“I feel like a new goose!” she exclaimed as the goslings clamored around their mother. “Hmmm. Seems like someone here made himself a dozen new fans. Thank you, Max, you’re a dear. The children would love it if you could visit sometime. We live in a little nest by the orchard, just behind the Class of 1840 Tree. Come by anytime.”
“Sure thing,” said Max, grabbing his booklet. He said farewell and headed for the hedge tunnel. One of the goslings (Max thought it might be Lillian) tottered after him until Hannah herded her back with the rest.
That evening, hundreds of students streamed into the great dining hall, which was now golden with the light of many tapered candles lit among the chandeliers. Max fiddled with his tie as he and his classmates were directed to tables strewn with wildflowers and set with crystal glasses and horn-handled cutlery. Full-grown fauns with curling hair plucked at lyres, the music strange and soothing as more students filed in.
Seated between Cynthia and Lucia, Max studied the faces around him. The candlelight and formal uniforms made the students look much older. Across the hall, Max saw Jason Barrett seated with the Sixth Years, chatting with the girl on his right. Ms. Richter and the faculty sat in blue robes at the head table. They engaged in quiet conversation, giving an occasional nod to an older student or an inquisitive glance at the new arrivals. The music came to a gentle close, and Ms. Richter stood to address them, her voice clear and strong.
“Please stand.”
Max looked at the others and stood, uncertain of what was next. Ms. Richter’s voice filled the hall.
“This is a House of Learning and today is the Day of Return, when teacher and pupil reforge their bonds and resume their progress on the path.”
The faculty and students raised their glasses in a silent toast. Ms. Richter continued.
“This is a House of Learning and today is a Day of Remembrance, when we gather to honor our past, embracing both its joys and sorrows.”
Again, the glasses were lifted in salute.
“This is a House of Learning and today is a Day of Renewal, when Rowan welcomes a new class bringing with them life and promise to grace these halls and grounds.”
Max jumped as the dining hall erupted in a chorus.
“We welcome them with open arms. We will help them on the way.”
The students and faculty raised their glasses toward the First Years’ tables and promptly drained them. Lucia did the same, but Max wrinkled his nose and took only hesitant sips of his wine.
Ms. Richter took her seat. The dining hall burst into a chorus of cheery conversations as dozens of students streamed in from the kitchens bearing heavy silver serving trays.
The feast was extraordinary and soon the table was engrossed in Cynthia’s story of how she had come to receive her letter from Rowan. With a blaring voice and dramatic sweeps of her arms, Cynthia reenacted how she had been visiting the aquarium when a school of tropical fish began to swim in hypnotizing patterns. After concluding that it was all “very freaky,” Cynthia yielded the floor to other classmates, who began to share their stories. Max did not share his, choosing instead to feast on roast pheasant stuffed with wild rice, miniature lamb chops, mountains of fresh vegetables, and little dishes of assorted sweets and chocolates. Periodically, older students and faculty wandered over to say a quick hello between courses. At the meal’s conclusion, a great clamor swept the dining hall.
Max grinned as Mum and Bob were dragged from the kitchens by a gaggle of students insisting they take a bow for their efforts. Bob, wearing a starched blue shirt and clean white apron, hastily wiped away a tear and waved before ducking back through the swinging door. Mum capered to and fro, clapping her hands and issuing curtsy after dramatic curtsy until the very same students politely, but firmly, escorted her away. This drew a final round of hearty applause until Ms. Richter rang her spoon against her glass and stood once again. The candlelight cast an enormous shadow on the wall behind her. A smile spread across her face.
“Welcome home, students. As Director, I declare the school year officially in session!”
A raucous cheer erupted from the students, accompanied by enthusiastic banging on the tables and the stamping of many feet. Max was stamping away with the others when several Second Years strolled over and sat down at the table.
“Hey there,” said an olive-skinned boy with jet-black hair. “I’m Alex Mu?oz.”
“Yeah, I’m Anna Lundgren,” said a pretty girl with short blond hair.
“Welcome, guys. I’m Sasha Ivanovich,” said a boy with shaggy brown hair.
Several of the First Years enthusiastically introduced themselves while finishing off the last of the sweets. Jesse looked miserable, groaning as he held his stomach and leaned against Omar.
“Are you guys excited for the big campout?” whispered Alex, twisting his finger around a wildflower stem.
“What campout?” Cynthia inquired, pushing away her plate.
“The one tonight,” said Anna, “out on the Kestrel. Didn’t anyone tell you?”
“No,” said Connor, leaning closer. “What’s it all about?”
“It’s kind of a First Year tradition, for class bonding,” answered Sasha. “The First Years sneak out and spend the night on the Kestrel. Out by midnight, back by sunrise.”
“Isn’t that against the rules?” asked Omar, wide-eyed.
“Yes and no,” answered Alex. “According to ‘the rules,’ the Kestrel ’s off-limits, but the tradition’s been around a long time. As long as you’re careful and quiet, the faculty looks the other way.”
“I don’t know,” murmured Cynthia, looking nervous.
“It’s your decision,” Anna said, shrugging. “We had a great time last year. If you want to be the first class not to do it, though…”
“We didn’t say that,” said Connor, his eyes flashing. “C’mon, guys, let’s do it. It’ll be fun.”
Connor’s smile was contagious, and soon the others were grinning, too. They looked from one to another and nodded.
“Okay,” muttered Rolf. “I’ll bring some snacks.”
“I’ve got a radio,” volunteered Lucia.
“Everybody bring a sleeping bag or some blankets, a pillow, and a flashlight if you have one,” whispered Connor. “Pass it on to the other tables. We’ll meet near the stairs down to the beach at midnight. Go in ones or twos and don’t get caught!”
Turning to Alex and Anna, Connor continued.
“Can we just get aboard the Kestrel? Isn’t it locked or something?”
“Nope,” said Alex. “Just tiptoe down the dock and climb the rope ladder on the side. It’s a really cool ship and it’s pretty warm tonight. You guys are lucky; it rained on us last year.”
“But it was still fun!” chirped Anna, smiling and standing up. “Nice to meet you all. Can’t wait to hear about it tomorrow.” She and the others rejoined the table of Second Years.
Max was excited at the prospect of a secret sneak-out. He spent several minutes planning with the group before he saw Mr. Vincenti making a beeline for him from the faculty table.
“Sorry to interrupt,” said the elderly man with a smile. “Max, could I speak with you?”
“Sure,” said Max, fearful that their planning had been overheard. Mr. Vincenti ushered him away from the table to a nearby pillar.
“Max, the Director would like to have a word with you,” said Mr. Vincenti, “concerning certain events…events that happened before you arrived at Rowan.”
“Oh,” said Max. “But I have to go to the Sanctuary—my charge is nocturnal.”
“This is more important,” said Mr. Vincenti. “I’ll see that your charge is cared for. You’d best get going—she’s expecting you.”
Ms. Richter’s office was located off the foyer, at the end of a hallway decorated by glistening portraits of past Directors. The door was slightly ajar, letting a sliver of warm yellow light into the hall. Max’s heart beat quickly as he knocked.