Wings.
Flying on a broom was the most wonderful thing Rachel knew of, but…
Wings?
As if in a dream, Rachel landed her broom and walked forward. Coming to stand directly before the statue of mossy stone, she reached up and touched its cheek. It felt cold and smooth beneath her hand.
“What is it?” she whispered. “It’s not an elf—it can fly. It’s not a fairy—no butterfly wings. It’s not a pixie—too big. And pixie wings look more like a dragonfly’s. What could it be?”
The air was still, but the bough above her head bobbed in the silence. Rachel stood before the statue and traced the moss that streamed like tears down its cheek. A hush had fallen over the glade, a feeling of expectation. She felt as if she had forgotten how to breathe. For the second time that morning, a tremendous sense of foreboding came over her, but what it foretold, whether good fortune or ill, she knew not.
Chapter Two:
The Treacherous Art of Making Friends
Reluctantly leaving the statue, Rachel took to the air. Enough sightseeing, she wanted her new life to begin. Zooming back to school, she went in search of the other flying children she had seen from her window.
She spotted them flying along the gravel path between the dorms. There were three of them—blond girls about her age. They rode travel brooms. Their brightly-colored, sporty, metal flyers had handlebars, seats, and foot rests like a bicycle. Toward the back end of the flying device, the main shaft swept upward a hand’s span, ending in an elegant metal fan consisting of three large blades that stuck out behind the device like a horizontal peacock tail. Travelers were practical and sturdy but not as maneuverable as Vroomie.
The first girl had striking green eyes and her straw-colored hair was pulled back by a gold-flecked headband. Her face was narrow with a spattering of freckles. The second girl was quite pretty, though she wore lipstick and dark eyeliner, which Rachel did not think looked attractive on someone so young. She had an intelligent look to her face. The third girl was plainer and heavier than the other two, but her clothes were of excellent quality, with pearl buttons on her white shirt and sapphires in her ears.
All three girls were dressed in subfusc—the most modern of the three forms of dress allowed at Roanoke—white button-down shirts, black skirts, long black ribbons that hung down from their necks like thin split ties, and black half capes. They looked so smart in their handsome outfits, gaily chatting together. Occasionally, one let go of her high handlebars to gesture expansively.
Girls who liked flying. Perfect for new friends!
Rachel had never had a proper friend. She was very fond of the grandson of the cook at Gryphon Park, but Taddy only visited his grandmother for a few weeks each summer and at Yule. She also adored Benjamin Bridges, the son of her father’s close friend, but again, the Bridges rarely came over. She often visited the tenant farmers on her family’s estate, but their children had school to attend and chores to do. They seldom had time to play.
Ever since her brother Peter left for school three years ago, Rachel had spent her free time by herself. Her days were spent wandering the long halls of Gryphon Park or roaming over the extensive grounds. She loved the enormous mansion as if it were a friend, but it was not the same as having a person for a friend. She had spent her time with nothing for company except her books, her pony, and, more recently, her broom.
Of all the things she had anticipated about coming to Roanoke, having a friend was the one she looked forward to the most. In the storybooks, school children had inseparable friends. Could these girls be destined to be hers? Her heart thumping hopefully, Rachel flew next to the other children and waved.
The three girls turned and regarded her. Rachel’s stomach tightened. She did not like their disdainful expressions. She gave them a big smile. When none of them returned it, the knot in her stomach grew tighter. It tightened six times more when she realized they were staring at her broom.
Rachel’s broom was not a light weight aluminum device made by Ouroboros Industries, like those the other girls were flying. Hers had been constructed in the old-fashioned way, by hand. The main shaft was deeply polished dark walnut. The ten, slender blades of the fan were alternating slats of mahogany and cherry wood. The shiny black leather seat was low to the shaft, to allow her to lean close and hook her feet up behind her if she wanted to steer manually; instead of using the levers next to the short handlebars. The fastenings, handlebars, and footrests were of black cast iron and shiny brass. In the early morning light, the three shades of reddish and dark wood gleamed brightly.
Rachel thought Vroomie was the most beautiful thing in the world.
“Hullo. Rachel Griffin. How do you do?” she called hopefully.
“Cydney Graves,” said the girl with the green eyes, giving her a rather nice smile. Her American accent sounded strange to Rachel’s ears. Cydney gestured at the pretty girl and then the plain one. “This is Belladonna Marley and Charybdis Nutt.”
“Marley…as in Aaron Marley?” Rachel asked.
As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. It was not good form to ask if a new acquaintance was related to one of the world’s most infamous evil sorcerers, the archiomancer who had released the Terrible Five from their ancient prison and aided them in their reign of terror. Belladonna’s eyes immediately grew hostile.
“He was my grandfather,” she said coldly.
Rachel sat there, not certain what to say. How did one make friends?
“What kind of broom is that?” Cydney leaned sideways to get a better view. “It’s too short for a traveler, too long and thin for a sports model, and it has far too big a fan for a racer.”
“It’s a steeplechaser,” Rachel answered proudly. “They don’t make many anymore.”
“I can see why,” Belladonna snorted in amusement. “It’s made of wood! What’s with that? Couldn’t afford a real bristleless?”
“What is a steeple?” giggled Charybdis, as if eager to amuse the other two girls. “An animal they only have in England?”
The three girls snickered.
Pain pierced Rachel’s heart. Nothing had as much power to hurt her as insults to her broom. But she did not let it show. Keeping up a calm mask was a trick she and Sandra had learned from their mother at a young age.
She raised her head haughtily. “It is a very good broom. Much better than the ones you’re riding!”
As soon as it left her mouth, Rachel realized this also was not the right thing to say. But then, they had insulted Vroomie.
Cydney’s eyes narrowed. “I will have you know that my broom is an O.I. Redbird Flycycle. You can’t buy a better broom.”
Belladonna smirked. “She doesn’t know a good broom from a bad one, Cydney. Look how tiny she is. She can’t be a student. She must be somebody’s baby sister.” She moved closer, circling Rachel. “Are those even your robes? Or did you put your big sister’s clothes on this morning?”
Cydney gave Rachel’s garments a cynical look. “Full-academic is so old-fashioned. Nobody wears it any more. Is your family too poor to buy new clothes?”
“No one wears full-academic except royalty,” giggled Charybdis. “Dread and his cronies dress that way. So do the Romanovs, and some of the Starkadder princes.”
Belladonna rolled her eyes. “Well, she’s hardly royalty.”
Rachel kept up her mask of calm. Inside, she felt crushed but also sadly amused. This last slight had missed its mark. True, she was not royalty; however, Rachel’s father was The Duke of Devon and her proper title was The Lady Rachel Griffin. Duke was the highest of noble ranks, second only to royalty, and the Griffins could trace their lineage back sixty-four generations, all the way back to Hyperborea, during the Roman Republic.
Since the Wise lived much longer than mundane folk, sixty-four generations was a very long time indeed. Even the Dutch and Japanese royal families, the oldest royal lines in the world, could not trace their lineage back beyond the Middle Ages, mu
ch less the Starkadders of Transylvania or the Von Dreads of the Kingdom of Bavaria. She did not know who the Romanovs were, unless the girls meant the family of the long-deposed Russian Tsar.
She considered explaining but thought better of it. Such claims smacked of boasting. One did not win friends by boasting—well, not the sort of friends she wanted anyway.
Rachel looked at the three girls again, with their gold-flecked headbands and mother-of-pearl buttons. Realization dawned. These were American nouveau riche, famous for flaunting their wealth. Coming to riches so recently, they did not understand true elegance. Rachel’s family owned a town, but the Griffins did not parade around with jewels on their robes. They had far too much class for that.
Not that Rachel disliked Americans. In fact, she much admired the spirit of bravery and independence they exhibited. But she was beginning to fear she might not like these particular Americans. She felt sorry for these girls. But the sorrow was tinged with a fear.
Perhaps she was not going to find friends here after all.
The four of them emerged from the forest and flew onto the emerald green lawns of the commons, the fields that stretched from the main building down the length of the campus to the lily pond. It was easy to remain unfazed while someone insulted her; that was part of her mother’s training. It was more difficult to keep up the brave front once the initial onslaught was over. Sometimes, it felt as if the emotions she had deflected swung around like a boomerang and hit her from behind, bruising her all the harder on the return.
She bent low and gripped her handlebars more tightly.
She suddenly felt very lonely.
With the forest and the western dorms behind them, the main campus stretched out in either direction. To their left lay the reflecting lake with its small pleasure boats. The boats had eyes painted on them and could move of their own accord. On the far side of the lake rose the main building, great Roanoke Hall. The dining hall was in the center. The right side housed the upper school; the left side housed the college.
Roanoke Hall resembled the Chateau de Chambord, which Rachel’s family had visited in France. Like Chambord, the hall had been designed by the great sorcerer Leonardo da Vinci. It was a massive castle with enormous round towers. Dozens of lesser spires and gables graced the roof. Six bell towers rose above the rest.
It seemed to Rachel as if the towers and spires called to her, as if they were whispering, asking her to fly between them—preferably at high speed. She gripped her handlebars tightly, smiling, eager to accept the challenge.
What a wonderful place to own a broom!
The forest flanked the main chateau and the reflecting lake. Through the trees—birches and hemlocks—she could see the towers of the other dormitories, including Dee Hall, where she secretly had hoped to be assigned, even though generations of her family had all lived in Dare Hall. Each dorm was devoted to students studying one of the seven Sorcerous Arts and had its own character and nature.
To the right, the commons stretched several hundred yards to a lily-covered pond. On the far side of the lawns were walled gardens, ivy-covered out-buildings such as tool sheds, the gymnasium upon which grew purple wisteria, and an Oriental garden. She could also hear the creek that ran through the woods beyond. On the closer side of the lily pond, in the distance, stood fountains, statues, and a tall, domed memorial. In the distance, beyond the pond, she could make out a double row of trees leading to the docks.
Near the reflecting lake, an astonishingly handsome boy with golden curls was chasing a long red and gold ribbon that whipped through the air. He charged forward, laughing loudly as he went. The other girls flying with Rachel stared at him, mesmerized.
No. He was not chasing a ribbon. He was chasing a dragon.
“Sigfried Smith!” shouted the three girls in unison. Rachel feared they were going to swoon and fall from their brooms. She glanced at the boy with interest and saw they were correct. It was Sigfried the Dragonslayer, the most famous boy in the World of the Wise.
The girls began all babbling at once.
“They say he’s an orphan. And raised in the mundane world, too!”
“In a truly Dickensian orphanage, in the worst part of London.”
“And he’s rich as Croesus!”
“Do you think he really killed a dragon in the London sewers?”
“A giant one. All scales and fire!”
“I saw a picture in Mirror of the Wise.”
“Where else would an orphan boy get a fortune?”
In unison, they all crooned, “And he’s got a pet dragon!”
Rachel turned away with a pang of regret. The boy looked so charming and energetic, but there was no point in joining the gaggle. With so many pretty girls to choose from, a boy like that—handsome, famous, and rich—would never pick for a friend someone undersized and awkward with people—like Rachel.
Instead, she zoomed forward and looked more closely at the dragon, as it zig-zagged along the edge of the reflecting lake. Its long serpentine body, which sometimes seemed to be ten feet long and sometimes twenty, was covered with soft golden fur with ruby scales on the underside. Its frippery—immensely long whiskers, tail puff, and the mane that ran down the length of its body—were flame red. Short horns curled above its wolf-like head. It was a lung, a river spirit from the Far East. Only, according to the News Glass, no one had ever seen one like Sigfried’s.
It was so beautiful. She wished she could reach out and pet it.
The dragon turned and looked at her with its large jade eyes. Their gazes met. He looked so intelligent, so mentally active, Rachel could not help smiling.
“Flying brooms! Wicked cool!” Sigfried exclaimed behind her. He had an English accent, too, though it was working class. Still, the familiarity of it made her feel more at home. Turning, Rachel saw him peering closely at Belladonna’s red bristleless.
“Where do you attach the bombs, then?” Sigfried peered at the device. “These things look like they don’t even have missile bays! How do you expect to blow up a lecture hall during a dull class without missiles?”
Rachel burst out laughing. Behind her the three blondes giggled, but they seemed uncertain, as if they were unsure of what to make of him.
“What a cute accent!” exclaimed Charybdis, batting her blond eyelashes at him.
Watching the girls gush over the famous boy amused Rachel. She did not like them, but she had to admit they made a pretty picture, all giggling and blushing in their smart black and white uniforms. She bet the boy liked it.
Boys were like that.
Rachel herself was not much interested in boys, except for her enduring crush from afar on John Darling, the son of world famous James Darling, Agent. With a start, she realized that John, who was one of the school’s stars at Track and Broom, must be somewhere on campus. The thought made her slightly breathless.
“How fast can it go?” Sigfried ignored the girls, his entire attention on their brooms. He leaned over them, poking at the levers and the fans. “If I fly fast enough, can I ram through a wall? Can it shoot out an oil slick and make people skid in mid-air? Do people freeze if they fly too high, so that their corpses circle the earth forever? Have any sorcerers flown a broom to the Moon? Mars? If not, I want to be the first person on Mars!” He stared up hungrily at the sky. Grinning again, he asked, “Can I have a go?”
Rachel laughed again. The boy was outrageous. If she had a friend like this, she would always be laughing. The other girls did not seem to be catching on.
“I…guess you can try it.” Belladonna bit on a lock of her shoulder length hair. “Though if you’ve never flown before, it’s tricky. You might want to wait for gym class.”
“One of you could give him a ride,” suggested Rachel.
The other students turned. The gazes of the three young women were not friendly. Rachel blushed. She had not meant to draw attention to herself. She started to pull back, but the boy gave her a grin so bright that the gleam from his teeth c
ould have blinded sailors on passing flying ships. Perhaps, he, too, enjoyed hearing a familiar accent.
“I guess you could sit on the shaft.” Belladonna gestured at the long pole behind her seat. “People used to do that all the time, before adding seats became popular.”
“Great! I want to go see Stony Tor.” Sigfried spoke with tremendous enthusiasm. His startlingly blue eyes glittered with manic delight. “I hear there’s an evil goblin trapped there! The Heer of Dunderhead or something. Can we see him? Will he be cross if we poke him with a stick? What if we shoot him with fireballs? Do we learn to throw fireballs here? All magicians in stories throw fireballs—or so I’ve been told. Haven’t read a lot of stories, outside King Arthur. Do we get to be knights?”
“We are not allowed to cross the wards that protect school grounds.” Cydney spoke with haughty primness. Rachel guessed the harshness of her tone was directed at Belladonna, in retaliation for being the first to offer to take the cute boy for a ride. “Crossing the wards without the proper precautions could let something unpleasant through the protections.”
“How disappointing.” Sigfried scowled in annoyance.
Rachel examined the boy very carefully. Not just now, as he stood scowling, but also as he had appeared in her memory over the last few minutes. His huge impish grin suggested that the crazy things he said were all in fun—a show of boyish enthusiasm, as when her friend Ben Bridges described, complete with leaps and imitation cantrip gestures, the spells he would have cast had he fought the Terrible Five during the Battle of Roanoke, twenty-five years ago.
However, there was something else in the eyes of this boy, a glint of desperation—like a sailor at sea in the midst of a storm with no sail, no anchor, and no port in sight.
Sigfried Smith had grown up as an Unwary, Rachel recalled from a myriad of news glass articles. He had lived in the mundane world of vacuums, automobiles, and television, without bwca to clean his house, without flying umbrella carriages, without magic. His calm universe of orderly physics had been turned upside-down earlier this summer, when he had come upon a dragon in the sewers of London. He had slain the beast, gained possession of its hoard, and catapulted himself into instant fame in the World of the Wise.
The Unexpected Enlightenment of Rachel Griffin (Books of Unexpected Enlightenment Book 1) Page 2
