15
“Thank you all for coming,” Headmaster Miles Kendrickburn said, looking around the room at the other teachers. He showed them a wide smile as he took his seat at the head of the table.
The room wasn’t too large. A long wide wall made of dwarven glass let in enough of the morning rays that no mage lights were needed.
The view of the city was something which still made several of the teachers pause. Today, the sky was blue and the mountains could be seen far in the distance.
Within the simple granite room, there was only the long table and chairs of red cushioned velvet. The minimalism of it reminded everyone this wasn’t a place for frivolity.
It was a place for meetings.
The Headmaster was a small man. But no one in the room would dare to call him little. He commanded respect not through his physicality, but through a sense of stifling power.
He brushed his long mustache with one hand while gripping his staff in the other.
“We’re here today to discuss something a little unusual,” he said. “But also terribly usual, I suppose. Something mildly intriguing, perhaps? Whatever it is, we’re here to discuss it.”
“Oh, good,” Master Haddrow said drily. “I do like when our meetings are so clear and concise.”
“Me too,” the Headmaster said brightly. Then his face turned more serious. “The rooms are moving in the Keep. They go around and around like a merry-go-round. Are they here? Are they there? They seem to appear most everywhere. They shuffle and land. Always mysterious.”
“Yeah, that’s not new,” Master Garmstooth said, crossing his arms. “We know they do that.”
“What’s new is they’re moving more often,” the Headmaster said. “We’ve had two missing students this year. One has been found. What was left of him has been sent back to his family. As you can imagine, they were quite distressed. I have sent flowers, but this is not adequate compensation, is it?”
Master Finklestern shook his head and grunted.
“We tell them every year not to explore,” Master Barrowclough said. The thin birdlike man narrowed his eyes. “And every year more than a few go seeking fun and adventure despite the warnings.”
“I, for one, don’t think being hacked to death is much fun,” Master Haddrow put in.
“Yes, but you are sort of intelligent,” Mistress Vizzingbelle said with only a small smile. “These are stupids we are talking about.”
“Children,” the Headmaster corrected her with a lift of his hand. “Age is but a number, but experience lessens that number.”
“As I said,” she returned, letting her smile widen a little. “Stupids.”
The Headmaster laughed, then shook his head and the laugh cut off quickly.
“All this is irrelevant. It’s not that the students are exploring.
It’s that some doors have opened into rooms which weren’t there before.
And those that were there before are not there any longer.
The student is curious. The student is confused. ”
“So am I,” Master Garsmtooth admitted.
“Just nod and say yes,” Master Haddrow said, nudging him in the ribs with his elbow.
“Hmm? Oh, yes, then. Yes.” Then Master Garsmtooth nodded.
Mistress Vizzingbelle rolled her eyes.
“Send out word,” the Headmaster said, ignoring the interruption. “Let Ket relay it. When opening doors, students should check before entering. If the room is unfamiliar, confirm with staff before entering. No dawdling. No canoodling. No pressing buttons and hoping for the best. Yes?”
“Yes,” Master Garmstooth said with an emphatic nod.
Master Finklestern plucked at a stain on his shirt before looking up. “Do you know what you’re agreeing to?”
“This time, I think I do.”
“Alright.”
“Also, some doors are breaking,” the Headmaster said. “They open and refuse to close. Or close and refuse to open. Either way, the doors are refusing. And so is the problem. The Tinkers are tinkering, but refusals are everywhere.”
“Also nothing new,” Master Garmstooth pointed out.
“More doors are breaking,” the Headmaster said with a smile that showed teeth. “And some are terribly inconvenient. The Vault has been inconvenienced more than expected. There are many rooms in there, and some have opened for no reason. They display their secrets for anyone to see.”
Master Barrowclough raised an eyebrow at that news. “The Vault?”
“Yes,” the Headmaster said. “I see you now all understand the significance of my warning? If a student were to just wander in, we may find ourselves in all sorts of trouble. And some deep water, too. And in deep water, it is possible to drown.”
“We’d better increase the number of guards, then,” Master Garmstooth said thoughtfully.
“This will be done,” the Headmaster said.
“I have posted some at the entrance near the Dungeon Hall. I have requested teams stand by in case of emergencies, too. No more layabouting. Be prepared at a moment’s notice to enter the Vault.
Or at least stand in front of it. Also, traps will be activated at the discretion of Security. ”
“Is that wise?” Mistress Vizzingbelle asked.
“Probably not,” the Headmaster admitted. “But better a student is turned to mincemeat than they get hands on one of the cores. Or is the core getting a hand on them? Tough to say. It is not so simple. I should write a paper about it. Barrowclough, why don’t you do that for me?”
“Write it yourself,” Master Barrowclough snorted. “But it would be a terrible thing if someone touched the Leveler.”
“The what? Oh, the Leveler!” the Headmaster said. “That old thing? Yes, that would be amusing, wouldn’t it?”
“Amusing’s not the word I would use.”
“Me neither,” Master Haddrow murmured.
“What about the wards?” Mistress Vizzingbelle asked.
“Good question,” Master Garmstooth said.
“Thank you.”
Ignoring her sarcasm, he grinned at her. “You’re welcome.”
“The wards have been checked,” the Headmaster said. “And double-checked. Thruple-checked, too. And the Mage Court has been notified of our little Academy’s troublesome situation.”
Master Barrowclough’s lips tightened. “And? Will they send any assistance?”
“Alas, they are very busy,” the Headmaster said with a sad look on his face.
“Busy,” Master Barrowclough scoffed.
“Very busy,” the Headmaster repeated. “They have asked us to record everything meticulously and in detail. Then send it through to them as soon as possible for review.”
“Ugh.” Master Garmstooth put his head down onto the table. “Paperwork.”
Patting the other teacher on the shoulder, Master Haddrow grinned. “Don’t worry, old man. It’ll be fine. I’ll show you how to use a pencil.”
“Go away.” Master Garmstooth groaned. “I don’t have time for this.”
“None of us do,” Mistress Vizzingbelle put in. “But I assume the Headmaster has some idea on how we should proceed?”
“Carefully,” the Headmaster said with only a hint of a giggle. “Actually, no. I should be more helpful than that. I am supposed to provide leadership in troubling times, am I not? Then I say this, so heed me well. Proceed very carefully.”
“Not helpful, Miles,” Master Finklestern said.
“Well.” The Headmaster shrugged. “There is nothing I can do. My hands are tied. With very good tape. Or is it rope? Maybe I am cuffed? The Court wants nothing to do with the Academy’s foibles.
Or its eccentricities. The rooms will do as the rooms will do.
As they always have. There is no rhyme. There is no reason.
Just monitor them and hope for the best. Cross your fingers. Cross your legs.”
“And that’s it? That’s their advice?”
“Pretty much. A word less here and there. Perhaps more somewhere else. But the sentiment remains.” The Headmaster smiled. “My final point is somewhat occult, I’m afraid. Forgive me. But Security have received reports of ghosts.”
“Ghosts?” Master Haddrow snickered. “Please, Miles. You know those reports aren’t new, either. This place is old.”
“Ancient,” Master Barrowclough agreed.
“And the nature of the place is oppressive,” Master Haddrow continued. “It’s spooky silent in here sometimes thanks to the thick walls. But it’s not haunted.”
“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Master Garmstooth agreed. Then frowned at the Headmaster. “Is there?”
“No,” the Headmaster said firmly.
“If there were, the dwarves would’ve found a way to use them,” Master Barrowclough said, not quite jokingly. “They’d probably be all over the place.”
“Don’t tell me that,” Master Garmstooth said.
“Scared?”
“Cautiously open to new ideas.”
“Very sensible,” the Headmaster said approvingly. “And intelligent, too. But we are not talking of something so common as women in white dresses spotted at a distance. Or eerie whispers tweeting in a student’s ear as the wind wends through the vents. No. This is different.”
“How so?”
“Various students have reported a sound like something moving through the pipes with a scritch and a scratch. Security is investigating, but so far have discovered nothing practical.”
“Rats?” Mistress Vizzingbelle winced.
“There are no rats in the Academy grounds,” Master Haddrow said. “Wards prohibit it.”
“Yet, something wanders,” the Headmaster said. “Perhaps. Maybe? In theory. Ears open. Eyes wide. You know the drill.”
“Yes,” Master Garmstooth said with a nod, earning another pat on the shoulder by Master Haddrow.