Page 79 of The Bone Season

He left without a backward glance. I watched him disappear into Rose Lane before I knocked on the door to the Porters’ Lodge.

Gail let me in. ‘You’re back very early. I’ll come up to light the fire when I’m free.’ She clocked my face. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Fine,’ I muttered. ‘Just dealing with the local joker.’

‘What?’

I marched across the courtyard without answering, slowing halfway when my leg protested.

Nobody had their head on straight here. First Duckett and his bizarre remarks about Warden, and now David. My face burned.

He really could have shared those secrets just to tug my heartstrings. If so, I couldn’t blame myself for not anticipating it. By and large, Eliza was the one who got that sort of interest, not me.

But something about the whole thing did feel strange. My instincts were rarely wrong, and before I had doubted and pushed him, David had barely spared me a glance. The change had been jarring. He had also looked faintly relieved when I turned him down.

Whatever his motive, I would investigate his claims. His revelation about the scarred ones was the most significant, but even if it was true, it might not help. Any rebellious Rephs would have been expelled from the city, if not executed.

In the Founders Tower, I found no sign of Warden. I rinsed the green pill away, took the others. I knew better than to use his bath, but I seized the opportunity to steal hot water from his sink.

In the attic, I made a reckless attempt to wash my hair with soap. As I fought to untangle it, I searched for the source of the draught, to no avail. I collapsed back into bed, defeated.

I really wanted my old life back.

Over the next fortnight, I fell into something like a routine. The training had done such a number on me, I could barely muster the will to go up and down the stairs to the attic, but I still went to the Rookery every other night, to check on Liss and Julian.

On the nights I stayed in Magdalen, I explored its unlocked rooms. I found an icehouse, a dining hall, a library of books written in French and Greek. A small grove lay just north of the lawns; I spotted a herd of deer from a distance.

After years in central London, this silent place disquieted me. Magdalen was a beautiful shell, abandoned even by its ghosts. If I stopped inside it, it felt as if nothing else could be moving. Gail saw me off whenever I left, but in two weeks, I didn’t see either of the other residents, whose names were Michael and Fazal. We were like figures in a dollhouse, all in different rooms.

Warden barely returned in that fortnight. When he did, I was always in the attic. Sometimes I could sense him elsewhere in the residence.

He must have told someone to feed me. Every time I woke, fresh bread or a bowl of porridge waited in the parlour, along with a tiny cup of medicine for my leg. Those morsels of food only deepened my hunger. One night, I took a lamp to the dining hall and walked between its long tables, imagining them piled high with a feast.

I was becoming part of Magdalen.

For all I wanted to escape, it had accepted me.

On the second of April, thick fog swathed the city again, blurring the gaslight. As usual, I went out, my pockets rattling with numa.

In the Rookery, I traded a pair of scratched dice for toke. Julian was training, while Liss had been summoned to perform at the Fell Theatre. I sat on a bench in Radcliffe Square and bit into the stale bread.

As I sat there, I watched David pass, engaged in conversation with the Overseer. He was definitely off my list of potential allies.

Fortunately, neither of them saw me. Once I had finished the toke, I returned to Magdalen, heading straight for the Founders Tower. I expected to find it empty.

What I found was blood.

DISTRACTION

2 April 2059

The first drop was on the steps. My sixth sense abruptly sharpened, and I looked down to see a glowing spot, right next to my boot.

A trail of mud and blood led me upstairs. I followed it into the parlour, then up to the bedchamber.

Warden was out cold. He had attempted to draw the curtains around his bed. Now one of them lay on the floor, along with his boots and a black jerkin.

As I waited for any sign of life, I picked up the jerkin, finding it heavier than I had expected. From what I could tell, squares of metal had been sewn into the lining, but they hadn’t saved him. Half the fastenings hung loose, while the others were gone.

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