Chapter Two: In Which I Learn a Few Things, or, The Laws of Snooping

I watched, unmoving, as the driver’s door opened, and the driver unfolded himself from the confines of the motorcar. He adjusted his cap, hurriedly shut his door, and said a few words to Ms. Glass somewhere along the lines of: “Please head inside while I get your luggage.” I couldn’t hear any of it. It was raining too loudly for that. But I could guess.

  Ms. Glass turned her furious eyes upon the driver, nodded, and mounted the stairs. She passed me by without a word or a glance, and slipped through the half-open door. No doubt the Headmaster and some of the faculty were waiting like hungry vultures in the foyer, ready to greet her.

  I, in the meantime, focused on the driver.

  Now, before I go any further, I must explain a few things. Firstly, and you may have guessed this already, I’m not just curious. I’m a hopeless snoop. And secondly, I have some rules for this game. I call them the Laws of Snooping. They are as follows:

  Number One: Always be prepared to deal with the worst – either the results, which you may not like, or potentially getting caught. Snooping is not easy.

  Number Two: Be careful, and be sneaky. This, of course, means you need to know how to sneak, how to flee when necessary, and when to act completely and totally normal. In addition, it means that you need to know how to listen. Snooping is impossible if you can’t train your ears to listen.

  Number Three: Pick your battles. Sometimes, it’s just not worth it. If it’s especially risky, but you want to do it anyway, figure out a plan first. And always have an exit strategy, even for the simplest endeavors.

  Last, and probably most important, is Number Four: Be helpful. I cannot tell you how many times helping someone has gotten me the information that I wanted. It’s rather amazing, but if you go out of your way to help somebody, especially if you’re not overly obvious about it, they will often be so grateful that they’ll tell you exactly what you want to know, without even realizing that that’s what you’d been looking for in the first place. Or, even if they don’t show it, they’re often just relieved that now there is someone for them to talk to, and they will spill any information that is either bothering them, interesting them, or closest on their mind. Additionally, if you don’t want information from that particular person, helping out can often be a good disguise for listening in on a nearby conversation.

  So, I fixed my sights on the driver, knowing that Ms. Glass could wait. Besides which, I wouldn’t have a chance at her until later, since the faculty had probably swallowed her up.

  The driver had walked around to the back of the motorcar and pried open the trunk, but instead of taking anything out, he was now staring rather strangely at Ms. Glass’ last seen location, as if he couldn’t quite wrap his head around something.

  Ha-ha! The look of a man in need of a listener.

  I hurriedly crammed my box of peanuts under a porch chair’s pillow cushion, and dashed down the four steps out into the rain. My wool sweater soaked up the wet like a sponge, I could feel my hair getting plastered to my face, and the rain dotted against my spectacles, making it difficult to see.

  I stopped a few feet from the driver and smiled in what I hoped was a friendly way. “Do you need any help?”

  The driver started, tore his eyes from Norlocke’s front entrance, and saw me for the first time. “What?” he said.

  I repeated myself, specifying with the luggage.

  The driver looked flabbergasted, and perhaps slightly embarrassed at the idea of letting a girl help him carry a trunk inside, a girl who had caught him standing in the rain, not doing his job.

  Nevertheless, he let me grab one handle of Ms. Glass’ trunk, and we both stumbled through the mud, up the steps, and slid the dripping hunk of wood and metal through the front door. The driver jerked his head towards the motorcar as soon as we finished and said, “There’re a few more bags.”

  I followed him back out into the rain.

  He dug around for a few seconds before producing a suitcase and two large duffel bags. He started to hand me one, but he got lost again staring at the front entrance for a second, before recollecting himself.

  And, just like that, my plan came together.

  “You know,” the driver said, “out of all of my trips, this was the oddest. It seemed like this storm was chasing us.” He paused, glanced at me, and, as we began walking towards the safety of the porch, he whispered, “And not to be rude, but there’s something strange with that girl. I can’t lay my finger on it, quite, but she’s not what I’d call normal.” After which, he dropped his load inside, thanked me, slid into his motorcar, and drove away.

  See what I mean? I didn’t even have to say anything after offering to help.

  But it wasn’t a storm. It was a downpour, as I have mentioned already.

Chapter Three: In Which I Bother People, or, The Art of Being Rude

I went inside after retrieving my peanuts. As I had expected, the Headmaster and several of the faculty members stood at the back of the foyer, talking with Ms. Glass. They had even planted themselves in front of the main staircase, making it practically impossible for me to get upstairs to my room unless I wanted to shove past them. This was perfect, since it gave me a valid excuse to lean against the doorjamb and wait for them to move, all whilst pretending not to listen to their conversation. Of course, I listened anyway.

  They were about halfway through the introductory lists, which were all about classes, the layout of Norlocke Academy, faculty names and office locations, and such like. I didn’t listen very well to that, having memorized most of it. But I perked up a bit when I heard the Headmaster say, “Do you have any questions?”

  There was a long, heavy pause, long enough for the silence in the room to fill my ears. “No,” Ms. Glass said, evenly.

  I took my spectacles off and pretended to polish them on the edge of my skirt (in fact, I actually was polishing them; they were covered with dabs of rain drops, and it was rather difficult to see) so that I could adjust my peripheral vision and see what sort of reaction the Headmaster had to her answer.

  He seemed ever so slightly shocked, as his ears turned a shade darker, a giveaway I’d noticed just after my own arrival. His reaction made sense. Students always either had at least one question, often a cheeky or nasty one, or had opted to say nothing at all but perhaps glare a bit belligerently. I had taken the latter course and glared. I’m rather rude, sometimes, which would come in useful presently.

  “Well,” the Headmaster said, “if you have no questions, then you shall be shown to your room.”

  I took this as my cue. Ditching my post by the door and looking somewhat impatient so as to explain my reason for leaving, I headed in the direction of the stairs, and attempted to shove my way past them all. Only one foot had managed to land on the very first step before a tightening around my neck suddenly stopped me. I glanced up to see the Headmaster, a rather obvious frown creasing his brows, with one of his large hands grasping the back of my sweater as if I were a kitten which he had by the nape of the neck. Although I’d been hoping to be stopped, a small bubble of anger still welled inside my chest at his touching me.

  “Ms. Wintersmith,” he said, just a hint of irritation registering underneath his usual calm. He didn’t like me. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  I made use of the slight anger I felt to make my reaction more realistic. “Going to my room,” I answered, glaring at him. “I’m tired of waiting for you to move.”

  The Headmaster’s eyes bulged ever so slightly. This was why he didn’t like me. “Ms. Wintersmith,” he said, nevertheless still evenly, “for your insolence, you will escort Ms. Farthingdale to her room. Afterwards, when she is ready, you will give her a tour of the premises.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, sarcastically.

  He shook me by the collar. “And for that, you will visit me in my office at the end of the day.”

  Part of me considered reaching behind me, grabbing his hand, and twisting it until he let go of me. I knew I could do it. But I was in enough trouble as it was, and just to get a chance to observe this girl. Plus, I didn’t want anyone here seeing that side of me. The faculty already knew about it, a little, and I wasn’t planning on enlightening them anymore. I didn’t want to go back to that.

  The Headmaster didn’t let go until I nodded. Then, turning to Glass Farthingdale, he said, “My apologies. I’m sorry that you had to see that. This girl is one of our more troubling students.”

  Actually, overall, I was a pretty good student. I was just ruder to him than anyone else, which irked him. He demanded respect from everyone, and drilled it into even the more unruly students that disrespect towards himself would not be tolerated. Except for me. All the drilling he did didn’t work on me. Sometimes I felt bad for him, but irritating him was too useful to give up. Besides, for the purpose of snooping, getting called into his office for being disrespectful was better than the alternative.

  Glass didn’t respond to his apology. Instead, she turned her large, dark eyes upon me, and, for the first time, really looked at me. Neither her gaze nor her expression changed at all. The blackness in her eyes was unfathomable. Once again, I felt myself intrigued.

  The Headmaster placed a room key in my hand. Number 18, it said. Then he bent down towards me and practically hissed, “You will be polite to her.”

  He could’ve just been warning me to be nice to her since he seemed to think that, overall, I was the physical embodiment of insolence, but I sensed something more behind his words. So, partly to keep up appearances, and partly because I felt like I might be getting on to something, I asked, “Why?”

  He only gave me a stern look, then turned and left, trailed by the rest of the faculty.

  I interpreted that to mean he would tell me later that day, when I had to go to his office. He probably wasn’t planning on telling me at all, but I’d try to weasel it out of him.