Chapter 8 Mark
MARK
Greetings and Salutations, Tiberius.
I hope this missive finds you well at the Scholomance.
For my own part, I am rather hungover. We took to the clubs of London and ended up swept away in the festivities of Kraig’s retirement party.
“Who is Kraig?” you may ask. That is a very good question, Tiberius. As of this morning, I have no idea.
You will be relieved to know none of this is why I’m writing to you. It’s rather about what happened afterwards.
As you know, Julian and Emma are staying at Blackthorn Hall, attempting to get it fixed up.
Emma has been going through stacks of old papers and ephemera, and Julian has been dealing with the particulars of the repairs.
Julian also mentioned he’s been working on a mural, though he keeps it covered with a cloth so I don’t know what it depicts.
Whatever the subject matter, I am glad he is finding time to paint.
This is my first visit to Blackthorn Hall since I was a child, and I must say Julian and Emma have their work cut out for them. Especially because it seems to be haunted.
Yes, haunted. I woke early this morning to the sound of an exclamation.
Having passed out upon the stairs for some reason, I was directly across the hall from the ballroom, where I found Julian in the throes of dismay.
There was paint spilled all over the ballroom floor.
Julian had been working on the mural up there and was quite upset by the mess.
I wondered whether wild animals could have been responsible—the place certainly looks like it could be harboring numerous bands of cunning raccoons*, but then I saw footsteps in the paint.
They looked to be old-fashioned shoes, not like any soles I’d seen before.
Since the house itself contains many garments of earlier eras, we looked for matches but found none.
There was a sort of chill in the ballroom that reminded me of my time with the Hunt.
A hint of the cold of the grave. I suppose that is why I am inclined to agree with Emma and Julian that this mess is the work of a mischievous ghost and not a strangely-dressed housebreaking vagrant.
(Emma mentioned the term “cosplay” but I do not know what that means.)
Julian, being who he is, blames himself.
He keeps muttering about how he shouldn’t have gone out, how it’s his responsibility to take care of the place, and so on.
You know how hard he can be on himself. I hate to hear it.
I’d like to get to the bottom of this—for Julian’s sake; for the restoration of the house; and for the sake of all of us.
Mopping up so much paint was not enjoyable, especially with a clanging headache—and that is why I am appealing to you, Ty, for aid.
You’re at the Scholomance, and as a student you have at your fingertips a vast quantity of books, family trees, and historical records.
Could you look and see if there are any references to Blackthorn Hall being haunted?
If we know who the ghost is, it will be much easier to dispel them—lay them to rest, I should say.
I cannot imagine it is enjoyable to be a ghost.
Please reply to Julian with any information, for unfortunately Kieran, Cristina, and I must depart the day after tomorrow; Kieran cannot be away from the Land too long, and Cristina and I have obligations in New York.
I must go—Kieran has come to fetch me. Cristina and Emma have prepared a cream tea in an effort to lighten the mood. Kieran assures me the sandwiches are extremely tiny, and that he cut the crusts off himself with great accuracy.
I love you, Tiberius. I wish you were here with us, but I know you are doing great work in the Scholomance. I am proud to be your brother.
Mark
*Julian informs me there are no raccoons in England, whatever Disney films might have indicated to the contrary. I cannot express the depth of my betrayal.