Chapter One: In Which I Contemplate the Fickleness of Weather, or, Prelude to a Storm
Glass Farthingdale arrived in a downpour.
In and of itself, this would not have been particularly significant, as rain was not uncommon in Norlocke, nor was it especially gentle. There were times when the wind and the rain worked together so seamlessly that I would wonder if Norlocke’s walls might stand through the onslaught, or whether they might just crack and demolish the students and faculty housed within.
What was significant was the fact that, as weather in Norlocke went, it had originally been one of the nicer days. That is, until Glass Farthingdale arrived.
It was Sunday afternoon, and I had popped outside with a box of peanuts, prepared to wait on the porch for hours upon hours until the new student came. This Ms. Glass should be arriving around three o’clock, as most new students did, in which case I’d only have to wait half an hour. However, there could be complications, and she could be much later. For instance, the train could’ve stopped working, or the motorcar might’ve slipped into a snowdrift, or the border guards could’ve gotten finnicky about crossing the state line. Which is why I’d brought the peanuts.
I perched myself on the railing, fixed my eyes firmly to the west in the hopes of soon seeing a motorcar, and began to eat my peanuts.
The weather, as I mentioned, was lovely. The sun actually shone quite brightly, there wasn’t a hint of a snow cloud in the sky, and the sky itself, instead of being its usual obscured grey, was a muted sort of bluish-white – meaning a significant portion of near-invisible clouds were still trying to block everything, but the blue was actually peeking through. It was even rather warm outside. Instead of wearing my greatcoat, I had only a wool sweater.
For about twenty minutes, not much changed, except for the number of peanuts in my box. Then I noticed a dark smear on the western horizon. As the minutes ticked by, the dark smear grew and grew, until I could make out a billowing mass of black clouds piling up, reaching greedy tendrils across the sky.
There’ll be rain later, I thought. But I stayed put. I’d already been curious about the new student, but especially after overhearing what Ms. Harcourt had said, my interest was thoroughly piqued. I wasn’t going anywhere, not until this Ms. Glass showed up.
Another ten minutes passed. My peanuts were almost gone. A chilly wind, where before there had been none, started circling ominously about in the branches of the evergreen trees lining the drive. It swirled in my hair, smelling of rain. And the clouds on the horizon, seemingly so far away, crept slowly nearer across the sky, darkening the landscape with every step gained.
When the clouds had covered about half of the sky, I noticed a pinprick along the road. A pinprick that could only be a motorcar. A motorcar that could only hold the new student.
I watched with heightened interest as the pinprick grew bigger and bigger, the ominous black clouds almost appearing to be chasing it.
“Just promise me, then,” Ms. Harcourt had said, “that there will be no storms.”
It looked like a storm was already brewing.
Perhaps fifteen minutes later, the sleek black motorcar shuddered to a stop only a few yards from Norlocke Academy’s porch. The clouds, mere seconds behind, suddenly swooped in over us. Abruptly, the world darkened, the temperature dropped several degrees (I wished for my greatcoat), and the heavens opened up. The downpour had begun.
Now, I do not consider a downpour a storm. I especially do not consider it to be a storm if there is a significant lack of wind. While there was wind now, it wasn’t blowing very hard – only about six miles per hour.
Nevertheless, a downpour can be a prelude to a storm, and it was certainly similar enough to send goosebumps crawling up my arms when the back door of the motorcar opened and a tall, slender girl stepped out.
Glass Farthingdale did not seem to mind the rain that instantly turned her tailored clothes into mini rivers, and that plastered strands of her long, thick black hair to her cheeks. She didn’t seem to mind that the drive was now mostly mud (although it usually was, unless, worse, it was ice), and that she was standing in it. In fact, she didn’t even seem to notice these things.
She only appeared to have noticed Norlocke Academy, and also me, perched upon the railing, currently safe from the rain.
And although her outward appearance seemed very calm and composed, the dark brown eyes, half-hidden under tangled and wet lashes, that regarded me only slightly before flicking on towards the front entrance, were almost black with a deep fury.
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