They passed through a locked door and into another corridor, lined with smaller doors. Orbs of glowing light hung in the air, casting an eerie radiance over the scene. Gennady shivered, despite himself, as he walked under one of the light globes. The magic felt odd, as if it was reaching for him. He thought he felt something hot splattering down his backside, although there was nothing there. It felt as if it would take far too long to get used to the new environment. Dragon’s Den had been reassuringly normal compared to this.
Fredrick came to a halt. “Line up,” he ordered. His eyes flashed over the boys, narrowing in disapproval of something. Gennady cringed inwardly, even though he wasn’t sure what he’d done ... if he’d done anything. “I’m only going to say this once. Anyone who doesn’t pay attention will regret it.”
Gennady shivered, helplessly.
“These are the First Year dorms,” Fredrick informed them. “Boys—men—only. Girls have their own dorms, on the other side of the school. They’re not allowed to enter your dorms” —he glared at a pair of boys who moaned in disappointment—“and you’re not allowed to enter theirs. You’re also not allowed to enter any of the other rooms without permission from the occupants—all of the occupants. Your bedroom is your haven. I expect you all to remember that.”
He went on, outlining rule after rule until Gennady started to fear he would never remember them all. Rules for navigating the school, rules for using the libraries, spellchambers and other resources, rules for entering and leaving the dining halls ... there seemed to be a rule for every occasion. Fredrick even added a warning about contraceptive potion, making it clear that the infirmary would supply doses without asking any awkward questions. Gennady snorted inwardly at the very thought. He was saving himself for Primrose. And, even if he wasn’t, it was a point of honour to get one’s wife pregnant as quickly as possible. People would start making pointed remarks if a couple didn’t announce a pregnancy in their first year of marriage.
“Allan, Barr, Bertram,” Fredrick said. “You’ll have the first room.”
Gennady felt another thrill as Fredrick pointed to a room, dispatching the first trio of boys to their lair. It was a shared room, but ... it would be better than the dorms in the boarding house, let alone the shack his family had shared. There would be room to grow, room to ... there would be actual privacy.He wanted it, more than he could say. There had been no privacy back home. There had certainly been nowhere to hide.
“Gennady, Charlus, Simon,” Fredrick said. “You’ll have this room.”
His eyebrows narrowed as only two boys stepped forward. “Charlus will be along shortly, I’m sure,” he said, in a tone that promised trouble for the absent Charlus. “You two can get inside. Dinner will be served when the bell rings.”
“Thank you, sir,” the other boy said. Simon, Gennady guessed. “I ...”
Fredrick pointed at the door. “In.”
Gennady was already pushing the door open. A faint tingle of magic flickered through the air as he stepped inside and looked around. The room was bigger than he’d dared expect, with three beds, three wardrobes, three bookshelves and a single small door in the rear of the chamber. There were no windows. Light was provided by a single glowing orb, drifting just below the ceiling. He inched forward, struck with wonder. It was his. It was all his.
“Excuse me,” Simon said. He had an accent that reminded Gennady of the shopkeepers in Dragon’s Den. “Can I come in?”
“Yes, sorry.” Gennady felt his face heat. “I’m ... I’m Gennady. Pleased to meet you.”
“Simon.” Simon stuck out a hand. “Glad to be here.”
Gennady nodded, studying Simon with interest. The young man—boy, really—couldn’t be any younger than Gennady himself, but he looked younger. His face was pale and unmarked, his brown hair long and floppy rather than cut close to his scalp ... he looked secure, as if he thought he had nothing to fear. Gennady felt envy, mingled with bitter regret. He could have been secure, if he’d grown up somewhere else. No one was truly secure in the Cairngorms, not even the aristocracy. You never knew when the other folk would reach out their hand and take you.
“I’m from Dragon’s Den,” Simon said, confirming Gennady’s earlier thought. “Where are you from?”
“The Cairngorms,” Gennady said. His village didn’t have a name. He’d never realised how strange that was until he’d discovered that every town and city outside the mountains did have a name. “That’s a long way away.”
“I’ve never been there,” Simon said. He had an infectious smile. “What’s it like?”
“Harsh.” Gennady turned away, trying to hide his jealously. Simon could talk freely about traveling ... of course he could. “I’m glad to be away.”
He opened the rear door and peered inside. A washbasin, a shower, a toilet ... he shuddered, remembering how hard it had been to use the toilets in the boarding house. He was too used to doing his business outside, converting his waste to night soil that would—eventually—be used to fertilise the fields. Indoor toilets struck him as dirty and disgusting and—worst of all—wasteful. He told himself, firmly, that he had no idea what happened after he did his business. For all he knew, Whitehall sold compost to the local farmers.
Simon kept chatting, telling Gennady more than he wanted to know about his merchant family, their life and a whole string of issues that made absolutely no sense at all to his captive audience. Gennady tried hard to keep his face under tight control, torn between the urge to tell Simon to shut up and the grim awareness that Simon was just trying to be friendly. The merchant boy was probably as nervous as Gennady himself. He listened quietly as he chose a bed and sat down, opening the drawer under the bed to see a selection of robes, underwear and towels. The tutors had told him that everything would be provided. He hadn’t really believed it until now.
“The beds look small,” Simon said. “We’re supposed to get bigger beds if we pass our first tests.”
“Are we?” Gennady looked at Simon, then at the bed, then back at Simon again. “It looks big enough for me.”
Simon shrugged. “It’s the principle of the thing.”
“I had to share a blanket with my siblings,” Gennady said, as he ran his finger over the duvet. It was easily big enough to cover him from head to toe. “This is so much better.”
The door burst open. A young man stamped into the room, looking pissed. Gennady glanced at him, then froze. His instincts recognised a threat when they saw one. The young man was wearing robes, just like them, but there was something fancy about the stitching that suggested they were customized. Gennady’s tutors had mumbled something about students who bought their own robes, rather than drawing them from the school’s stockpiles. He hadn’t understood what they meant until now.