Chapter Three
Alexandr Miroslav
“This is your key, your schedule, the map of the grounds… and,” he lengthened his ‘and’ as he shuffled around his desk for something he’d misplaced, before tapping the rich wooden top with finality. “No. I think that is everything.”
His English accent didn’t sound like the ones I’d walked past at the airport.
It was cleaner, with a rich ring as he spoke unhurried, articulating every word, “I do hope your travels weren’t too tiring, and I do, on behalf of the board, wish to apologize for the late notice in which your letter arrived.
We’d have sent for you earlier, but… I suppose you could say my hands were tied in the matter. ”
I watched the dean give me a benign smile–the one old people give the youth before they hand out candy and found I didn’t mind if he confused me even more than I already was.
“Any questions?”
For the first time in my life, I jumped at the opportunity. “Yes, I was just wondering what this key is for?”
I held up the shiny copper key he’d placed in front of me, and he leaned forward. “That is the key that grants you access to the dorm in which you will be residing.”
His voice was light and smooth, his way with words even more so. I smiled. “Of course, very kind of you to explain.” I leaned forward to grab everything he’d left in front of me, shoving them into my bag in a less than graceful manner.
I’ve met many adults in my long life, or at least it felt like a long life, and not many of them could pose as less of a threat than the dean of Castle Hill, so I felt indulged in speaking freely, “You said the late notice of my admission letter was out of your hands. What does that mean?”
“Oh! O-of course. You see, the board was, forgive my manner of speaking, quite measured in their admittance process this time around. Many changes this year, you see.”
I tilted my head to the side subconsciously; an idiosyncrasy I noticed came off more domineering than inquisitive. I didn’t know if he was simply implying that they ran checks after checks on me or if he was only speaking in a general sense.
“Thanks for explaining,” I mumbled.
He ran his fingers over each other in a soothing manner, and I watched the peach fuzz of his hands catch the light coming in from the long window adjacent to his desk. I wondered for a moment how old he was.
He couldn’t be younger than seventy, but his voice rang young and his mind, despite the softness of his smile lines, was sharp. I only noticed when his eyes shifted to the copper key I’d been holding for half a second whenever he’d reach a point of contemplative pause in his speech.
Perhaps I was simply not privy to what goes on above student affairs.
“Well,” he said, tapping his hands atop his desk with a tone of finality. “The school year commences tomorrow. I do hope to find you in classes and ready to soak up the important knowledge we share here at Castle Hill.”
His lips curled in a rousing grin at the last few words, with a chuckle, and I, taking the hint, shuffled out of the chair with a fleeting smile.
He saw me out through the large double doors that echoed when they closed, and I was soon left in the administration’s office with nothing but tapping from the secretary’s desk to fill the deafening silence.
The drive was quiet, the campus was empty, and the halls were vacant. If classes started tomorrow, would I be the only student attending?
It was a silly thought; one I didn't dwell on long enough for it to keep me up at night.
The checkered floors met the soft thud of my shoes as I stepped out onto the palatial spiralling staircase that led me down to the main lobby.
I hadn’t realized I’d made a game of only stepping on the black tiles until I reached the door leading out and began examining the floor for cracks to avoid.
Except, these grounds were too well kept for anything of that sort.
I let out a disappointed breath, and unravelled the map the dean had given me, studying it to plan out my next steps. I moved my gaze away from the pavement that surrounded the uniformly shaved grass that, unbeknownst to me, could be cut up into stripes.
Find my dorm, unpack, and prepare.
Beyond the sprawling fields behind these castles, there was a road leading to four buildings. Each building housing each year.
I followed the map onto the main walkway that led to different paths every few metres with signs like The Stables, The Ranges, The Fields.
Looking back, there were signs, presumably for those walking in the opposite direction; Fenlon Hall, The Dining Hall, Queen’s Corridor, Remington Tower, Thirteenth Chamber. Each name more absurd than the last, almost as though I’d stepped into a gothic murder thriller.
I checked my file and found myself in dorm room 2-2 in the Fourth Quarter. It wasn’t hard to find the building, considering the words written right above the door.
Fourth Quarter.
Senior Class.
I paused right before the stairs leading up to the door.
This should be interesting.
I took a mental image of what surrounded me.
The vacant cobblestone path leading up to the entrance, the looming structure that towered over me.
But I ought not to fear it. The medieval stones stacked atop one another did not appear the least bit enlightened, unlike the architecture of the campus.
In fact, all the Quarters looked like a lord’s forgotten estate, vines like a family of spiders in their slow crawl, reaching around the corners, but never covering any windows.
It didn’t look any less regal.
The fog that seemed to be approaching from the woods, quickly concealing the low moss, pulled me faster towards the door. An unsavory taste dancing along my tongue.
All at once, the sound of chatter and the banging of trunks assaulted me.
I tensed at the intrusion I found myself in.
Crossing over a line of complete silence with nothing but the rustling leaves and my own soft footsteps to keep me company, to the loud rings of laughter and thuds of students walking in different directions.
The lobby was relatively small for how big the building was, but that's to be expected when it means to house all these students.
Two hallways led in opposite directions, while a glass wall showcasing a courtyard sat in front of me. Despite the cold weather, most people were sitting out there in huddles, talking in animated gestures.
Forcing myself not to pause or falter, and doing what I was best at, I lowered my head and didn’t let the shock slow me down.
Sticking closer to the walls, and avoiding any run-ins, I walked past students on my way to the right hall, but I was sure my attire and gangly steps caught their attention with the heated stares that were quickly gathering on my back.
There wasn’t a beaten hush that fell over them like I’d grown used to.
I could feel their eyes on me, but they didn’t pause in their conversations or call out for my attention. And perhaps, that was worse.
I could still feel them scrutinizing me, and my steps hurried, the only thought in my mind was the cash, watch, pen, and of course several other expensive artifacts in my possession.
Soon, I wasn’t under the limelight long enough to break into a sweat of nerves, turning down hallway after hallway, all lined with room numbers that weren’t my own.
Smothered in silence once again, I continued my search for the stairs.
For such a simple block on the outside, it was peculiar where all this space was found on the inside. When I found the window looking out onto the garden courtyard, I could spot where I came from across the expanse.
At the end of that hall, I, thankfully, found stairs leading up to the second floor. The checkered tiles were semi-covered with an intricately designed carpet that, if I had to assume correctly, was Middle Eastern.
With my mind still set on escaping into my dorm, I couldn’t help rushing enough to miss the decoration I, back in my old life, wouldn’t be able to set foot within a mile radius of.
The wall panelling was simple wood, enriched with paintings wrapped in gold frames, some of summer fruits served on a porcelain platter, others of angry ocean waves crashing against immovable cliffs. I paused on the third step when a bright light, as if coming off the canvas, stole my attention.
The painting wasn’t exactly heart-tugging, it wasn’t even memorable.
It was too bright and hard to decipher; a port barely visible by the sun’s rays shining through the middle of the canvas, and the water lapping under ships and what I’m assuming to be the acropolis to the side.
For a fleeting moment, I felt as though I was being punished just by looking at it.
I averted my gaze and continued my short trek up the stairs.
When I reached the first landing, I found a tapestry that hung from the ceiling and reached down to skim the floor and shook my head at the opulent nature of this place, before I continued up the next set of steps. A soft draft travelled past as I turned the corner into the hall.
Except, a group of boys made me pause in my short-lived admiration of the scenery. It didn’t look like a friendly scene.
I stepped back quickly, returning to the landing where I was well-concealed, and looking just over the threshold. Down the hall, I found a lanky boy with glasses and auburn hair being pinned to the wall by two burly boys in school uniforms.
Leaning against the window ledge across from them, with a tilted head and a sadistic gleam in his eyes, was someone else who made me narrow my gaze. He held himself as though he wanted others to regard him as important, but his body language said otherwise.
Catching the tail end of his cruel smirk before he spoke, I watched him shove the snow-white hair out of his face. “You know I was excited to see you, Auggie. After a long summer, I thought your mouth would wise up.”