Chapter Text
The ghost emerged from the gate next to the shoemaker's, staggered and wavered in the pale winter light, and then disappeared around the corner. From behind the fogged-up window it seemed as vaguely real as all the other passersby. It was enough to breathe on the glass again and not look at it for too long. Just one more shadowy figure in an old-fashioned winter coat. If one looked away quickly enough, one could pretend that it was quite alive, material and real. Nothing to worry about.
The year started off grey and nasty, with damp cold and heavy clouds. There was little left of the snow which, as Dima vaguely remembered, had fallen profusely on the Winter Solstice. Marvellous weather on Bruma, a real gift for all kids who could go out skating or sledding. Of course, Dima was no longer a child and didn't care about sledding. He had other things on his mind. Preparing for his first semester at a proper boarding school, for example.
The last weeks dragged on mercilessly, the Yule holidays were almost unbearable. It would be easier without the fever tormenting him. And without Zayn, who, having spent less than a week at home, was already grumbling: "But Mooom... Maybe I could go to the countryside, you know? There's a lake and all. I'm bored. Ned and Percy invited me. They did it last year already. I'm fifteen. I don't want to spend the whole break sitting at home! Ned called yesterday and asked if I'll finally come..." Dima thought that staying at home for two weeks couldn't be that difficult, after all, he had spent the last two years in boredom and loneliness since his older brother went to boarding school, condemned to the company of an overprotective mother, dull stepfather and his tiring two-year-old sister. The mother also remained adamant: “Darling, come on. I'm sure Blacklock and Nightgate can manage two weeks without you, since they have you every day, unlike your own mother. I only see you on holidays! Now, I will only see you both on holidays…” The slightly tearful tone she fell into every time she mentioned it was getting on Dima's nerves more and more. He could clearly see that Zayn was also rolling his eyes meaningfully (he had mastered this art to extremely annoying perfection since entering school), although he eventually gave up arguing. At least that's it. Instead, he devoted himself with renewed ferocity to fighting with his stepfather over his hair and clothes.
Dima never had any particular problem with his mother's new husband, even if he never considered him his actual parent. Zayn had a problem with him from the beginning. And vice versa. Since he moved to the boarding school, it only got worse. Dima looked away from the window and glanced at his brother, almost pressed against the door of his mother's car on the opposite side of the backseat. As if he wanted to sit as far away from him as possible. As if he was offended by the whole world. It wasn't hard to understand what was getting on his stepfather's nerves, even apart from his grumpy attitude. His hair, black and wavy, fell well below his chin, but he definitely refused to cut it. He started growing it out right after he went to school; previously, his mother used to trim it quite short, just like Dima's, as it was the only way to tame his unruly locks. Zayn's hair wasn't as curly as his younger brother's, but it was also a mess before. Now it was shiny and curled nonchalantly, but that didn't make him look neat. Impossible, since in the meantime he started wearing these tattered dark rags. He was now sitting there, almost drowning in baggy black pants and a too big black jacket, with the tails and cuffs of an even bigger flannel shirt (which he must have taken out of some trash bin, because his mother certainly wouldn't have bought him something like that) spilling out. He resembled a ruffled chick of some predatory bird, and the hooked nose only deepened the impression. “It's the influence of these mates of his,” claimed the stepfather critically, and Dima secretly agreed with him. Ironic, considering that his mother sent him to a reputable school (she had carefully saved for the tuition for years), hoping that he would make the right connections, which she unfortunately lacked.
In a sense, her expectations were met. Dima heard it in her voice when she said Blacklock and Nightgate , as if she were imagining family artefacts and their fathers' thick chequebooks, invitations to charity receptions, membership lists of elite societies and social chats with gloved ladies at cricket matches or rowing competitions. Meanwhile, Zayn spoke of Ned and Percy (never their full names, so Dima could only guess; Edgar and Percival, probably) with irritating admiration, and his delighted tone was more about cigarettes smoked secretly on the roof of the dormitory, illegally obtained alcohol, tickets for speeding in a sports car paid off without blinking an eye, some dirty, exciting secrets whispered in the ear, maybe even kissing girls at drinking parties... Although Zayn never mentioned any girl he would date or even like. Always just Ned and Percy , over and over again, ad nauseum.
Dima wanted a girlfriend, of that he was sure. Among his preparations for starting school, apart from adjusting his uniform, collecting his textbooks, packing his essential possessions to take with him and, of course, dealing with his mother's panic, he also prepared a list of goals. Having a girlfriend and being cool took priority. This was really important to him. Really cool, really not like the fretful Zayn and his stupid, snooty, annoying friends. Just normal. Living a normal school life, having normal, cool friends and good (but not exaggerated) grades... Yes. This is what awaits him. No one will be fretting over him. It will be great..
“…And Zayn, darling, please, keep an eye on him, you know that you have to be especially careful…” The voice of his mother sitting behind the wheel broke through his thoughts and Dima barely held back a groan. He didn't even have to glance to the side to know that Zayn was rolling his eyes at the same time.
“I'm not a child, mom!” he protested.
“I can't follow him around all the time! You do remember that I will be going to my classes and he will be going to his, right? I don't even know if he got a room in the Western dormitory.”
“You are his brother, you have a responsibility...”
“Mom!”
“That's right, mom! A sibling, not a babysitter. It's not like I'm going to disown him or anything, but come on, I can't hover over him. He'll be fine. We're not going into the wild, the teachers will keep an eye on him all the time, there are also guardians in the dormitory, and who knows, maybe he'll even find some friends. Percy has a cousin who's also starting this semester, apparently he's such a goodie-two-shoes, a real nerd, so maybe they'll get along …”
“I'm not a nerd!” Dima protested, seriously annoyed. Maybe he was a good student (homeschooling wasn't difficult) and he just liked reading. So what? He didn't have much other entertainment when he had to stay at home. It didn't automatically make him a nerd, or a swot, or a bore, although of course there was nothing wrong with that. It's okay if someone is, he just wasn't. And, he thought to himself with some internal ferocity, he would rather eat his own shoelaces than make friends with this Nightgate kid. At least not because he might be a nerd. Over his dead body, that's it.
“You mean Penelope Nigthgate's son?” the mother became interested almost immediately, and there was approval in her voice.
Dima breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the railway station. He jumped out of the car almost the second his mother parked. With his suitcase heavy in his hand, he stopped only in the spacious, high-vaulted hall, looking at the timetable board on which the letters were turning with a clatter.
“Platform five. It's always on the five," Zayn said, nudging him lightly.
Dima waited and watched anyway. Platform 5, 9.35, to: Eastboren, via: Mirfield, Camden Brocc… Camden Brocc. He repeated the name in his head like a spell, still unable to believe that he had succeeded. His mother wanted him to go to a school nearby. So that he would come home every day after class. So that he would be close, preferably in a modern building, in a place that she could reach by car in twenty minutes if necessary. Not in a town more than three hours away by train, in a complex of buildings, the oldest of which were five centuries old and made of stone that must have absorbed energy for much, much longer. In the place where ancient enchanters sang their songs among the boulders on the hill, in the bend of the river, among the forests. They may have gone, but the river, the hills and the forests are still there. A wonderful place to practise magic. A wonderful place to see a ghost.
Dima was stubborn. “I'll go to the same school as Zayn, or no school at all!” he repeated over and over again. He wanted to go to school, he wanted to learn, he wanted to finally get away from home. He wanted life. And his life awaited him in Camden Brocc, a three-hour and twenty-five-minute train ride west, between Mirfield and Eastboren. It was just around the corner. As long as his mother lets him go.
Anyway he let her hug him long and tight, a little embarrassed, but knowing deep inside that he would soon miss that warm embrace when he found himself in a completely unknown place, among completely unknown people. It was new, so exciting, but also a little scary.
“Remember to write regularly. And call! And report it to an adult if you feel strange. My baby, I don't know when the time passed…” She finally let go of him to hug her older son as well. Much shorter and less possessively, which didn't go unnoticed by either of them.
“Yes, mom, I know, I will watch over the kid. If you give us a chance to get on the train.”
Giving his mother a quick peck on the cheek, Zayn pulled Dima through the large crowd milling around on the platform. Mostly school-aged teenagers and concerned parents, of course. Zayn deftly manoeuvred between the iron-clad corners of suitcases, elbows and luggage carts. Some children were running along the train, some granny was crying loudly, someone was laughing and calling. A black-haired girl in an outrageously short, rolled-up dress sat on the shoulders of a tall boy and threw her suitcase through the window into the compartment. “A little more and everyone will see her panties” , thought Dima with disgust. He stopped, pulling his arm from his brother's grasp.
“Okay, let me go. I can handle it. You can run away to your mates” he said defiantly. “You miss them so much that you can’t stand still. Be careful or you’ll trip over!”
Zayn shot him an angry look, scowled and, of course, rolled his eyes.
“As you wish. Hop into the carriage, because if the train leaves without you, you'll be stuck at home forever” he pointed to the open door next to him, and then actually turned and walked away.
Dima, resisting the urge to stick his tongue out at his brother’s back, placed his foot on the narrow steps, pulled himself up, and staggered as the suitcase nearly tipped over, pulling him backward. In panic, he thought he was going to land flat on the platform (or worse, fall onto the tracks), but someone’s hand landed on his back and gave him a light push, helping him regain balance.
“Oops, be careful! These steps are treacherous. I'll help” the boy standing behind him adjusted his glasses that were sliding down his nose and smiled as if nothing had happened. He grabbed his suitcase and handed it to him once Dima was firmly on his feet on the train, and then jumped on after him. He was very tall and clearly older, he must have been sixteen or seventeen.
“Thanks,” Dima tried to sound equally easy-going and confident, but he wasn't entirely sure how he managed it.
The older boy smiled once again, patted him on the shoulder, then briskly walked down the corridor into the carriage, and after a while disappeared into one of the compartments. Dima followed him. He discreetly looked into the compartment, but it turned out to be full. Only older boys and girls, lounging comfortably and laughing. With a sigh he moved on. The next compartment turned out to be occupied by young lads almost twenty years old, absurdly large, loud and, at first glance, not very nice. One of them was smoking a cigarette and blowing smoke out the window. If it weren't for the school-coloured scarf hanging from the luggage rack, Dima would have never taken them for students. The next compartment – old ladies. Next, and finally! The next one was empty, except for a pale, straw blonde boy about Dima's age, curled up by the window with a book.
“Hi!” Dima greeted, opening the door. “Are the seats taken? Can I sit down?”
The boy looked at him over his book, showing no enthusiasm.
“No, they’re not,” he finally confirmed. “Sit down if you must.”
Not particularly encouraging, but Dima wasn't going to be discouraged that easily. He got into the compartment. His travelling companion's suitcase lay neatly on the luggage rack. He probably should have put his next to it, but he already knew how heavy it was. The rack was high and Dima wasn't tall (for now! he would soon grow like the lads from the other compartment), so he decided not to risk dropping it on his head and simply put it on the ground.
“I’m Dima.” He extended his hand in greeting. “Dima Rookwood, and you?”
“Ephraim Whittemore.” Ephraim's hand was cold, and his handshake was as unenthusiastic as his greeting. And maybe it was just a feeling, but he seemed to make a face when Dima introduced himself. But at least he didn't ignore his outstretched hand, and that's something. After taking a quick look at him, he returned to reading.
Dima didn't want to seem imposing and desperate, and his neighbour's charming personality didn't tempt him to impose himself. He took a sketchbook and a pencil from his suitcase and began to cover the page with ornaments, ready to look very busy (and very interesting) for the next hour, but he was under the impression that his positive attitude was melting away like snow after Bruma. ARSE, he began to carefully write in calligraphy in the middle of the page.
The train started moving. They sat in silence for a moment. Dima noticed that the other boy glanced at him discreetly from time to time, so he made sure that the high turtleneck of his sweater concealed the metal collar around his neck. It seemed like it did, so maybe he wasn't so reluctant to interact after all. Dima was about to chat him up again when the door to the compartment opened suddenly. There stood a girl, almost a young woman, dressed in a school uniform, with a beret on her strawberry blonde hair and pins on the lapel of her navy blue jacket, among which there was a large, gold decorative P. Behind her, Dima saw a tall, sturdy young man, also wearing a school jacket with a P (silver) on the lapel, and a fair-haired girl with eyes red from crying.
“There you go, I told you we'd find a nice place for you!” The girl in the beret dragged the crying one into the compartment and showed her a seat opposite Dima. “How are you, boys, everything okay? You're from Camden Brocc, right? You don't mind if Seraphina sits here with you, do you? Excellent! Dunstan, please put her suitcase on the luggage rack. And this one too, it can't stand in the middle like this. Very good. I hope you will be fine now. If you have any problems, you can always find me. I'm Brianna Underhill, the head girl of the prefects' club. I'm sitting in the second carriage, compartment four. Will you remember? Great! Let's go, Dunstan, we have two more wagons to check. Have a nice journey, remember not to run on the train!”
She blurted out the words so quickly that they could only nod in response and even if they wanted to protest or interject something, they had no space to do so. Then she closed the door and moved on with her helper. The three of them stayed. Dima smiled at the girl in a friendly manner, even if the idea of spending the trip in the company of a crybaby and a curmudgeon was not particularly pleasant. But he didn't want to be a jerk.
“You're Seraphina, is that right?” he asked. “My name is Dima and this is Ephraim. Looks like we'll be in class together, right? It's good that we're going together, it'll be nice to know someone already, right? Uplifting.”
Seraphina nodded shyly.
“It's nothing new to me, I took preparatory classes last semester,” Ephraim said dismissively over his book.
“Wow, are you that bad that you had to start earlier?” He shouldn't have, but he couldn't resist. The look the other boy gave back could make milk sour.
Ouch. He guessed their potential friendship was now dead in the water. Dima looked at his sketchbook, then neatly changed the word ARSE to ARSEHOLE and continued to surround it with a floral pattern. He felt it would be a long journey.
In the end it wasn't that bad. They spent some time in silence, a little uncomfortable. Ephraim seemed to be seriously offended, and Seraphina was probably too shy and scared to speak without being asked (although she smiled uncertainly at Dima every time their eyes met). They both sat in silence on the opposite seat, both fair with light-toned hair and faces as pale as befits the middle of winter, both neat and tidy in their polished shoes and ironed dickies. Everything they had, from their suitcases to their gloves, looked new and bespoke. Meanwhile, Dima was wearing his brother's sweater (mustard yellow, so of course Zayn didn't want it anymore) and there was a lot to say about him, but it certainly wasn't that he was pale. He knew he would stand out, but better because of his complexion than anything else.
He had almost filled the page with floral scribbles when Zayn burst into the compartment sort of casually and flopped onto the seat next to his younger brother.
“Hello there, kid, what's up?” he asked, nudging him with his elbow. Then he leered at Ephraim. "What are you gawping at?"
Ephraim stopped staring immediately, hiding behind the book. Dima didn't hold it against him, because if he himself stood out, then Zayn seemed to stand out twice as much. His complexion was even darker, and his appearance was far from that of an exemplary private school student. He had gotten rid of his jacket, but now the oversized shirt hung on him like a on scarecrow, with the sleeves almost covering his hands (Dima would have sworn his fingernails weren't painted aubergine when they left the house). It seemed that he felt completely at ease, because he sat back, stretching his legs in thick-soled shoes.
“What do you want?” Dima growled at him, closing his sketchbook with a slam.
“Chill, I just came to check how it's going. And I brought you cookies.”
He pressed a small package carefully wrapped in paper into his hands. Dima had no idea that his mother had baked them cookies and he had not received his share. Apparently she gave everything to Zayn, assuming they would sit together. No way.
“Thanks,” he muttered.
“Okay, then I'm off. For now, snots!”
“I'm not…”
But Zayn was already gone. He left as abruptly as he came. He could still be heard calling to someone in the corridor. Using vocabulary that his parents would have given him detention for.
Seraphina's blue eyes became rounder. Dima sighed.
“That’s my brother,” he explained. “He’s a jackass.”
“Obviously” Ephraim muttered from behind the book, not specifying what exactly was obvious.
Oh, screw it. Dima unpacked the bundle, offered a cookie to Seraphina, and after a moment's hesitation, also to the crabby Whittemore. He began to accept that if there was to be any conversation, the burden would be on him. He bit into the cookie. It was tasty, with pieces of hazelnuts and some dried berry he didn't recognize (new recipe?), and it even made him feel better. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“So…” he asked. “Do you also have any older siblings at school who will embarrass you?”
Dima talked, handed out cookies, and tried to be funny and charming. Seraphina giggled at his jokes, and even Ephraim was caught sneaking a smirk once or twice. Perhaps they weren't precisely the acquaintances Dima had envisioned initially, but they were something. He tried to bear up. He helped his travel companions take their suitcases off the luggage rack, and then took down his own (no one offered to help him), giving himself a serious bruise in the process.
And now he was almost there. He got off the train, wrapped in a shearling-lined jacket and a colourful plaid scarf, into a station that, due to its small size, seemed absurdly crowded. He quickly noticed the head girl, who, assisted by her burly assistant, was navigating groups of first-year students. He didn't even look around for his brother and his friends, he just moved forward. After all, he couldn't get lost going where everyone else was. There was also a signpost with engraved decorative plates right next to the station. Camden Brocc Town on the left, Camden Brocc School (a tiny emblem with a badger and an argyle next to the inscription, to leave no doubt) on the right.
There was more snow here than in the city, but there was none on the road. It smelled of damp coolness and the nearby forest. The voices and laughter of the other students appeared to Dima as if they were suddenly slightly muffled, obscured by the distinct impressions of this entirely new and unique place. It was different. Intensively. For a moment, Dima wanted to touch the collar around his neck, hidden under the sweater and scarf. He suppressed this urge and moved briskly forward. Of course it was different here. He knew this would happen. As he walked over the river on a stone bridge, he could almost feel the age of the stone slabs beneath his feet. He stopped for a moment and let the crowd float him as if he were a stone in a river. Someone almost bumped into him and swore loudly, but Dima didn't even notice. The wrought iron gate leading into the school complex was wide open, like the ravenous mouth of a beast. It has been swallowing generations of students for hundreds of years. That's what it was all about. This place was just like that. He'll get used to it. It will be wonderful.
The boarding house was newer than many other school buildings, which meant it was a hundred or hundred and fifty years old at most. Made of clay red brick, three-story and oblong, it was split (as Dima knew) into two administratively separate parts - eastern and western wings. Each of the dorms had a separate entrance, and now there were lists of assignments hanging there. Zayn said that the residents of both wings are fighting an unofficial war and compete with each other in almost every field. He also claimed that The Eastern was generally for suckers, leaving no doubt as to where he himself was accommodated. Dima moved to the west door and ran his finger down the list, looking for his name. He stopped for a moment, he thought he had found it, but no. The room number 113b only read Zayn Rookwood, Eadmond Blacklock. With little hope left, he reached number 130b (Silas Nightgate, -). Below, separated by a long line, from room 131b (Alethea Wardell, Ismena Redfern) began the girls' rooms.
Unsure whether he felt disappointment or relief, he moved to the other door. And there it was: number 58a Cornelius Montgomery, Dima Rookwood. After waiting in line for a while, he collected his key and a thick briefcase in which, as he was told, he would find everything he needed, from a campus map and lesson plan to a collection of school rules and booklets about club activities. When he reached the room, it turned out that his roommate was already inside. His suitcase lay open at the foot of the bed on the left, and one glance at that side of the room assured Dima that he was definitely not living here from today. This mess must have taken weeks to make.
Cornelius Montgomery actually turned out to be a second-year student who had been staying in room 58a for a year. He had brown, bowl-cut hairs and a freckled, extremely expressive face. He vigorously shook Dima's hand in greeting.
“Just don't call me Cornelius,” he insisted right off the bat. “Literally everyone calls me 'Monty.' Well, you do too. I don't mind that they assigned me a firstie; you seem decent. It's a bit odd at first, isn't it? But no worries, I'll give you the rundown on the old crowd, and you'll catch on in no time. I'll let you know which teachers are laid-back and which ones to steer clear of. Just need to know the ropes. Same goes for the prefects. Headgirl Underhill is soft and wants to replace your mother, but if you come across Driscoll, be careful, he's a prick. Creighton is chill, he won't make your life harder, but he won't fall for any nonsense...”
Monty seemed to be able to talk endlessly, but Dima was cool with this. He was glad that he had an older roommate who didn't mind hanging out with him. He poured out a torrent of words as Dima unpacked his things and placed them on the now empty side of the room, then suggested a quick tour before they could grab afternoon tea. Outside the room, he looked at Dima's name on the sign by the door and smacked his lips.
“So you're Zayn Rookwood's brother, right?” he said with something like reluctant recognition.
“No,” Dima blurted out defiantly. “He is my brother. You know him?”
“Oh, sorry, sure,” Monty spread his hands peacefully, then nodded at Dima as he started down the dormitory corridor. “And sure. I mean, we're not buddies or anything, I don't think I've even talked to him before, but you know. It's like everyone knows that trio from The Western,” he grinned, seeing Dima's sceptical look. “You know... The three black crows. The warlocks. They wander around the whole school like it's their queendom, practising their shady spells, nobody sane messes with them, half the school have a crush on at least one of them. And some crazy ones on all three at once. Not my thing, I'm not really into black magic. By the way, do you think... Did they deliberately match up based on their surnames?”
“Are you kidding me? Zayn is not a warlock, he just became allergic to colours or something. I bet his mates are just posers too. Nothing to get excited about. Buggers with an inflated ego and money from their parents...”
Monty whistled admiringly.
“Well, well, that's the spirit! I'd give a tenner to see you tell Blacklock to his face that he's a bugger with an inflated ego. Especially since there is some truth in it...”
Dima was sure it was. But he was honestly fed up with talking about them.
“So, what's there?”
“Excellent question! The way to the cafeteria. But that's later, first let's tour the campus, shall we? You'll know your way around for classes tomorrow. I got lost on my first day. I was late for history with Professor Allsopp, and she doesn't like that. She looks like a sweet old granny, but let me tell you, she's a strict nitpicking hag. Ten semesters, even if you're not taking the enhancement, it's tough. My skin goes numb just thinking about memorising dates. Did you bring your jacket? Good, let's head outside. This way to the exit, but you probably already know that. There's the administration and offices, if the headmistress calls you to her office to give you a slap over the knuckles. Well, that probably won't happen right away. For the first semester, about half your classes will be... over there.”
“And where's the library?”
“Gee whizz, you've barely arrived and already the library? Are you like that?”
“I'm not a nerd,” Dima assured hastily. “I just wanted to know.”
“Ok, it's cool for me. I'll show you, sure. You're in good hands with me. Oh, there are people from my year, let's go have a high five.”
It had to be admitted that Monty solemnly fulfilled his duty as a guide. He dragged Dima behind him back and forth for a good hour, showing him everything he found even remotely useful or interesting, and introducing him to every person he knew that they encountered. It was kind of nice, but also frustrating. A flash of recognition on each face as he mentioned his name. Get a life! The urge to hide in the library began to grow within him, but first he allowed himself to be dragged to afternoon tea. He had eaten nothing since breakfast except a sandwich he had packed for the trip and a few cookies. The cafeteria was large and at this point it was far from being even half full. No wonder, probably not all students have arrived yet. Dima poured himself a cup of cocoa, loaded up his plate with what he could from the buffet, and let his roommate choose a seat for them. Monty stopped at one of the tables, near a group of girls gossiping over tea and raisin scones.
“Hi there,” he greeted, then fixed his gaze on one of them, a brunette with a pretty, round face. “Hello, Dolores,” he added more coaxingly.
“Hi” Dolores only honoured him with a short, indifferent look.
“No chance,” thought Dima, sitting down a little further away. Another girl, with a snub nose and brown curls, gave him a nice, friendly smile and waved at Monty before turning back to her friends. Monty sighed wistfully, then stared at the sausages on his plate. After examining it carefully, he cut off a piece, put it in his mouth and chewed it with serious focus.
“Fatal attraction?” Dima asked sympathetically, mentally noting that he needed to choose a better candidate for his girlfriend.
“Oh, mate. Don't even ask...” Another quick, longing look between bites of sausage.
“So, was she offended?” Dolores was asking conspiratorially, not paying any more attention to them.
“I don't really know, I haven't talked to her yet” replied the nice brown-haired girl. “But I guess not, she's not like that.”
“Of course, she doesn't get offended, she just sets your bed on fire,” the third girl sitting next to him giggled maliciously. She has very light blonde hair and lipstick in the colour of fresh raspberries.
“Don't be mean, Ann. This only happened once, at the very beginning. And I'm sure not on purpose. Besides, she wasn't the worst roommate at all. In fact, she was barely in the room anyway.”
“Oh well, she prefers the boys' rooms, doesn't she?”
“Wow, that's mean” Dima thought, feeling a bit awkward hearing all this. Maybe they should have sat a little further away. Monty also made a face as if he was thinking something, but quickly moved on to his plate.
“… no, but actually it's better this way. Seriously, this is so awkward. Imagine coming back from the shower in a bathrobe, walking into your room, and there is Zayn Rookwood sprawled on the bed as if he was at home.”
Dima almost choked on his pudding. Monty stared stubbornly, now for a change, at the piece of toast in his hand.
“Are you kidding? I wouldn't file a complaint there, even if it was my bed. In fact, even better.”
“Ann!”
“"I’m just telling it like it is! What, maybe you don't like that? He's a cutie after all. Dolores agrees, look, she blushed!” the mischievous blonde tucked her hair behind her ear with a studied movement. “Anyway, I'm not picky, I wouldn't despise a hot warlock either. I just don't understand how she can be such a selfish bitch and need two at the same time... Like, girl, hold your horses, leave something for the others!”
“Hush, she's standing there! She'll hear you...”
“Oh no. Don't stare, because she'll notice and... damn, too late.”
Dima sincerely regretted catching anything from this conversation, but now he couldn't resist taking a peek. He recognized the midnight black hair and the short plaid tweed dress peeking out from under the pulled-out black sweater - it was the girl who was throwing her suitcase through the window on the platform. She strode confidently towards them, the heels of her heavy boots echoing with each step.
“Well, howdy!” she stopped, placing her hand on the brown-haired girl's shoulder. Her nails were the colour of a shiny aubergine. A puzzle in Dima's head clicked into place.
“Percy,” the blonde smiled ingratiatingly, as if she hadn't finished backbiting her a second ago. “You're not angry that I stole your roommate, are you? Elma was a little worried that you might resent us.”
The brown-haired one – probably Elma – flushed with shame. Dolores nibbled on a scone, pretending not to participate in the conversation at all. Percy Nightgate's lips stretched into a smile. It was a wide grin tinged with malice, the smile of someone who knew perfectly well what was being said about them and enjoyed watching others panic at the thought that they might have overheard.
“No problem, sweetie,” she assured generously. “I think there's a few of your things left in the closet, come get them later.”
She turned around as if nothing had happened and her eyes landed on Dima. The smile turned broader.
“Here you go,” she said, sitting down on the bench next to him. “Where were you hiding? They assigned you to Eastern, didn't they? Bummer. You're such a cutie, literally a spitting image of little Zayn!”
Dima had previously thought those girls were mean, but after thinking about it he could understand why they didn't like her. He grimaced.
“Just because we have a similar colour doesn't make me look like him,” he said condescendingly, convinced that it would make her feel stupid if she had even an ounce of shame in her.
Apparently she didn't.
“Of course not, silly billy. It's because you're siblings. You won't deny it, even if you have a cute little nose.”
Before Dima could even blink, a bony, pale finger flicked him on the tip of his nose. If it weren't for the fact that he didn't want to make a spectacle (even more), he probably would have started screaming in frustration.
“Even the scowls are the same!” Percy looked delighted. “Okay, I'm off, I desperately need coffee. See you later, Rookwood.” She jumped up from the bench, blew him a kiss in the air and left without waiting for a reaction.
Feeling his ears burning and his head buzzing with anger, Dima watched her wander through the cafeteria – “like her queendom,” as Monty expressed it, and there really was something about it. She slid nimbly into the seat between Zayn and the boy who, by process of elimination, had to be Ned Blacklock, and at least from a distance he somewhat matched the image of an upper-class arsehole with that classically handsome profile and slicked-back dark brown hair. The three of them sat so close together that they practically blended into one dark cloud of smugness and arrogance. Zayn laughed at something, throwing his head back, as relaxed and comfortable as his younger brother hadn't seen him in months.
His plate was still half full, but Dima had lost all appetite. Something felt heavy in his stomach, as if he had swallowed a stone. The girls sitting nearby glanced at him, as if they had just now realised that he might have heard their chatter. There was a slightly goofy smile on Monty's face. Dima stood up.
“Thanks for the tour, but I think I'll go to that library now,” he said as if nothing had happened, or at least he hoped so, although his ears still stung a bit.
He forced a smile before hastily retreating.
He used the library as an excuse, but ultimately he wanted to go there. He had no other idea, except maybe to return to his room. The prospect of going to a new place and meeting all these new people was so exciting, but somehow he didn't think that Zayn's presence would spoil everything. If he had known, maybe he would have chosen a different school. However, the ones suggested by his mother didn't appeal to him at all, and he wouldn't have stood a chance anywhere else. She wouldn't have let him go to some remote corner of the country all alone . No, this was his place after all. He can handle it.
He stood in front of the library building and took a breath. He liked it. He saw warm light seeping from several windows on the upper floor through panes with slanted mullions. On a winter afternoon, when it was chilly outside and almost dark, it looked particularly inviting. A warm, bright shelter full of books. Dima approached the heavy, wooden doors and slipped inside through their right wing. The iron handle was shaped into an ornate design, resembling a badger's paw, perhaps. Inside, a Reading room / Office sign led him upstairs on wooden steps worn smooth from use to another set of double doors, this time glazed. Instead of ordinary glass, stained glass windows were inserted, depicting similarly quirky badgers like the one in the school crest, but this time holding not a purse but a book (the one on the right) and a parchment scroll (the one on the left).
As befits a respectable library, at least in Dima's imagination, the interior was full of dark wood - from the catalogue cabinets at the entrance, to the maze of shelves stretching deep into the interior. There was also, of course, a librarian's desk, so high and long that it looked more like an apothecary's counter. A young man in full school uniform was meticulously buffing them. When Dima approached, he felt the strangely pleasant smell of wood polish. The boy looked at him over his tiny glasses, raising his thick, dark eyebrows. There was something stoic, almost phlegmatic about him that seemed to fit oddly with his surroundings. Behind him there was a door with a sign saying For Authorised Personnel Only and from behind it he could hear casual women's voices and the whistle of a kettle. Everything indicated that although the library was open, work hadn't quite kicked into full gear yet.
“I’d like to enrol,” said Dima. He wanted to rest his hand on the desk, but he thought it might be best not to touch the freshly polished surface, so he clasped his hands behind his back.
“First year? Nothing of that sort! Your administrative day is tomorrow, and you'll have designated times for getting your library cards... Everything’s in the brochure; you must have received it.”
Indeed, he received a booklet, or even several, but he did not have time to read it yet. He felt the sour taste of disappointment.
“But I'd like to borrow something today,” he tried again.
“I already said…”
“But I really...”
Someone stood next to Dima, and a small pile of books landed on the counter.
“Appletone's Annotated Runic Dictionary is gone again. I'm sorry to disturb you, but I've been looking for twenty minutes and it's disappeared into thin air.”
“Have you checked in lexicons and linguistics? Maybe even with the history of spellcraft, people put it there all the time – they see Appleton and have only one association. Or someone put it aside in the reading room for later. I'll find it for you right away.”
“There's no need, especially since I see you're busy.”
“Not at all. The first former wanted to enrol, so I told him to come tomorrow.” The librarian looked at Dima scoldingly. “Tomorrow! Now, off you go! Can't you see I'm busy?"
Dima sighed in disappointment and was about to leave when the Runic Dictionary boy placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.
“Come on, Benedict. How much work is it? Set up his card, I'll wait. Come on, do me this favour, for old times' sake.”
He smiled and then Dima recognized him. It was the same tall glasses wearer who helped him with his suitcase at the station.
“This is how it begins. You make one exception and then suddenly everyone wants it and before you know it – chaos!” Benedict grumbled, but turned to grab a form and a blank library card from his locker. “Okay, fill it out here. It's best if you learn the reading room regulations by heart. And remember, if you mix up cards in the catalogue, I won't pardon.”
Dima nodded eagerly. The whole procedure was actually not complicated, so after a while he had his card in his hand and the librarian could go in search of the missing book. After a moment's hesitation, Dima approached his saviour, who was patiently looking through one of his books while waiting.
“Hey. I just wanted to say thanks for your help. Again.”
The older boy looked up from his book and carelessly adjusted his slipping glasses. He was hardly strikingly handsome, but there was something interesting about his long face and shaggy ash-brown hair. He made an irresistibly pleasant impression on Dima.
“I just understand the need to kick off the new semester with a good book in the evening. So at your service, and I recommend myself for the future.”
“Then maybe you could also recommend a book to me. You seem to know your stuff.”
“Ha, I see you're not one to miss an opportunity. Very good. We'll find something for you” he put down his own book and held out his hand. “I’m Linus Redfern.”
“Dima,” he hesitated for a moment. “…Rookwood. But please don't ask me if I'm Zayn's brother or I'll start howling.”
Linus laughed, giving him a short, confident handshake.
“I really wasn't going to ask. Especially since it's rather obvious. Sorry” he added, seeing Dima's face. “Alright, the fiction section is right here. You'll have plenty of time to get through your required readings, so now we'll find you a novel. It's somewhat ironic that our education system leaves us little time to read what we actually want or for personal development, yet it expects us to be well-read and to develop our skills individually. Not that I wanna bore you with this, just a force of habit. So... I don't know what you like, but at your age, I was into this series... of course, I still think it's good, otherwise, I wouldn't recommend it to you.”
“Now what are you reading for pleasure?”
“Oh, all sorts of things, sometimes things that few people would find particularly entertaining. Do you want me to tell you my method?”
Dima, of course, wanted to.
“Sometimes I just go between the shelves, close my eyes and pick something up at random. And whatever it is, at least I'm trying to read it. To get out of my comfort zone and sometimes find something that I might not have chosen on my own. I once found a book that is now one of my favourites. Although, to be honest, sometimes there will also be Excerpts from tax law . In such cases, however, I give up after a chapter or two. But I can't say I didn't try.”
“Should I also spin for better effect?” Dima immediately started putting this suggestion into practice.
He liked the idea of relying on blind fate, it sounded quite fun. But even if Linus gave him the most boring advice in the world right now, Dima would probably follow it anyway. This older boy was probably the first person in Camden Brocc to really make an impression (or at least a good impression). And he didn't treat him like a child, even if the age difference between them was unmissable. Apparently, it was enough to have a little common sense to notice that Dima is almost an adult.
Spinning around with his eyes closed, he slammed his hand on the shelf and then hooked his fingers around the book he had come across. Pulling it out, he looked at the cover. The title was Three Witches' Hill , and beneath it, on a cover covered with greenish material, there was only an embossed drawing of a leaf. Dima held up the book, presenting his find.
“I have no idea what it is,” Linus admitted. “You don't have to read it if you don't want to.”
“I'll take it. So I can't say that I didn't at least try. And maybe the one you talked about earlier, if the first one turned out to be awful.”
Linus handed him the second book with a smile that seemed friendly and maybe even approving.
“Well, then I hope at least this one will suit your taste, otherwise I'll feel guilty.”
They returned to the main part of the library, but Benedict was still gone. Dima hesitated for a moment before speaking again.
“Linus… Can I have a question?”
“It seems to me that you have a whole lot of questions. Shoot, no worries. Worst case scenario, I won't be able to answer.”
“Which dorm do you live in?”
“The Eastern.”
“That's good!” Dima blurted out in relief. “I mean... well, me too. But my brother is in Western one and he always said that Eastern is... kind of lame. And I don't want him to look down on me, and even though he's so terrible sometimes, I wouldn't want it to come between us or anything.”
“My sister also went to The Western, and we somehow get along. I think it's even quite good. Although she can also be quite a rascal."
“Really?”
“Of course. Listen, I know that at the beginning, this might seem important. It's natural for people to form groups, sometimes based on completely symbolic divisions. And in this case, quite arbitrary ones as well. Everyone wants to belong, and nothing cements the sense of belonging like the existence of another group to antagonise against. If you attended elementary school before, you've probably already felt this.”
“Not really. Homeschooling,” Dima interjected, but he seemed to be starting to understand what Linus meant.
“I see. Never mind that, you'll probably figure it out soon anyway. Maybe at the beginning you will hang out more with people from your boarding house, but then what club you join will be more important. Or which faculties will you choose. You know when there's one time when being in this or that wing really counts?” Linus looked at him over his glasses, smiling conspiratorially, and when Dima shook his head in denial, he continued: “When the school cricket club plays an internal match before the Summer Solstice. Then they divide into teams according to their dormitories, and that’s the only time when things get really brutal. Are you a big cricket fan?”
He was not.
“In the fall, a club from another academia usually comes to play an inter-school match and believe me, it is a unique opportunity to watch all divisions disappear in the face of an external enemy.”
“You talk about it as if we were not students from a private school but some… wild tribes.”
“Homeschooling, huh? My young friend, soon you'll discover that there's a lot more of wild tribalism in us than we'd like to admit.”