REMNANTS OF DARKNESS, by Eldrice
Standard Disclaimers Apply: Will Stanton, Bran Davies, Jane Drew, and the entire Dark Is Rising universe belong solely to the wonderful Susan Cooper.
A/N: Longer than usual. Hope it doesn't drone on too much. Please let me know when I do.
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Chapter Fifteen: A Morning Rush
"The Founding Fathers in their wisdom decided that children were an unnatural strain on parents. So they provided jails called schools, equipped with tortures called an education."
- John Updike
I.
"Hell, I don't know. He must've gotten in late last night."
"I didn't hear him come in. Did you?"
"How could I? I'm sure you were snoring like Zeus, as always."
"Hey, toad-face, maybe if you got your nose out of a book every now and then and went to some parties, your delicate ears wouldn't be so sensitive to – "
"Come on, Sleek, I'm just trying to get some studying done before class. You should be too. I know you've done nothing the past week. And we've got Manatee Mantey this morning. He'll eat us alive if he gets the chance."
There was a scornful snort of disdain.
"So let's just leave the new guy alone, all right?"
"Peter."
"Huh?"
"That's the new kid's name: Peter Davies. Professor Barnes told me a few days ago."
Peter, hearing his name, groaned and buried his head in a pillow.
"Dammit, Sleek, you woke him up!"
"And so what? He's gotta get up soon anyway. Why don't you give him a good whollop, see if he moves."
"You hit him if you want to talk to him. I'll have nothing to do with it."
"Fine."
A pillow smashed into Peter's slumbering face.
"Not that hard, jerk!"
"Hey, Davies, rise and shine!"
"What's going on?" Peter muttered, feeling his lips move against something cotton and fuzzy. "Stop it." He must still be dreaming. Such weird dreams he'd had last night . . . something about fire . . . I should start exercising more, he thought vaguely.
"Hey, Davies, I'm Jeff. The guy who's being such a priss over there in the corner is Mat. Welcome to the world of the living."
"Go 'hey' yourself." Peter had no idea what he was saying. Who were these guys? And how did they get into his house? Eyes still squeezed tightly shut, he rolled over and pulled his warm goose-down quilt over his face. Ow. He was sore all over, an ache roosting deep-down in his bones.
"Uh uh, none of that. Wake up." Someone poked him in the ribs.
There was no warm goose-down quilt, just an itchy wool blanket that tickled his nose. Peter's eyes fluttered open.
The curious face of a complete stranger was staring directly into his own.
"What the hell!" he shouted, bolting upright. His head crashed into inconveniently placed iron bed post. He cursed and clapped one hand to his forehead. He was in the bottom half of a bunk bed; the post that had attacked his head was the sagging support of the bed above him. A thin grey blanket, the kind found in cheap hotel rooms beneath the comforter, covered his legs. He was wearing a pair of grey pajamas embroidered with a Gothic letter 'T.' The iron frame of the bed was old and rusting. The walls were white plaster covered with the little yellow spots left behind when poster tape is removed. Four desks, three of them overflowing with papers and books, were squeezed in among and around the beds and dressers. Everything was gritty and real, and had the unmistakable appearance – and odor – of a school dorm room.
This cannot be real. You are still sleeping. There is no way it could've been real.
The unknown boy whose face had caused Peter such shock took a few steps back, grinning like a manic idiot and adjusting a rumpled suit jacket and tie. "Morning, Sleeping Beauty!" He walked over to a window and pulled the vinyl blinds up with a snap. Bright sunlight flooded the room.
Peter blinked and shaded his eyes against the sudden glare, trying to get a better look at the boy. He saw green eyes laughing back at him, and a wide mouth grinning loosely as one hand was raised to rake back limp, flaxen blond hair. Acne spotted the chin and forehead. Peter's gaze shifted and saw a second boy sitting on the bunk across from him, poring over a large book. He glanced up briefly and gave Peter a solemn, apologetic smile. His jacket and tie were immaculate, and the blanket and sheets on his bed were folded and tucked into the corners precisely. "Good morning, Peter Davies," he said quietly. "I hope you slept well, you must've gotten in late last night. Watch out for that beam there next time. That looked like it hurt." His words had a slight foreign inflection Peter couldn't quite place.
Peter knew then that this was real, knew that he was in a time and place unknown, with no immediate plans for returning home. The pain exploding in his head told him as much, which only served to remind him of the strange, uncanny happenings outside the church last night.
"Oooh," he moaned, raising both hands delicately but not touching where it was sore. "Am I bleeding?"
"Nah," drawled Jeff, peering closer with a mock-scholarly air. "You've got a little cut on your forehead, but it doesn't look like it bled at all. Crummy way to wake up, though, especially on your first day. What a welcome! Hey there, welcome to Thornhart. BAM! How about a nice clobbered head?"
Peter stared in astonishment and started to rub his forehead absently. "I'm at Thornhart?" he asked, not really thinking about what he was saying.
Jeff rolled his eyes and leaned one elbow against a nearby dresser. "We've got a real genius as our new roommate here, Mat buddy. You've got competition."
Peter blinked.
"And just so you know," Jeff said, pushing off from the dresser and flapping his arms in a grandiose manner. "Thornhart is the finest establishment worldwide for the cultivation of young gentlemen. This is where the privileged, the few, the disgustingly wealthy come to learn the ways of the Secret Order of the Carnivorous Cave-Dwelling Caterpillar, to whom we shall devote our entire – "
"Shut up, Jeff," the reading boy said flatly. "You're making yourself look like an ass."
"Yeah, but you already call me that everyday as it is! May as well live up to my rep."
"But we don't want Peter to know that right away." The reading boy slammed his book shut and swung his legs off his bed. He stood up, and Peter saw that he was tall, taller even than himself, though they must be something of the same age. The boy gave Peter a friendly grin and held out his hand. "Hey, I'm Mat. That crazy guy jumping on the desk is Jeff Kettering, but he likes us to call him 'Sleek.'" He winked humorously at Peter.
"That's right!" Jeffrey "Sleek" Kettering laughed.
"Hi," Peter replied, automatically sticking his hand out in return. They shook.
"Glad you're here, Peter," Mat said in a smooth, practiced voice. "We heard a couple days ago you'd be coming soon. It's pretty exciting. It's just too bad you got stuck with crazy roommates." He laughed in Sleek's direction.
"Hey, Mat," Sleek puffed. "Speak for yourself! I think Peter's the luckiest guy on earth to be crashing with us, so he doesn't need you and your . . . holy shit!"
Peter jumped, not knowing whether the unexpectedly forceful epithet was an actual insult or a joke.
Mat also looked surprised, and stared for several seconds before forcing himself to laugh. "That was lame, Sleek," he drawled, with only the merest hint of a warning unmistakable under his words. "Where's your wit gone?" He glanced sidelong at Peter and gave a quick shake of his head telling the other boy not to mind what Jeff had said.
Jeff shot a quick guilty look in Mat's direction, but he wasn't really paying attention. He was staring at Peter; and Peter, who had encountered this stare countless times before, needed only a few seconds to realize what it was that had caused his sudden outburst.
But by then it was too late.
Jeff grabbed Peter's shoulder and pulled him around so they faced each other completely. "Mat, man," he muttered, "look at this!"
"What?" Mat walked closer.
"His eyes."
Peter blinked and flinched away.
Mat pushed Jeff aside and peered into Peter's face, thoughtlessly reaching out one hand to grasp Peter's chin and turn it to the light. He stared, brow furrowed, while Peter did his best to stare back and not be the first to look away.
Jeff laughed nervously. "I've never seen yellow eyes before, Davies. Weird. And your eyelashes . . . you look like a bird."
"Jeff!" Mat said softly. And there was the warning again. Peter heard it unconsciously, and for some reason thought of the way Will Stanton sometimes checked his father's wilder flights of fancy.
"That's just the way they are," he said bluntly, shrugging one shoulder and deliberately jerking his head so Mat's hand was forced to fall away.
Mat let the hand fall to his aide and stepped back, looking somewhat ashamed. "Sorry, Peter," he muttered. "It's just that . . . well . . . uh, you probably know."
"Yeah, I know."
A new idea had exploded in Jeff's mind. "Are you trippin', Davies? I mean, it's all right if you are, we won't tell. Right, Mat? We're no snitches. And I've got an older brother who's really into all this weird stuff, and I've seen some pretty freaky stuff things to him. I've never seen his eyes change color or anything like that, but, you know, anything's possible, and –"
"He's not high, Sleek," Mat said patiently, rolling his eyes.
Peter couldn't keep from laughing. This was one reaction he had never gotten. He wondered idly if any of his Wraithfell classmates thought he was a perpetual stoner. "No, I've never done drugs. It's just the way my eyes are. My dad's are the same." And currently, my dad is probably twelve years old or so, living in Wales.
"Well, that's good," Jeff breathed a sigh of relief. "You had me worried there. There was this kid last year, who got sent home when they found –"
"Hey." Mat was back at his bunk, bending over and gathering his books together. "You know, it's time we started to go. We don't want to be late. By the way, Davies, what's it to be? Pete? Petey? P.J? Chose your prenomen." The message was clear: the discussion about the eyes and everything associated with it was over.
"Uh, just Peter's fine. Definitely not Petey. Who's that?" He pointed to an empty bunk that had a faded and obviously well-loved Jim Brown poster taped to the wall behind it.
"Huh?" Mat's head swiveled. "Oh, right. That's Roger. He's back in Connecticut, but he'll be around in a few weeks. You'll like him. He's football captain, too, so he can give you some pointers if you decide to go out next fall. They do preliminary tryouts in May."
"Wonderful," Peter muttered. He appraised his rumpled pajamas and hopefully studied a trunk that was placed directly underneath his bunk.
"Is that mine?" he asked, pointing hesitantly.
Jeff glanced at him sideways. "Uh, yeah. That's yours, buddy." It was clear he thought his new roommate was something of a dim fellow, yellow eyes or no.
"Oh. Ok." Peter walked over, dragged the heavy trunk out, and flipped open the lid. Carefully folded inside were numerous grey slacks, collared shirts, and garnet sweaters. A piece of folded cream paper lay on top of it all, with merely the initials M.L. written upon it in a neat script. Peter pulled out what he thought he needed and, somewhat nervously, dressed himself in a rush. He'd never lived in a dorm before and did not have fond memories of the school locker rooms.
Luckily, the clothes fit perfectly.
"Breakfast?" he huffed, hastily stuffing his foot into one black shoe. He wouldn't bother with the potential disaster of a tie.
Jeff tossed him a banana and a bagel seemingly conjured out of thin air. "Eat this. Breakfast was hours ago. We never go, it's way too early. Only the suck-ups bother."
"Don't worry about anything today, Peter," Mat was saying as he searched under his bunk and reappeared with a limp-looking box of cereal and a couple of chocolate bars. He blew a wisp of dusty hair out of his eyes and grinned. "The teachers won't expect anything of you since you don't have books yet. Just sit back and listen. We all have the same classes for winter term, so you can just follow us around. It's never hard, anyway. Winter term, I mean, not following us around. It can't be, right, since only about a fourth of the school is here? It's really just Thornhart's way of babysitting those of us who live too far away to go home for the holidays."
"Or whose parents hop off to Europe without them," Jeff muttered bitterly.
"I didn't say anything, Sleek. And Monaco can wait. Anyway, Peter, I've got notebooks and pencils and stuff like that you can borrow if you don't have any yet. Everything has to be regulation, you know."
"Um, can't I get out of it?" Peter asked.
"We've all got to go, Davies," Jeff sighed with exaggerated patience. "Otherwise, it's detention for sure. And you don't what that."
"No, I didn't mean I want to skip. Well, I do, but I have a good reason. You see, my sister's here, and –"
Peter had never seen two jaws drop more suddenly.
"Huh?" Mat gaped.
Jeff was grinning his madcap grin again, poking Mat in the shoulder. "Oh ho, Mattie! Another girl for the holidays! Wonder what Cutter will say. Maybe she'll get jealous –"
"Shut up . . . you!"
"Oh, trouble arrives for Mattie and his girlie when the mysterious sister of a new student enters Thornhart's hallowed halls . . ."
Peter couldn't help laughing at the bright red flush staining Mat's cheeks. He decided to put an end to his new friend's – friend? – torture. "She's not really here to stay," he interrupted.
"Well, Cutter never stays for long either. Hasn't stopped Mat before!" Jeff grabbed his roommate in a headlock, and the dark head disappeared behind one arm.
Peter rapidly tried to recall what Samuel Nightshade and Dr. Clay had said last night. "My parents are in Switzerland, you see, and my godfather Mr. Leon arranged for my sister to stay here until they get back like two weeks from now."
"Two weeks of lovin'!" squealed Jeff delightedly.
"And, uh, she's just seven years old, you know."
This only made Jeff laugh harder. Peter could just hear Mat's muffled shouts as he struggled to get free. Obviously, Peter thought, this was something that could go on indefinitely. With one eyebrow raised doubtfully, he inched toward the door. "In fact, I think I'll go find her now . . . see you later!" And he sprinted out into the hall.
II.
He ran through the unknown Thornhart halls. As they were numerous and long, there was a lot of running to do. His legs gave out before his breathing, as his muscles began to whine a tiny protest that threatened to escalate into a full-out blood-curdling scream if he didn't stop soon. He ignored it and kept running. A few students were scurrying to class, but only two called out rude comments as he flew past. Peter ignored them. He had to find Annie and talk this over. Where was she?
He ran heedless of where he was going. The third time he passed a faded portrait of a bewigged gentleman he wondered if he should stop and ask someone for directions.
He careened around a corner and collided headlong into someone coming the opposite way. Books scattered across the floor. Paper fluttered through the air. Peter's feet scrambled and slipped, and he tumbled down like a collapsing windmill. The other boy promptly followed suit and landed awkwardly on Peter's back.
"Oof!" he grunted.
"Ugh!" the stranger eloquently replied.
They were entwined in a heap in the middle of the hall. Peter thrashed his legs and disentangled himself from the other youth, who scrambled hastily to his feet.
"Watch where you're going!" he snapped angrily as he hurriedly tried to collect his scattered papers.
Peter didn't answer. Instead, he reached out and seized the boy's shoulders, shaking them roughly.
"Listen. I'm looking for someone. My sister. She's staying here. Look, I know it's weird, but I can't explain it now. Can you tell me where to find her?"
"Huh?" The boy's shoulders were light and bony; Peter felt as if he were shaking a leaf.
"My sister! Where would she sleep the night?"
The boy spoke through rattling teeth. "I won't say a thing till you let go of me!"
Peter let go abruptly. The boy stumbled back and tossed his head in pride while he swiftly rearranged his flowered blouse.
It was the blouse that made Peter reassess the current situation. He swiftly appraised the pixiesh haircut and the pointed chin and the somewhat heavy-lidded hazel eyes snapping sparks of anger in his direction. "You're a girl!"
"A you're a moron!" she spat. "Get outta my way!"
The words poured freely from Peter's mouth. "Hey, I know who you must be; I've heard people talk about you. You're Natalie Cutter. Wow, I'm so lucky to have run into to you - er, well not literally, I didn't mean – never mind. Anyway, you must've met my sister Annie. I really need to talk to her. Can you tell me where she is?"
Natalie Cutter, not denying her identity, finished stuffing books into her canvas bag and shrugged her shoulders, which made the earrings dangling from her lobes jingle merrily. "Maybe I do and maybe I don't."
Peter had never aspired to be a gentleman. And at the moment the thing he wanted to do most was take Natalie Cutter's skinny little neck and wring it like a dishcloth. Patience is a virtue, he recited ten times as his mantra before trusting himself to speak. "Just tell me where should would be, please? It's really important I see her."
Natalie raised a thick eyebrow in his direction. "I can't imagine why," she said loftily. "You're supposed to be in class, right now, just like I am. Actually, you're supposed to be there even more than me. I only have to go to keep myself out of my uncle's way. You're actually enrolled here."
"Your uncle!"
"Yeah. Dr. Clay. I spend holidays with him. A dreadful bore, but a sweet guy when you get to know him. He's my only living relation, of course, but that's a story for another day. Anyway, if you'll excuse me, I have a lecture to attend." She spun on her heel and started walking away.
"Hey, wait!" Peter called hastily, grabbing her elbow and turning her about to face him. Before he could discover what angry thing she was about to spew at him, he plastered the most humble expression he could imagine on his face. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have run into you and all that. I wasn't watching where I was going and – and at least I could have helped you pick up your books, right?"
"You certainly could have," she agreed, looking at him expectantly. Peter sighed. This girl wasn't making things any easier for him.
"I'm sorry."
A twitch at her mouth broadened into a humorous smile, and suddenly she wasn't mean or impatient at all. Rather, she had a dimple in her left cheek. "Well, seeing as Annie was nearly crazy this morning wondering about you – she wanted to come find you too, you know, but I said it wasn't a good idea for her to wander strange halls alone – I just might accept your apology and tell you what I know."
"I'd really appreciate it if you did."
"She's staying with me, by the way, not Ms. Shirley. But our rooms are right next to each other, so it almost amounts to the same thing anyway. If you follow this hall till it dead ends, take a right, go up the first flight of stairs on your right, and you'll be at the library. About a hundred feet down the hall is a door leading to the fourth floor, where we're at. It's labeled 'Matron's Residence.' Take the stairs and go down the hall. We're the second door on the left."
"Thanks, Natalie," Peter took her hand and shook it awkwardly, not really knowing what else to do. "You're the –" what was a genuine 1970s compliment? What would Topher Grace say? "The grooviest chick I know."
She seemed taken aback and looked at him askance for several seconds. Then she blushed. "Smooth! But most people here – except one – would disagree with you, Peter Davies. But I'm glad you think so anyway. Oh, and call me Cutter. Everyone else here does and you'll stick out if you don't."
"All right." He patted her shoulder hesitantly, anxious to escape without seeming too rude. His mind mentally ran through the directions again. Second door on the left. Library. I think I've got it. "Glad I met you."
Cutter rolled her eyes. "Get outta here," she laughed. "And don't worry, I won't tell anyone I saw you. Skipping on your first day, huh? That's guts."
"Well," Peter stammered, and was off running again.
III.
He found the door marked "Matron's Residence" easily enough and sprinted up the cramped and dusty stairs. He halted outside the second door to the left, fearful that somehow the one person who was real to him in all this insubstantial nonsense would be gone, missing.
He peered through the door that had been left open a crack. There she was, very much alive and present, perched in a chair before her window, gazing out at the Thornhart landscape with her chin propped in one hand. Peter could see the glittering, snow-laden trees through the window, but the sun was shining blazing and the icicles hanging from the eaves were slowly dripping. The cold snap must've broken.
"Hey, kiddo."
The dark head turned towards him. For a mere second, the eyes were shadowed, as if they belonged to an old woman. But then Annie smiled and all shadows fled. "Peter!"
She flung herself off her chair and crashed into his stomach with a flurry of arms and legs. "Oh, I'm so glad to see you," she whispered. "I couldn't sleep last night, I just lay there . . . wondering, I guess. About everything. I even cried a bit, which you know I never do. Luckily, Natalie thought it was just homesickness – which I guess it was. She told me this great story about an orphan girl who travels to a foreign land and gets kidnapped by the native king. It was thrilling, because she gets a magic sword and saves the kingdom and, of course, marries the king in the end." She sniffed and looked up at him with somewhat abashed eyes. "She's real nice, by the way. I like her a lot."
Peter laughed and tousled her head. "Sure, nice like a hungry python." Now that's unfair, his conscious told him. She did tell you how to get here, you know.
But Annie's eyes had brightened and she clapped her hands together. "You've met!"
"We, uh, ran into each other. But enough about Cutter, Annie. We need to talk."
"No kidding," she said, scrambling up on a bed and crossing her legs. "By the way, good job playing 'detective' with Mr. Nightshade last night."
"Thanks, sis."
"Still, I came up with a different technique and just asked Natalie this morning what year it was, just to make sure. She thought I was a little weird, even though I tried to play it cute."
"Something our roommates seem to have in common. Not the cute part. But what did she say, by the way?"
"Oh, 1973 as well. Peter, this is pretty weird, right? I mean, nothing like this has ever happened to me before, but you are so much older." She fluttered her eyelashes at him.
Peter laughed. Trust Annie to think this whole adventure was simply another perk of growing up. "No," he said, "I can safely say I've never heard of this happening to anyone before."
"Great! I was hoping we were the first."
Peter threw himself down on the bed and rolled onto his back. He lay spread-eagled and watched a lady-bug crawl across the ceiling. The suit jacket he had hastily grabbed on his way out was chafing at his neck; he grimaced and pulled it away from his skin. He didn't know the best way of broaching the subject consuming him without frightening his sister. "Annie? You – you remember how Mrs. Reynolds was at our house the other day, right? And how she said –"
"I know!" Annie got up on her knees and started bouncing. "Murders! Murders, Peter! Can you believe how exciting this is! Maybe we'll get to solve the crime or stop the murderer from committing his heinous deeds."
He stared at her in astonishment. No one – no, not even Annie – had the right to be that gleeful when confronted with something so nefarious. She must've been reading too many detective and ghost stories.
"But it doesn't make sense!" he said, trying to make his voice as flat and reasonable as possible. "I mean, why? What about Muscharch – or what he put into motion, rather, since he's dead now. Will said we were supposed to be . . . what was it? 'Unpersuading' him? I don't get it. And most importantly of all, why us?"
"What do you mean, why us? Aren't we good enough?"
"Oh, sure, we're smart and, I guess, brave. But so's Jude, Will's oldest nephew who's in the RAF, and he's over eighteen to boot. I'm sure Will knows plenty of people he could've recruited for time-traveling detective sleuths. Why travel half-way across the world to enlist the Davies kids, one who's a science dork and the other who's a seven-year-old girl!"
Annie was getting angry. He could see it in the way she stared at him, very quietly, with her eyes wide. "Don't say things like that, Peter!" she snapped. She paused thoughtfully. "Besides," she said somewhat more calmly, "Jude would have trouble getting leave."
There was an awkward pause, while Peter pouted and Annie plucked at the bed quilt. "Look," she finally said in a hurry. "Neither of us knows what's happening. We really should just find Will and ask him."
Peter thought that was a fine compromise. "All right. Let's go find him then. It shouldn't be too hard, how large can this place be?"
They were just heading down the staircase when they both heard footsteps creaking up the steps before them. Before Peter could grab Annie and turn them about, the slim figure of Madeleine Shirley appeared in the sun-dappled shadows, her face an angry storm cloud.
"There you are! I thought I might find you here. I could not believe my ears when your roommates told me they didn't know where you were. Skipping class! On your first day! No, I told Mr. Mantey, it simply cannot be. It's incomprehensible. But, sadly, I was mistaken."
"Hi, Ms. Shirley," Peter grinned desperately. Apparently he wasn't charming enough, for one of her hands fell heavily upon his shoulder.
"What were you thinking? I'm sure they wouldn't let you get away with things like this even in those English schools you've gone to, although I hear the discipline can be scandalous. But here at Thornhart you must learn that absence – and tardiness – is completely unacceptable. Do you hear me?"
"Yes," Peter said, apologetic pleading dripping from his voice. "But, you see, I had to find Annie here –"
"He really did, miss. I was homesick. Crying like a baby. It's all my fault."
"Quiet! Both of you! No one here's interested in excuses. Now, I like you, Peter, I really do. But this cannot be tolerated. You must go to Mr. Mantey's class at once. He's furious. Of all the teachers for you to antagonize, it had to be that bloated, self-centered . . . oh, never mind. Now, I've done what I could to calm him down, but you must get there at once. Come on!"
Madeleine grabbed one child with each of her hands and dragged them bodily down the stairs. Annie let a small squeak and stumbled as she just barely managed to keep her footing. "Where are you taking me?" she gasped.
Madeleine declined to answer. In fact, she didn't say another word until they had reached a door on the second floor that was clearly the entrance to one of the Thornhart classrooms. Once there, she immediately released her grip, grabbed Peter's shoulders and whirled him around to face her, whipped out a tie from someplace, and knotted it tightly about his neck, nearly strangling him. Peter choked and raised one hand to loosen the thing as best he could.
"Now listen," she hissed. "I'm giving you this advice for your own good, Mr. Davies. You get in there and apologize, and spend as much time as you can kissing that man's butt. You got me? Get in there!" And she shoved an astonished Peter through the door.
Reader Review Responses
GoldenRat: If you want the answer to your question, you just need to check the copyright page of your TDIR copy ; ).
Sasori: Thanks! Too many OCs in this chapter, but hopefully that will be changing soon. And you're right about the music terminology, too. How silly of me! I do know better, I swear.
MollyTheWanderer: Sorry! Didn't mean to be exclusive! Welcome to the club : ) Yeah, and I thought Will was pretty obvious, too. Merriman's coming up soon, I promise, but give me a couple more chapters!