Page 19 of The Ordeals
I’mfree.
Chapter 7
Hope and Gantry
The woman crooks her finger. Regarding me with a coldness that borders on hostility, she’s oblivious to what has happened, the seismic shift in my life that has just taken place.
‘Follow me.’
She leads me up a set of steps cut into the harsh rock face of the isle, then onwards to the castle as I try to contain the multitudes exploding and shifting inside of me. The knowledge that I am free, I am free, I am free.
We pass through a gatehouse into a small office inside, filled with pigeonholes along three walls, a few letters, rolled-up broadsheets and society papers poking out of them. A man is sitting before them, behind a desk, listening to a wireless, the tinny sounds of a news broadcast whining in the small space.
‘Another hopeful, George,’ the woman tosses at him, and he scrambles to stand, hastily pushing the wireless to one side. ‘If I catch you with that again, it’ll be confiscated.’
‘Apologies, Mrs Parnell.’
I want to hold out my wrist, tell this George, tell anyone who’ll listen:I made it. I’m no longer his creature. I’m Sophia DeWinter and it’s my choice to be here; but then I remember where I am, the Crucible I barely survived to pass through those gates. That this semester will be just as cut-throat, just as deadly, and I cannot trust anyone but myself.
‘Keep up, Miss DeWinter,’ Mrs Parnell says, voice cracking like a whip. We enter a courtyard, all covered in the twisting limbs of overgrown ivy, the courtyard floor itself uneven cobblestones. The sides of the courtyard are high-walled and dotted with diamond-paned windows. There are towers at each corner, and perhaps once they were elegant. But now they are salt-stained with patches of lichen creeping over them. She walks straight through the courtyard, stepping through a walkway on the far side, two huge wooden doors covered in iron studs thrust back as though they are never closed, and I realise with the first trickle of foreboding where we are going.
The tower is set far away from the castle proper, down a set of steps cut into uneven granite that lead to the edge of the cliff. She pauses by the door, waiting for me to catch up, and a spray of sea crackles over my face.
As we reach the tower, Mrs Parnell throws the door open and clasps her hands. That same frosty smile she wore earlier graces her too tight skin, pulling at the colourless flesh of her lips. ‘Welcome to Hope Hall, Miss DeWinter, your home for the duration of your stay.’
Hope Hall.
I almost laugh at the irony of the name, this place perched on the cliff edge, a tower that in a gusty storm perhaps could topple over, where hope could be extinguished like snuffing a candle if the Ordeals are anything like the Crucible. And yet for me, it is the very definition of hope. It represents a life beyond the control of the Collector. It represents freedom. My stomach swoops, and I almost giggle with glee, a grin spreading wide over my features, which I quickly hide before the spindle-boned woman beside me notices.
Mrs Parnell leads me inside, the hall within somehow colder than the damp, autumnal air outside. Kerosene sconces line the bare granite walls, casting dim pools of light and far too many shadows.Austere portraits in burnished gold frames peer down at us, most wearing the dark robes of scholars from the last century.
‘The early magic wielders, some you will find were the founders of Hope and the other halls of Killmarth,’ Mrs Parnell says approvingly, a strange softness entering her voice that somehow makes her seem more disturbing than before.
‘They’re all men,’ I comment. ‘Apparently women didn’t have magic when Killmarth was founded.’
Mrs Parnell snorts, hiding it with a cough. ‘Come along.’
I follow her skeletal form, her skirt and dark cardigan blending with the deepest shadows as we move from the sparse entrance space to a steep spiral staircase, curling away into gloom at the back. Odd doorways appear, one for each level; I count four before she halts, pushing open the door on the fifth half-landing. There are two doors, both closed with only one wall sconce flickering softly to illuminate the cramped space.
She points at one door and frowns. ‘This isnotyour room. No fraternising. No visitors.’ Then she turns sharply, stabbing an index finger at the other. ‘This is your room for the duration of your stay, be that a day, or a week, however fortunate you are. However long you last this semester. You will join Gantry for breakfast at eight, luncheon will be served at oneprecisely, and dinner at five. Supper is at half past eight, and usually only reserved for full scholars.’ She sniffs, eyeing me. ‘We will make an exception on this one occasion.’
‘Thank you—’
‘Alsoto be served in Gantry. Walk back to the castle, door below the first tower on your left. Their main dining hall is the door immediately to your right. You may explore the castle and grounds, but Darley Hall is forbidden. Do not even entertain the thought of going inside, or you will lose your place as a hopeful with immediate effect. Tomorrow night will be the main reception where allthe hopefuls gather for the announcement of the first Ordeal. Wear something fit for the occasion. It’ll be held in Keeper’s Hall, beside the gatehouse, and the professors do not appreciate an unkempt appearance. And, Miss DeWinter …’
‘Yes?’
Her nose wrinkles. ‘You have your own bathroom on this floor. A privilege not enjoyed by all hopefuls in Hope. Do make use of it.’
I nod, flushing slightly, wondering if she can smell the lingering scent of blood and dirt from yesterday.
‘And if you use any kind of illusion on me again, Miss DeWinter, you will find I can make your life here ratherintolerable.’
The train ticket stub. She can’t have worked it out, unless—
‘I was a scholar of illusion long before I became head housekeeper here. And yes, I can sense illusions as well.’
My entire body turns to ice under her gaze. ‘Apologies. Won’t happen again.’
