UPROAR
Inez Branko's death had left behind a chaotic atmosphere.
Pandemonium reeked in every single classroom. Tancred Torsson found it considerably harder to control his temper as girls squealed each time an endowed student entered the room. Scowling, he blocked his mind from the shrieks and whisperings as he slid into his seat by the back of the History classroom.
Mr Pope, the teacher, yanked from the ceiling of the classroom a small string. Instantly, a scroll revealing a political map of the world swung downward, and he grabbed his meter stick with vigor.
"Class, it is time for our monthly oral pop quiz," Mr Pope declared, as thought immune to the following groans and protests. "Today's topic is Adolf Hitler and his Reign over Europe and its Jews."
Gordon Isbister, an unendowed first-former who was known to be distantly related to the tiny Rupe Small, raised an apprehensive hand. "I thought we were studying Napoleon, sir," he squeaked. "I reviewed Napoleon last night, sir."
"Well, that's too bad, sir," Mr Pope sneered mockingly. "We're focusing now, on Hitler. When you review, Gordon Isbister, you glance through everything, not just the current topic. Why don't you tell your relative, Rupe Small?"
Giggling humorlessly, much to the amusement and shock of the class, Mr Pope waved his meter stick across the map. "Where, who can tell me, was Adolf Hitler born?"
Isaiah Ghendad, an Indian third-former with round glasses and a bright orange turban, raised his hand formally. "Austria," he stated surely.
Mr Pope cleared his throat. "Well done, Isaiah," he remarked. "Now, which party did Adolf join in 1920?"
Tancred knew this answer. He racked his brain, but found that no signs of History could be found in his head. Angrily, he unintentionally freed a torrent of rain. Soaked to the skin and scowling, Mr Pope indicated the door.
"OUT!" he roared, ruffling his drenched hair. Tancred gathered his books. As he exited the room, he could hear Isaiah Ghendad's voice announcing "The Nazi Party, sir."
Tancred slumped against the wall outside, wondering where Charlie Bone could be.
Meanwhile, Charlie was busily packing for the weekend.
"Leave it to the Branko twins to create an uproar," Charlie Bone muttered as he shoved a heap of clothes into his suitcase. "Why aren't you packing, Billy?"
"Because I live here," the clueless albino replied.
Charlie chuckled. "That was my subtle invitation for you to spend the weekend at number nine, Billy."
Billy leapt up, elated. "Really? Do you mean it, Charlie?"
"Two words—start packing."
Billy laughed as he began to fill his bag with clothes and keepsakes. "Thanks, Charlie! Thanks!"
"It's not all fun-and-done, Billy," Charlie commented gravely.
Billy fell silent, staring at Charlie's grim expression with curiosity and apprehension. "What do you mean?"
"There are things to discuss," Charlie said evasively. "We're meeting at the Pets' Café this Saturday afternoon, because Sander, Fido and Liv couldn't make it Sunday. So, we're hoping nobody's landed a detention."
Realization dawned on Billy. "It's important, isn't it?" he asked, eyes wide. "It has something to do with the Children of the Red King."
Charlie nodded bleakly. "Plenty to do with the Red King, Billy. Hurry; I'll save you a seat in the dining hall, alright?"
"Thanks, Charlie!" Billy exclaimed again, as Charlie hurried from the room.
"Now, what was that all about?"
The dining hall was packed. Charlie shoved past, locating Fidelio's hay-colored hair instantaneously from within the crowds.
"Fido!" he called, as loudly as he could over the racket of chattering students. "Fidelio! Fidelio Gunn!"
Fidelio turned, surprised. Sighting Charlie, he grinned and waved, beckoning with an urgent hand. Come see, he mouthed silently.
Charlie nudged his way through the fray to his friend.
"What's up?" Charlie asked, eyeing Fidelio's bean bun hungrily.
Fidelio followed Charlie's doleful gaze. "I see you haven't bothered to find yourself a meal," Fidelio chortled, wrapping the bean bun in a napkin and handing Charlie several buttered rolls in addition. "Here, I can tell you're starving."
"Not just starving," Charlie corrected, as he eagerly accepted the bean bun and rolls. "I'm utterly famished. What's going on?"
"Oh, nothing important," Fido remarked sarcastically. He rolled his eyes, lowering his voice as he leaned in. "You missed plenty. Where were you?"
"In the dorm, packing," Charlie replied, as though the answer were obvious. "It's Friday—what d'you expect?"
"Here—there's a better view on my left. A civil war's begun."
"What?" Charlie shifted to Fidelio's left, and he saw what his friend meant. A civil war was a battle between two cities housed by the same country, such as a violent dispute between Vancouver and Dawson's Creek, B.C.; two of the 'bad-side' endowed were fighting.
Idith Branko and Manfred.
"Why are you blaming me for your stupid sister's death?" Manfred roared, his cape swirling ominously around his ankles. "Inez was the one idiotic enough to reject her double-talent blessing."
"It's not a blessing," Idith Branko hissed in return, her voice unusually shrill with anger. Hatred for the Headmaster's son blazed in her colorless eyes. "It's a curse. You're a curse."
Manfred snorted contemptuously. "Why don't you join your look-alike in hell, where you can both slander Bloor's in harmony?"
"That's not FUNNY!" Idith's forehead was pinched with concentration. Charlie knew her endowment—telekinesis—could be dangerous.
Dangerous, indeed. A table, screaming students sliding off as the far end tipped upward, flew straight toward Manfred. But Manfred's double-talented strength, which Charlie knew had replaced his hypnotism talent only recently, sent the shattered wood fragments flying. Children ducked as splintery chips made for the ground, hollering warnings and alerts.
"Get out of the way!"
"Heads up!"
"Come on, let's get out of here!"
Charlie watched a particularly large chunk of the bench zoom toward Fidelio as if it were a comet streaking down to Earth.
"Fido!" he bellowed, but his warning came too late. Fidelio drooped to the floor, slumped and motionless. Charlie began sobbing names: "Tancred? Sander! Are you here? Em—Liv? Cook? Cook! COOK!"
Cook was by his side in an instant, examining Fidelio's state. "His condition is bad, I'll have to admit, Charlie. He's unconscious. I expect it's a minor concussion. I'll send Sabella to the Infirmary."
She called to her waitress, and Charlie returned, reassured and relieved, to the argument between Idith and Manfred.
No longer was it an argument; the furious pair had begun to battle. Food, tables, benches, plates and cutlery flew toward Manfred, who was frantically attempting to shatter the flying objects with his two fists as quickly as possible. This was difficult for him, Charlie could see, because Manfred's knuckles could only eliminate one object at a time—and Idith had sent a multitude of dangers.
Students shrieking, rushing and sobbing over the din as Dr Bloor arrived. Charlie didn't want to stay for the lecture. Silverware flew above Charlie's head, grazing his nest of black hair lightly.
"Charlie! Let's leave!"
Charlie jumped the sound of his name. The squeaky albino's voice could not be mistaken from a mile away. He scanned the columns of panicked heads, finally locating Billy's snowy hair and glinting spectacles.
"Come on, Billy! Hurry!" Charlie seized Billy's wrist. Together, they darted up to the boys' dormitories, where they grabbed their luggage and sped to the entrance hall.
Nearly the majority of the students had beaten Charlie to the foyer of the Academy. The doors were forced open by a pressured Mr Weedon, and the rusty gate, recently oiled, swung forth invitingly to the students.
Crowds and crowds of children poured into the streets of the city; Charlie headed directly for Filbert Street. As he staggered wearily into Number Nine, Billy Raven in tow, he found a silver moth had followed him home, glittering in the sunlight as it rested on Charlie's shoulder.
"Well, hello," he smiled, exhausted from the running. Billy, freeing his wrist from Charlie's grasp, panted drowsily as he slid onto the floor.
"Codi!" Charlie ordered, his breathing heavy as the 'wand' obeyed. Charlie and Billy were lifted lightly into the air and carried up the stairwell as though human boys were naturally buoyant.
"What the—?" Uncle Paton peeked out his door, watching as a snoring Charlie and Billy were guided into Charlie's small bedroom at the end of the hall by a shining moth. Smiling to himself, Charlie's uncle closed the door, deciding he didn't really want to know.
Saturday morning, Emma awoke bright and early. Today was Julia's busiest day of the week.
"Only eight a.m. and the customers are staring into my shop window already, Emma," Julia Ingledew sighed as she swapped her Sorry, we're CLOSED sign for a flashing light that read OPEN.
"It's alright, Auntie," Emma said quickly. "I'll handle the customers; you can make breakfast."
With little reluctance, Miss Ingledew retreated into her kitchen. She knew her niece was capable of dealing with business matters. Often, Emma was left to manage the bookshop, and Miss Ingledew didn't mind.
"Hello—I'm looking for a Christmas gift for my wife," Mr Irving, the former Drama professor of Bloor's, said. "Oh—Emma Tolly! I didn't realize you were employed. Minimum wage, I suppose?"
It took seconds for Mr Irving's words to sink in. "Oh!" Emma said, startled. "I'm not an employee, Mr Irving. This is my home."
Mr Irving smirked slightly, but he dropped the topic immediately. "Well, what do you think Mrs Irving would enjoy reading?"
"It would help, sir," Emma said, between clenched teeth, "if you knew the genre of books she enjoyed reading."
"She's not an avid reader—she glances through magazines, scans cookbooks, et cetera. Mrs Irving is somewhat of a homebody."
"I recommend the culinary and horticultural books," Miss Ingledew trilled suddenly, entering the room with a fully-laden tray in her hands. "Here, Emma. Thank you. I'll handle Mr Irving."
"Yes," Mr Irving sneered. "Goodbye, Emma."
Emma scowled as she obeyed her auntie. She exited the shop front, Mr Irving's endless chatter ringing in her ears.
"No, gardening certainly isn't a common hobby for Helen. She does love pets, I must say."
Emma gave a start. Pets! How could she have forgotten about her meeting at the Pets' Café?
She issued a hurried, incomprehensible explanation to her aunt Julia, who replied with a baffled nod. Emma arrived at the Pets' Café in minutes, seeing as the Pets Café was located on Frog Street, an abandoned roadside by the Cathedral.
Gabriel, waiting by the corner, handed a furry gerbil to Emma as she passed.
"Is anyone else coming, Em?"
"I don't think so," Emma sighed. "I'm horribly late—I'll bet everyone's already inside, Gabe. Come on."
Gabriel followed Emma as they approached the door. But as Gabriel slid through the narrow entry, greeting their friends, Emma was stopped by a hand.
Tancred Torsson.
"Tancred?" Emma shrugged her arm from his grip. "Let go of me! What do you want?"
"I want you to know, Reid Rubix is no good for you."
Emma flushed, but her eyes remained defiant. "Reid is friendly, considerate and talented. He's everything you're not, Tancred Torsson."
"That's exactly what I meant," Tancred growled, his eyes blazing. "Reid is talented. Emma—I think he's endowed."
Jacky - What did you think?
You - Hmm...
Jacky - Hint to Remember:Tancred's actions are 85% of the time out of jealousy.
Review, please, and I will update more.