Chapter 145: 145: Academy Life Starts III
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Pim nodded. "I saw," he said. "It is like when I pull a chair with a rope but the rope is air."
"Something like that," John said. "Do not try this with soup."
Pim’s grin tried to climb off his face. "I promise."
They packed their small things. There was not much to pack. For John: a roll of shirts, a second pair of trousers, a small bag of tools, dagger wrapped in cloth, the die with the whisker face, the communication stone Edda had given him, the headmaster’s schedule, the new slate token. For Fizz: pride, jokes, a ribbon he had "borrowed" from somewhere, the fish design fan, and the memory of cakes.
They tied the small bundle to the cart and pushed it out. Penny followed them to the door with a dish of cut fruit she said was a "travel payment." Pim walked out into the yard with them and stood by the gate.
"Come back," Pim said, trying not to look like he cared too much.
John nodded. "We will visit," he said. "When we can leave the academy, we will come back for stew and for book reports."
Fizz saluted with two paws. "I expect your spelling to improve," he said. "Also your cake delivery to me."
Pim saluted back, solemn and silly at the same time. "Yes, Lord Fizz. No professor Fizz."
"Who told you that," John asked, shooting Fizz a look.
Fizz made big innocent eyes. "Rumors," he said.
Penny squeezed John’s arm one more time. "Sleep when you can," she said. "Eat when you should. Do not let boys with clean coats tell you what your feet are for."
"I won’t," John said.
They left the Bent Penny and turned toward the east quarter where the academy dorms stood. The streets changed as they walked. The houses grew closer and taller. The shop signs grew neater. The stone underfoot had fewer cracks. The air held more gossip and less frying oil.
They reached a row of buildings that looked like quiet houses. Each had two floors and a small door with a brass knob. A narrow garden ran along the front with clipped shrubs. A small sign by the path said EAST HOUSE: FIRST YEARS in plain letters. It looked simple. It looked small. It was not from inside.
A porter in a cap sat by the gate with a ledger on his knee. He looked up. "Token," he said in a tone that was habit, not rude. John showed the slate and the bronze disk. The porter’s eyes went to a runed plate hidden in his belt. The faintest light moved there. He nodded. "Welcome," he said. "Push the cart to the right. It will be taken to the common room. You must carry the small bag. Spirits are allowed inside by rule if they are contracted, quiet, and do not set things on fire. Little one, do you set things on fire?"
Fizz gave a serious nod. "Only people who deserve it," he said. "Which is a very short list."
The porter did not blink. "Do not set things on fire," he repeated.
"I will not," Fizz said.
"Good," the porter said. He stood, pushed the gate wider, and waved them through.
The small door opened into a hall that was... not small. It held more air than the outside had promised. A strip of last sunlight fell across polished stone. Stairs went up to the left. They were moving, very slowly, step to step, like a creature that had learned to walk by watching people. A painting at the far end showed a river that moved. The water was real water inside the paint, which made no sense, and Fizz loved it.
A round woman with a long key chain and hard shoes met them under a lamp. "Warden Lutch," she said. "You are?"
"John," John said.
"What is your last name?" She asked. "Show me the token."
"No last name." He handed her the token and the slate. She looked at both, then at his face. She did not fuss about hair. She did not care about coats. She cared about rules.
"You are in East Three," she said. "Second floor, south side. Room Three. Bed B. Desk B. Cupboard B. Do not change the letters. The letters know where they are. Do not put chalk on the walls. The walls will tell me. Do not sleep on the stairs. The stairs have feelings. Lights out at the tenth bell. Doors lock at the tenth bell. Curfew is a rule, not a suggestion. If you need the night-latch, use the night-latch. If you get stuck between steps, sit down and wait. The steps will carry you to the landing when they feel like it. Do not jump."
Fizz stared at her like a child listening to a bedtime story. "I like you," he said. "You and I have the same hobby."
"What hobby," Warden Lutch asked, not smiling.
"Rules," Fizz said.
"Good," she said. "Then keep them. If you break them, break them quietly. If you break them loudly, I will break you with paperwork." She handed John back his slate and token and pointed down the hall. "The stairs will learn your weight when you step on them with the token in your pocket. If the stairs do not like you, try the other foot."
John nodded. "Yes, Warden."
They stepped onto the first stair. It lifted a little, as if testing a load. It slid forward one slow step. Fizz leaned over the rail to watch the join slide and pushed his paw down. The stair he was on rose faster, as if teasing back. Fizz squeaked and then laughed. "It tickles," he said.
They rode the slow steps to the second floor. The hall here had doors marked with painted numbers. The paint glowed a little, not with light but with attention. John found EAST 3 and pressed the latch. It opened on a room bigger than the Bent Penny room and smaller than a cottage. Two beds. Two desks. Two chairs. A long shelf. Two cupboards with initials burned into the wood: A and B. A small window looked over a square where trees kept their leaves neat. A rune lamp sat on the desk, waiting. On one pillow lay a folded sheet with letters on the outside: JOHN.
Fizz zipped to the window at once. "View," he said. "Trees. People. A cat. Two birds. No cabbage knights. Good neighborhood."
John set his small bag on the bed marked B. He took off his coat, folded it, and put it on the chair. He opened the folded sheet.
{Student John,
Welcome to East House. Orientation is tomorrow morning. Wear plain clothes. Bring your token. Arrive at the Great Hall by the fourth bell. You will be assigned a cohort. Read the rules on the back of this letter. If you do not read them, you will break one. Breaking one is still breaking one.
— Warden Lutch}
On the back were rules in small neat letters. John read them all the way through. They were simple and strict, like the rules for exams. He folded the sheet again, tucked it under the lamp base, and took the small die with the whisker face out of his bag. He set it on the corner of the desk. It looked like a little grin in metal. It made the room his in a small way.
Fizz opened the cupboard labeled B, climbed inside, then climbed back out. "It echoes," he reported. "I could give speeches in here."
"Do not give speeches in the cupboard," John said.
"Fine," Fizz said. "I will give speeches in the hall."
"Do not give speeches in the hall," John said.
Fizz eyes drifted to the moving stairs like a moth. He watched them from the door. They watched him back, in their way. The steps seemed to pause for a breath when he leaned too far. He leaned back. They moved again.
A small head popped around the door frame from the next room. A boy with a sharp nose and dark hair looked in, eyes bright with the fear and joy of first days. "You new," he asked. "I am Rillo. Room Two."
"John," John said. "Room Three."
"And I am Lord Fizz," Fizz added. "Resident professor of snacks."
Rillo blinked, decided he had heard a joke, and grinned. "Good," he said. "Do you play cards."
"No," John said.
"Yes," Fizz said. "But we will not tonight. We must admire stairs."
Rillo laughed. "Warden Lutch said the same. She said I should not try to race them or I would lose a shoe and my dignity."
"Both are overrated," Fizz said.
Rillo waved and left. The hall swallowed his steps. The stairs hummed like a low song.
John unpacked. He took the small bundle of shirts and put them in the cupboard. He set his pencil where he could find it in the morning. He set the communication stone on the shelf. It sat there like a quiet eye. He did not touch it. He did not plan to call Edda tonight. He had nothing to ask her except if she was safe. He decided to trust that she was.
Fizz tested the bed by falling onto it. The mattress gave and then pushed back. "Better than a chair," he said. "Worse than a lap."
"We do not have a lap," John said.
Fizz sighed. "True."
They went back down to the common room to see where the cart had gone. The common room was long and lined with chairs.