Welcome

When Marco opened his eyes the next morning, he felt great. He didn't know exactly what to expect in the coming days, but Lance was right: failing wasn't an option.

His new roommate woke up soon after he did and they went to the lavatories in the middle of the male third-year dorm. There were already many people there, taking showers or brushing their teeth. Lance introduced him to everyone they met, including a Swiss boy named Sebastian Maris, who stayed with them from that moment on.

Sebastian was showy, obviously obsessed with his appearance. A long fringe covered one side of his face and he kept pushing it out of the way with a theatrical gesture that only made it fall back exactly where it'd been. He was somehow overly friendly and Marco noticed that he always sided with Lance. He also talked and walked like Lance, as if trying to imitate him.

The three of them headed for the main auditorium on the ground floor in between the second and third towers, where the opening speech of the school year always took place. They sat down on walnut benches with the other students.

Although headmaster Angus's speech was brief—which was much appreciated—Marco wasn't able to follow it. Instead, all his effort went into checking his gestures, his posture, his expression. He mustn't seem out of place. He kept his chin high, to avoid looking anxiously around like a newbie.

After the students were dismissed, Lance suggested they go to the refectory through the courtyard to enjoy the morning sun. While they were walking, Maris laughed wildly at something Lance said and Marco examined the eastern side of the castle in the daylight. It was connected to the service rooms and he was stunned to see kids in school uniforms coming out of it and hurrying along the gravel paths.

They continued around the west side of the castle until Lance glanced upward and announced they were going up to the veranda. They went up a short staircase and came to the entrance of a brightly lit room. Blue silk drapes, loosely tied with complicated satin tassels, danced in the breeze that the boys made as they passed by.

Inside the veranda, there were round tables covered with white linen tablecloths on which crystal glasses and snow-white porcelain dishes sparkled. Along the walls, an extensive buffet had been laid out. The smell of fresh bread and fried bacon stirred Marco's appetite. Throughout the hall, servers were busily clearing and replacing plates, glasses and silverware, as well as punctually refilling the buffet with cake, pastries, fruit salad and anything else that was about to run out.

A girl so young she looked like a child approached them and asked what hot drink they would like. Stupefied, Marco nearly made a comment about the 'child-waitress' but decided it was best to keep it to himself. Although he felt like a fish out of water, what counted was that nobody noticed.

He ate, drank his coffee and chatted with his new friends.

Remembering his appointment with Flannagan, Marco excused himself. He certainly couldn't be late for this. Following Lance's directions, he located the offices on the ground floor, where he found a series of doors that all looked the same.

Fortunately, a brass plaque reading "T. Flannagan, Deputy Headmaster" gleamed on the first door he encountered.

He knocked and a dry, nasal voice told him to come in.

Despite the file cabinets lining the walls, a massive corner bookcase and the many framed certificates on the walls, the office had an ordered, minimalistic air.

Flannagan was wearing a slightly greyer version of the outfit she'd worn the previous evening, under which an even whiter shirt could be seen. When she saw Marco, she stopped shuffling through one of the file cabinets and stiffened like a marionette whose strings had been pulled tight. She quickly walked around the desk and sat down but didn't invite him to do the same.

She grabbed a sheet of paper with both hands, turned it around with a brusque movement so it faced Marco and slid it over to him.

"This is a memorandum of the basic rules, read it and memorise them. You'll also find the hours of meals and lessons. I'll now go over the most important parts." She adjusted her glasses. "You must never be late. Night curfew is at exactly ten o'clock. After that time, all students must be in the dorm area of their year. On Saturdays, you're granted a leave and curfew is at midnight. You can use your leave as you please. Generally, students go to Saint Michel de la Croix.

"Students may use the school cars. They're all vintage vehicles with which you must be extremely careful. As a student at Albion, you have a special driving permit. We automatically give one to all enrolees, but it obviously has no validity outside the school grounds. Local authorities will let you drive into town, but students are forbidden to drive without a regular driver's licence on Swiss territory outside of Saint Michel.

"Attending Mass—and I do mean Roman Catholic Mass—on Sunday mornings isn't mandatory but is highly recommended.

"Remember, at Albion, wearing the school uniform is obligatory. Alternatively, and only in the proper locations, you may wear the school gym suit or the official jousting and hunting uniforms."

Marco bit his tongue. While he had no idea what jousting or hunting could possibly involve, dignified doubt was better than publicly displaying his ignorance.

"And finally, the entire castle is wired, of course, and you may use any device with a Wi-Fi connection without restrictions. However, the use of mobile phones is forbidden. You can neither make nor receive calls. Your father can ring you on Saturday evenings."

"Thank you," he said, choosing not to share his certainty that his father wouldn't make use of this opportunity.

A shy knock at the door interrupted this bitter thought.

"Finally!" Flannagan burst out. "Enter!"

Five of the castle's students entered the office, one after the other. They were wearing the school uniform but something was amiss with all of them. Studying them more carefully, he realised why. The clothes looked wrong. There were either too loose or too tight and very worn out, almost tattered, with threadbare cloth and patched hems. He was busy studying them when he found Helena's eyes.

Helena. From the train.

Maybe it was the relief of finding a familiar face in a sea of strangers, but he was happy to see her again, despite everything. He considered smiling at her, but she averted her eyes too quickly.

It was as if she'd slammed a door in his face.

This annoyed him. Who did she think she was?

Well, she might have a pretty face, but it was impossible to form an opinion about the rest. The day before, she was wearing a shapeless coat and, now, she was swimming in her clothes.

He was almost glad her skirt came down way below her knees, making her figure—already fairly short—seem even more squat. Her blazer was so wide and shapeless it hid whatever was underneath it.

He probably wasn't missing out on anything special.

Flannagan moved to stand in front of the five students, now in a line, and addressed them like subordinate troops.

"I imagine that Mr. Greystone," and she glanced at one of the two boys, who had a clear and resolute gaze, "who showed up in my office yesterday evening at nine forty-five—though I'd clearly told you to come here this morning—will have already told you about the particular service that is required of you from now until December."

Nobody answered and Flannagan continued. "This year, until December, your duty will be to support a new student," she gestured toward Marco, "who's entering third year, as decided by the Greater Council. You'll study the subjects of the Humanities specialisation."

She indicated a dull boy with black glasses as thick as bottle-bottoms and began the introductions. "Mr. Cinquedraghi, Mr. Guy Maclood, chosen to tutor you in Law. He'll explain Roman Law and Ecclesiastical Law to you." She moved on to the boy with the proud expression. "Erek Greystone will coach you in Military Arts; you'll be studying Logistics and Tactics." Then she pointed to a fat girl who seemed about to explode out of her clothes, with two sad braids on either side of her face. "Michelle Charette will help you with Art History." Miss Flannagan then continued on to a girl who wore Goth-style makeup that made her look like a melancholy loser and whose hair was a gaudy shade of red. "Elisabeth Wood will tutor you in Medieval Languages and Literature. For now, you'll have to do Saxon, Ancient English and Medieval Latin. Finally, Helena Gomez will be your Historical Linguistics and Grammar tutor."

Miss Flannagan handed Marco a sheet of paper. "This is the schedule of your catch-up programme. As you can see, it goes from Monday to Friday. Every afternoon, instead of attending this year's courses, you'll meet with one of your tutors. The lessons will be held here." She stretched out an arm towards a little door leading to a room adjacent to her office. "You'll begin today at two, right after lunch."

Marco glanced at the schedule in his hand. "With my preferred subject."

As he'd hoped, his words made Helena raise her eyes. However, she looked away sooner than Marco would've liked.

Miss Flannagan dismissed him and young Cinquedraghi was very happy indeed to leave the room.