Veronica waited at the door to Tria’s room. “Headmistress sent me to fetch you,” she announced. “You’re to come immediately.”
The confidence inspired by her improved appearance drained away. Stomach churning, she followed the little maid back to the Headmistress’s cluttered office.
This time the woman was standing, leaning toward her, tall and menacing, her sharp-featured face reminding Tria of a vulture.
“Young lady,” she began, “you have been at Simonton School only a few hours, and already you have violated two of its most sacred principles.”
She paused, glaring down until Tria felt that the weight of that stare would hammer her through the floor. Tria’s knees trembled; she did not trust herself to speak.
The implacable voice continued. “You have used your power without permission and in an irresponsible manner. No student may use his or her power on these premises except in the presence of and with the permission of an instructor. Failure to comply with this regulation will bring a severe penalty. Repeated infractions will result in expulsion.”
“I’m sorry,” Tria stammered. “I … I didn’t know.”
“Your ignorance only adds to your offense,” the Headmistress snapped. “Your dormitory room holds a copy of the Student Rights and Responsibilities Manual. I spoke of it in our interview. Your proper course of action should have been to use the afternoon to study it.”
A manual. Could that have been the tattered spiral-bound book she’d found in a desk drawer under a mound of pencil shavings and a dead beetle? The title on the faded cover had been illegible, and she had supposed it to be an old notebook left by a previous resident. She tried to remember what she had done with it. Probably threw it into the trash.
Yes, she recalled dumping the contents of the drawer into the trash bin by the head of the stairs. Maybe she could retrieve it later, though the thought of having to root through the filth in the bin sickened her.
The Headmistress straightened to her full, incredible height and said, “Now the second offense, Miss Tesserell. The second is the most serious offense a student can commit.” Again she paused while Tria writhed beneath the vulturine glare.
“For a student to engage in the capricious manipulation of time is a repudiation of every ethical standard upheld by this institution, its faculty, and its student body. It reveals a blatant disregard for the safety and well-being of our entire society. What have you to offer as a reason for such criminal behavior?”
Criminal behavior! Tria felt faint. She grabbed at the edge of the Headmistress’s desk.
Her only defense was to tell the truth. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t know what would happen. I’d been cleaning my room, I looked a mess, the dinner bell rang, and I just stared at the clock. And … everything went blurry, and when it cleared, the clock had gone back an hour. I hadn’t meant to do it. I didn’t know I could.”
“Hmmm. I ought to dismiss you immediately, but you are too dangerous to be set loose in society. You will be allowed to remain here, but you will be kept under close supervision. Under no circumstances are you to use the least bit of your special talent until I myself permit you to do so. I will notify your instructors that you are required to master the theoretical aspects of the classes but are forbidden to participate in the practical aspects. That policy may affect your grades, but you’ve brought that consequence upon yourself.”
Tria blinked, holding back tears. She would not give this stern, heartless woman the satisfaction of seeing her cry. She would accept her punishment with dignity. She only wanted the interview to end.
But the Headmistress had not finished. “The hour you stole has reached an end.” As she said the words, the dinner bell rang. “You have disturbed an equilibrium which one day must be restored. You will be required to return the hour you took. When or under what circumstances I cannot say.”
The Headmistress moved out from behind the desk and glided around it to stand beside Tria. A bony hand grasped Tria’s shoulder. “You will accompany me to the dining hall. I will present you to your classmates, and you will confess your wrongdoing and ask their forgiveness.”
Tria gasped. She couldn’t! She’d ask the woman to dismiss her instead. If her father wouldn’t take her back, maybe Kate would take her in. Nothing she would endure at home could be any worse than what she was enduring here.
But the fingers dug into her flesh and pushed her backward from the office, giving her no chance to speak. In the corridor she was turned around and marched like a naughty child down the steps and through a hall to a large dining room reeking of cabbage. She was paraded past tables surrounded by gaping faces and conducted to the only table graced with a white linen cloth and set with fine china. The Headmistress stood behind the center seat at the table, facing the other diners. She motioned to Tria to stand at the place next to hers. Although other places were set at the table, no one claimed them. Tria felt horribly conspicuous and wished she could become invisible or bid the floor open and swallow her up.
The Headmistress tapped her ring against a water glass. Throughout the room everyone stood at attention behind his or her chair, and all eyes focused on the Headmistress. Few though the students were, the gathering seemed unbearably large to Tria.
The tall woman began to speak. “Students of Simonton School, as we enter a new scholastic year I extend greetings and a warm welcome to you all. Tomorrow the term will officially open with a solemn convocation in the assembly hall at ten. Everyone is required to attend. At that time, the members of the faculty will be formally presented to our beginning students. Following that assembly, students will receive their individual fall class schedules at tables set up for that purpose in the quadrangle. Classes will begin at eight the following morning.”
The length of these opening remarks gave Tria an opportunity to look over the assembled diners. Most were her age; a few were two or three years older. The group was about half male and half female. She spotted the boy she had seen earlier; his black garb made him easily recognizable. He met her gaze with an insolent smirk; she turned quickly away and scanned the other faces, hoping for evidence of friendliness and sympathy. The faces registered polite attention but little animation; they could have been wearing identical wooden masks for all Tria could read in their expressions. She saw little hope of finding friends among them.
“Now, students, I am sorry to delay your meal and I deeply regret the reason for the delay.”
Here it comes, Tria thought. Her head pounded with a tension headache. Her stomach felt full of rocks.
“You must be aware that we experienced an unusual event this afternoon. The anomaly was the result of a serious violation not only of school rules but of the ethics of power use. The student responsible for the deed stands here before you. You will hear her confession.”
All eyes turned to Tria. Her head swam; tears blurred her vision.
I can’t disgrace myself by crying, she thought. I won’t provide a spectacle for them.
She took a deep breath, dug her nails into her palms, and spoke slowly. “My name is Tria Tesserell. This afternoon I used my talent to turn the time back one hour. It was not deliberate. I didn’t know until it happened that I had that gift. I am sorry to have acted irresponsibly and caused so much trouble. I ask your pardon.”
There! I hope that satisfies her. I don’t see that I really caused any trouble except for myself, and I certainly am sorry about that!
At a nearby table someone giggled. A glare from Headmistress transformed the sound into a cough.
“I have made it clear to Miss Tesserell that such behavior will not be tolerated here at Simonton,” Headmistress said. “You may all be seated, and the meal may be served.”
Headmistress grasped Tria’s arm and pointed to a table near the front where, to Tria’s relief, no other students were seated. “Sit there,” was the woman’s peremptory command.
Tria went to that table and sank into a chair facing away from the other st
udents. She fixed her gaze on her empty plate. Bowls of food were placed on the table. Tria did not look up to see who served them, though later she caught a glimpse of Veronica moving among the tables carrying a serving tray.
The rank smell of overcooked cabbage made her gag. Small potatoes, hard and unseasoned, and charred slices of stringy meat that could have been cut from an old shoe complemented the cabbage. She placed small portions from each bowl onto her plate but could not choke down a single bite. After stirring the food around to make it look as though she had eaten, she sat in shamed silence until Headmistress folded her napkin beside her empty plate and rose, signaling the end of the dinner hour. Chairs scraped against the floor, feet shuffled, plates clattered.
Tria also rose. Head held high, she ignored the curious stares and muffled snickers. Wearing a look that defied anyone to speak to her, she strode through the corridors and up the stairs to her room.
She closed the door behind her and fell sobbing onto her cot. She could not stay in this terrible place.
CHAPTER FOUR
MEETINGS
Breakfast was weak tea and a watery porridge made more unpalatable by the curious stares of her fellow students. The hard brown bread that accompanied the porridge could be rendered edible only by soaking it in the tea. A nagging headache warned her that she had to get something into her stomach. She’d eaten almost nothing the day before. Somehow she forced the awful stuff down.
At least the meal was free of the daunting presence of the Headmistress. A bearded old man in a wrinkled black robe presided at the head table. He nodded and beamed at the students through thick, gold-rimmed spectacles.
Conversations buzzed all around, but no one spoke to her. She ate as fast as her tortured stomach permitted, excused herself, and returned to her room.
On the way, she paused and dug through the dustbin to retrieve the discarded manual. She had been too upset last night. She found the book, dirty, damp, and smelling of cleaning solutions, and carried it back to her room, holding it at arm’s length between thumb and forefinger. After wiping it off as well as she could, she spread it open on her desk.
Gingerly she turned the damp pages. The first page must have extended a welcome to the student: she made out the letters W E L O M in the title. The rest of the page was completely illegible—appropriate in view of the reception she had thus far encountered.
The next couple of pages held a history of the school, also largely illegible, to Tria’s disappointment. She had wanted to discover the age of the building and learn whether the school could claim any recent honors. The brochure that had lured her here boasted of the school’s many distinctions, and she suspected that it claimed achievements decades in the past. But the stained pages kept their secrets. The only decipherable portion revealed that the school was named for Lesley Simonton, a man of great power, though the specific deed for which he was memorialized was obliterated by grime.
The pages containing the long list of school rules had suffered less damage. She could read them before the morning convocation.
She discovered that students were not only responsible for cleaning their own rooms but were also assigned on a rotating basis kitchen duties, gardening, laundry, and other housecleaning and maintenance chores. “The school has only a small support staff of cooks, custodians, and maintenance personnel,” the manual explained, “so student assistance is essential to the school’s smooth operation.”
Support staff! Tria sniffed. I don’t believe they really have one. I’ve only seen Veronica. And when do they expect us to study?
She found the answer to that when she read that, although the school day was divided into five class periods, each student took only four classes per term, leaving one class period free for study, work, or supervised practice of the magical arts.
Four classes—that’s so few. We had twice that many all through Basic School. They really don’t expect us to learn much here. I know they just want to collect our tuition.
She reached the section setting forth restrictions on use of power and was dismayed at its length. It opened with the general rule that students were to use their gifts only with the permission of and under the supervision of an instructor.
A long list of specific prohibitions followed. Tria ran her finger down the side until she spotted the one that read, “No student may ever, under any circumstances, adjust the flow of time in any manner.”
That was plain enough. Now that she knew she could do it, she’d take care not to allow it to happen again. Since her father had forbidden her to perform what he called “tricks of magic,” she’d always exercised power more by accident than with deliberate intent.
She continued to study the list to learn what other abilities she might have that she did not know about and might stumble on in embarrassing circumstances. Grudgingly she admitted Headmistress was not wrong in declaring that she needed to learn control. Perhaps the school, despite its inadequacies, could teach her that much.
She read other items in the list:
“Use of magic as a weapon against another is strictly prohibited.
“Except under carefully controlled conditions, with the consent of those involved, no spell may be placed on any member of the faculty, staff, or student body.” Tria disliked the idea of placing spells. She knew little about them, but her understanding was that they required the gathering of specified materials and the chanting or singing of mystical phrases to accomplish their purpose. She wanted only to learn to use her own natural gifts; she was not interested in feats done with mirrors and shadows and such. But the book contained several rules governing spells.
“Candles used in spells must be carefully extinguished when the spell is complete. Never leave a burning candle unattended.
“Animals used in spells must be treated humanely.
“The Dire Realms shall not be subject to exploration by any means. Their denizens shall not be invoked. NO EXCEPTIONS TO THIS RULE.”
Exploring the Dire Realms! Tria shivered. The Dire Realms were the abode of the Dire Lords, male and female guardians of other planes of existence, alternate universes, and spirit realms, including the realms to which the human soul travels after death. She knew that there were believed to be evil Dire Lords, good Dire Lords, and indifferent or amoral Dire Lords. Her mother had worn an amulet to protect against the evil Dire Lords, though her father scoffed at such superstition.
Her mother had taught her that, while normally none of the Dire Lords takes interest in the affairs of living humans, the use of magic power attracts their attention, since those powers originate in and are drawn from the Dire Realms. For that reason, those who practice magic must take special care not to anger the Lords and Ladies of the Dire Realms.
The thought of invoking any denizen of the Dire Realms, be it a creature of the Dire Lords or a Dire Lord himself, gave her chills. She couldn’t imagine wanting to do anything so terrifying. That rule was one she would never have to worry about breaking.
She read the next rule on the list: “Shapeshifting is permitted only on field trips designed for the purpose. Students with that talent are prohibited from exercising it on the school premises.”
Shapeshifting was a talent Tria had never thought about. She probably didn’t have it, but she certainly dared not explore the possibility.
Despite her depression, the next rule made her smile. “No student may create life in any form.”
Surely no student could accomplish any such thing. The rest of the statement only added to the absurdity. “Students are not ready to accept the grave responsibility attendant upon any creative act.” She giggled. They don’t need to worry. I won’t create any stray universes in my spare time.
In a lighter mood she read on. “Thought-reading and mindspeaking are to be engaged in only with the knowledge and consent of the targeted person.
“Do not attempt interdimensional travel without an experienced guide.” Whatever that meant!
The possibilities in
herent in these various prohibitions fascinated Tria, and she was annoyed when a tapping at her door interrupted her reading. She rose and opened the door.
A heavy-set girl with a round face and a frightened look peered at her with pale blue eyes. “Hi,” she said in a voice scarcely more than a whisper. “I live just down the hall from you.” She pointed vaguely in the direction of the washroom. “I’m Nubba Balder. I’m a second-year student. May I come in?”
Tria saw no need to introduce herself; the girl obviously knew who she was. By way of reply she pulled the door open wide and allowed her visitor to enter.
Nubba wedged herself into the narrow space between the cots and did a graceless pirouette, taking in every detail of the tiny room. “Ooh! You’ve fixed this up so pretty! But don’t you have a roommate?”
Tria’s headache hadn’t gone away, and she was in no mood to entertain a guest, but this was the first student who’d been friendly to her. She had to be polite. “I have one, but she hasn’t come yet. Veronica said she’d arrive today, but she didn’t say at what time.”
“Time.” Nubba latched onto the word and echoed it like a mantra. “Time. Is it true—” her voice dropped to an awed whisper, “—did you really fold time?”
Tria felt her cheeks flush. “I didn’t mean to. I—I really am sorry about it.”
Nubba ignored the apology. “That’s so awesome,” she gushed. “I’ve never known anyone with that much power.”
Tria stared at her. It had not occurred to her that some students might admire what she had done. “It didn’t seem to take much,” she confessed. “It just happened.”
“How?” The girl’s face resembled a fat frog ready to snap up a fly.
Tria shrugged. “I looked at the clock, and things went all blurry, and—and it happened, that’s all.”
“Ooh! You make it sound so easy.”
A School for Sorcery (Arucadi Series Book 6) Page 3
