“How far are you?” Rusty asked Tristan, frowning, when Evvie finally announced that she was too tired to do any more work.
“I’m nearly done with Grindlethorn’s essay,” Tristan said, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Thinking about hypothermia and frostbite had reminded him of the first time he’d tried to run away, which did nothing to improve his concentration.
Rusty groaned. “I haven’t even started that; I’ve been trying to write that essay for Merridy.” He tossed his papers to the table with a sigh.
“And don’t forget the chart of magical theories for Brikkens,” Leila said wearily.
Annoyed, Tristan shuffled his papers into something of a pile. He couldn’t think straight.
“What’re you doing about those rocks?” Rusty asked. Reaching for his book bag, he dumped six lumpy stones onto his knees. “D’you reckon Delair will care if we just smash them?”
Leila snorted. “Probably.”
“I guess I’ll do this tomorrow night,” Tristan said, looking doubtfully at his pile of unfinished homework.
A book slammed behind Tristan, and he jumped. It was Evvie. She got to her feet and folded her arms across her chest, glowering at Tristan.
“When are we going to start doing something about the teachers?” she asked pointedly.
Tristan rolled his eyes. “Do I really have to do everything around here?” Still, he stood and called for attention.
“Sorry, guys,” he said. “I know we have lots to worry about already, but we should start stealing marbles tomorrow. Otherwise Evvie might mutiny.”
Evvie looked furious.
The next day, after a furtive discussion over breakfast, Tristan and his friends began stealing marbles and magical ingredients whenever they could, slipping them unobtrusively into pockets or bags.
Zeke’s gang caught on quickly, and by that afternoon, Zeke and Damian were doing their part to further the resistance. During botany, Damian backed into a clay flowerpot in the greenhouse and knocked it to the floor. The flowerpot shattered, spewing dirt and tattered leaves across the floor; Gracewright gave him a half hour of punishment and spent the rest of the period yelling at him.
Damian fixed Tristan with a murderous look, as though he blamed Tristan for Gracewright’s reaction.
During chemistry, Tristan distinctly saw Zeke pocketing handfuls of marbles, grinning as his jean pockets grew lumpier by the minute. Zeke probably didn’t care about the teachers—he was likely just seeing how much havoc he could get away with.
Tristan and the others from the Subroom were less conspicuous about what they stole; it was only when they returned to their bedroom and deposited what they’d collected that Tristan realized how much they had amassed.
“This is great,” Tristan said as he added his three marbles to a vase. “We’ll need a new bowl or something by the end of the week.”
Crossing to his side, Leila upended her book back onto the floor. A pile of metallic objects clattered onto the stone—after a moment Tristan realized that they were knives.
“Damn,” Rusty said, impressed. “Where’d these come from, huh?” He selected a knife from the pile and absently tapped the flat edge on his palm.
“Lots of places,” Leila said. “I’m trying not to get caught, unlike Zeke.” She made a face. “Speaking of which, the teachers are going to notice if we keep taking this much stuff every day. We should regulate it—how about we can only take one marble a day, and only if no one could possibly notice its absence.”
Tristan nodded and drew a blue-handled switchblade from the pile of knives. Flipping the blade closed with his thumb, he pocketed it.
By the end of the first week, the tall vase was overflowing with marbles. Before long, two more vases and a salad bowl joined their collection.
February began with another snowstorm and a steep drop in temperature; unable to hold classes in her drafty buildings upstairs, Gracewright carried down an armful of fresh cuttings and borrowed Brikkens’ classroom for several days. Each subsequent morning, Brikkens spent the class period grumbling about the dirt and leaves that Gracewright had left on his enormous round table.
Their innocuous marble-hoarding had continued for a month now, and it was during one of these indoor botany classes that the first student was caught.
“Christiansen,” Gracewright barked. “Hayley Christiansen!”
Hayley jumped so badly that her trowel went flying.
“What are you doing with those marbles?”
Hayley drew her hand out of her pocket and revealed two gold marbles. “Sorry, Professor,” she said, wide-eyed. “I wasn’t paying attention.” Even Tristan was almost convinced of her innocence.
“Very well,” Gracewright said. “But be careful when handling marbles in the future. I want no accidents.”
Hayley bobbed her head dutifully.
Tristan thought Hayley had gotten away easily, but that evening she was distraught. Ignoring Cailyn and Trey, she marched around the Subroom with a broom, attacking invisible dust bunnies and muttering to herself.
Watching Hayley from his usual armchair, Tristan felt horribly guilty. He had been the one who ordered everyone to steal; it would be his fault if anything awful happened to his friends.
That night, Tristan couldn’t sleep. He kept sinking into half-dreams, his mind pacing the Subroom like Hayley. Again and again he started awake and told himself that he was being stupid.
Finally he gave up on sleep and clutched his blankets to his chest, listening to the seconds tick by as he waited for morning.
After he’d lain awake for hours, Tristan saw a flicker of movement across the room—someone was getting up from bed, their small frame silhouetted in the firelight. When the figure straightened, he realized it was Evvie. As Tristan watched, head barely lifted from his pillow, Evvie slipped on her unlaced shoes and tiptoed to the doorway. Why on earth was she sneaking out in the middle of the night? Maybe she had just gone to the bathroom.
Tristan curled his legs to his chest, watching the clock. Five minutes passed...fifteen minutes...surely Evvie hadn’t simply been in the restroom this whole time, unless she was trying to drown herself in the shower...thirty minutes...
He nearly dozed off again, the flames blurring in his hazy vision. At last he heard the shuffling of careful footsteps as Evvie reappeared through the Prasidimum barrier. Tristan dropped his head quickly onto his pillow and pretended he was asleep. He heard a soft creaking of springs as Evvie lowered herself onto her mattress. What on earth had she been doing?
In the morning Tristan felt as though he hadn’t slept at all. Leila practically had to drag him out of bed for breakfast.
“Did something happen last night?” Tristan asked groggily, fumbling with his shoelaces.
Leila frowned. “What do you mean? We were all up late working on homework; is that what you’re talking about?”
“No, I mean about Evvie—she was gone...” Tristan yawned hugely.
“You’re still half-asleep,” Leila said, laughing. “Come on—we won’t have time to eat if you don’t hurry up.”
As they stumbled up through the dark tunnels, Tristan explained what he’d meant about the previous night.
When they reached the main hallway, Leila said, “Are you sure you weren’t dreaming?” She watched Tristan carefully.
He rubbed his eyes. “If I was, it was a pretty convincing dream. She was gone nearly an hour, and I was awake the whole time.”
Nodding, Leila grabbed Tristan’s elbow and began running along the hallway. “I want to see if something’s up.”
“Hey, slow down!” Tristan protested.
Up in the ballroom, everything was as usual. Tristan didn’t know what he’d been expecting; Evvie just looked as tired and sullen as the others.
“What’s up with you guys?” Rusty asked. He was determinedly spreading marmalade on a toasted bagel.
Tristan took a long draught of his coffee. “Nothing.”
Before he’d f
inished eating, there was a commotion at the door, and Delair came skidding into the ballroom. He was wheezing and clutching at his stomach, sweat glistening on his bald pate.
“My tunnel!” he cried, staring wildly around the room. “Where’s Drakewell? My tunnel—the mine—it’s been destroyed!” He staggered to a halt at the edge of the dining platform, face crimson.
“The headmaster doesn’t eat here,” Grindlethorn said coldly. “Which you would know if you bothered to join us more often.”
Bobbing his head at Grindlethorn, Delair scurried out of the ballroom.
“I knew it!” Tristan said. He realized too late that he’d nearly shouted.
Everyone turned to stare at him.
Gracewright got to her feet. “Did you just say you knew there’d been an attack?” she asked, alarmed. She was clearly still upset about the destruction of her greenhouse all those months ago. “Fairholm,” she said sharply, “were you involved in this?”
“No, I didn’t do it,” Tristan said quickly. “I promise, I had no idea about anything, I didn’t—”
“Indeed,” Gracewright said. She excused herself and hurried from the ballroom. Tristan had a bad feeling that she’d gone to fetch Drakewell.
Leila nudged him and whispered, “Are you saying Evvie—”
Tristan slapped her in the shoulder harder than he’d intended. “Shut up!” He was furious with himself—the last thing Drakewell needed was another reason to suspect him of something.
Leila said nothing, though she rubbed her shoulder and glared at him.
Was it possible that Evvie had been the vandal all along?
With a frown, Rusty put his elbows up on the table and studied Tristan. “Okay, so what’s this all about?” His bagel lay abandoned on his plate. “How come you knew about the attack?”
Tristan tightened his grip around his mug, cursing himself. At last he whispered, “I saw something last night. Ev—uh—someone left the room for a really long time, and I didn’t know why.”
Rusty’s eyes widened. “You mean it’s someone in the Subroom who’s been wrecking this place?”
It was Leila’s turn to punch Rusty in the arm. “Hush!”
“I don’t know,” Tristan said. “But don’t go blabbing about it, okay? I’m in enough trouble al—”
The doors to the ballroom crashed open, and Tristan flinched. Drakewell was standing in the doorway.
As Drakewell’s sunken eyes found Tristan, he sneered. “Fairholm,” he barked. “To my office.” He looked triumphant, which scared Tristan more than if he’d simply been angry.
With a pleading look at Leila, Tristan got to his feet.
“Just tell him what you saw,” Leila whispered. “He might believe you.”
Stomach churning, Tristan followed Drakewell out of the ballroom. The hallway seemed much darker and quieter than usual.
Tristan hadn’t been inside Drakewell’s office before. There was a plain wooden desk in the center, and bookshelves lining the walls, but aside from those the room was empty.
“Sit,” Drakewell said coldly, settling into a high-backed chair behind the desk. With a nervous glance towards the door, Tristan took a seat opposite the headmaster.
“This is the third time you’ve been implicated in a serious crime against this school,” Drakewell said, still leering at Tristan. “One such event could be labeled a coincidence, but three?” He tugged at the hourglass around his neck, showing his teeth. “Any final requests before I lock you away in the tunnels?”
“No, Professor, please,” Tristan said breathlessly, his chest tight. “I didn’t do anything to the greenhouse or Alldusk’s room or the mine, I promise. I’m just unlucky, I swear I wasn’t doing anything wrong, I—”
“Enough,” Drakewell said sharply. “Gather your belongings.”
“No!” Tristan cried. “I didn’t know there’d been an attack yesterday, I had no idea!”
Drakewell clenched his fist around the hourglass. “That’s interesting,” he said icily. “Professor Gracewright informs me that you said ‘I knew it’ when the announcement was made. Clearly you did have prior information about the attack.”
Tristan shook his head wildly. “No, I didn’t, I swear. I was afraid something had happened, but I didn’t know what.” He grasped the arms of his chair to steady himself. “If I’d wrecked the mine, I wouldn’t have said anything, would I?” he said desperately.
Drakewell’s hideous smile slid away. “Explain,” he said, turning over the hourglass in his bony fingers.
For a moment Tristan was paralyzed, watching the viscous black liquid ooze through the neck of the hourglass.
“I heard something last night,” he said carefully. “There were strange noises, like something was moving around. If there’s something in this school that’s been attacking rooms, that’s probably what I heard. So it made sense that the—the thing—had gone and wrecked Delair’s tunnel.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, hoping Drakewell would believe the lie.
“A convincing story,” Drakewell said coldly. “Fairholm, I’m going to make a deal with you. What it is that you desire most?”
“I want my brother back,” Tristan said without thinking. When he realized what he’d said, his face grew hot.
Drakewell shook his head, nostrils flaring in anger. “I cannot raise the dead, idiot boy,” he said. “However, you may prove too useful to be disposed of. This is your deal—if you can catch the vandal before the end of the semester, and prove his guilt, I will forgive you.” His eyes narrowed. “Fail to do so, and Amber Ashton will be punished in your stead.”
“What?” Tristan nearly shouted. “Professor, no, don’t do anything to Amber, I...”
Drakewell was horrible, twisted, manipulative—if it had just been himself in danger, Tristan would’ve protected Evvie and lied for her, but now? Drakewell was forcing him to choose between Evvie and Amber.
“Don’t do this, Professor, please, I can’t—”
“Enough. Get out of my office.”
Tristan fled. He was breathing hard when he joined Leila and Rusty in Brikkens’ class.
“Are you cleared?” Leila asked, hardly bothering to keep her voice down.
Tristan dropped his books and slumped into his chair. “What do you think?” He put his head down on his arms. How could Drakewell be so cruel? Evvie or Amber?
Leila poked him irritably. “You told him about Evvie, though, right?” she whispered. “He should be interrogating her, not you.”
Head still pillowed on his arms, Tristan shook his head. An odd sound filled his ears, like the twittering of a sparrow.
Rusty paused the busy scratching of his pen and elbowed Tristan from the other side. “Wait, are you saying Drakewell thinks you’re the vandal?”
“You really just figured that out?” Leila said.
“But Tristan didn’t even go anywhere near that tunnel, right?”
Tristan lifted his head. “It’s a reasonable guess, though,” he said miserably. “I did burn that damn entrance, didn’t I?” Evvie or Amber?
Brikkens cleared his throat pointedly and rapped his pudgy fist on the table. Tristan and Leila turned, realizing that he’d paused his lecture to glare at them.
“Sorry,” Tristan muttered. He wished he could make himself disappear.
None of the teachers mentioned the attack after that day, and Drakewell alone seemed to hold Tristan accountable. Maybe, just maybe, the other teachers would speak for him...
Regardless, Drakewell’s ultimatum continued to weigh on Tristan. What if Evvie’s disappearance that night had been mere coincidence; what if she hadn’t done anything wrong? And what if she had?
Evvie or Amber?
Chapter 18: Valentine’s Day
On the second Thursday of the month, Brikkens clambered to his feet at breakfast and announced that they would be celebrating Valentine’s Day with a feast on Saturday.
Quinsley, who had been hovering near the kitchen door, stepped
forward. “When Darla and Brinley were still in public school, their teachers had a tradition of delivering Valentine’s notes throughout the day. If any of you kids would like to send valentines to one another, I’ll be making cookies tonight.”
“Ooh,” Hayley said. She turned and looked around the room, as though hoping to find a good-looking boy she hadn’t yet discovered. “Will there be roses too?”
Quinsley laughed. “Abilene?” he said, glancing at Gracewright.
“Yes, you can have roses,” Gracewright said happily.
“So,” Quinsley said, “if you’d like to send a valentine tomorrow, stop by the kitchen and tell me sometime this afternoon.”
Tristan made a detour to the kitchen just before lunch.
“Hello, Tristan,” Quinsley said when Tristan pushed open the door. “Nice seeing you here—I’m suddenly the most popular teacher in the school!”
Tristan laughed.
Quinsley wiped his hands on his apron. “Okay, so who do you want to send valentines to?” He flipped open a notebook and uncapped the pen. “I’m molding chocolate hearts now, if you want to add those as well.”
“Do one for Amber and one for Evvie,” Tristan said. Drakewell’s ultimatum was still tormenting him. His very existence put both girls in danger; this was the least he could do to make up for it.
“Right-o,” Quinsley said.
“And I guess one for Leila and Rusty as well. Give Rusty an extra chocolate and leave out the rose.”
Quinsley chuckled and added a note to his list. “Have a good lunch, then.”
“Thanks,” Tristan said.
Evvie or Amber?
Enthusiastic as always, Brikkens had decorated his lemon tree with pink and red streamers. “Miss Christiansen gave me a brilliant idea at breakfast yesterday,” Brikkens said, handing around a pile of marbles. “I’ve borrowed a whole bucket of flower seeds, and today you kids will try your hand at growing them!”
“Haven’t we seen enough of plants in botany?” Damian grumbled. “We’ll probably be doing the same thing in Gracewright’s class.”
Metal and Magic: A Fantasy Journey Page 54
