Page 12 of Storm of Shadows
“He cracked his head on a branch. Total carelessness and an avoidable incident. So many of you low-lifers lack basic survival and practical skills. We see it every year. Too molly-coddled by your parents.” She raps her knuckles on her clipboard. “Not here.”
I glance towards Fly. He’s staring straight ahead and I’m not sure he’s even listening to this bullshit.
“It goes without saying neither of you earned any points in this trial.” The woman snaps two pieces of paper off her clipboard and hands them to us. “Accommodation was allocated on the basis of arrival at the academy. This is where you will be staying. Your bags have already been sent to your rooms. I suggest you head there now, and freshen up. Arrival assembly starts in …” She glances up to the tower behind her, where alarge clock displays the time. “One hour. Do not be late! And you can collect your uniforms from the pile there.”
“How about breakfast?” Fly asks.
“You missed it,” she says, already striding away.
“Is that it?” I ask as we study our pieces of paper. “I was expecting something more …”
“Don’t get complacent,” Fly says. “They’ve probably placed us down in the cellars with the rats and mice.”
I shrug. If I was late back at home, the punishment was far more severe. Some less-than-desirable room seems pretty tame in comparison – especially given my room back in Slate Quarter was hardly worthy of a palace.
“And you know who that was?” Fly asks.
I shake my head.
“Madame Bardin.”
“Is she a shadow weaver?”
“Cupcake, nearly all the faculty are. Can’t have commoners teaching the elites. But Madame Bardin, she has a … reputation.”
“A reputation for baking her students cookies and handing out warm hugs?”
“Ahhh, no,” Fly says with a smile, “imagine the opposite and then make it a hell of a lot worse. Much much worse. She’s a bitch and we most definitely landed ourselves on her wrong side.”
Chapter Six
Briony
Our pieces of paper contain the names of our rooms, a map of the academy and some starkly written rules. I expected coming to a school like this the list would be endless – after all the rule book had been thick back home in Slate Quarter. But there are just three.
No Killing
No Maiming
No Stealing
I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I already know this place is going to be hellish – does it make a difference what the rules are? If there are hardly any rules at all?
We squint down at the map. The campus is so huge – more like a small town than a school – that the pictures and names are tiny. Eventually, though, we spy our rooms. Side by side.
For the first time, I feel a bubble of hope – yeah, I know that’s stupid. But I seem to have made an acquaintance – I’m not sure if I can call Fly a friend yet – we’ve known each other less thana day, and it seems we’re going to be neighbors. Maybe the next twelve months won’t be all bad.
The campus is eerily quiet as we weave our way between the tall towers, so tall they bathe us in gloomy shadow, right to the east corner. Here the towers are oldest, made from thick gray stone, crumbling in places, the windows so small I can’t imagine they emit any light.
“Cozy,” Fly remarks with flared nostrils as he pushes his weight against the heavy wooden door and we step inside. The temperature drops immediately and the air is dank and smells of damp.
We climb a winding stone staircase, the steps worn in the center, passing other doorways as we go, and find our rooms right at the top underneath the thatched roof, a gale whistling through into the stairwell and making it colder still.
“See,” Fly says, “this is our punishment. We’re going to catch hypothermia or influenza or both and then we are going to die.”
“It isn’t a cellar,” I point out, trying to be positive. “No rats or mice.”
“There’ll be both in that roof,” he says, pointing above our heads before turning the iron ring on the door markedArisonand pushing his way inside.
