The schoolroom might have been the old library once; it was well-lit, with a wall of glass panes at the far end, and bulleted leather sofas arranged under the eaves. As they stepped forward, Charlie felt Marlowe take his hand; then they were walking down between the rows of desks, a mezzanine above them to their left, and walls of books on either side.
At the end, silhouetted in front of the windows, stood a woman. Tall and severe as a slide rule. She wore a floor-length skirt and a white blouse that accentuated her bony frame and she stood to one side of her desk. It was Miss Davenshaw. She turned her face and Charlie saw that she wore a black cloth tied across her eyes: she was blind.
“Mr. Ovid. And young Master Marlowe. Cairndale is most pleased to have you with us. I trust Miss Onoe has shown you the manor?”
Charlie looked uneasily over at Komako. “Uh … a little?”
“I see.” The old woman paused then and turned her sightless face to the wall, listening. “Miss Ribbon,” she said sharply. “It is not polite to eavesdrop.”
“I weren’t, Miss Davenshaw,” Ribs protested. “I swear it.”
“Nor do we lurk, Miss Ribbon. And certainly not in the altogether.” The blind woman walked smoothly to a cupboard under the window and felt around in a drawer there. She took out a folded pinafore. “You will please join us suitably attired, hm?”
“Yes, Miss Davenshaw,” said Ribs meekly.
Charlie watched in wonder as the pinafore floated upward and away, around the standing chalkboard. A moment later and Ribs reappeared, visible now, her face flushed, her bright red hair clawed back off her face. She was smaller than Komako, and freckled, with soft lips. Charlie stared. Her eyes were very green. Beside him, Marlowe stared too.
“What?” said Ribs, narrowing her eyes. “I never growed a second head, did I?”
Charlie swallowed, looked away.
“It’s just … you’re pretty,” breathed Marlowe.
Komako snorted.
Miss Davenshaw resumed her position at the front of the desk, standing. She crooked a finger. “Mr. Ovid,” she said. “Come forward.”
Charlie, uncertain, glanced over at Komako. Beside her, Ribs was grinning, nodding at him. He went to Miss Davenshaw and the blind woman reached out and gently, ever so gently, felt with her fingertips at the edges of his face. Her fingers brushed the bridge of his nose, the hollows of his eyes, they danced along his lips. Her touch was cool, soft, wonderful.
“Now I see you,” she murmured, and there was a kind of benediction in it.
As she did the same to Marlowe, the little one spoke up. “Miss Davenshaw?” he said. “Is Alice all right? I want to see her.”
Her fingertips traced his jawline, up to the shell of his ears. “Miss Quicke is resting, child,” she replied. “You may look in on her later. I am told she is healing well and that it is because of you. Ah, yes. You are a fine young man also. I have wondered all these years what you would grow into. I am pleased to see you are not a monster. You may sit now.”
“That’s a joke,” Ribs whispered to Charlie. “She’s right funny, sometimes.”
But Charlie was still turning over in his head what the blind woman had said about Miss Alice and Marlowe. He didn’t understand. “Because of you?” he whispered, as the boy sat back down. “What is she talking about?”
“I helped,” said Marlowe. “In the carriage, on the way here. Alice was sick and I helped.”
Now Miss Davenshaw was speaking again. “You will have questions, I am sure. Let me set your minds at ease,” she said. “Miss Ribbon, what is the purpose of the Cairndale Institute? Would you care to enlighten our guests?”
“Um … it’s our home?”
“A home is not a purpose, Miss Ribbon. Miss Onoe?”
“It is a bulwark against the dead.”
“Indeed. Against the dead, and the drughr. We preserve the passage between worlds and see that it stays closed. And what is Cairndale’s purpose in your lives?”
“To equip us,” said Komako. “To give us the skills we need, so we can be safe.”
“The skills, and the knowledge. There are twenty-one students here. You will meet the others in time, no doubt. But most of your interactions will be with each other. To that end our days are divided into morning classes, wherein we receive an education, and an afternoon practicum, wherein we work on controlling and strengthening our particular talents. We have not had a haelan in many years, Mr. Ovid. We are pleased to have you among us.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you, Marlowe. You would do well to remember that being known of is not the same as being known. Yes?”
The boy stared at her with big eyes. “Yes, Miss Davenshaw,” he said, clearly confused.
Miss Davenshaw’s face was impassive. “Now. Firstly, the rules. You will listen when you are spoken to; I will not need to tell you a thing twice, I trust. Lessons begin at half past eight each morning; you will not be late. In the classroom you are not to move objects or furniture around; I shall not look kindly on anyone who sets a chair in my path. Attendance in the dining room for each meal is mandatory. You will not leave the grounds of Cairndale under any circumstances, nor for any reason, except when accompanied by staff. It wouldn’t do to have unusual children drifting about the countryside, alarming the locals. Our safety here depends upon our discretion. Now. The rooms of the older residents are off-limits, as is the upper east wing, where Dr. Berghast works. Do not let me hear of your snooping. The other children, with their tutors, need not concern you. This is your class here. Most important, the glyphic’s island is strictly forbidden. You will not disturb it. Do I make myself clear?”
Marlowe put up his hand.
“She can’t see you,” whispered Charlie. “You got to just say it, Mar.”
“Miss Davenshaw?” said Marlowe. “What’s the glyphic? Is it the big yellow tree?”
She made a tsking noise. She tilted her blindfolded face as if she could see them all with a greater clarity. “I’d have thought Miss Onoe would have told you all about our resident glyphic, when she was waking you in your beds this morning. No? She did not mention the Spider?”
Charlie saw Komako tug at her long braid, her face reddening.
“The glyphic, child, is the one we all depend on here. He lives below the tree, in the ruins of the old monastery, on the island in the loch. It is he who keeps us safe, who harnesses the power in the orsine and keeps it sealed. Should anything happen to the glyphic, the orsine would tear itself open. It is a thin membrane; on its far side lies a different world, a world of the spirit.”
“Aw, you got to at least tell em what he looks like, an all,” Ribs burst out.
Miss Davenshaw frowned. “You have an unhealthy interest in our glyphic, Miss Ribbon. Indeed, in all manner of things that are forbidden.”
“I don’t.”
The old woman arched a disapproving eyebrow.
“I mean, not just in them kinds of things,” mumbled Ribs.
“I am sure Miss Ribbon will regale you with tales both fanciful and imagined about the nature and appearance of our glyphic,” said Miss Davenshaw. “Listen to them at your peril. I expect none of it will interest you just now; but we shall speak of it later, when you are settled.”
But Miss Davenshaw was mistaken, in saying that the darker machinery of Cairndale wouldn’t interest Charlie, nor the strange creature the children called the Spider, nor the mysterious orsine itself. In the weeks to come he would, in fact, learn a considerable amount about such matters, and he would, in time, eventually learn more about the orsine, and the terrors loose beyond it, than almost any other talent in the world. But for now all of that would remain shrouded in mystery. For while they were meeting with Miss Davenshaw a pudgy boy came to the door, a boy maybe Charlie’s own age, or a bit younger, with hair so blond it looked white, and white lips, and pale blue eyes. He looked like he’d rolled in flour.
“Yes, Oskar, what is it?” said Miss Davenshaw, turning her face in his direction.