Bones and Ashes Page 8

  Miss Grimble patrolled the hall, guarding the doors. Her ill-fitting black dress had been in fashion twenty years ago. Her grey-streaked hair was curled into ringlets and threaded with ribbons. It looked strange with her bony face, like a skeleton wearing a wig. Miss Radbone’s mirror had been hung on the wall. She sat staring down at her desk, her dark eyes gazing at nothing.

  Heather was already in their customary place at the refreshment table, sipping lemonade. Her dark green dress appeared almost black in the lamp light. A vine wrapped around her wrist. It wound up her arm and around her neck before it entwined through her hair. Tendrils were growing from the vine, lacing themselves through her tresses and dark blue flowers had opened in her hair. At her wrist, the vine had punctured the skin, to feed from her blood.

  “Have you seen Blaize’s dress,” Heather said, nodding to the centre of the room. “I can’t believe Grumble hasn’t said something to her. Look how low it’s cut. She may as well be wearing nothing.”

  “It must be padding,” Cassade said.

  Heather shook her head in disgust. “A great deal of padding,”

  Raiden resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest. She felt self-conscious in what she was wearing now. She would hate to have everyone staring at her. Blaize basked in the attention. She wore an elaborate necklace studded with large rubies, drawing even more attention to her décolletage. She ignored the chatter around her as her eyes scanned the room for any sign of competition.

  They weren’t the only ones stood awkwardly in a corner. There were other groups of girls Grumble would occasionally try and herd further into the room. She left Raiden and her friends alone; she had long ago given up on them.

  Miss Meek fluttered up to them. “Are you having a nice time girls?” She was frantically beating her wings. She wore a black ball gown and from the way she kept sinking, she was having trouble staying in the air with the weight of it.

  “Yes, it’s wonderful,” Cassade said. Raiden hoped Miss Meek didn’t detect the sarcasm in Cassade’s voice. “If only it could happen more often.”

  The fairy rose up, only to slowly sink back down again. She was panting, her face pink from trying to stay afloat. “Perhaps you should stand closer to everyone else,” she puffed.

  “We’re fine where we are,” Cassade said, sipping her lemonade.

  “But you’re standing so far away from the other girls.”

  “They probably prefer it that way,” Heather said.

  The fairy frowned, not understanding. “Well, if you change your minds…” Realising it was pointless to continue, she fluttered away.

  Cassade sighed. Raiden felt like sighing as well. It would be another hour before Grumble might let them go to bed. When Raiden was younger she had watched her aunt going off to parties and balls and she couldn’t wait until she would be old enough to go as well. She hadn’t known then she would be making excuses to leave as soon as possible.

  No one else came up to speak to them. Heather left to find Marigold. Raiden stood in silence with Cassade, waiting until they could finally leave. Cassade set her lemonade down. “There’s Lord Waterhouse. His family owns several factories that employ ogres. I’m going to speak to him.” She hesitated. “Although I can speak to him another time.”

  “Go,” Raiden said. “I’ll be fine.”

  Cassade marched over to confront him, leaving Raiden stood by herself. The other girls around her ignored her. She stood there awkwardly. She was the only person standing alone. She didn’t know what to do with her arms. She resisted the urge to cross them over her chest. Instead, she clasped her hands in front of her.

  “They make more noise than a nest of harpies,” came a voice next to her.

  She looked down; she hadn’t seen Deegle come up. The small demon barely reached her waist. He looked smart in his black dinner jacket and bow tie.

  “But they don’t smell as bad as harpies,” she said.

  He tapped his long nose. “That’s a matter of opinion. How is your godfather? I haven’t seen Xan in months.”

  “He’s well. He’s been busy with the museum.”

  “Are you enjoying the party?” he asked. Raiden didn’t answer. He chuckled. “I was hoping to slip out myself, but I’m afraid Grizelda might see.”

  Grizelda was Miss Grimble’s first name. “If you don’t want to be here, surely you can just leave?” A number of teachers were missing. She couldn’t see Miss Rudge or Miss Fairbanks. Mr Smith may have been there, but as he was invisible it was impossible to tell.

  “Very few of the staff wants to be at one of Grizelda’s parties. Did you know the Greyfields headmaster sends his pupils here as punishment. He threatens them with going to one of the parties here if they misbehave. Apparently, it’s proved quite a successful way of deterring them.”

  They stood in silence for a moment, watching the party. “I think I shall make my escape.” He paused. “Although, I can stay if you wish. I’m sure Xan would not want me to leave you on your own.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’m sure Cassade will be back soon.”

  He made a short bow. “Goodnight then, Lady Feralis. Give my regards to your godfather when you see him next.”

  Deegle always used her title when she was alone with him, but she had never heard him address any of the other girls by their titles. “I will. Goodnight.”

  She was on her own again.

  She hugged her arms to her chest, not caring who might see how uncomfortable she was. She felt conspicuous standing alone. She willed Cassade to hurry up and come back.

  A maid walked by carrying a tureen of lemonade to the table. Raiden stepped back out of her way. The maid stumbled and the tureen slipped from her hands. Lemonade poured down the front of Raiden’s dress as the tureen crashed to the floor.

  Conversation in the hall broke off as everyone turned to see what had happened. No one made a sound. The maid pressed her hand to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. Raiden stood there with her skirts soaking wet and sticking to her legs. She didn’t know what to do. People looked at her with expressions of pity, and then Blaize began to laugh. The rest of Blaize’s group joined in until it seemed like everyone in the hall was laughing.

  The maid stood there, her body shaking. “Oh, miss. I’m so sorry. Please, I never meant to.”

  Raiden took a deep breath. She had to get away from them. “It was an accident,” she said to the maid. Although she knew it wasn’t. She had seen the ice that had formed on the floor as the maid walked by. She turned and, keeping her head high, she walked to the door, which now seemed so far away. She caught the heel of her boot in her wet skirts and she tripped and stumbled. She managed to gain her balance before she fell. She got to the door and pulled it open. As soon as the door closed, she leaned against it and closed her eyes.

  Laughter and voices from the hall echoed through the door. “How embarrassing. I would die if that happened to me...Did you see her dress? It’s completely ruined.”

  She pushed away from the door and started to run, the wet skirts slapping against her legs. She had to get away. They were all laughing at her. She couldn’t do anything right. She ran down the hall, past the classrooms. She didn’t know where she was going; she just had to get away.

  She came to a heavy wooden door set in the wall. She turned the iron handle and pushed it open. It led into the courtyard. Outside it was dark; no one would see her here. She sank down against the wall, the rough stone at her back. She rested her head on her drawn up knees and pressed her face against her sodden dress to stifle her sobs. Why couldn’t she do anything right? Of all the girls there, it was her who ended up being humiliated. It was always her. She had no magic. She didn’t belong here. She didn’t belong anywhere.

  The anger drained out of her and she was left feeling numb. She started shivering; her shoulders were bare and the night was cold. She breathed raggedly. It wasn’t just the dress. It was everything that had happened to her today; her grandmother, the ghost, the mirror
.

  She huddled in the dark. She didn’t feel anything now, just empty.

  Hearing a noise, she raised her head from her knees and wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. She stared into the darkness. Someone else was out here. It could be a demon or a creature.

  A shape - a human shape - detached itself from the shadows and stepped into the moonlight. She couldn’t make him out clearly in the dark, only that he was wearing black evening clothes. His white hair glowed in the moonlight. It was the boy she had seen from her window the night before.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer. How long had he been standing there?

  “Do you want my jacket?” He started to shrug out of it.

  “No,” she said. She wanted him to go away. Her eyes felt swollen, her throat raw. She must look a mess. She could feel her hair brushing her neck where it had come down.

  The door opened. Raiden was relieved to see it was Cassade. The boy hesitated. “I’ll go,” he said, backing away into the shadows. He disappeared into the darkness.

  Cassade sat down next to Raiden and put her arm around her shoulder. “I heard what happened,” Cassade said. “I think it will come out of your dress.”

  “It’s not about the dress.”

  “I know,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

  They sat in silence. Raiden rested her head on Cassade’s shoulder.

  “It won’t be for much longer,” Cassade said, her voice sounding far away and distant. “Another year and we’ll be free of this place.”

  She didn’t argue with Cassade, or point out that once they left here they would be expected to find a husband.

  “It all won’t seem so bad tomorrow,” Cassade continued, stroking Raiden’s hair.

  “I wish…” Raiden trailed off. She didn’t know what she wished or what she wanted.

  “I know, dearest. I know.”

  They sat together in the darkness. Raiden stared out into the inky black night. There were no stars. There were never any stars in London. The air was too thick with smoke and fog.

  “We should go back inside.” Cassade got to her feet and offered Raiden her hand. “Grumble will come looking for us soon.” She pulled Raiden up. “Go and get some sleep, dearest. I’ll tell Grumble you’re not feeling well if she asks where you are.”

  Numb, she followed Cassade back inside. Cassade squeezed her hand and left her at the bottom of the stairs. Raiden could hear music and the murmur of voices coming from the hall. She walked away from the light and the warmth, up the stairs into the darkness.

  The younger girls’ floor was silent as she passed. They were all asleep. She took the tiny stone steps up to her bedroom. Marielle sat in the armchair mending one of the dresses the imp had ruined. She set her mending aside as Raiden came in.

  Raiden couldn’t speak. She simply turned her back to the ghost so she could unlace the dress. The dress fell in a sodden heap onto the floor. She unlaced her boots and allowed them to fall beside it. The lemonade had soaked through to her petticoats. Raiden stripped them off as well and then pulled on her nightdress. Marielle gathered up the layers of fabric and disappeared. She came back with a damp washcloth. Raiden had forgotten about the paint on her face. She looked in the mirror. Black paint was smeared across her cheeks where she had rubbed her eyes. She scrubbed it off and handed the cloth back to Marielle. The ghost hovered by the door. Raiden knew she wanted to comfort her, but she didn’t want to talk to her. Eventually, Marielle gathered up her boots and left.

  Raiden blew out the candle and got wearily into bed. She pulled the covers up to her chin and tucked them tightly around her. She felt fragile, as if the weight of the covers would bruise her skin. She squeezed her eyes shut and pretended the weight of the covers was her mother’s arms around her, holding her tight.

  Chapter Eight

  Raiden woke to find Marielle by her bed, hovering anxiously. The ghost opened the curtains slowly as she was afraid the sudden light would hurt her. Peters appeared with a cup of tea, his forehead creased with concern.

  “I’m fine,” Raiden told them as she accepted the cup. Neither of them looked convinced.

  She sipped the hot tea. She didn’t want to face the other girls after her humiliation last night. She wanted to stay in bed and hide until the gossip had died down and they had found someone else to talk about. But she was a Feralis; at least she was meant to be, and they weren’t afraid of anything, living or dead. Besides, there were more important things to think about. Aren would come for her this afternoon. He had said she could go with him to see Matherson’s former landlady. That mattered more than Blaize and Glacia.

  Raiden swung her legs over the side of the bed and got up. All of her dresses had been sewn back together and pressed. Marielle must have spent all night mending them. When she got back from the bathroom, Marielle helped her into a grey day dress. The ghost’s hands were gentle as she braided Raiden’s hair and pinned it up.

  The imp sat quietly on her dressing table, talking to himself in a strange language. Raiden tied a ribbon around her neck to try and conceal the red marks; they were even more pronounced today. It hurt having the ribbon brush against her neck, but at least no one would see the bruises. At breakfast, Cassade and Heather said nothing about last night, to Raiden’s relief.

  The classroom was almost full when they arrived. Blaize was already there with Glacia and Gale. They fell silent as soon as Raiden came in.

  Raiden pulled out her chair and went to sit down. With her back turned, she couldn’t see as her chair was slowly moved back by invisible hands. She sat down and fell to the floor with a thud. Laughter rang out. She got up and pulled the chair back to the table. This time she kept hold of it as she sat down.

  The door opened and closed and the room went quiet. A moment later the chalk rose from the desk and floated to the blackboard. The words, ‘The Geology of the British Isles’ gradually appeared on the board.

  Mr Smith, the geography teacher, had once been a ghost, but he had faded away as people forgot about him and he forgot. No one was quite sure how it happened. His link to this world had gone, but he couldn’t find his way to the other side. He was lost, stranded between the two worlds of the living and the dead.

  There was complete silence except for the occasional yawn from one of the girls and the squeaking of the chalk as it moved across the board. Raiden was conscious of Blaize sitting behind her. Her shoulders were tensed, as she waited for her to do something.

  By the end of the lesson they knew what cliffs harpies preferred to make their nests in and why it was unlikely there had ever been dragons in the British Isles.

  “That wasn’t too bad,” Cassade said as they made their way to the next lesson.

  “She still hasn’t mentioned her mirror,” Raiden said. She would rather Blaize say something. At least then she could try to explain and offer to pay for it to be repaired.

  Mr Crandell, the history master, stood at the front of the classroom. “Take a seat,” he said as they entered. “We will begin right away. We have a great deal to cover this term.”

  Raiden sat down next to Cassade. Mr Crandell was a short man, with white wispy hair and black eyes. Thick white eyebrows and a long thin nose dominated his face. He sniffed a lot, as though he had a permanent cold. He looked harmless, but he was an interrogator and he worked for the Inquisition; he was their spy at the school.

  A small painting of Oliver Cromwell hung on the wall to the right of the blackboard. The former head of the Inquisition and the man responsible for abolishing the monarchy was much admired by Mr Crandell.

  “Let’s see who remembers what we were discussing last term.” He wrote ‘The Battle of Hastings’ on the board and underlined it. “We have the English on the hill and William down here with his army,” he said, making circles on the board to show the two sides. “Now, what was Harold’s fatal mistake?”

  Cassade immediately put her hand up. “William
had necromancers in his army, Harold didn’t. When his men died, William had them summoned back to fight. It meant he never ran out of men. No matter how many of his soldiers the English killed, he could just summon them back to fight.”

  “So, Harold’s failure can be seen partly as a result of the wider social climate of his time. In England in that period, necromancy was generally frowned upon. However, over in Europe all the royal courts had their own personal necromancers. After William the Conqueror all the English monarchs had their own necromancers right up until the English civil war.” He scribbled what he had said on the board. “What else,” he asked.

  Heather’s hand shot up, waving to get his attention. He ignored her and instead scanned the room. “Miss Feralis?”

  Raiden looked up. She felt self-conscious as everyone turned their attention to her. She hesitated, trying to remember what she had read. “The goblins.”

  “What about the goblins,” he said impatiently.

  “Harold had the support of the Goblin King, but the battle took place in daylight so they were unable to help him.”

  “I wouldn’t consider that a major factor.” He added goblins to the list.

  He turned back to the board. She could hear Blaize and Glacia whispering behind her and the soft sound of their laughter. She tried to ignore them. Instead, she watched the clock, counting down to when Aren would come for her.

  Her pen suddenly floated off the table, up into the air. She tried to grab it, but it moved out of her reach. She watched as it flew over to Mr Crandell and hit him in the shoulder before falling to the floor. There was a large ink stain on the back of his jacket where the pen had struck him. He spun around, his face turning red.