To my reviewers: Mmmmwwaaaaaaaaaa! Kisses!
J Potter: Thanks. Glad you like it.
Saturn Max: Hmmmmm. (Raises eyebrow in contemplation.)
Memorysofawhiterose: I'm glad you're enjoying it. I modeled some parts of Randall on my sister since she'll never admit when she needs to take a break either.
Alexandru Van Gordan: I'm writing. I'm also plotting a bit. (Rubs hands together and laughs maniacally.) That poor headmaster!
Infamous One: Batman did a pretty good job, ya know! He and Robin weren't even related, and he did a lot more for the kid than some parents do for their own. (Sorry, I'm a staunch supporter of Batman.) Otherwise, thanks for reviewing.
Blaze-firestorm: I think you mean "suspense," buddy. You can't stand the suspense. Well! That's a compliment!
Chapter 29
After Slade left, Robin stayed on his bed, trying very hard not to shake. He was tense—no, way beyond tense. He was so tight that he couldn't believe that he wasn't creaking with each little movement. He kept swallowing against a lump in his throat, and his eyes were stinging, but he was not going to cry. Why did he feel so upset? He took a deep breath and attempted to think logically. That was what Batman had taught him: If you were in a situation that frightened you, it was best to figure out why you were so frightened and what you could do about it.
Let's see, Robin thought, doing some calming breathing exercises. Slade always makes me a little nuts, that's nothing new. I wouldn't be normal if he didn't scare me. Also, this place is creeping me out big time. How can parents just store their kids here? It wouldn't be too much trouble to keep them at home with a nanny, would it?
Feeling a tiny bit calmer, Robin picked up the sheets of rules and began to look them over again. He was surprised enough by one to crack a smile. He couldn't believe it.
House Rules
Students will live according to the house rules. Wake-up, meals, classes, and lights-out are denoted by bells. Students are to obey the bells promptly.
1. Wake-up is 7:30 every morning.
2. Students are to put their living area to rights before reporting to the dining hall for breakfast at 8:30.
3. Classes begin promptly at 9:15, and all students are to attend unless ill.
4. Students are to complete homework, class assignments, and projects on time.
5. Students are to treat one another and teachers with respect.
6. Students will stand when addressed in class by the teacher or when answering a question.
7. Students are responsible for keeping their desks neat and clean.
8. No meal may be missed unless students are too ill to eat.
9. Students are to report to lunch at 12:45 and pay attention to daily announcements at that time.
10. Classes end at 4:00, from that time until supper is "free" time for students to study and/or amuse themselves.
11. Supper is at 6:30 until 7:30.
12. From 7:30 until lights-out, students may work on homework, etc, or socialize if desired with students of other forms.
13. Lights-out is at 10:30 every night.
14. Students will report illness to school nurse.
15. Students must write to parent/guardian as per requested.
Deviations:
Missed homework assignments, inattention during class, failure to obey teachers
Being up after lights-out
Being outside of bedroom after lights-out
Fighting with classmates
Untidy living quarters
Failure to attend a meal
Disrespect shown to classmates and/or teachers
Leaving school unaccompanied or without permission
(Each deviation will result in two demerits to the student's record until such demerits are negated by two accolades given by teachers. Accolades are rewards for good behavior. A total of twenty-four demerits in less than two months will result in disciplinary hearing with parent/guardian.)
This place is weird, Robin thought. There are punishments for missing meals? What if you're not hungry? And there's only a disciplinary hearing for twenty-four demerits? Darn. No hope of expulsion, I guess. Shaking his head, Robin set the rules aside and studied the calendar. Most "trips" were for educational purposes, it seemed, since they were to museums. The only times he had ever gone to museums was when it was a class trip or as detective work as Robin. A few times Bruce had taken Dick along to art exhibitions or to the Gotham Natural History Museum, but beyond that, he hadn't really gone to any. They were going to do what was called a "train tour" next summer, and every stopping place listed had a museum that they were going to visit.
What are they trying to do, turn us into walking encyclopedias? He wondered. True, the people responsible for the kids were being paid to educate them, but it seemed as if education was a twenty-four hour process here. Even "free time" was spent within the school. What sort of place was this? Suddenly weary, and bothered by vague fears that he couldn't understand or put a name to, Robin stowed the pages in the drawer of his bedside table and stretched out on the bed. He was, after all, supposed to be napping.
Space
Ding-dong. Ding-dong. Ding-donggg.
Robin leapt to his feet as a bell tolled somewhere over his head. When had he fallen asleep? What was going on? Was that the bell for… He stopped. What time was it? Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was quarter to one, and he realized that he was actually hungry. How long ago had that breakfast been? Straightening his bed back up and making himself presentable, Robin headed out into the hallway and downstairs, following his nose and ears to the dining hall. His stomach growled, and he put a little more speed into his walk. That breakfast hadn't done much to fill his stomach.
A boy came scooting out of a doorway he was passing and almost collided with him.
"Je regrette," the boy said with a horrendous accent.
"It's all right," Robin said, smiling as the boy's eyes went wide.
"You're American? YES!" he said, grabbing Robin's hand and shaking it like crazy. "I'm insanely happy to meet you!"
Robin couldn't keep his smile from spreading into a grin. "Your French isn't good, I take it?" he asked.
"It's horrible! All the classes are done in French, and the only one I'm not failing is English!" the boy admitted, unabashed. "So, you've been incarcerated, too, huh? What're you in for?"
Robin stared at him, then realized what he meant. "I was too much trouble."
"Aah, same here," the boy said. "I'm Scott McCree, who're you?"
Robin wondered briefly if he should continue using his alias as he had at the other school, and felt that he should. Slade might pitch an unholy fit if he didn't. "Robin Slade."
"You sound as if you hate your name," Scott said as he began to lead Robin toward the dining hall.
"Slade's some guy who decided that he wanted to adopt me, but he's a worthless pile of human being and I want nothing to do with him," Robin said. "I kept running away, so he brought me here where he won't have to have his goons out looking for me all the time. According to him, 'Slade' is my last name, so it's on the school lists."
"I think I understand you," Scott sympathized as they reached the dining hall. "What form are you in?"
Robin stared at him. "You mean, what grade? I have no idea."
"Then how old are you?"
Robin told him, and Scott grinned again. "You're in my form, then. Come on. One of the rules that they don't give you on that stupid rule sheet is that you have to eat with your form. It lets them take attendance at every meal more easily."
"Why do you have to come to every meal?" Robin asked as they took places at one of the long tables.
"Well, sometimes new kids will try starving themselves as a protest to being here. So much is controlled around here that they want to try getting a little control back by not eating. Teachers can see whether you eat or not if you're at meals."
Robin nodded. "What happens if you come to meals and don't eat anyway?"
Scott sneaked a look to where all the teachers were. "They give you three chances to start eating, and if you don't, they send you to stay with some doctor. I dunno what he's like, if he's nice or if he's as twisted as the rest of the adults around here, but I'd rather not risk it."
"Sensible of you," Robin said. By that time, every student had lined up alongside the benches of the tables.
A smaller bell sounded in the large room before Robin could ask another question, and as one, the students turned to face the tables. Another bell gave them permission to scramble into their seats. All of the students were quiet, so Robin kept his mouth shut. This place was becoming creepier by the moment.
Older students emerged from a door, carrying large bowls and trays of food, and each table was served. Everyone bowed their heads for a moment as a grace in French was said by Monsieur Callais. As soon as the teachers were served, the kids were allowed to start eating and talking again.
"What do the kids who've been sent to that doctor say about him?" Robin asked as he was passed a basket of rolls.
"They don't say much," Scott said speculatively as he ladled some thick soup into his bowl. "Soup?"
"Thanks," Robin said, serving himself from the tureen. "What kind of soup is this?"
Mike looked at it. "Cotriade."
Robin looked blankly at him. "What?"
"Ah, fish stew, sorry. We eat a lot of fish around here since this is Brittany."
"Oh," Robin said, taking a taste. "What if kids are allergic to fish?"
"Then they're fed something else."
"Oh," Robin said again, feeling stupid.
A main course of thinly-sliced beef and vegetables and more bread followed, and there was plenty of water to drink until dessert. Ceramic mugs were passed out, and each student was given hot cocoa and a small plate of fruit and cheese. It was a typical French meal, just like the kind he had had at Bruce's house sometimes. Those French meals always featured a main course of pheasant and mushrooms, Bruce's favorite. Robin allowed himself a ghost of a smile at the memory.
Robin was nursing a second cup of cocoa and allowing his thoughts to wonder when a bell called the students to attention. Monsieur Callais stood up and began to make announcements. Robin let his thoughts wander again until he heard "le jeune Monsieur Slade."
"Stand up," Scott hissed. "He wants you to get up and say hello."
Robin got to his feet and said "Bonjour," only loud enough to be heard and sat back down as soon as he felt it was safe to do so.
"What was all that about?" he asked Scott.
"He just wanted you to say hello to the rest of the school, that's all," Scott said. "You did exactly right, don't worry."
Robin nodded his thanks and began looking around the room again and nearly dropped his mug of cocoa when he spotted a group of kids gathered around a table over in the corner. They couldn't be more than three or four years old! They were sent to school that young? He began to feel a little sick inside. If their parents didn't want them at home while they were little and cute, what would it be like for them when they were older?
"Oh, you noticed the 'primer' form?" Scott asked, glancing to where Robin was looking. "Those poor kids. We all watch out for them, all right? One of our unspoken rules is that no one bullies them or treats 'em mean, and we all take turns making sure they're all right. We kind of play parents to them, you could say."
Robin nodded. "I getcha. I couldn't be mean to them even if I wanted to. It would be too. . .mean."
Scott nodded. "Exactly."
A bell rang again, and all of the students began leaping to their feet. Robin did the same and began to follow Scott, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.
"Ah, young Master Slade," the headmaster said. "I see you are awake. Are you feeling better after your rest?"
"Much better, thank you," Robin said as politely as he could. The guy still seemed very oily and too crafty to be trusted.
"Well, I have here your class schedule," Callais said, handing him another piece of paper. "All of your necessary supplies will be in your desk in your first room. A satchel is even included. Have a pleasant day."
With that, Monsieur Callais oozed away, and Robin studied the schedule. His first class of the afternoon was Histoire Francaise. French history. Oh, goody. His other classes until four o'clock were Chimie, Ecriture, and Beaux-Arts. None of it sounded fun. Sighing, and not wanting to give Callais anything to tell Slade, Robin trudged off to his first class.
Author's Note:
Je regrette: I'm sorry
Le jeune Monsieur Slade: the young master Slade
Chimie: Chemistry
Ecriture: Writing
Beaux-Arts: Fine Arts.
Well, shall we continue?
