Chapter 17 - The Chapter
July
We restart our journey inside the lift, whose doors are so shiny I can see Roden’s reflection in them, watching my every move while he taps a finger on the head of his walking stick—a knot of silver and golden, intertwined threads, protecting a purple stone.
I notice we’ve come to a halt only when the doors open, revealing an oval hall made entirely of marble, with sleek walls lined by darkened windows. A space that smells like…
Emptiness.
“Ah, perfect timing.” Roden clicks his tongue and smiles at a petite young woman, dressed like she has to attend a ball, who appears on our left, carrying a bundle of papers too thick for her delicate arms.
“Mr Breith, they’re ready for you in room thirty-nine,” she chimes, with the voice of a bird.
“Many thanks, Theresa. How many years has it been since I offered you this role? You can call me Roden,” he purrs.
I shiver as if shaking off maggots crawling up my back.
We don’t wait for Theresa to bow, giggle, or do whatever suits her character. “Let’s go meet the Chapter then.” Roden rushes me off the lift, flattening a hand against my back before stepping in front of me.
“The Chapter?” I echo, tasting the start of a thought at the back of my mind. But the thought is gone as soon as my focus seems to have broken free from its cage. When no answer comes, I waddle behind him like a loyal puppy.
Our steps have no sound, no matter my heels or Roden’s expensive shoes. I’m still in the outfit I chose for my dinner with Galen - a mid-length, deep-red, pleated skirt, a black sleeveless top, and leather ankle boots. I must have lost my jacket somewhere between the restaurant and—
I was in a car…
Tap. Tap.
A thick curtain shadows my memories with comforting warmth.
I should be shivering, or at least feeling uncomfortable, surrounded by all this cold marble and with nothing covering my naked arms. Instead, the hall is just the right temperature, even though the glass of the windows is so dark I bet not even the brightest light could filter through.
I stare at Roden’s back. He has fallen silent and is cocking his head side to side as if tuning in to a melody I can’t hear.
As soon as we stepped out of the lift, I perceived the hall as a small space with a single door at the opposite end.
However, as we walk further, I realise that the architect must have used a mind-blowing optical illusion, because the oval-shaped hall stretches into a corridor, and our walk to the door appears to be longer than I thought it would be.
I doubt Roden will explain the trick, but this gives me time to look around—and up. There are no chandeliers or light bulbs, yet the room is filled with light.
Where has Theresa disappeared to? I look over my shoulder and struggle even to see the lift entrance or the other thirty-something rooms that should precede the one we’re heading to.
“Don’t worry, a bit of dizziness is normal.
This hall is something else. Consider yourself lucky, my dear.
Few people can say they’ve had the honour to appreciate this marvellous construction.
Ah, such a great mind and such a pity…” Roden’s voice is warm and comforting as he steps to one side, gesturing for me to go ahead.
Well, no. I don’t know half of it, dear Roden; I’d like to stop and comment.
Instead, I nod like a marionette, follow his demand - once again - and almost bump my nose against door-thirty-freaking-nine, which had decided to cut the distance between us and materialise right in front of me when I thought we still had miles to go.
I blink, perplexed, searching over my shoulder for an explanation on Roden’s face as he gently pushes me out of the way, huffing an amused laugh.
One swift rotation of the doorknob, under his hand’s light touch, and the silence that has accompanied us until now leaves the stage, replaced by a concert of shrieking chairs, hectic voices and the clanging of glasses.
“If he decides to make an appearance…”
“Roden…”
“Sir, I believe that is what you meant to say…”
“Shush. Amelia.”
“Oh, here we go, now she’s going to go full on how-dare-you-shush-me…”
“Silence! They’re here.”
“Sir, welcome…”
The threshold is narrow, and I have to wait behind Roden, but all the voices carry the same tone—taken aback and reverential.
The people in the room stop talking and turn in our direction, like trained soldiers, as Roden saunters inside, just far enough for me to squeeze in.
“Friends, please, take a seat.” Roden’s hand flutters over the room, virtually patting every head.
“Or am I to think you were about to leave? I like to believe my invitation, although with short notice, found you all in good health. You have been chosen to be part of my Chapter; therefore, should you be summoned in the middle of the night, you are expected to be ready.”
I follow his movements as he scans the room from left to right before adding, “Always.” At the sudden switch in his voice from a welcoming tone to that of a born and bred leader, all members of the Chapter nod at once, and some of them finally place their chosen butts on the chairs.
What is this farce?
Roden turns to me and my mind shuts down. All that matters is that I listen to him.
“Don’t be afraid, July,” he addresses me. “After all, we are here for you today.”
For or because of?
The room quickly fills with the sounds of complaining. Some are only muttered through yawns. Some—intentionally louder.
Ignoring their reactions, Roden marches towards nobody in particular, but instead to a display of coffee and fruit, beautifully arranged on a table by the wall opposite the door.
I linger by the entrance for a little longer, studying sleepy, all familiar faces and hands holding steaming mugs of coffee.
Alphonse Tydell is staring at me, sitting at the very end of a long table in the middle of the room.
He is wearing what appears to be expensive mustard silk pyjamas, with his hair wet but elegantly combed back.
His lips close and open, like those of a fish out of breath, as he squints and massages his eyes, seemingly shocked to see me here instead of any other student.
My chest shrinks a little at his baffled and disappointed expression, even though I’m unsure what I should feel guilty for.
Standing by Mr. Tydell’s right, Amelia Kram glares at me from over a pair of shades large enough to cover her smooth-skinned face.
She’s one of the youngest teachers, an expert in Horigos regional idioms. Her classes are optional, and I’ve never found learning Vinenzia’s long-lost dialect useful other than to sound annoyingly pompous.
Removing her glasses and pulling out a chair with manicured fingers - a gold ring shining on each one - she sits without taking her lilac eyes off me.
Her brows arch slightly, as she stares at me like I’m an insignificant insect that has sneaked inside the room without invitation.
The other Chapter members have gathered around the little banquet table to refill their cups and exchange some words with Roden, but his mouth seems to move only to drink coffee and nibble on a strawberry.
Ignored by the person they unquestionably adore more than their own lives, Nikrah Skell - expert in Horigos’ history - and Master Donatori, Proja Dryb’He, stalk back to their chairs in silence.
“I don’t know if I should be congratulating you or be upset.” A voice sparks over my shoulders, pushing me further inside the room like a gust of wind.
I instinctively turn around, forgetting the other people in the room, and stare at Evelyn Popplewish, clapping as if marking the end of an outstanding performance.
From the moment I woke up in the room full of screens to my meeting with Roden, to later when we stepped inside the lift, nothing made much sense to me; like the pages of a book full of pictures being flipped too fast before my eyes.
But, now, all I can remember of that book is its last page—Evelyn Popplewish’s face. Well, one of her faces. One which I’ve never seen before. Heavy, concerned, but also veiled by an inexplicable hint of pride.
She drove me here.
No. That is not a proper thought. Better forget about it and shove it under the rug of things I’m not supposed to know.
“Why am I here?” I mumble instead. My gaze rests on her face and tight lips, pressed together as if keeping her words at bay. “Miss Popplewish, have I done something wrong?”
When she holds her hands up and lets them fall to her side with a sigh, confusion and a touch of worry rush through me.
“Roden, is she still oblivious?” A pressing edge marks her tone.
In response, a high-pitched, little cry comes from behind me, and I cast a curious look in its direction, only to witness Tydell looking down at the table and shrinking in his chair.
Clearing his throat, Nikrah cuts short his exchange of words with Amelia, brushing biscuit crumbs from his black shirt. “She wouldn’t be if someone had arrived on time—like the rest of us.” He leans over the table, resting his chin in his hands, shooting a rigid smirk at Popplewish.
“At least some of us had the decency to make it on time and look presentable.” A petite silhouette steps out of a dark corner. Like shards of broken crystal in a sea of black sclera, her eyes cut through me with such an intensity that I couldn’t look anywhere else, even if I wanted to.
I fully turn towards her, my jaw drops a little as Lily Drestall, the very first female Master Writer in our history, flashes a smile at me before moving her attention to Professor Skell.
“Have you forgotten to shower after your gym session, Nikrah?” She looks him up, and wrinkles her nose in disgust and, tucking behind her ear a curly lock of shiny, black hair that’s escaped from her immaculate bun, she aims for a chair as far from him as possible.