as my tongue dried to paper, and it was then that I felt the full weight of the week crash down upon me.
"I–I'm not coming back to Dreycott next year."
I stood, a sickening shot of dizziness tilting the room before my eyes. My next words spilled out in a numb rush.
"I'm not feeling very well. Maybe I'll go to bed. We can talk about it later."
Without waiting for a reply, I started out of the room at a brisk pace. I didn't know what I was doing, where I was going, but the room had gotten very hot and very bright all of a sudden and I needed somewhere quiet and cool and dark.
I could hear my friends calling my name now, trailing after me, but I ignored them, ducking into a staircase and letting it take me up and up and up–all the way to the fourth floor where I ran straight into Felix.