The Story So Far. . .
The gang speaks with the Statue's latest victim, Archie, who reveals a troubling development concerning when the Statue will strike next. Later that day, reporter Cathy Cromwell approaches Clive about spying on an important meeting between Professor Rosen and the mysterious Man in the Green Suit, scheduled to take place during the Midsummer Masquerade. As the group considers their options, Amelia receives a letter from her father. Because of her grandfather's recent medical expenses, the family can no longer afford for her to attend Dreycott. After an attempt to tell her friends the news, Amelia accidentally runs into Felix on the abandoned fourth floor. . .
Chapter Twenty-One
Surprise is a funny thing.
We never know what form it will take until it hits us. In fact, it can be quite different depending on the circumstances. The woman who wins an all-expenses paid trip to San Grio and the man who blunders into a murder in the middle of the night could both be considered surprised, although their reactions would be almost nothing alike.
Then there is that sort of surprise that is almost beyond the negative and positive. The sort of surprise that levels us to an utterly stunned stupefaction and causes us to react irrationally, in ways quite unlike our usual selves.
As I cleared the top step and crashed straight into Felix, he gave a high-pitched yip like a small dog whose paw had been crushed, reeling back as his ever-present gang piled up behind him. I, on the other hand, found an unexpected stream of words rising to my lips as I pushed myself away from him. The first was some sort of garbled curse I had undoubtedly picked up from Bernard. Thankfully, the rest was more intelligible.
"Felix!? You're–you're up here again!? I didn't know. I was just–I'm not sure what I was thinking, but I should–I'll go now. It's almost curfew."
I turned round only to find my way blocked by Felix's friends who had fanned out in front of the stairs.
"Ruth."
I whipped back to Felix, whose eyes, initially round, had narrowed in suspicion, "What do you think you're doing up here?" The sudden flash of his braces told me he had already recovered from his shock, "Looking for someone to tuck you in?"
"I–ah–"
My own surprise had faded and with it the spontaneous stream of chatter. It didn't help that the sound of my heart, still pumping madly from my climb up the stairs, was filling my whole head.
Felix took a step closer.
"Spit it out. Did Rosen send you up here?"
"No!" I blurted, willing my heart to settle as I drew in a shaky breath. I couldn't allow Felix to see I was scared. That would only egg him further. Instead, I tried keeping my next words cool and steady. "But I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing up here?"
Felix chuckled, folding his thick arms.
"We patrol up here. Or is that not obvious?"
His gang echoed his chuckle like cloned parrots. I still found it impossible to match the majority of their names to their faces, but they were all rather big and all rather good at twisting their features into whatever nasty expression their leader required of them. I did recognize Scissor Face #1 and #2 from previous encounters, as well as Eric, with his decidedly twiggy build.
"But your job is assisting Archie in the dorms."
I glanced over my shoulder, wondering if I could slip between two of the boys and make a dash down the stairs. I was small enough and fast enough when I wanted to be, but Felix's next words broke my concentration.
"But your job is assisting Archie in the dorms," he mimicked, "Yes, suppose Baldie needs someone to prop up his leg for him and sort through his fan mail. But let his girlfriend do that. I've got more important things to attend to."
Mass snickering. It was so irritating my next words popped out of their own accord.
"Like patrolling an empty floor?"
Felix wagged a finger at me.
"Look, pigtails, I'm only going to say this once. I know you and your friends have been spreading your greasy little prints over every inch of this school," His voice took on a mock falsetto as he daintily clasped his hands, "Trying to find clues to some fanciful little mystery that you can all solve together and be great chums. Adorable. But for some reason your little make-believe makes you think you've got the run of the place," Felix tsked, "And I really can't have that."
Despite the cliché ambiguity of his threat, something in his voice shot ice through my blood. Beneath the obnoxious jokes and disarming indifference, Felix was crafty, and beneath that...perhaps there was an even more wolfish side I hadn't been aware of. The Felix willing to act on his constant threats...
Felix gave me a pitying look.
"But I'm not an unreasonable bloke. So I'll give you one last chance to keep your mouth shut and stay where you belong. Like, say, in the back room with that old hag of a librarian."
The snickering grew louder. My face was burning now, my fists clenched, my jaw set, my feet useless as my tongue.
No...
I could see myself keeping silent while Vivian humiliated Gemma... trying to speak up for Bernard in the dining hall...thinking I could rescue Shelby from the Scissor twins. Why, why, why would the words never come when I needed them most?
"Aw, struck speechless. Makes sense. I am the new Head Boy, after all."
"Head Boy!?" I sputtered.
Felix's grin was so wicked I took a step back.
"Soon enough. And you know, the very first thing I'm going to do is–"
There came the sound of frantic footsteps thumping up the stairs and then Clive, Gemma, and Bernard tumbled into the hallway. They instantly froze, mouths agape, when they saw us.
"Well, well," Felix said, his grin stretching, "The orphan, the witch, and the walking textbook. All the misfits in one place."
"Amelia, are you alright?" Clive called, ignoring Felix. Gemma had her fists up, ready to knock someone's head off, but Bernard had latched onto her suspenders.
"Your little girlfriend and I were just having a chat," Felix said, before I could get a word in.
Clive took a step forward, fists curling.
"Get away from her."
With snippets of that day last October, the whole terrible confrontation between Felix and Clive, flashing through my mind, I shot a razor-sharp elbow into Felix's side and shoved past his gang, over to my friends. Gemma immediately clamped onto my arm, as if she thought I might be sucked down the hallway.
"Amelia! Thank goodness! When you disappeared we panicked, but then Trewinkle thought maybe you came up here for some reason and–and–" Her voice dropped to a hiss, "What are they doing up here!?"
Before I could answer, Felix snapped his fingers. Instantly his lackeys, like the well-trained sharks they were, started circling us, popping knuckles and sniggering, forcing us into a tight bunch.
"I know what you four've been up to," Felix said, "And I don't like it."
"And you think we don't know what you've been up to?" Clive shot back, "The real reason Rosen tossed you out?"
Felix's expression remained unchanged, but I saw a bit of color drain from his face.
"Oho. A good bluff, Dove. But not good enough."
"You think I'm bluffing?"
Felix snapped his fingers again and his friends obediently stopped, parting to let their leader through. He immediately grabbed Clive by his lapels and yanked him forward so that he was staring him straight down, breathing heavily onto his face.
"So. How do you like it, Dove? Now tell me. Tell me what I'm hiding."
Clive smirked even as he twisted his head to avoid being blasted by Felix's breath.
"I'm not revealing my ace in the hole just yet. Not until the time is right."
I saw a vein begin to throb in Felix's forehead. Then it smoothed, as he shrugged carelessly. He suddenly let go of Clive, who stumbled backwards onto the floor.
Bernard, Gemma, and I quickly stepped in front of him.
"You!" Gemma said, raising her fists once again, "You're nothing but a–a modernMinotaur,you brute! Worse! You're King Minos, you fiend!"
"Don't think I'll ever forget what you did, Dove," Felix said, with little more than a glance at Gemma, "And now you think you have to stick your nose in my business too, slimy little weasel. I guess that only gives me double the reason to teach you a lesson. And I swear I will. But not until the time is right. Then everyone in this school will see what you really are."
Felix winked at me as he turned.
"October 19th," he mouthed, "Remember, Ruth."
He started towards the stairs, his friends at his heels, already cracking some joke which left them all in fits.
I turned back to Clive as their laughter faded down the steps, putting a hand on his shoulder as I knelt beside him.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine," he said, fixing his blazer.
"Were you really bluffing?" Gemma asked.
Clive nodded, as I helped him to his feet.
"Sorry about that," he said.
"It's not your fault," I replied, "It's mine. It was stupid of me to run off like that. But how did you know I was up here?"
Bernard held up a yellow piece of paper.
"This was on the stairs. It must have fallen from your bag. Good thing, too."
"Ergh!" Gemma launched a kick at the nearby wall, "I hate that boy so much! Calling me a witch and you an orphan. And you a walking textbook, Trewinkle! I mean that one's kind of true, but it was still mean... I'd like to rip a chunk of his cheese hair right out of his head, you know?"
"Let's worry about Felix later," Clive said, casting a concerned look at me.
"Oh!" Gemma's brow creased, as she suddenly remembered, "Amelia! Are you–are you really not coming back next year!?"
"Gemma," Clive chided gently.
"Er, uh, I'm sorry, Amelia. But–I just can't believe it."
"My family can't really afford it," I said, gazing at the floor, "It was lucky I got to attend at all. Cathy was right. I'm not Dreycott material."
"But I'm–I'm sure we can solve all the mysteries before term ends!" Gemma cried.
"Really, Mudget," Bernard replied, but there was no fire to his tone.
"Amelia."
I finally looked up, at Clive, who was fidgeting with his tie. "Listen. There is a way you could come back. I could talk with my mother. I know she would–"
"Clive,"
I blinked, suddenly realizing what he was trying to get at. My face started to grow hot. "I–I could never accept that. Thank you, but I just couldn't."
My voice had grown cold of its own accord. The idea of him paying my way through school filled me with a startling shame I didn't quite understand.
"I thought you might say that," Clive said. He sighed. "But...you would come back if you could, wouldn't you?"
"Of–of course."
"Then there has to be another way!" Gemma cried.
"Maybe there is," Bernard said quietly.
We all turned to him.
"That paper I gave you," he continued, "Isn't that the flyer for the chess tournament?"
"The chess tournament?"
I automatically unfolded the paper in question, the one that Madge had given me in the infirmary the other day.
"What about it...oh!"
I read through it again.
"They're offering a scholarship for the winner."
I looked back up at the three of them.
"You don't mean–"
"You could do it, Amelia!" Gemma said, suddenly beaming, "I know you could win!"
"Just a suggestion," Bernard shrugged, "I mean, of course it's a long shot, but you are the best chess player here and this way it won't seem like you're accepting charity."
"I don't know," I said.
The chess tournament...I had never seriously considered entering it. The idea made me dizzy. I read through the flyer again and for some reason I felt a shot of relief.
"No," I shook my head, "It won't work. The tournament is a week after Dreycott lets out for the summer. I'll be home by then."
"Couldn't you stay in London just one more week?" Gemma said, hands clasped beneath her chin.
"Where?" I said, "I'm sure they wouldn't let me stay here."
"You can stay with me for the week," Clive said suddenly, "All three of you could. That way we could investigate some leads outside of school, as well."
"Stay with you?"
"If you won't let me help you directly, then let me help you this way," he replied, "It's your choice of course, but Bernard's right. You're a brilliant player and I think you'd have a chance. A good one."
"Really?"
My initial dizziness had given way to serious contemplation. What if I did enter...? If I lost, then I wouldn't be any worse off than I was now. I'd even get to spend one more week with my friends. But if I won...the scholarship was more than enough to cover tuition at Dreycott, at least for another year.
I looked up, feeling very calm all of sudden.
"I'll think about it."
I had said the same to Madge the other day, but this time I really meant it. I would turn the idea over and over, perhaps a few times more than necessary, until I knew for certain it was what I wanted to do.
"Yes!" Gemma said, slapping me on the back, "I hope you'll say yes! I'll see my mum this weekend, so I'll ask her then. What about you, Trewinkle?"
"If you three are in agreement, I don't see I have much choice."
"It's past curfew," Clive said, "We'd better head down. We'll talk more about it when Amelia has a chance to think it over."
None of us argued. It had been an exhausting evening. Perhaps that explained why I slept so well that night, despite everything I had on my mind. Instead of worrying, I simply allowed myself a sleepy gratitude for Clive, Gemma, and Bernard and how well the night had ended, despite the threat of Felix casting an ever-lengthening shadow.
The next day, after classes, I headed to the library in much higher spirits. This was in part because of how rested I felt and in part because helping Ms. Giltwing in the back always cheered me up.
Today, however, the back room was looking a bit crowded. Besides Ms. Giltwing, Vern and Tory, the two other patrollers who assisted in the library, were sorting through the remaining stacks of boxes.
"Amelia!" Ms. Giltwing said when she saw me, "Just in time. I've called in the calvary. If we all go full steam for a few hours, we'll have the place empty as a mausoleum."
I wasted no time starting in on the nearest box, sorting the salvageable books from the those that needed scrapped with practiced ease now. I estimated there was about twelve boxes left. Tory and Vern helping would shorten the time, but it still was quite a lot to get done in a single afternoon. No time for chitchat. I let my hands and my eyes take over, checking bindings, examining water stains, flipping through pages. All the while I kept my mind busy, finally allowing it to fully mull over the chess tournament.
As much as I loved the game, I'd never had a desire to enter any sort of competition before. Alright, perhaps that wasn't entirely true. I suppose there had always been a bit of curiosity in the back of my brain, a part of me that wondered just how good I really was and how I would fare against others my age just as dedicated to the game.
But tournaments meant clocks and crowds, pressure and penalties. I wasn't sure how I would fare in a situation like that. If I didn't enter the tournament, though, I would have to admit defeat and leave Dreycott for sure or else take Clive up on his offer. I didn't wish to do either. Boiling the three options down, the tournament was the most risky, but also the one that promised to have the best outcome...if I could win.
Could I win?
Granddad always told me to be realistic with my own talents. Don't undersell or oversell, he would say. Examine yourself without bias. I knew I was good at the game, but was I tournament worthy?
My line of questioning was interrupted by Tory and Vern, whose conversation had turned to a subject that was becoming increasingly popular at Dreycott as of late: the Midsummer Masquerade. It seemed since Cathy had approached Clive with her deal, the whole of the school had turned its attention to fretting over the upcoming ball: who they were going with, what they would wear, daydreaming of next summer when they'd finally be old enough to attend...It all made me question why schools held balls in the first place, if they only served to further distract pupils from their schoolwork, while also increasing gossip and drama by the hundred-fold.
"That's right. I asked Ursula yesterday," Vern was saying. He was Dreycott's resident snappy dresser. A bit vain, but both he and Tory sided with Vivian in the ongoing patroller feud, which I was glad of.
"Well? Did she say yes?" Tory prodded. She was the same age as Clive, but already head of the debate club.
Vern smoothed back his hair with a cocky smile.
"Naturally."
Tory turned to me all of a sudden.
"Who are you going with, Amelia?" she asked.
"Oh!" I hadn't expected to be drawn into the conversation, "Well... I'm not old enough," I said, after thinking for a second.
"True, but all patrollers get to attend, you know," Vern said, setting down a stack of books and dusting off his hands, "Even JPs." He winked, "Just another perk."
"Really?"
Interesting. If Clive did decide to do some spying on Professor Rosen during the masquerade, then I'd be able to help him from the inside. But what about Gemma and Bernard? They weren't old enough either. We'd all have to discuss this...
"So has anyone asked you?" Tory repeated.
"I don't know," I said absent-mindedly, still thinking about Cathy's deal and how we could possibly pull it off.
"Alright, chickadees," Ms. Giltwing said, turning to the three of us, her thin arms straining under the weight of an enormous box, "Enough time to dream of dancing and dress-up later. I might–" The box nearly toppled out of her arms, "Need some assistance with this."
Tory dashed over and helped her set down the box. She sighed, placing a hand on her hip.
"We've got five boxes left, you three. Let's try and finish before supper, shall we?"
Ms. Giltwing was all business right now. It was really no wonder. She had been working on the back room for so long and now to almost be done with the project...
We returned our full attention to the remaining boxes, the three of us each taking one, while Ms. Giltwing tackled the remaining two.
I was making good progress on mine until I was nearly half-way. That's when I picked up a book with a piece of folded paper sticking out of the top, like a makeshift bookmark.
My heart quickened.
Could it be another letter?
I pulled the paper loose and unfolded it. It was not a letter. In fact, I wasn't quite sure what it was. There were words, phrases, numbers, and symbols scribbled over every centimeter, many crossed out or peppered with question marks, as if someone had been attempting to crack a code...My eyes were drawn to one line that had been circled so many times the ink had cut deep into the paper.
Laboratory. Alt. entrance. Thru Devil's Labyrinth=sapphire cycle?
Was it important? I couldn't be sure, but when no one was looking, I slipped the paper in my bag. I would show it to Ms. Giltwing after Tory and Vern had left.
Returning to the rest of the books in the box, we each worked steadily until a quarter to five. When the three of us had finished our own boxes, we helped Ms. Giltwing with the last one, tossing most of the books, which were wet and moldy, into the rubbish bin, until at last Tory unceremoniously chucked the last one from across the room.
"Not terribly climactic, but we're finally finished. After all this time," Ms. Giltwing said, stacking the box we had just emptied with the rest, "A job very well done. Thank goodness for all of you. That's a weight off my mind."
Vern and Tory wasted no time saying their goodbyes and heading out for supper.
"What now?" I said when they were gone, picking up my bag.
Ms. Giltwing chuckled.
"You worry about that when summer is over. For now, I'll work on cataloguing and shelving the rest of the books we've managed to save. Quite a few more than I was expecting. And a very early edition of Dostoyevsky's Brothers Karamazov in nearly mint condition. Did you see? Vern found it. A real treasure."
Ms. Giltwing was practically breathless, clutching her chest as she picked up the book in question.
"Speaking of finding things," I pulled out the piece of paper, "I found this."
Ms. Giltwing scanned the paper quickly.
"Hmm. Another intriguing discovery," she nodded, "You know, there's something peculiar about looking at a person's paper scraps. Like gaining a glimpse into the messiness of the mind. Or perhaps 'madness' is a better word, hm-hm."
She handed the paper back to me.
"Hmm... Oh, that reminds me. I've been wanting to ask you...for awhile, now, actually..."
Ms. Giltwing cocked her head, hoop earrings catching the light.
"Yes?"
"If you knew anything about the death of Hyacinth Dreycott."
"Hyacinth...Dreycott?"
She pursed her lips, thinking.
"You know, the person you should really ask about that is Mr. Crimp," she finally said, "His father worked at the school and his father's father. Maybe even his great-grandfather. I'm sure he's collected all their stories."
I sighed. Every trail seemed to lead back to Amos Crimp, who was never very willing to give straight answers.
"Thank you. I'll see if I can track him down," I shouldered my bag, "So I can keep the paper?"
Ms. Giltwing smiled.
"As long as you like, but I hope I find you at the ball June 28th instead of stuck puzzling over some cryptic scrap."
She winked at me.
With a good-natured shrug that saved me from having to give a definitive answer, I waved and headed out of the room, then across the sunlit library, headed for the dining hall.
The patrol table was in rather dismal shape when I finally got my tray and sat down. Ursula, usually the first one to initiate and keep civil conversations flowing, was staring silently at her ham.
"Oh. Hi, Amelia," she said, not even bothering with the perky nickname she'd given me.
"Er, everything alright?" I asked.
"Sorry to seem so down, but it's Juliet. She still won't talk to me. She's shut herself up in her room," Ursula fumbled with one of her tight curls, "I think she was really scared by what happened. But how is she supposed to get better if she won't even talk with her best friend?"
"Hmm."
I really didn't feel the most qualified to give advice. If people wanted to be left alone, I was usually the first to do so. But if that someone were a close friend of mine, perhaps it would be different...I thought back to when Gemma had run off, when the rumors had finally gotten to her after she'd seen that dark hatch under the cellar. Clive, Bernard, and I had all gone after her, which had turned out to be the right thing to do in the end.
"You should keep trying," I finally said, "I'm sure she appreciates how concerned you are."
"Maybe," Ursula replied gloomily, "But it's almost the masquerade, her favorite time of year, and she doesn't even want to talk about that."
"Did someone say masquerade?" Stewart piped up in his usual fretful voice, "I've still not found anyone to go with. Any of you girls looking for a date?"
The clatter of cutlery was deafening.
"Guess not," Stewart muttered darkly, suddenly very interested in his potato.
"Everyone needs to be on their best behavior for the ball," Vivian spoke up, as if she were our collective mother, "We're the cream of the crop at Dreycott and we've got to make the right impression. The Professor is counting on us."
Her eyes darted towards Felix, probably suspecting he'd make some crude comment. But he and his gang had been very quiet this evening, only speaking to one another in low voices. It was almost worse than their usual loud joking.
"Hmph."
Apparently, Vivian didn't think so. She returned to her supper, looking quite satisfied.
I ate quickly and quietly, as I usually did, before scanning the room for my friends. Clive and Bernard were just finishing up, so I waited for them out in the hallway.
"Where's Gemma?" I asked, when they finally stepped from the dining hall.
"Right here!"
I jumped at the voice. Gemma had suddenly appeared at my side.
"Where did you get off to?" Bernard asked, as the four of us started down the hallway.
Gemma smiled.
"Drama practice."
"You're already working on next year's play?" Clive wondered.
"No, but we're doing something special for the masquerade. A bit of an acting recital. Scenes from A Midsummer Night's Dream. Get it? Midsummer masquerade? Midsummer Night's Dream?"
Bernard groaned and I snickered.
"But anyway. There's good news and bad news. Since I'm performing at the masquerade, I'm able to attend! It's the hand of fate, I tell you. Bad news is I'll be up on stage for part of the night. I'm Helena, you know."
Gemma seemed quite proud of this last bit, though I wasn't sure what being 'Helena' entailed and from the looks of it neither did Bernard or Clive.
"Why is that bad news?" I asked, "If it's a role you want?"
"I mean, it is good news, in a sense. But I won't be much help to Clive when I'm on stage," Gemma turned to him, "Have you decided about spying on Professor Rosen?" Her expression turned serious, "If so, I'm with you."
"Thank you," Clive said, "I've given it some thought and I think I will take Cathy up on her offer. I think the more we know about the Professor, the better. The same goes for Mr. Harrier."
He glanced at me.
"Of course, it's not something I plan to make a habit of."
"Of course," I said quietly. I had already made up my own mind to help him, even if I still had lingering doubts. I pressed on, "I can attend, too. I guess Rosen likes to show off the Patrol or something."
"Excellent!"
Gemma draped an arm around me and Clive.
"The Notebook Gang returns in style!This is going to be amazing. The best night of my life, probably. Don't even worry about getting tickets. I'll handle everything!"
She turned toward Bernard with a frown. "Aw, but what about Trewinkle? Maybe they'll let you attend as one of our dates. Who would you rather go with, me or Amelia?"
"Neither," Bernard said, shoving his hands in his pockets, "I'm not going."
Gemma disentangled herself from between the two of us.
"But you're the one who said Clive should go through with it."
"Exactly. I said Clive should go through with it. Not me. I have no desire to be tossed into some gaudy carousel of rampant hormones. I'm quite above it, actually."
Clive frowned.
"Well, don't think I'm very happy about it, either. I would never go, otherwise."
"Me neither," I added, "I've never been one for parties. But I'll go through with it if it'll help shed light on the Statue."
Gemma glared at the three of us, looking highly offended.
"I swear, you three..." she pushed up her glasses, "I know you'd all rather shut yourselves up in your rooms, but what's the point of living if you don't actually step outside once in awhile and do something crazy?" She winked, "If nothing else, it will make you appreciate your rooms all the more."
"You really should consider stitching these platitudes of yours onto pillows," Bernard grumbled.
"Snark all you like, but I'm going to enjoy myself at the masquerade. You should too. I mean, we've yet to do anything really fun together. And..." Gemma's bright expression faded, "What if we never get to?"
"Alright, Gemma," Clive said, his own expression softening, "I promise I'll try and enjoy myself a bit, but just for your sake."
Gemma grinned.
"We haven't got any costumes, though," I said.
Gemma waved a hand.
"Oh, don't worry about that. The green room's got loads of costumes. I'm sure Miss Bijou wouldn't mind me borrowing a few. Just give me your sizes and–" Gemma stopped in the middle of the hallway, "You know, she's probably still working back there. If I catch her now...yes!" She ran off back the way we came, yelling over her shoulder as she swiped at her eyes, "I'll be back! But this is going to be so fantastic, guys! You'll see!"
"Er..." I turned to Clive with a slightly bemused expression as soon as she had rounded a corner, "Was she crying?"
"Tears of joy, I suppose?"
"I'm still not going," Bernard said, "Unless you want to kill me and drag my corpse behind you."
"Hmm," Clive clasped his chin, "Maybe there's a way you can still help, without actually attending."
Bernard shrugged.
"I'll help if you need me. But I'd rather ingest a bottle of–"
"Alright, we understand," Clive said, "I'll think of something. Now, where are we headed? The library?"
"Yes," I said, "We're going to the library. And you're going to sit down and play a match with me. I've some practicing to do, after all."
Clive blinked at me.
"So, then you're really...?"
I nodded.
"I'm going to speak to Mr. Grambler about it tomorrow."
"I'm glad you've decided to do it," he said, breaking into a grin, "You'll give them a run for their money."
I shot him a mock withering look, hoping he wouldn't notice how pink it was.
"Just because I can give you a run for your money, doesn't mean others will be so easy."
"Hmph. Just so you know, I've been doing a bit of reading on chess theory. I'll be much more prepared this time."
I gave him a condescending smile.
"Theory is well and all, but when you get down to it, it's experience that really counts."
"Which is exactly why I think you'll win. After all, haven't you been playing since you were six?"
Sneaky little...I'd fallen right into his trap.
I decided to change the subject, trying to ignore his smug look of triumph.
"Er, so it's alright, then, if we stay with you for that week? It's not an intrusion?"
Clive sobered up.
"Of course not. We've more than enough room. I was going to write to my mother about it, but then I remembered she'll be at the masquerade, so I'll ask her then. I'm sure she'll say yes."
"Not to butt into this conversation," Bernard piped up irritably, "But before we get too ahead of ourselves, there's still June 1st to consider. Shouldn't we be trying to figure out whether or not the Statue's going to appear then?"
"I've been thinking," Clive said, "Last term, the Statue appeared during opening night of the play. What if it appears at the masquerade this time, instead of June 1st?"
"It's certainly possible," I replied, feeling a hint of that now familiar dread begin to creep over me yet again, "I guess it's all the more reason we should attend."
"You've no proof, though." Bernard said.
"No. Only a hunch. Not that there's much we can do at this point, anyway," Clive glanced at me and I caught a shadow of weariness, "I think our rotunda-watching days are over." He quickly shifted subjects, "I do still want to talk with Mr. Crimp, but..."
"Still no sign of him?"
"No."
"Of course. When we finally want to talk with him, he disappears."
"Maybe if we held a can of spray paint near the fountain he might pop out to defend it...?"
As we entered the library, Clive and I made for the chess set while Bernard stalked off to a dark reading corner, grumbling something about a "third wheel" under his breath.
For all our speculation, in the end, the Statue never did appear June 1st and Mr. Crimp remained elusive. The few weeks until the masquerade passed in a blur of long days in class and late nights of studying as final exams loomed on the horizon. I kept myself busy practicing for the tournament, as well, in club and out, roping Clive, Bernard, and even Gemma into a game in the library when I could.
The only time I took a chance to pause was when a letter from my grandad showed up in the post. True to his word, the first letter he sent to me when he was released from hospital was nearly ten pages long. Of course, I told him about the chess tournament and asked my parents for permission. I assumed they would be a bit hesitant, but knew if anyone could convince them, granddad could. And it seemed I was right, for my mother wrote me saying that it was alright for me to stay in London another week. She said the three of them wished very much they could come and see me at the tournament, but I knew it wasn't possible. It made me a bit sad, nonetheless. Having my granddad there would have been a comfort that nothing else could substitute.
Despite how busy I kept myself with studying and chess, I couldn't help but notice the school taking on a more festive air as a small heat wave rolled through, cracking windows in the school that hadn't been open for decades, and serious preparations for the masquerade began. I enjoyed watching them unfold whenever I was outside, as that was where the ball was to be held.
First, a large swath of the lawn was cordoned off with official-looking signs that warned pupils to stay back, like an enormous crime scene. Next, round tables and folding chairs were brought in and a temporary stage was constructed, as well as several tents. While out walking, I began to notice that the grass was uniformly trim, while the shrubs and trees were neatly clipped instead of shaggy. The old pergola, little more than a ramshackle collection of brick pillars and crossbeams, was suddenly swathed in fresh roses, climbing vines, and strands of lights. Fresh gravel was laid down on the paths. Benches were given new coats of paint, statuary, including the fountain, was scoured (though some were so old and crumbling it hardly made a difference).
I wasn't the only one who noticed these changes. The whole school paid attention and kept an ever closer eye on the lawn, discussing every minute addition to the work area with great gusto. Pupils paired off and hinted at costumes they would wear and even teachers joined in by telling very unwanted stories about the balls they had attended as youths.
The day of the masquerade, itself, was a flurry of activity. Caterers, musicians, school staff, patrollers and regular pupils volunteering their time, all could be glimpsed working around the site, setting up paper lanterns, banners, table cloths, and candles, preparing food, tuning instruments. Even Professor Xander and Miss Bijou were at it with the drama department, painting set pieces and hauling out costumes and props. It was easy to see that the masquerade was considered the capstone of the year, the grand finale that harkened back to the school's golden past.
It was a good thing it was a Saturday, otherwise I was sure no one would have paid a lick of attention in class. Even those who weren't planning on attending were in high spirits.
In fact, even I found the mood infectious, though, naturally, it was a bit tapered by the real reason I was attending the masquerade. Gemma, on the other hand, was completely taken in by the atmosphere. She knocked on my door an hour before the ball was supposed to start.
I almost didn't recognize her. She was wearing a Greek peplos (I only knew the name because of Gemma, naturally), long, flowing, and lavender. Her hair was similarly piled up on her head in some sort of Grecian style. Instead of glasses, she wore a butterfly-shaped mask. The toothbrush that she was furiously scrubbing her teeth with, however, ruined the effect.
"Oo' shtill na' weady!?" she gasped through a mouthful of toothpaste suds, her eyes bulging.
"It doesn't start for an hour," I said, blinking at her in shock.
"Geh dwessed, 'en 'o hep 'oo wi 'or makeup 'r shum'tin."
With a wave, she shut the door in my face.
"...Makeup?" I said aloud. I'd never worn makeup before. Not that I had anything much against it. I just didn't care.
I sighed as I pulled from under my bed the large white box that contained my costume. Gemma had been so excited when she'd given it to me several weeks ago.
"It'll suit you perfectly! I searched through hundreds of dresses before I found the right one!"
I'm sure she had been exaggerating a bit, but it had been a thoughtful gesture on her part, so I had peeked in the box and said a polite thank you, even though I had been less than excited by the idea of going around in some silly, flouncy get-up.
Bother this masquerade...
For some reason, Gemma's excitement had soured my own. Opening the box, I pulled out what I assumed was a ball gown, ivory in color. I prayed it wasn't actually a wedding dress, but at least it didn't look too terribly many-layered skirt was floor-length and the sleeves were lace. Gemma had even included accessories in the box: a pair of heels and a mask that matched the sleeves.
I put everything on as best as I could, save for the heels, which seemed too grown-up for me and would have been murder to walk around in. The dress covered my feet anyway, so I just decided to wear my favorite boots, worn as they were. A small comfort in an outfit that otherwise made me feel rather uncomfortable...
It did fit well, though. I did an experimental twirl in front of the mirror attached to the back of my door, then immediately stopped myself. The poofy skirt made it look like I was trapped in a cloud.
There was another knock at my door.
"Come in," I said, still gazing skeptically into the mirror.
Gemma peeked in and her expression immediately brightened (not that it wasn't already putting 1,000 watt bulbs to shame). She bustled into the room, her hands pressed together as she circled me.
"Aww! Amelia, it looks so lovely on you! I knew it would!" She hurried around me to fix the ribbon tied in the back. "Do you like it?"
"I suppose," I said, not wanting to hurt her feelings.
Gemma stood, hand to her chin, still examining me with a slight frown.
"Hmm."
"What is it?"
"It's just your hair..."
"My hair?"
I fingered one of my plaits. "I don't know how to do anything else with it."
"That's okay. I can help with that!"
Gemma patted my bed.
"Sit down and I'll be right back!"
She dashed from the room and returned shortly with a handful of all manner of hair supplies: brushes, combs, ties, pins, and a large canister of hair spray which she shook furiously.
Untying my ribbons, she began to brush out my hair, like I did every night before I went to bed.
"You sure you know what you're doing?" I said weakly, wincing as she tugged out a knot.
"Don't worry. I do my sister's hair all the time. And that's while she's screaming and trying to kill me. So this should be cake."
I felt a touch of loneliness.
"My mum used to do my hair..." I straightened, "But, er, then I learnt to do it myself. But only how to braid it."
"I won't let my mum touch my hair anymore. She has hands like steel lobster claws. And she uses this industrial grade brush? Not a pleasant experience."
I chuckled, the feeling already fading, as Gemma continued, "Jewel only hates me doing it slightly less. But only slightly. Seriously, she turns into a little banshee."
She pulled back my hair and began twisting it.
"She seemed really quiet at the play," I remarked.
"Only when she's around strangers. You're lucky you don't have a sister, especially one you have to share a room with."
I frowned, my eyes dropping to my feet.
"I think you're the lucky one," I said quietly.
"Hmm? Well, I don't know about lucky. But I guess we've had some good times pranking the boys."
Gemma continued tugging and twisting, inserting pins here and there. She was quiet for several minutes, and I could tell she was concentrating fiercely, but after awhile she went on.
"One time we mixed paint water and pretended it was pink lemonade. Only dad got to it first. Right when he came home from work and was super thirsty? He took a huge swig and then sprayed it out all over mum. The look on her face."
Gemma snorted, then ripped the cap off the hairspray, dousing me in a cough-inducing cloud.
"Whoops, little too much," She tilted her head, "Not perfect, but it suits you."
I got up from the bed and went to look in the mirror. Gemma had somehow wrestled my hair up into a complicated bun. It was a little lopsided, but she'd even braided small strands that wound themselves into the bun's center.
"Do you like it?" She suddenly sounded a bit shy.
I smiled, glad I could be completely honest for once.
"I do. Thank you."
Gemma grinned.
"You're just being nice!"
She leapt up from the bed.
"But enough messing around with hair and rubbish. We should get down there!"
I grabbed my school bag before Gemma pulled me through the door. It didn't match with my dress at all, but there were a few items pertaining to our investigation that I liked to keep with me.
The girls' dormitory hallway was already empty as we hurried towards the steps. We were supposed to meet Clive and Bernard at the bottom. Naturally, the boys were already waiting for us.
Bernard was dressed casually enough in a dark turtle-neck and trousers. He had a pair of heavy-looking binoculars hanging from his neck. Clive, on the other hand, was wearing a dinner jacket and a black mask that made him look like some sort of roof-top skimming thief. I could see he had tried to comb his hair neatly, but it still stuck up in a few places, refusing to be completely tamed. Despite this, I couldn't help but think he looked just a bit taller. A little more grown-up. It gave me a funny feeling, like I was meeting him for the first time all over again.
"You look dashing," Gemma said, rushing up to straighten his already symmetrical bow-tie. She was obviously pleased with herself. Bernard rolled his eyes.
"You look very nice yourself," Clive said, then added somewhat jokingly, "I am grateful you didn't choose anything too flashy for me. For the sake of our plan and my own."
Gemma finally stepped out of the way and Clive caught sight of me.
"It's my costume," I blurted, as if by way of explanation. "It's sort of itchy."
Sort of itchy? I wanted to slap myself. The one time I managed to say something spontaneous...
"It looks lovely," Clive said, then added hastily, "I mean you, not just it, of course. It looks lovely because you're wearing it."
"Er, yes, same to you."
I noticed that Gemma was biting her lip very hard. Clive cleared his throat as he tugged at his collar. "Let's review the plan, shall we?"
We gathered in a small huddle.
"So, Bernard's going to keep watch in one of the trees at the edge of the masquerade," Clive said
"For suspicious activity," Bernard said, "Especially the Statue."
"Right."
"I'll be busy on stage for a bit," Gemma continued, "But after that, I'll be waiting, just in case Bernard gives me the signal. If he does, I'll see what the trouble is and then give you two the signal!"
"I'll be on the lookout for the Professor," I continued, "And I'll tail her when I find her."
"And I'll be doing the same for John Harrier," Clive finished.
"Okay, wonderful. We all know our parts, let's go!"
Gemma herded us all the way to the exit. Outside, we rounded the school, the night warm and clear and faintly star-studded, as if Professor Rosen had managed to pay extra for fine weather. Wafts of music, a lively waltz, drifted our way, increasing Gemma's speed ten-fold.
We turned a corner and there it was before us, lights and color and over a hundred or more guests mingling under the trees. It was like a living painting, a swirl of bright costumes and flowers. A small orchestra played on stage, their instruments winking under the lanterns and candles. I had never been to any sort of formal event before, but I had to admit there was something a bit enchanting about it all.
Then I was brought down to earth by a long:
"But duu-uude, we were promised a gig tonight!"
We had entered the back of a line snaking into the pergola which was now green and gold and heady with the scent of roses. The masquerade's entrance, staffed by a man with a familiar blond quiff and name-brand vest.
"Sorry, Mister, er, Thunder, was it? This is a ball, not some hooligan's concert. Maybe next year, eh?"
I watched as four figures in leather jackets and combat boots stalked off. I caught the eye of the last one lugging a cello case, Darcy, and she rolled her eyes at her band members.
"This is where I take my leave," Bernard said.
Clive slapped him on the shoulder.
"Stay sharp."
With a nod, Bernard disappeared into the shadows that lingered at the edges of the pergola, heading for a stand of trees.
"Ahem,"
I snapped back to the line. We had reached the man, who frowned at us as Gemma handed him our tickets. I saw, then, that he was wearing a nametag that read "Jeremy".
"You're not the vicious pranksters, are you?" Jeremy said, with a suspicious glare from down his nose, "The ones that nearly got me killed with that thing. You know? When the doors nearly crushed me?"
"No, sir," Gemma said, "Well, I don't mind a good prank every one in a while, but these two–" she jabbed a thumb at me and Clive, "Are sticks in the mud. They'll keep me out of trouble."
"I see," Jeremy glanced at a clipboard, "Proceed."
As we made to pass, however, his eyes narrowed and he held up a hand.
"Wait a moment."
The three of us froze, glancing at each other.
"You're the two junior detectives, aren't you?" he said, breaking into a grin, "From the play? Thought I recognized you!"
"You two are calling yourselves detectives?" Gemma said, "Way to leave me out of the loop!"
"So, how about it?" Jeremy asked, winking as if he was just playing along, "Any fascinating new leads?"
"Why? Reached a dead end, have you?" Clive replied.
"As a matter of fact I–" Jeremy cut himself off, blinking "Have no idea what you're talking about. Proceed!"
"Wait–" Clive said, but the man had already turned to the next pair. I was about to ask him what that little exchange had been all about when Gemma grabbed our hands.
"C'mon!"
She pulled us through the pergola and we emerged in the center of activity. Costumed masquerade-goers, in a vertiginous rainbow of colors and an even wider array of masks, feathered hats, jewelry, and capes, surrounded us. An open area near the stage, surrounded by flower beds dripping with blooms, had been reserved for dancing, while opposite the white-clothed tables had been arranged around a four-tiered cake and crystal bowl of punch. Two harried waiters who had been hired just for the occasion hustled about carrying trays laden with microscopic hors d'oeuvres. Gemma's gaze turned toward one of the tents near the stage where a number of young actors were darting in and out.
"Okay, got to go. I'll see you two after all this is over. And then we can relax and enjoy the night while it's young. Eee, I've always wanted to say that!"
She lifted her skirts and dashed off.
"Alright," Clive said, "First thing we–"
"Amelia!"
Through the crowds, I caught a glimpse of Ursula, dragging Vern behind her. She wasn't too hard to spot, seeing as her dress was yellow and bright as a sunburst. Her smile told me she had returned to her former perky self entirely.
"Ursula, how are you?"
"Amy!" she stopped short of me, breathless, "I thought about what you said and I talked to Juliet again. And guess what, she decided she's going to come after all! She sounded excited and she's even bringing, like, a mystery date!"
"Glad to hear it," I said, offering her a smile.
"So, who's your date, then?" Ursula asked.
"Well, I'm not really..."
My voice trailed off as I realized Clive was nowhere in sight.
"That's funny. Er, I'm just here with my friends," I added quickly, "We're looking for Professor Rosen."
"I don't think she's here yet," Ursula said.
"Is she usually late?"
"It's not that. She always give a little tour of the school. You know, for any VIPs interested. But she shouldn't be too long."
A new waltz began and Ursula's eyes widened as she grabbed Vern's hand.
"Guess we're going to da-aaaaaaahhh!" I watched as poor Vern's arm was nearly wrenched from his socket as he was dragged away.
I folded my arms and looked about, wondering where in the world Clive had gone off to. I could go and look for him, but with this large a crowd I decided it would be better to stay in one place and let him find me. In the meantime, I busied myself trying to recognize everyone beneath their masks. The girl in the silky blue gown and the boy with crutches were obviously Vivian and Archie. Neither looked very happy. There was Stewart wearing an oversized bow tie, downing punch while he swayed to the music next to Kate, who was snapping pictures of people eating. And Lily dressed as a black cat, ignoring everyone as she heaped a plate full of scraps, probably for her little tree-climbing friend.
A few minutes later, I caught sight of Clive through the crowd, heading my way. Something about him seemed different, as if a bit of Ursula's perk had drifted over to him.
"There you are," I said, "Where did you get off to?"
"Sorry," he said, "That was rude of me. But when I saw Ursula I thought I could slip off for a moment and find my mother. She never usually stays at these events too long, anymore."
"Oh?"
"She says you're more than welcome to stay for the week and, er, she told me to tell you she has an original Staunton chess set you can practice with?"
My eyes widened.
"An original?"
"Yes, apparently it used to belong to someone named...Adolf Anderssen?"
I thought I might faint.
"You know him?" Clive asked, cocking his head with a frown.
"Of course! Well, not personally, but he won the Immortal Game."
Clive still looked confused, but I stopped myself from launching into a description of one of the greatest chess games of all time.
"Er, I'll tell you about it some other time. We should be on the lookout."
"Right."
"According to Ursula, Rosen's giving a tour of the school right now. But she should be here soon with some of her VIP guests."
"Hm. I wonder if Mr. Harrier is on that tour? We'll just have to keep our eyes open."
Turning to face the pergola, we stood for what felt like hours, watching as guests continued to drift in and circle around us, chatting, laughing, twirling, touching. It seemed we were the only ones who were standing still.
I thought of Bernard all alone in his dark tree with his binoculars and comfy-looking turtleneck. I wished, then, I could've swapped places with him.
Clive glanced at me.
"Are you thirsty?" he suddenly said, "Er, I could get you some punch?"
"No, I'm not thirsty, thanks."
"Do you want to sit down?"
"No," I folded my arms, "I'm fine."
"Oh. Alright, then."
The last remaining guests finally trickled through the pergola. At the far end, Jeremy had settled down on a stool to enjoy a cup of tea, apparently not expecting anyone else for awhile.
"Are you thirsty?" I said, suddenly, "I...could get you some punch?"
Clive chuckled.
"That's not how it's supposed to work."
I blinked
"Oh? What? What do you mean, 'work'?"
"I was kidding. I only meant it wouldn't be very gentlemanly to make you bring me a drink."
I tried hiding a small smile behind my hand.
"Gentlemanly, eh?"
Clive looked embarrassed.
"I've been to a few of these sorts of events before, so I know about all the etiquette and formalities and such." He grinned sheepishly, "My mother...she even made me take a lesson in ballroom dancing once."
A snort of a laugh, rather unlady-like, escaped me at the thought.
"Are you any good?"
Clive shrugged.
"I never tried afterwards. I always slip out of parties soon as I can."
"I've never danced before," I said. I had never really even thought about it, but now, seeing all the couples across the lawn, I felt curious.
"I could show you," Clive said. He flushed slightly, "But only if you're comfortable. I don't want to–I mean, nevermind..."
I glanced towards the pergola, still empty.
"No. It's alright. You owe me for that chess lesson the other day."
"About experience? I would hardly call that a lesson."
But he took my right hand.
"So...er, let's see. I hold this hand."
"Okay..." I took his other hand with my left, "Like this?"
"No," he smirked, "Unless you're keen on ring-around-the-rosy."
"Oh."
I let go of his hand and he gingerly placed it against my back, near my shoulder blade.
"Now, put your other hand over my shoulder."
"Okay..."
I did as he said, locking us in a sort of half embrace. No, not a good comparison. I didn't need my face catching fire, thank you.
"Erm, now what?"
"Now, we dance. You sort of have to imagine a box on the ground. We'll both step forward, then diagonal, and so on, tracing the box. And keep the beat in mind. You know, 1-2-3, 1-2-3."
We both stood still, listening to the music for a moment.
"Maybe we should just try it," I finally said.
"Right."
I took a step forward, right onto Clive's toes.
"Sorry!"
"My fault," he said, as we both stepped back.
Our eyes on our feet, locked hands starting to sweat, we began shuffling in a square in time to the music. The actual dance floor was quite a ways away and I noticed from the corner of my eye several people giving us odd looks as they went around us.
"We're both ghastly," I said, managing a glance up at Clive.
"It only gets harder. These are the basic steps, but eventually you've got to add turns and flourishes and the like."
I stumbled back and bumped into a table.
"Not sure if I'm ready for that."
"Just try to keep your eyes up."
I looked up again and locked eyes with him, resisting a sudden urge to wrench myself away and dive into the nearest bottomless pit. I don't think I'd ever been more conscious of our height difference. Or the fact that his left ear appeared slightly crooked. Or that he smelled faintly of tea and fresh ink.
"There we go," His expression turned haughty, "Now we can engage in civil conversation."
"Ha, ha." I said, recovering quickly, "I think I'm worse at that than dancing."
"Just tell me about that chess game you mentioned earlier."
"What? The Immortal Game? You don't really want to hear about that."
"I do. Why is it 'immortal'?"
There was a sincerity to his eyes now, so I went on.
"Well, because it was so brilliantly played. Grandad calls it a 'work of art framed with a chessboard'."
"Oh?"
"Anderssen sacrificed some of his most important pieces to win, even his queen. Meanwhile, his opponent, Kieseritzky, only ever lost three pawns."
"Incredible. I'm sure not many players would be willing to take risks like that."
"No. Most take it for granted that the more pieces you have the better your chances. But granddad says...he says an active mind behind one pawn is worth all the other pieces combined. He also–Oh!"
Clive stumbled.
"Did I step on your foot?"
"No," I jerked my head in the direction of the pergola, "It's the Professor!"
Clive's eyes shot over to where Professor Rosen, in a flowing silvery gown and long white gloves, was leading a small group of elegantly dressed men and women.
"And Mr. Harrier is with her," he said in a low voice.
"Clive, what if they already had the meeting...in the school?"
"It's possible. But I still intend on following them."
"Right. Ready to split up?"
Clive slipped his hand from mine.
"Yes. I guess we'll have to cut this lesson short."
I wasn't sure if he sounded relieved or disappointed (I wasn't sure which one I was either, honestly), but the Professor had already broken off from her group and was heading across the lawn to a gathering of teachers sitting at a table.
"Right. Here I go. Be careful."
"You, too."
Clive's eyes had already narrowed in on Mr. Harrier talking to another of Rosen's VIP guests.
Keeping my own eyes fixed on the Professor, I threaded my way through the crowd until I was close enough to hear her conversation, but not so close she could easily pick me out. I kept her in the corner of my eye as she continued to talk with the teachers, pretending to admire a cherubic statue adorned with she moved on to chat with an elderly couple I followed, maintaining my same distance.
This follow-the-leader game continued I would say for nearly an hour. Professor Rosen kept herself quite busy in this time, shaking hands and engaging in lengthy small talk. From what I could observe, she seemed to be in fairly good spirits, smiling every so often and even politely laughing on occasion. But I also noticed her eyes were dart off to the side from time to time. Whenever she did this she would clasp her hands together or rub at her spider pendant. It seemed that something was troubling her and I couldn't help but wonder if it was the meeting...or maybe she was afraid the Statue would appear that evening, as well.
When the band stopped and the lights suddenly dimmed near the stage, I thought her fears (and mine) had been realized. Then a single spotlight shone down on the stage and Professor Xander stepped into its beam.
"Ladies and gentleman of all ages, a round of applause for the band..."
The crowd happily complied before the Professor continued. "Thank you ever so much for being here tonight, at this, Dreycott's..."
My attention was diverted back to Professor Rosen who had quietly excused herself from talking with Mr. Ebengrew and now was heading away from the stage just as everyone had begun to gather near. The musicians were already filing off as stage hands bustled in the shadows behind Xander, moving about pieces of scenery.
The acting recital was about to begin and yet the Professor seemed to have a different destination in mind. Curious...
Heart thumping, I slipped through the crowd, trying to keep my eyes on the back of her silver gown. She was heading down a path that lead through an arbor, away from the center of activity and towards the fountain, which, itself, had been dressed up for the occasion. Delicate bluebells were blooming all around the fountain's base and nearby lights made the water sparkle as it spilt from the vase held by Hyacinth.
The Professor's stride slowed as she neared the fountain. She looked over her shoulder and I, several paces behind her, quickly withdrew into the shadow of the trees.
We both waited.
From back the way we came, I could hear the recital begin, the voices of the actors carrying quite clearly across the lawn. Out of these voices a soft footsteps gradually distinguised themselves. Professor Rosen stiffened, straightening her shoulders as again she looked around warily.
A dark figure emerged from the path on the other side of the fountain and stepped into the light.
John Harrier.
I scanned the trees across the way. Hopefully, Clive was somewhere nearby. True, it only took one to eavesdrop, but him being close gave me a bit of reassurance. I wasn't sure what was about to go down...
"Professor," Mr. Harrier said, as if addressing Rosen for the first time that evening. As usual, he wore a luxurious shade of emerald.
He held out a hand which the Professor did not take.
"Mr. Harrier. No need for formalities. I know why you've arranged this meeting," The Professor's voice was rigid and cold as her posture.
Mr. Harrier tutted.
"Now, now, Professor. Tonight is one of celebration. To relax and let down one's guard," He spread an arm, "Your school has never looked more beautiful, wouldn't you agree?"
"You should have seen it when my grandfather was headmaster."
"Perhaps it can return to its former glory, Professor. Perhaps it can become even greater. However–"
Mr. Harrier intentionally cut himself off, tugging at his sleeve. "However," he repeated, "I have heard rumors, Professor."
"What sort of rumors, Mr. Harrier?"
"That this school has been subject to a number of accidents."
"Accidents, Mr. Harrier?" There was something odd about Rosen's tone. She was watching Mr. Harrier very closely, almost scrutinizing him.
"Yes. Wasn't it only a few weeks ago that a pupil of yours, Archibald Blaze, broke his leg?"
"As you said, Mr. Harrier, it was an accident. A very unfortunate one, but an accident nevertheless."
"It is funny, Professor. I've also heard rumors that you've hired a private investigator. Something about an extremely resourceful rogue pupil with a vendetta against the school. Causing malicious pranks?"
The Professor continued to study Mr. Harrier.
"It is too early for assumptions."
"Or perhaps it is too late. These matters are quite troubling to me, Professor. I have invested much in this school. But now...now I must reconsider."
"You mean to tell me this is the first you've heard of the accidents?"
Mr. Harrier gave her a sharp look.
"What are you suggesting, Professor?"
Professor Rosen was silent.
"Come now. I know you've done your best to keep things quiet. It was only after what happened to Mr. Blaze that the rumors flaired up. How could I have known otherwise?"
"Do you have something for me, Mr. Harrier?" The Professor asked stiffly.
"So eager. Guests to attend to, I presume?" Mr. Harrier reached into his jacket and pulled out a white envelope. "But, as a matter of fact, I do have something for you."
The Professor stared at the letter in his hand.
"Tell me, Mr. Harrier. Why are they always sent through you? You say you've nothing to do with them, but I find that hard to believe given the circumstances.
"Now, Professor," Mr. Harrier said, "On what grounds do you accuse me? All I can tell you is what I told you before. I go to my office every morning at seven and my secretary hands me my post. Sometimes, while sorting through it, I find a letter addressed to you. Of course, it wouldn't be right for me to hold on to such letters. I must give them to their intended recipient," Mr. Harrier turned his own gaze to the letter, "If anything, Professor, I should be asking you about these mystery letters. Why are they sent to me? Are they threats? Blackmail? Do they have to do with these accidents? Should you go to the police?"
Now it was Mr. Harrier's turn to sound odd. I could have almost sworn there was a hint of mockery to his words.
I leaned in closer, holding my breath as Professor Rosen took the letter from Mr. Harrier.
"They are nothing to concern yourself with, Mr. Harrier. School business, is all."
"I see. Despite you reticence, know that my dedication to this school, to your grandfather's legacy, is unwavering. If, if, these 'accidents' are stopped, I am willing to give to Dreycott what we discussed previously. You do think you can put a stop to these accidents, don't you?"
"...Yes. I do."
"I know this school has quite the history, Professor. There isn't anything you're not telling me, is there?"
Again, that vaguely condescending tone.
Rosen lowered her eyes.
"Nothing that hasn't already been settled."
"Very well, then. I'll leave you to your letter. Just know that I'm never far if you need to reach me."
The words hung in the air like a threat.
"Good night, Professor."
With that, Mr. Harrier walked leisurely back the way he came and disappeared into the shadows.
As soon as he was gone, Professor Rosen broke the blue wax seal on the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper. She read it, once, twice, three times, then crushed it, along with the envelope, in her fist until it was little more than a misshapen ball. A weariness had settled over her countenance like none I had seen on her before. She looked so old.
And then, without any hesitation, she turned and tossed the letter into the fountain. It made little more than a pathetic plip as it touched the water, weakly bobbing along the surface.
The Professor stood watching the fountain for a long time. Her back was to me now, so I could not tell if her expression had changed, only that her shoulders seemed to be heaving slightly. The breeze suddenly caught in her silver hair and the hem of gown. For a moment, I imagined her a mirror image of Hyacinth, who stood silently, as always, eyes downcast, her own hair wind-swept.
Just when I thought Rosen might have hardened to stone herself, however, she turned swiftly and headed back towards the masquerade as another round of applause rang out near the stage.
As the crunch of her heels faded into the clapping, I cautiously stepped out onto the path and made for the fountain. If there was any chance that letter was still salvageable...
But no. It was nothing more than a wet, pulpy, inky blob by the time I managed to fish it out.
"I figured as much."
I started at the voice.
Clive had somehow managed to slink up next to me without a sound.
I threw the paper blob smack at his chest.
"Don't. Scare me like that."
"Sorry."
Together, we sat down at the edge of the fountain.
"So, what do you make of it?" he asked, rubbing at the wet smudge the paper had left on his shirt.
I allowed myself a moment to collect my thoughts, before finally speaking.
"Cathy said the meeting would decide the fate of the school...but, I dunno, there was something off about the whole thing."
"Agreed. You were right to be suspicious of Mr. Harrier. It can't be a coincidence that he's been receiving the Professor's letters. I think he knows more about them then he's letting on and I think the Professor knows it, too."
"Do you..." I lowered my voice, "Do you think he's black-mailing the Professor or something? It's the first thing that popped into my mind, even before he mentioned it."
"I thought of that, too. Of course we can't say for certain, but if so, why and what is he using to black-mail her with?"
Before I could answer, there came a number of rowdy voices from down the path. I squinted and caught a flash of ginger.
"Oh no," I said, standing, "Not again."
"Felix?" Clive said, following suit.
"Yes. Why is he always popping up at the worse possible time? Come on–"
Too late. Felix and his friends had caught sight of us and were now thundering down the path in a rowdy pack, laughing and shoving one another.
I caught Clive's sleeve.
"Let's go," I hissed.
But something about the group had him rooted in place. I turned back. Felix's gang had slowed now that they were nearing us. They were all wearing a number of garish and hideous costumes that seemed more apt for Halloween than a masked ball.
Felix was dressed as a vampire, complete with cape and red paint spattering his clothes and dribbling from the corner of his mouth. But it was the figure holding his hand who caught my attention, just as she had Clive's: a solitary girl in Felix's group dressed as a mini-skirted vampiress, her mask drawn on with glittery eye-makeup.
"Juliet?" I said before I could stop myself, as the group halted before us.
Juliet rolled her enormous blue eyes.
"Um, it's Juju, now, actually."
"Ursula said you'd be here, but I didn't know you'd be with..."
I trailed off, inwardly shuddering at the thought of anyone wanting to be with Felix.
"Felix, duh, did you forget his name?" Juliet clasped Felix's arm, "We're official, aren't we, Fefe?"
Fefe?
Clive and I winced at each other.
Felix smirked, his braces glittering, as if this was all a joke at our expense.
"Yes, that's right, Juju."
"So you've recovered from your shock," Clive said, "From seeing the Statue?"
Juliet huffed.
"Yes, I guess it was a shock at first. But then Felix came and explained it all to me. Oh, and then he asked me to the masquerade and of course I said–
"Juliet," Clive cut in, "What did you just say?"
Juliet stomped her foot.
"I told you, it's Juju!"
I noticed Felix had gone a bit pale and his friends were looking at each other nervously.
"What did you just say about Felix 'explaining' something to you?"
Juliet folded her arms.
"You're missing the point! You know, Felix told me all about you. How you're only still here because of your mother's money. Otherwise, they would have tossed you out a long time ago."
"That's not true," Clive said in an even voice, although I could tell he was stiffening.
I put a hand on his arm.
"Let's get out of here."
"And you!" Juliet said, pointing a finger at me, clearly enjoying herself, "I honestly don't know what the Professor sees in you. Always soo drab and mousy. You're just a charity case, aren't you? Aw, but how convenient you've attached yourself to one of the richest boys at Dreycott."
Felix's smirk had only widened.
"She's quite a little spitfire when she wants to be, isn't she?"
"Say what you want about us," Clive said, "But I'm only interesting in discussing the facts. Now if you'll excuse us–"
Felix's friends had already fanned out around us.
"I said I'd teach you a lesson, Dove. Guess tonight is as good as any."
Juliet was clapping her hands and jumping up and down, which looked rather difficult in her stiletto boots.
"Ooh, yes! Teach them a lesson, Fefe!" she grinned mischievously, "Throw them in the fountain!"
Clive stepped in front of me.
"Don't make trouble for yourself, Felix," he said, "It's not worth it."
I stepped up beside Clive.
"Juliet, what about Ursula? She was really worried about you. Don't you think–"
"How many times do I have to say it? It's Juju," Juliet stomped her foot again, "Throw them in the fountain! Ruth first!"
"Touch her and you won't have to bother with fake blood," Clive said, his voice level, but hard.
Despite his words, I knew he was no match for all of Felix's gang. And a feather-weight first-year like me wasn't likely to be much help.
"Just let us through," I said.
Felix only put an arm around Juliet as he snapped his fingers at his friends, who suddenly made for us with stupid grins.
Schnlink!
The harsh metallic sound rang out through the night, freezing everyone.
We all turned towards its source. A shovel had struck the middle of the path, a rough hand wrapped around the top of the handle. Gravel crunched as the shovel's owner stepped from the shadows.
"Kidlin's these days," Amos Crimp spit onto the side of the path, "Too much drama an' skateboardin'."
He picked up his shovel.
"Any of yeh wot touches an 'air on lil' Missy's 'ead an' you'll fin' this lodged in yer own," Mr. Crimp glanced at Clive, "Same goes for spike-'air."
"Ugh!" Juliet put a hand of her hip, "Just so you know, my father is a very good lawyer. He could sue the teeth right out of your head. And you'd go to prison."
"Psh," Mr. Crimp grunted, "No' li' I 'ave'n been before."
Felix blanched.
"Let's go," he muttered.
Without another word, he and his friends abandoned Juliet, scattering in all directions.
"HEEEEY!" she squealed, as she scampered after them, "YOU COWARDS!"
I let out a breath I'd been holding in ever since I'd caught sight of Felix.
"Thank you, Mr. Crimp," I said.
"Yes," Clive said, sounding a little breathless himself.
Mr. Crimp turned, masking his face in shadow once more.
"I know wot th' two of you was up to t'night," he said. He started down the path, "Follow me. I'm ready t' tell yeh wot I know."