The Crickhowell School for the Muses (4 page)

Rosaline was suddenly falling into the room.

“Oh!” Rosaline caught herself before tumbling to the floor.

Mr. Whitewood turned a wary eye on her but said nothing. Awen noted that he did not look entirely surprised.

“How did she do, Mr. Whitewood?” Rosaline inquired with an overzealously charming smile.

“Hmm…” he mumbled, gathering his thoughts. “I suppose, Rose, you already know the answer to that.” His voice was slightly accusing.

Awen looked curiously from Rosaline to Mr. Whitewood—her eager smile, his piercing glare. Then she knew. Rosaline must have been standing there the whole time, listening in. Awen stared at the floor, trying to suppress her frustration, which Rosaline’s smile would only increase.

“Well, then,” Rosaline tried to brush his words off, “I suppose we should be going. Come, Awen.” She turned out of the room, and Awen had no choice but to follow.

When the pair reached Awen’s room, she turned to go in.

Rosaline stopped her. “Awen,” she snapped.

Awen raised her eyebrows, then turned warily to face her.

Rosaline lowered her voice and leaned in close.

Awen was forced to look straight into her gleaming black eyes. She shivered.

“You have a great talent, girl. I haven’t heard anything quite like that in a long time.” She smiled, but the expression looked out of place. “What would you suppose if I told you I would take you somewh—” She stopped abruptly, eyes widening, and turned an ear toward the hallway.

Awen heard steady footsteps echo against the walls. They were unnaturally even. She looked up just as Miss Nina approached.

“Well, hellooo,” Miss Nina drew out, showing her white teeth in a wide smile.

Rosaline, looking flustered, straightened out and turned to Miss Nina. “Ah, hello there, Miss Nina,” she said with forced casualness. “I was just, umm, bringing Awen here back from her first lesson. Very talented girl, you know.”

“Yessss…I imagine so.” She nodded slowly, looking Awen up and down. She turned to Rosaline then and raised her eyebrows in what seemed to be a subtle warning. She glanced down at her pocket, then turned and receded back down the hallway.

“Hmph,” Rosaline grunted after Miss Nina had left. “Well, I’ll be going now,” she mumbled to no one in particular. And with that, she disappeared down the other end of the hallway.

Awen slipped the sheet of music under her door, then crossed her arms and leaned back against it, pondering the exchange that had just taken place. Was Rosaline hiding something from Miss Nina? She twisted a section of hair around her finger and pulled, then turned to enter her room. Whatever it was Miss Nina was doing, it did not concern her.

As Awen reached for the doorknob, another reverberation of footsteps stopped her. She rotated back and pressed her spine against the door.

“Aach, must be more careful from…” It was Rosaline’s muffled voice, barely audible, originating from down the hall. Awen couldn’t make out any more words, but she could hear Rosaline’s footsteps. They did not grow softer or louder, but clacked and clacked against the floor as if Rosaline were pacing in a tight circle.

Awen craned her neck forward, careful to keep the rest of her body flattened against the door. Rosaline was not to be seen. Awen eyed the doorways down the hall. She stepped out from the safety of her own bedroom door and padded toward the stairwell. Rosaline’s voice grew ever more coherent with each step:

“What a pain she is, always nosing around in my business.…”

Awen halted just outside the large mirrored room. She saw Rosaline’s reflection on the far wall. It stood still now, no longer pacing, and stared into itself so intently, Awen wondered if Rosaline was actually looking at something behind her, in the hallway. Awen realized that if
she
took another step forward, her own reflection would appear in the mirror, right beside Rosaline’s.

Awen scooted herself backward. She turned to half tiptoe, half run back to her room, leaving behind the muted mumblings of Rosaline.

Awen leaned against the wall, picking
at her raggedy fingernails. A wheezy gust of wind against glass made her look briefly up at the window—the rain had stopped at least an hour ago, but the sky was still hazy. A faint, low glow in the trees told her night had begun to fall.

She sighed, wondering what to do for the remaining hours of the day. Her first music lesson that morning had filled her with a new feeling: confidence—or maybe hope. Now, the idea of spending another day in the same nothingness that had filled her first twelve days at Crickhowell was intolerable.

Her eyes traced a circle around the room: white walls, almost completely bare…the sign on the door, hanging in all its menace…wood floor, mattress…but how could she forget! The sheet of music from her lesson still lay on the floor near the door where she had placed it. She padded over and crouched to pick it up.

Tap tap
.

Awen froze. Still crouching, she pressed her ear to the door, listening for…Rosaline? Miss Nina? They had never come for her at night. She tried to quiet her breathing.

Tap tap tap.
“Awen?” a voice called softly from the other side. “Awen, are you in there?”

Awen bit her lip. It was a voice she vaguely recognized. Angelic. A little…incongruous with the castle’s atmosphere. She considered standing up to open the door. She considered staying where she was.

“Awen? It’s Vivienne!”

She raised her eyebrows in recognition, and immediately jumped up. Vivienne, of course! She remembered the girl from breakfast some days ago—her glowing, out-of-place smile. One of the few smiles, really, that did not make her want to look away.

Awen reached for the doorknob, just as Vivienne opened it from the other side.

“Oh!” Vivienne exclaimed. Then, seeing Awen’s eager face, she let out a giggle. “I thought you might be in here!”

Awen smiled.

“Are you doing anything now?” Vivienne looked down at the paper Awen held, but Awen shrugged and shook her head no. “All right, good good good!” Vivienne gushed. “I want to do something! I’m bored. Have you had dinner? I’m starving!”

Awen raised her eyebrows and smiled. She had not eaten in hours. In fact, she was not so sure she had eaten at all that day. Her stomach gurgled.

“Very well, let’s go then!” Vivienne turned abruptly and began to skip down the hallway.

Awen placed the music on her mattress, left her room and shut the door quietly, as if she were about to do something forbidden, then followed Vivienne at a slow pace. This hallway was always so strange at night. Rooms that were normally open and filled with light were now obscured in darkness. The students who occupied them by day were probably off in their rooms somewhere, and with them went the music, the plucking of strings, the thumping of feet on wood floor.

“Awen!” Vivienne’s voice echoed.

She broke from her fantasy and realized she had almost reached the curved staircase at the end of the hall. She shivered, still unable to push away the memory of her tumble down the stairs.

Vivienne called her name again. Where was she? Awen began down the stairs. Lightly. Carefully. One step at a time.

“Ah, there you are!” Vivienne was waiting for her halfway down. “You’d better hurry, because they might run out of food!” She ran the rest of the way, but Awen kept her pace.

When Awen reached the dining hall, Vivienne had already found a small table in the back corner. Most of the room was empty, with only a few girls sprinkled here and there, eating something out of ceramic bowls. Mouth full of food, she motioned Awen over.

“Stew again.” Vivienne crinkled her nose as Awen sat in the chair next to her. “Already got you a bowl.” She pushed over a turquoise ceramic dish and dull metal spoon.

Awen twisted one side of her mouth, but the gurgling in her stomach made her reach for the serving dish in the middle of the table anyway. She poured a ladleful of the thick substance into her bowl, counting the chunks of carrot, beef, and rice as they fell in. She poked at them with her spoon, then gave in to the biting hunger.

“So, I have a question.”

Awen, still chewing, gazed up at Vivienne from her bowl.

“Do you ever…talk?” The question did not sound accusatory, simply curious.

Awen swallowed and crinkled her nose. She was not really sure of the answer.

“Hmm, all right then. I don’t mind it one bit. In fact, some people say I talk enough for two! Hahaha!” she giggled. “I’ve even been asked, once, if that’s what I’m here for! The Talking Muse, they call me!” She took another bite of stew. “But really, I’m here as a dancer.” She smiled proudly. “I’m one of the best!”

Awen nodded, hoping to hear more of her new friend’s story—how long Vivienne had been at the school, how much longer she would stay, where she would go. Mostly, Awen wanted to hear those answers because she did not want to be asked any of the questions herself.

Vivienne leaned toward her. “So, why are
you
here?”

Awen frowned. She drew her tongue across her lips, and pointed to them.

“Hmm,” Vivienne pondered a moment. “Oh! A singer, yes?”

Awen nodded.

“I know another one like you. Hmm,” her eyes flitted around the room. “Right…there. That girl.” She pointed to a black-haired girl at a table in the middle of the room. “I don’t know if she’s nice or not, though. Hmm. So, can you read music?” Her eyes brightened.

Awen shook her head, wishing there was some way to tell her she
would
be able to read it soon.

“Huh,” she said. “Well…all right, so I’ve been here for…” she counted on her fingers, “seven months.
You
must be new, though. How long?”

Awen held up two fingers.

“Two…weeks?”

Awen nodded.

“All right. Well, so seven months for me. So I have…” she counted again, “five months until I leave to live with my patron. We usually stay here for a year. Sometimes more, sometimes less. I think it depends on how
good
you are.” She smiled brightly. “I’m really
excited
though!” she exclaimed. “I will have a new family and everything, and dance all the time, and maybe my room will be bigger!”

Awen had not really thought about any of this. Her future life with her patron seemed so distant, and the thought of it did not make her smile as Vivienne did. She was more concerned with making it through the next month. The next week. Just the next day. She wondered if she would even be able to keep up with the time anymore. It might just fade into a stream of nothingness.

“So, who is your patron? Do you know anything about him?”

Awen racked her brain. She had heard the name just once, her very first night in the castle. But with each day, the details of that night became cloudier. Some memories, she would prefer to forget.

“Oh, I guess you wouldn’t really be able to tell me.” Vivienne looked disappointed. She turned back to her stew, scraped the very last bit onto her spoon, and licked it off. “Oh! Oh oh oh! I have an idea!” Vivienne’s eyes burned with excitement. “We should…” She looked warily around the dining hall for eavesdroppers, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “We should sneak into the library tonight and read about our patrons!”

Awen remembered the dark room full of monstrous leather volumes. There had been some lengthy words written about her patron in one of the books, and it was deliciously tempting to read it. She licked her lips and let half of her mouth form into a smile.

“Let’s do it!” Vivienne exclaimed in a whispered yell. “It’s been too long since I’ve gone down there.” She lowered her voice even further. “We’re not supposed to, you know. But wouldn’t it be fun!”

Awen could taste the temptation like sugar on her lips. Her muscles ached to move, to go somewhere other than the two rooms—her bedroom, the dining room—that acted as permanent fixtures in her new life. The little seed of adventure crackled in her stomach. But there were so many reasons
not
to go. Or, really, only two. But here, those two reasons were everything; Miss Nina and Rosaline. Maybe even Hannah would catch her. Awen knew what would happen if she were seen. Or actually, twice as frightening, she did
not
know what would happen.

Vivienne saw the hesitation on her friend’s face. “Oh, don’t desert me, it will be fun! We won’t get caught, I promise!”

Awen was not convinced by Vivienne’s weightless words, but it was enough. It was something to do, after all—a diversion, a minty breath across the film of stasis forming on her teeth. Awen smiled, held up a finger to Vivienne, and then finished her dinner with one big scoop of her spoon.

“Fantastic!” Vivienne exclaimed, trying, unsuccessfully, to keep her voice down. She stacked her empty bowl on top of Awen’s, then sprang up, throwing her chair back a foot. She giggled and reached across to pull Awen up. “Let’s go!”

The two girls slipped through the dining hall, Vivienne leading the way. They weaved in and out of the half-empty tables, making every attempt to suppress their smiles.

“The library is on the first floor,” Vivienne whispered matter-of-factly. She padded toward the stairwell, occasionally looking over her shoulder.

A nervous energy swept through Awen, and she, too, surveyed the hallway as they walked. Every footstep from the floor above, every scraping of a chair from the dining hall, every voice floating from some room, sent a tingling through her fingertips. Threatening images of Miss Nina and Rosaline, with their glistening black eyes, drifted into her head. But she pushed them aside and followed her friend down the hall.

The two girls reached the stairwell, and Vivienne stopped, turning behind her to Awen. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be on the first floor at all,” she whispered, eyes wide. “So we should be as quiet as we can.” She turned back and began to tiptoe down the stairs in the way that only a dancer could. She moved in absolute silence.

Awen took a deep breath, then followed.

This stairwell was much the same as the one between the second and third floors, only it was longer, forming a full spiral rather than a mere curve. The entryway must have had an imposingly high ceiling, but she could not remember it clearly from that very first night, nor from the morning after, when all she had focused on was the main entry door and the possibility of escape. She recalled only small bits—the dazzlingly ornate chandelier that hung from above, and…she stopped. A glint of brass. Miss Nina had used a brass key to open the library that first night. Would the room be locked?

“Awen?” Vivienne whispered. She stood at the foot of the stairs, peering inquisitively up at Awen, who had stopped a few steps short of the bottom.

Awen shifted her feet. Then she shook her head and continued down the stairs. Now, it all came back to her, the memory of that first night. This time, however, she could actually step back and take in her surroundings. The tiny flickering candles, evenly spaced around the chandelier, glowing iridescently like Saturn’s rings. The structure itself was of gold, and it was massive, with countless hoops of candles dwindling in circumference and rising in height until just one candle burned at the top. The gold chain that attached it to the ceiling sparkled in the light, as if it housed thousands of tiny diamonds.

The entrance hall itself was strikingly different from the rest of the castle. The walls were stone rather than bare white, and the light wooden floor of the upper levels had been switched out for a dark oak. It was as if this room were an artifact from a different time altogether. There was no doubt that the upper floors had been built specifically to house and train students, but Awen wondered if, at one time, this first floor had served an entirely different purpose. Something more beautiful, perhaps.

“
Psst!
Awen!”

Awen peered around the corner of the stairwell and found Vivienne leaning against the wall next to an ornately carved door. The library door. A smile gleamed on her face.

Awen tiptoed toward the library, looking around her shoulder, listening for any sounds coming from the stairwell. She crossed her fingers behind her back, desperately hoping the door would not be locked.

“You ready?” Vivienne whispered.

Awen gave a tentative smile.

Vivienne turned to the door and, delicately, twisted the brass knob. She pushed, and the door opened.

Awen gave a quiet sigh of relief. With that obstacle passed, she felt ready to walk right in, lead the way even. But then a new thought struck her like cymbals in her ears. This door was probably meant to remain locked, and, not being so, there was a great chance that it was currently in use.

But Vivienne had already entered the room, and Awen had no choice but to follow.

The library was pitch black. Though somewhat unnerving, this was a promising sign—there could not possibly be anyone else inside. A hint of dust and mold permeated the air, tickling Awen’s nose and throat. She sneezed. Awen tried to picture the room from her only previous visit, when it had been lit by a solitary candle, standing on a desk near the entrance.

She did not know where Vivienne had gone. She could only hear her breathing, coming from somewhere to the left, and the sound of hands rummaging through…something.

Awen crept forward, the wooden floor cool beneath her bare feet, holding both hands out until they hit a hard surface—the desk. She circled her palms around the top, searching for…there it was: a glass container with a candle inside.

“Got it!” Vivienne’s voice, though a whisper, pierced the heavy blackness of the room.

Awen jumped, nearly throwing the glass off the table.

“Matches…Where are you, Awen?” Vivienne’s voice drew closer. Awen could hear her hands hitting various surfaces, trying to feel her way through the darkness, until she felt Vivienne’s presence beside her.

“Candle?” Vivienne asked.

Awen scooted the glass jar into Vivienne’s waiting hands. A soft scraping
chhk
filled the air, followed by a deep orange glow and the pleasant smell of burning. Awen heard the faint sound of singeing wick as Vivienne lit the candle and brought the room to life.