Мариам Петросян - The Gray House

That right to choose, so graciously bestowed on him, was pure torture, all the more unbearable because in reality there was only one choice. He had no doubt that Blind was indeed dangerous, and would become extremely so at the moment of graduation. He also had no doubt that removing him from the House would only make matters worse. Someone would have to pay. He had a pretty good idea who that someone was, and it definitely wasn't Godmother. Could that be the reason she was trying to make him stay? They needed a scapegoat, and Ralph was perfect for the assignment.

“A goat,” he whispered to himself. “You are so useful, my friend, you’ll make a nice goat... or maybe a lamb. A stupid sacrificial lamb.”

He cringed, realizing that he was behaving like a drunk, when he wasn't drunk at all. A little, maybe. But mentally running through the conversation with Sphinx once Blind had been removed from the House was sobering him up quicker than a cold shower.

Getting comprehensively sloshed and meeting Sphinx with inane, drunk blabbering wasn't going to cut it. Maybe he should listen to Darling and remove Sphinx as well? Ralph counted off the hierarchical structure of the Fourth on his fingers. Next step down from Sphinx they had—no, not Noble, but Tabaqui, strange as it may have seemed. As Ralph imagined Jackal in the position of the Master of the House he smiled, but the smile quickly became a fixed scowl. If that happened, drinking or not drinking would not make the slightest difference. Might as well really barricade themselves up on the third and wait. Tabaqui would disassemble the House brick by brick and only then agree to negotiate the terms of their surrender—if they were lucky. By that time everyone would be clamoring for Blind's return. Did this mean he had to remove Jackal too?

Ralph went to the bathroom, stuck his head under the faucet, and then furiously rubbed his face with a towel.

Going over the list was completely pointless. Every single one of them was dangerous. Including that tacit mute, Alexander. It was not a good idea to push them. He had to make Shark understand that, and then let him duke it out with Godmother.

Ralph remembered that there had been cases of students who, having been sent out of the House, were then hastily returned, for varying reasons. Those had to be recorded somewhere. The former principal was a stickler for protocol and also liked to look for similarities and patterns in everything, so he surely had a file somewhere detailing all of those cases. Ralph should go and find it.

His headache subsided a little and Ralph knew he wouldn't be able to sleep anyway. Why not go to the library, then, and look for that precious file? The more he thought about this, the more logical it seemed to him.

He put on a coat, to have a good pocket for the flashlight, checked the batteries in it, and went out into the night.

The old night guard, always short of breath, opened the door to the third floor for him and shuffled back to his glass-walled nest to continue napping, or watching TV, or both.

On the third the lights in the hallways did not go out at night. Ralph followed the threadbare carpet to the library. It was very different from the common library down on the first—in its compactness, its wide selection of specialized tomes, and the decent condition of the books.

Ralph turned on the lights between the stacks one by one as he moved to the last aisle. There, against the wall, stood a tall steel cabinet, its drawers flashing stickers denoting their content. On the bottom drawers the writing was clearly readable, by halfway up the paper was already graying and the letters became barely legible, and closer to the top the stickers gave way to random scraps until they disappeared completely near the ceiling. The contents of those were to remain forever a mystery. Fortunately Ralph had no use for them now.

He pulled out one of the lower drawers and shuddered at the sight of the files massed tightly together. He dragged the drawer to the little table in the corner and started taking out the files. He briefly thumbed through the stapled sheaves and put them aside, file after file, until he was satisfied that this drawer did not contain what he was looking for. He replaced it and pulled out another. Then another. The stack of files that he wasn't able to stuff back in their drawers was growing, and Ralph hoped that at some point he was going to stumble on a half-empty one and dump them all in there, so as not to leave behind on the table a pile of paper.

At some point he looked up momentarily and noticed that the night guard was now sitting in the chair between the stacks. The guard, under his customary uniform cap with a green bill, looked asleep, but was in fact watching him closely.

“I wasn't going to smoke here, if you came to warn me about that,” Ralph said.

The guard shook his head.

“I was wondering what is it you're so diligently seeking.”

“That doesn't really concern you.”

Ralph turned back to the files but soon realized that he was exhausted. The presence of a stranger interfered with his concentration. As he kept turning over the sheets he struggled to take in their meaning. Ralph stuffed the remaining files in the drawer in front of him and decided to stop punishing himself—and allow the guard to go and slumber in peace, which was probably what he was hinting at by coming here.

“You're wrong if you think it doesn't concern me,” the guard said suddenly.

Ralph slowly turned around.

“What? What did you say?”

“I said that you were wrong to think it doesn't concern me,” the guard repeated. “You're going through the archives of the former principal, if I'm not mistaken?”

Ralph walked over to the guard and stared at him closely.

“You're not,” he said.

The guard produced from his breast pocket a white smoking pipe with a battered stem, put it between his teeth, straightened up, and took off his cap.

“I might be useful to you in this endeavor.”

Oh god, Ralph thought. He's always had a flair for the dramatic. I guess I'm supposed to faint now from all the excitement. And I didn't even gasp. How rude.

“Yes,” he said. “It appears that you're just the man I was looking for.”

The guard looked offended.

“You could have at least acknowledged your sudden luck,” he said, pointing at the rows of drawers with his pipe. “This is far from one night's work.”

“It's shock,” Ralph explained. “I'm shocked. I am at a complete loss for words.”

Those were actually exactly the right words that he'd found. The guard sprung up and squeezed him in a tight hug. Ralph stoically accepted the outpouring and, in turn, patted the former principal on the back.

The man stepped away and looked him over.

“Well, well! How are you, my boy?”

He hugged Ralph again.

Fatherly, he probably imagined himself. Dwarfishly, Ralph thought as his chin rested on top of the old man's head. Old Man, that was what everyone called him. Old Man jostled, squeezed, and probed him, then let him go and went to sit in the chair and get his breath back.

Ralph replaced the last drawer he'd taken out.

“I was looking for mentions of those expelled from the House,” he said. “Whose parents took them away shortly before the graduation. Some of them seemed to have developed this strange disorder, the Lost Syndrome, they called it. Do you remember?”

Old Man knitted his brow.

“Lost Syndrome ...” he muttered. “That wouldn't be here. You’ll have to go dig in the sick-bay archives. Rare thing, that, but yes, sometimes ...”

“Were there any cases similar, but not exactly like that?”

Old Man sank even deeper in thought.

“There were lots of things,” he said finally. “All sorts... Can't say for sure.”