John Wright - Orphans of Chaos

“Oh, I realize what some of you must be thinking…”

Mrs. Wren turned pale as a sheet of paper when he said this…

“…and I know what is in your hearts. You think that the students have grown now to an age where we can be a little more relaxed in the discharge of our duties, that we can encourage the young birds to fly, so to speak.

“And you youngsters are no doubt thinking that you are as old and wise as can be, and have no more need of our guidance and instruction.

“Well, such thoughts must be held in check. This institution does not look favorably upon any act of insubordination or impertinence, no matter who the originator might be. Especially now, at this crucial time, when the situation here—in which we have all been so comfortable for so long—may be in danger of upset.

“Dedication is the key. As long as we are all, as a group, I dare say, as a family, dedicated to preserving a proper appearance before each other, before society, and before the rather important guests we are about to receive, then all will be well. I assume I can count upon all of you. Remember that whichever link in the chain proves to be weakest is the one that shall be broken first. Broken. This is the significant word here.”

He stood, told us to return to our breakfast, and sailed out, Mr. ap Cymru and Mr. Sprat trailing in his wake.

Victor and Quentin were staring with grave disquiet at the little puddle of cream the Headmaster had made upon the tablecloth. It did not seem as if all would be well after all.

None of us had a chance to speak. At the end of the meal, Dr. Fell stood and told Vanity to go with him. The rest of us stayed in our places. A moment later, Mrs. Wren led Quentin from the room, and Miss Daw made the slightest possible sigh in her throat, which indicated she was waiting for one of the boys to hold her chair as she rose. Both Colin and Victor scrambled to their feet, and she gravely informed them that harpsichord practice was to be held early this day, and would they be so kind as to accompany her immediately?

I was left alone at the table. Mr. ap Cymru came sauntering back into the room, both hands in his back pockets. He grinned down at me wolfishly. There was a toothpick hanging between his teeth, which wiggled up and down when he grinned.

There was something in his eyes I didn’t like. I stared down at my knees, blushing.

“Well, if it isn’t Miss Windrose, sitting pretty and all alone here at table.”

That comment did not seem to call for a response, so I said nothing.

“Here we are, Miss Windrose. I’ll let the devil take me if this fails to cheer you up. I know it made me laugh.”

He put out his hand, but I did not reach for what he was offering. He snorted, and dropped a slip of paper on my empty plate. Without a word, he ambled out of the dining room. I do not know where he ate his breakfast. With Mr. Glum, I supposed.

I opened the paper.

The note read: “Report to the Headmaster’s office at 9:15 sharp. This note will excuse you from classes or other duties.”

Headmaster’s office was on the highest floor of the West Wing, an area of the manor where we had almost never been. Mr. Sprat had an office filled with dark mahogany, with law books on heavy shelves. Double doors, with red leather tacked to their surfaces, led from Sprat’s office to the waiting room.

Mr. Sprat merely nodded at me, and motioned toward the doors. The room beyond was empty of people. Tall wing-backed chairs of red plush faced a long divan of the same material across a coffee table made of a slab of green marble. There were trophy cases on two walls, filled with cups and plaques, and stuffed and mounted fish hanging high near the ceiling. Above the divan was a truly enormous swordfish.

There were two narrow arrow slits between the trophy cases, letting thin slivers of light into the otherwise dark room. Frost coated the glass.

I rubbed at the glass, leaving a white, hand-shaped streak of visibility in the blind surface. Snowflakes were falling onto the gray grass below, the first fall of the season. Silent, white, implacable. The world never looked so lonely.

And there were two clocks, one to either side of the door leading to the inner office. They were half a second out of synch, so that one loud ticking noise seemed to be jumping back and forth between them; first one would tick, then the other would, then the first again, then the second again, in endless monotony. Both clocks were oblong, tall and thin, but were slightly wider in the upper half, before narrowing again at their crowns. I felt afraid of those clocks for a reason I could not name, a fear like none I had known since my days, as a little girl, before Colin made clowns out of the gargoyles in my room.

As if my thought of him had summoned him, Colin stepped suddenly out from the inner office. Seeing me, he shut the door quickly behind him, before the Headmaster should know I was there.

He hissed, “Mr. Headmaster, I was going to ask for the tea in a moment, but I wanted to be sure they did not take the cream away again. Tea.”

I hissed back, “He knew.”

“He guessed. Your deer-frozen-in-the-headlights act convinced him.”

“What happened last night?”

“Nothing. Quentin stood on a tombstone with a cape from the theater stores around his neck. He hopped up and down a few times. He said the air was embarrassed, and wouldn’t carry on when anyone was watching. What happened to you?”

“Glum’s dog talked. It was going to catch us, but led Glum on a wild goose chase instead. The dog wants to be our friend when our star is in the ascendant. Oh, and Vanity can either bend space-time, or create secret passages at will. There’s crawl spaces behind the walls, and peepholes to watch us. Dr. Fell said His Highness is coming, and that this was never an orph…”

The door swung open behind Colin, and there stood the Headmaster, tall and black in his robes. He had taken his pony-tail down. I had never seen him with his hair undone before. It fell to his shoulders in loose red ringlets. He looked like a picture of an ancient king. Or like a lion standing on its hind legs.

There was such a dangerous glint in his eye that I was sure he was going to strike Colin down on the spot. But he merely nodded to the far door, saying to Colin, “That will do.”

Colin looked at me, but could ask nothing further. So he shrugged and walked off.

The Headmaster stepped back, making a grand gesture with his arm, so that the drapery of his sleeve filled the doorway for a moment, and then receded, like curtains being drawn before a play. “Miss Windrose, if you please.”

His was a massive desk of oak. Behind the desk was a chair whose back reached all the way to the ceiling. The surface of the desk was entirely bare. The desk and the chair stood on a dais, which was covered with red carpet. Before the dais was a small uncomfortable chair of black wood. It sat on a floor of wood, which was harder and no doubt colder than the carpeted dais.

Two framed paintings filled the wall behind him, one to either side of the chair. One showed a green mountain in the midst of the sea, atop which a walled city rose, with towers and colonnades. Above the island rose, even higher, a great wave poised to drown the city.

The other painting showed a mariner tied to the mast of a ship, his face contorted with longing and agony, and, on the rocks past which they rowed, sat beautiful women with harps, their mouths wide with song.

The Headmaster said, “I see you are observing the masterpieces. The one on the left depicts Atlantis. You are familiar with the myth? A virtuous people under the leadership of the sea god Poseidon enacted laws, which they inscribed on a pillar of orichalchum in the center of their great public temple. But when, as time passed, they came to forget these laws, an angry Zeus called destruction down upon their greatness, and sank the island. He had cause to be angered, you see. All other laws are written by mortal legislators, who had only the wisdom of men to guide them; and human laws can be good or bad just as human men are good or bad. But the laws of the gods are the order of nature.