Chapter One: Dove

When my grandfather moved in with my family, he brought over sixty years of history with him, all of it centered in London. It was through his eyes I grew to love the city and learnt its secrets – its colorful past, its famous inhabitants, its vast legends, and best of all, the school granddad promised I would one day attend. I pondered London during the day and dreamt about it at night. I imagined in a thousand ways what might happen when I left my small village behind and stepped into its ancient streets. Yet, despite all the questions I asked, all the books I read, everything I learnt leading up to my first trip, nothing could prepare me for my encounter with the ghost boy.

At the time, I was a small and bony creature, built with sharp elbows, knobbly knees, and wrists thin as church spires. So scrawny was I, in fact, my new socks kept slipping down my legs and bunching round my ankles as I wandered the grounds of my equally new home: Dreycott School for Gifted Children.

Its innocuous name belayed its appearance. A circle of massive stone structures topped with battlements and turrets, the school resembled a medieval fortress ripped from a blood-stained tapestry. At second glance, it reminded me of a bank of heavy-laden storm clouds ready to swallow up the surrounding city. At third, a jumble of mountains, ominous bulk softened only by a tattered shroud of ivy.

I wondered if the place hadn't been built in increments, perhaps by a succession of frenzied architects with conflicting blueprints. In any case, it appeared to have no symmetry or continuity whatsoever. Buildings of disparate styles sprawled haphazardly this way and that, flinging sharp corners and jagged rooftops in all directions. An architectural chimera.

In the center of this circle lay the lawn, though perhaps 'lawn' was too tame a word. Feral bushes and trees lay claim to most of Dreycott's grounds. They would have seized all of it, had it not been for a lone gravel walk that wandered past stone benches, flickering lampposts, and crumbling statuary half-hidden by rotting undergrowth. Wrapped about the whole mess was a wrought iron fence, a delicate barrier between the school and the more civilized metropolis beyond.

To tell the truth, there was an air of abandonment about the place. It was as if I were alone among the grey ruins of some nameless kingdom that had fallen ages ago, devoured by time and trees. Far from being unsettled, I felt drawn to wander deeper. The day had been long – all noise and business. Here I could find silence. Think about everything that had happened and everything that was to come.

Had it been only this morning when I'd said goodbye to granddad? So much had happened since then, it felt like a month had passed. As I walked on, I let my twilit surroundings melt into memory, warming into a train station flushed with sunlight.

"I can hardly believe it," granddad had said. Behind us, the waiting train whistled through an amber billow of steam that swirled amid passengers, porters, and luggage-heaped trolleys hurrying in every direction. "Yesterday you were knee-high to a rook and now you're practically a lady."

Up until he'd spoken, the clockwork rush of activity had captured my fullest attention, but now it blurred, the voices and footsteps and creak of oil-thirsty wheels blending as one. Only granddad stood still, leaning on his ivory-topped cane.

In contrast to the new school uniform I wore, ironed and starched until it felt like a rigid mold, his brown tweed suit fit him just right, creasing comfortably at his elbows, his left hand stowed in his pocket. Pale gold was our one similarity – mine twined in two plaits tied with ribbons and his glinting in the trim beard he sported, flecked with a silver that betrayed his age.

I tugged at one of my plaits.

"When you left for Dreycott, you'd already won your first tournament."

Granddad chuckled.

"There'll be plenty of time for tournaments, Amelia. But right now, you've a golden opportunity – to meet new friends, go on adventures, uncover fabulous treasures, solve impossible mysteries! Maybe even slay a dragon, eh?"

He winked and I crossed my arms.

"I don't know about any of that. I'm sure I'll have more than enough homework to keep me busy."

In truth, I was excited for the upcoming school year, but not for the reasons granddad had laid out. I was looking forward to challenging classes, brilliant teachers, and a chance to prove myself amongst the ranks of Dreycott's fiercely competitive chess club. My new school was not average in the slightest, something that both thrilled and terrified me.

"Nonsense." Granddad raised an eyebrow. "You are a Ruth, aren't you? Adventures tend to find us, whether we want them or not. But – I daresay you'll have a few miserable experiences, as well."

He placed a hand on my shoulder and his eyes, keen as ice, pierced mine. "Now, I'm not trying to frighten you, Amelia. But you must know its not all chess and essays and lessons. It's people. Out there, you'll run into all sorts. Every single one like a piece on a chessboard, each with their own patterns, their own roles, their own means of getting through the day."

A small smile somehow managed to slip past my strained frown. I quickly hid it.

"Granddad, this isn't another of your chess analogies, is it?"

"You didn't expect to slip away without one, did you?" he replied sternly. He stroked his beard, eyes narrowing. "And don't think I didn't see that smile of yours. I've been waiting for it all day."

"What smile?" I sputtered. "I didn't smile."

"Hmph. If you say so. But now I must tell you something that may seem a contradiction." He paused. "People are also not like chess pieces. Their patterns are not set in stone. They will surprise you. Don't trust first impressions. See your opponents as individuals, first and foremost. And know a friend, a true friend, is rare as a Fool's mate."

The whistle blew once more, and the conductor issued a final call for passengers. Granddad sighed. "It seems I'm out of time. Here. Take this."

He plucked something from his jacket pocket and held it out to me. It was a piece from his favorite chess set, a king carved from warm polished walnut. "A bit of home."

I let my fingers curl tentatively around it.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

I gripped the king, hesitating. The night before, I'd promised myself I wouldn't do anything childish at the station. I'd wanted to show granddad I was ready to be on my own. But now, with time thinning into seconds, my resolve faltered. Before I could think on it longer, I threw my arms round him and burrowed my head in his jacket, rich with the scent of pipe tobacco and the aged books that fortified the shelves of his study back home.

He kissed the top of my head, holding me tight. "You'll write me often?"

"Every week."

"And practice each day?"

"Of course."

"You'll write your parents, too?"

I pulled back from him.

"I'll try."

His gaze softened, searching.

"I was only curious, Amelia. It's your decision."

I let my eyes drop to the floor.

"I wonder –"

The train whistled yet again, shrill and impatient, ready to leave the crowded station far behind.

It was time. Placing the chess piece in my pocket, I picked up my suitcase and straightened my shoulders. As I headed to the train, I looked back just once, to wave and to capture a final snapshot of granddad. He gave me a solemn nod, pushing his glasses into place in his own funny manner of farewell. Then, I stepped aboard a car and the door shut behind me. On my way to London, to Dreycott – alone.

And alone I was swept up into the whirlwind of activities that followed my arrival, all tinged by a peculiar feeling I couldn't quite put into words. I knew Dreycott was no ordinary school, but I wasn't prepared for the extent, or the nature, of its unconventionalities.

When I'd reached the school after a long bus ride, two older pupils, twins wearing matching silver sashes, had been waiting in the impressive common room of the dormitories to greet me and the other new pupils. They introduced themselves as Polly and Castor, though that seemed the only bit of information they were willing to divulge. Once all of us had been accounted for, we were divided into two groups. Castor broke off with the boys, while Polly wasted no time ushering us girls in the opposite direction, marching us through several narrow, winding corridors in sturdy silence. Those brave enough to risk a question she answered only by quickening her pace.

Hurrying through such a twisting maze left me so dizzy, I didn't quite register what was happening when Polly lead us up a curved staircase and down another hallway, this one swathed in blue rugs and tapestries. She handed each girl a numbered key. I stood fingering mine, engraved with a curling'4', until Polly spoke up.

"Unpack. Supper in half an hour. Then rest. Big day tomorrow."

These meager words were spoken not with any encouragement or anticipation, but the grim finality of a death sentence, made all the more ominous by her retreating footsteps as she strode away.

Exchanging nervous glances, we did as we were told. Beyond the door that matched my key, I found a space just large enough to hold two beds, two desks, two set of drawers, and one narrow window. I set to work unpacking, wondering all the while who my roommate was and where she was at, until a knock signaled it was time for supper.

This was a whirlwind of new faces, long tables, clattering forks, and food that tasted too unfamiliar to be of any comfort. Up and down the tables, pupils swapped questions and rumors and worries, creating a restless buzz of anticipation for the new term beginning tomorrow. Anticipation – or dread. Perhaps that was the peculiar feeling that hung over the day's activities.

I ate quietly, quickly, and when I was finished, decided to slip back to the dormitories before any of the other girls. On my way out of the dining hall, however, I passed a window and caught sight of the wild, dusky lawn. Suddenly, that was the only place I wanted to be.

The trickle of a fountain pulled me out of the memory. It was coming up upon my left, in a small clearing, lit by lamplight and a few dim stars. Nothing like the cobweb of constellations that dusted the sky back home.

I slipped my king from my pocket and rolled it between my fingers. Granddad had told me many times if he hadn't been so taken with chess, he'd have become an astronomer. If he were here now, I knew he'd have regarded the sparse sky with a shake of his head and a click of his tongue, remarking how much brighter London's sky had shone in his boyhood.

An ache bloomed in my chest. To distract myself, I let my eyes drop from the sky to the fountain. Circling it, I couldn't help but wonder if anyone at the school tended to it.

Its stone basin was worn with age, much of it claimed by pale green lichen. At its center stood a statue of a young girl upon a pedestal, the fine lines that shaped her softened by wind and rain. Her dress bore the formality of an austere age, but her long, loose hair appeared to be tousled by the same breeze that stirred my own. She was holding a wide-mouth vase from which poured a steady trickle of water into a pool at her feet. The girl's eyes were downcast, empty and sad. Looking up into those eyes, I felt a flicker of kinship.

My attention turned to another gazing up at the girl, one with eyes just as forlorn. A stone praying mantis balanced at the edge of the pool, so realistic I swore I could almost imagine its claws quivering. An odd, lonely pair they made, but they seemed friendly enough.

Exhausted, I sat down on the edge of the basin and tried not to think, not to worry, not to analyze the day's events, or plan ahead for all that would happen in the coming week. Instead, I wanted to simply exist, listen to bird song and fountain splash, feel the breeze brushing my hair against my cheek.

I closed my eyes, but only for a moment. They snapped open at the sound of a shrill voice drifting across the lawn.

"See, I told you. Over there!"

In the deepening twilight, I could just make out three figures striding towards me through the trees, a short figure leading two taller ones. In a minute, they were close enough that I could identify them. The lone girl of the trio, who looked to be a few years older than myself, broke free from the two boys accompanying her, her stride quickening.

"You there," she said and stopped, towering over me. Her copper ponytail was pulled so tight her eyes bulged, green and cat-like, while a pattern of freckles dotted her nose. When she smiled, it was also feline. "You were right, Stewart." She glanced to the shorter of the two boys as they joined her. Stewart's saucer eyes lit up. His face was long and bony, topped with wild hair the color of dead grass.

"Of course, I was right. I mean, I wouldn't drag you out here for nothing, would I? I mean, have I ever dragged you out here for –"

"Shuttup, Stewart," the other boy muttered. I had to crane my neck a bit to get a good look at him. He had broad, mountainous shoulders and neatly parted brown hair. Perched upon his nose like a delicate insect were small, wire-rimmed glasses. I couldn't help but think he looked a bit like a gorilla turned scholar. Both he and the girl wore silver sashes across their chests, the same as Polly and Castor. The girl held out a pale, slender hand.

"Vivian Cheltenham."

"Amelia," I said as we shook, "Amelia Ruth."

Stewart reached forward as if to shake my hand as well, but Vivian shoved him back.

"It appears you're one of our new arrivals. That must be why you're still out here."

Her words were polite, but leading, weighed with hidden implications like a pawn placed ever so strategically – dangerously – on the chessboard. I decided to proceed with caution. Unfortunately, my mouth couldn't quite catch up with my brain and all I managed was a pathetic:

"What?"

Vivian sighed – the helpless sort you might offer a young child who'd failed a simple task. Placing her hands on her knees, she bent over until we were eye to eye, so close I could count each freckle. When she spoke, her voice was soft and patient as a primary-school teacher.

"Listen carefully, Ruth. Surely you must be aware of the high reputation Dreycott strives to maintain. Schools all over the world look to us as an example, a shining paragon of excellence in education. We are the best. Full stop. No qualifiers needed. But only because we expect the best. That's why we emphasize rigorous discipline here. Every rule, every reward, every punishment, it's all to help you achieve, so Dreycott can achieve, do you follow? But what happens when even one little pupil ignores the rules, hm?"

Vivian tilted her head. I could tell this was a speech she'd given before, one she relished delivering.

"Anarchy, right? I mean, that's what it's called, right?" Stewart looked to his superiors for confirmation, but Vivian only gave him a sharp look. She straightened.

"When the rules are ignored, our school ceases to function properly. Our reputation plunges. Our credentials are tainted. Someone, then, has to ensure this never happens. Someone has to enforce the rules. That's us. The Dreycott Patrol."

Vivian stroked her silver sash, which glinted in the dying light like a snake. "I'm Head of Sapphire House, myself. But you'll learn all about us at the Rite of Riddles tomorrow."

"I see." I hesitated, scrambling for a reply that wouldn't plunge me deeper into hot water. "Did I... do something wrong?"

Vivian sighed again, this time in open exasperation.

"Must I make this so obvious? You are out past curfew, Ruth. Curfew is eight o'clock sharp. You should know this."

"I'm sorry. I – I must've lost track of the time."

Vivian's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"No excuses. Did you even read the school handbook?"

"Yes," I tried to steady my voice, but my next words came out in a spill of choppy fragments. "I did read it. But I wasn't paying attention. I didn't realize it was so late. I'm sorry. I'll go to bed now."

I started to rise from the fountain's edge, but the larger boy held up a hand.

"Not so fast. She's probably read the old handbook, Viv." He turned to glare down at me. "You should've received a copy of the revised handbook in your acceptance packet. The revised handbook clearly states that curfew is now eight as opposed to ten o'clock. Which one did you read?"

"I – I don't know," I sputtered.

"The revised handbook's statutes are written in couplets," he continued. "As a mnemonic aide. Was your handbook rhyming?"

"I can't –"

Vivian cleared her throat.

"It doesn't matter. All pupils are now bound under the revised handbook, whether they've read it or not. Now, according to said revised handbook…" Here she paused, drawing herself to her full height before continuing in a grave sing-song tone, 'Because you squandered precious time…'"

She raised her eyebrows, her eyes cat-bright with an ominous glint, anticipating an answer.

"…You have to make up a special rhyme?" I answered weakly.

"'You have to pay a substantial fine'," Trevor corrected. "Chapter 5, section 19."

"I believe it's section 18, but never mind that."

A horrible dread uncoiled inside my stomach.

"A fine? But I haven't got any money with –"

Vivian held up her own hand. Her eyes shifted towards my lap.

"Never mind that. What's that you have there in your hand?"

I blushed, not sure how to explain.

"It's – it's from my granddad. We play chess and –"

In one fluid movement, Vivian plucked the king from my hand and held it up to the fading light, squinting at it.

"Hmm," She tossed it to the bigger boy. "What do you think, Trevor? Worth anything?"

Trevor examined the piece.

"It's a bishop."

"It's a king," I couldn't help saying.

Trevor ignored me. He scratched the surface of the piece with his fingernail.

"Looks to be made of wood."

"Valuable wood?" Vivian demanded.

Stewart hesitated.

"Can wood be valuable? I mean…it's wood."

"Could I have it back now?" My voice was firm, even as liquid ice slithered inside of me, like a hundred silver sashes turned to snakes.

Vivian leaned in close again and smiled.

"Your little trinket will do nicely. Now get to the dormitories, please. As the handbook would say, 'Start to whine, pay an even more substantial fine'."

My mouth popped open. I could think of a hundred things to say but not one came out. My lips floundered to form even a syllable.

"Hey, look," Stewart said, grinning. "She looks like a fish, right? I mean she does, look at her."

Vivian straightened and snatched my king out of Trevor's hand. "Enough, Stewart. Let's go. I want to check round the pitch one more time."

Trevor sighed.

"We've checked there twice already."

Without another glance, the three strode off down the path until their figures were nearly lost in gloom.

The shivery snakes inside me were growing colder, devouring me from the inside out. Granddad had entrusted that king to me. It was a piece of home, a small comfort in an unfamiliar place, an encapsulation of that final moment at the train-station. What would become of it? Tucked away in a drawer next to slingshots and confiscated love notes, probably, in an office in some far-flung corner of the school. Who knew if I would ever see it again? What would granddad say when he discovered I'd lost it?

A terrible helplessness gripped me, the kind I felt when I reached zugzwang during a chess game, that precarious position where any move would be a disadvantage, but to pass, to remain indecisive and stagnant, would be tantamount to forfeit.

I began shaking. They couldn't take that from me. They couldn't.

My body finally unlocked itself from whatever trance it had been pinned under. I leapt up from the fountain and raced after the three.

"Wait!"

Vivian ignored me, quickening her pace. I caught up to her, panting as I attempted to match her long stride.

"Give it back! Please! I'll go to bed straightaway. I swear. Just give it back."

Vivian let out a small scoff.

"What's so special about it? It's worthless without the rest of the set."

"I told you. My grandad gave it to me before I left for school."

"Oh, your grandad?" Trevor shared an amused glance with Vivian, "Must be quite the old nutter if he thinks some chintzy game token is a proper gift."

Vivian and Stewart snickered, their leering faces blurring and contorting as hot, stinging tears crept across my vision. The iciness twisting inside me burned like cold fire, fed by a molten meld of embarrassment and determination. All was rendered dim by my tears, all except my king, still clenched in Vivian's tainted grasp, her fingers pale, sucking worms against the pristine wood. My head buzzed. My legs tightened, locked up, coiled like springs.

With a strangled cry, I lunged sideways, launching myself at the piece. Vivian quickly stepped out of reach and I slammed into Trevor instead.

"Watch it!"

In one swift move, he shoved me aside. I stumbled, tripped, and hit the gravel, the air torn from my lungs like pages from a book. Gasping for breath, I spit out a mouthful of rocks and blood, the veil of tears over my eyes shattered by the impact and running warm down my scraped cheeks. My knees and elbows dug into the path, burning, pinning me down.

Somewhere above me, Vivian loomed.

"That was a warning, Ruth. Never interfere with the Dreycott Patrol." Tilting her nose upward, she stepped over me with prim steps and continued on the path. The boys followed close behind, smirking down at me. With trembling effort, I lifted my head, grasping at fistfuls of pebbles. I wanted to chase after them, to rip their stupid little sashes off, to snatch my king back and fly off into the night, onto a rooftop where they could never reach me.

Useless.

The word seeped out in the tears stinging my eyes, slipping down my cheeks. It weighed on my body pressed into the gravel, still rigid from the shock of hitting the ground. It emerged from my lips as ragged gasps disjointed from the pulse of my heart. I was so useless...

If only I could trade out brawn for brain – pushing and shoving for the calculation and cunning of a chess match. I'd win my king back, then. Maybe even their respect. But this was real life. Unfair. Illogical.

I let my head drop. At least I might keep a shred of dignity if I accepted defeat. But what would granddad say when he heard I'd –

"Give it back, Vivian."

A soft swish of wet grass. Twisting my head to the side, I saw a pair of shoes materializing out of the gloom. My eyes traveled up past a pair of scuffed trousers, a crooked tie, and into the defiant face of a boy with unruly russet hair standing just off the path, half-lit by the nearest lamppost. His left eye was open merely a slit, hemmed by a dark purple bruise.

Vivian stopped again, eyes flashing, mouth twisting. She snapped at Trevor, who quickly stepped over me, making himself into a barrier between me and the boy.

Now safe behind her bodyguard, Vivian regained her composure. Once more, her voice took on that pungent sweetness.

"Dove? Is that you? I am sorry, but if you have a problem with the Patrol doing its job, you're going to have to take it up with Professor Rosen tomorrow." Vivian tauntingly waved my king in the air. "Unless you want Trevor to do some more work on your face. It's not very symmetrical right now, you know. But that's an easy fix."

Trevor took a step toward the boy, knuckles popping as he squeezed his fists into fleshy boulders. A crunch of gravel told me that boy had taken his own step forward. A scuffle was imminent.

I sat up on my elbows, craning my neck, trying to see past Trevor's bulky frame, readying myself to scramble to my feet. There could be no doubt as to the outcome of a fight: the boy was an ant and Trevor a boot. But maybe if I could tackle him from behind…

I caught the boy's eye and he offered me a terse shake of his head, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. I scowled at him, but his attention had already turned to Vivian. A sharp smile crept over his features. The kind a fox might wear before leading his pursuers on a merry chase.

"Vivian, you know, I passed the auditorium earlier. Looks like Professor Xander is still there, getting things ready for tomorrow. Why don't we have him settle this? We can go over there right now."

Vivian's expression remained unchanged, but her cheeks flushed scarlet.

"I've full authority to settle things myself."

The boy shrugged his narrow shoulders.

"Then I don't suppose you need Trevor here, either. Why do you insist on bringing Trevor and Stewart with you on these nightly patrols of yours? Surely it's not necessary for you to delegate your authority to others of lower status? Especially against a feather of a first-year like this." The boy paused, hooking a finger to his chin. "But I suppose picking on someone your own size might cause the mask to slip a bit. And stealing toys is such an effective disciplinary strategy. I'm sure Professor Xander would agree."

For a moment, Vivian stood at a loss for words, quivering, it seemed, with a sort of incredulous rage. Whoever this Professor Xander was, that the mere mention of his name was enough to cause such a reaction told me he was not one to be trifled with, even, or perhaps especially, by the Patrol. As if considering this very thought, Vivian's eyes darted to the boy, to me, and back. Finally, with a scoff, she threw the king onto the ground.

"Fine. Have it. I've had enough of this drivel," she hissed. "But next time you get in my way, Dove, you'll have a matching set."

Her eyes flashed green fire in my direction. "I won't forget this, Ruth."

Grabbing her two lackeys by the backs of their collars, she dragged them off down the path, ignoring their protests. When they were well enough away, the boy scooped up the king. I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes as he offered me a hand.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I managed. I ignored his hand and pulled myself up, knowing I was in pitiful shape; sniffing and shaking, hair disheveled, lip cracked, gravel embedded in my knees, socks drooping at my ankles. My flicker of inner fire had utterly abandoned me, as had that final shred of dignity. Leave. Just drop my king and go, I thought, as I brushed myself off, face burning, not daring to look up at the boy.

He didn't leave. Instead, he held out my king to me.

"What's your name?"

I didn't want to tell him. I didn't want to say anything to him. I had my king now. I could slip into the shadows. Return to my dorm. Sleep until this night was a distant memory. Instead, curiosity got the better of me.

Grabbing the piece from him, I glanced up.

I wasn't sure if I liked his nose, which was slight and pointed as Vivian's. But his eyes intrigued me. They were the same color as the rosewood rook in granddad's Staunton chess set. His right shone sharp and calculating, a bit wary, while tawny bangs brushed just up against his bruised left. Noticing my gaze, he brushed them to the side, but they immediately fell back into place. Such a small gesture, but there seemed something familiar about it, as if I could almost read the self-conscious thoughts that lay behind it. My fingers grasped for a strand of my own hair, but, under the boy's own gaze, I let it slip through my fingers. I stood tall as I could, folding my arms.

"A feather of a first-year," I replied, in answer to his question.

The boy appeared unperturbed.

"That wasn't meant as an insult." He indicated his skinny frame. "If you couldn't tell, I'm something of a feather, myself."

I narrowed my eyes.

"What about calling my king a 'toy'?"

"I was guessing. Hard to tell from a distance, especially under this light. Another wild guess, but I take it you like chess?"

I studied him a second, trying to gauge if he was teasing me.

"You sound surprised."

"It's just I've never met someone so keen on the game they carried it with them." The corner of his mouth twitched. "Or is that insulting, too?"

Now he didn't sound so much surprised as curious. I gripped my king tighter.

"My granddad gave it to me. Before I left this morning."

"From the way you went after Vivian, I figured it must be something important."

"Yes. It is."

My eyes drifted down to my baggy socks, wondering if I should elaborate on this terse reply. The pain in my knees was fading, and alongside it, my irritation.

"It's Amelia," I finally said, glancing up just in time to see the boy's eyes widen. "My name, I mean."

"I would say it's nice to meet you, Amelia." A small smile crossed his lips, thin and sharp. "But I suppose the circumstances could be nicer."

His smile faded, "Sorry you had to meet Vivian your first day."

"At least I've gotten it out of the way, now." I hesitated. "They're really in charge here?"

"Yes, but don't worry. As long as you remember all 608 of their adorable rhyming rules, you'll be fine."

"But your eye…Did that boy really –"

"It's nothing," he said with a shrug. "I've had worse."

Looking about the darkening lawn, the boy stifled a yawn. "I don't know about you, but I'm rather tired."

"Yes… it's been a long day."

"Come on, then, we can walk to the dormitories together. You'll want to get a good night's sleep before tomorrow. That's when all the fun really begins."

"The Rite of Riddles," I murmured.

With one last glance at the fountain, I followed the boy down the path to the dormitories. We made our way round the corner and entered through a neglected side entrance into a dim hallway.

"Just go up the stairs to your left and you'll be at Sapphire House – the girls' dorms. The boys' is down this hall."

"Alright." I hesitated a moment, then held out a stiff hand. "Er, thank you. For standing up to Vivian."

He shook my hand.

"Of course. Look for me in the crowd tomorrow. At the Rite of Riddles. I'll be rooting for you."

He turned and slipped off down the hallway, fox-quiet.

"Wait, what's your name?" I called softly.

There was no answer. The boy had already dissipated into the shadows, as if blotted from existence. What had Vivian called him? Dove? The name brought to mind pale feathers and mournful cries.

I shivered again as the hollow silence of the corridor weighed on my ears. In a place as old as this, maybe spirits did wander the grounds. Pupils who had challenged the Patrol one too many times. Boys who could grow spectral wings and fly away before you remembered to ask their names. I could almost believe it, if it wasn't for the smudge of ink in my palm transferred during our handshake.

I started up the steps, exhaustion weighing on my bones like a wet set of clothes. As I made my way to my room, granddad's words from this morning returned to me, a comforting lullaby, draining any remaining adrenaline. Adventures and miserable experiences. People like chess pieces. People not like chess pieces. Friends rare as Fool's mate.

What a funny thing to say, I realized, pausing at the top of the stairs. Both friends and Fool's mates were rare, but one was good and the other bad. If White happened to make a terrifically large blunder at the beginning of the game, Black had the opportunity to deliver a checkmate in only two moves. Hence the name Fool's mate. Rare as it was, as a six-year-old I had made the very blunder that had allowed granddad a Fool's mate during one of our first games.

"Extraordinary, Amelia!" he'd said.

I'd ducked my head, eyes brimming, thinking him angry and astonished at my lack of skill. And then he'd chuckled. I looked up in surprise, blinking away my tears.

"Y-you're not mad?"

"Mad? Gracious, no." His expression grew serious, "In all my years of playing, I've never seen a Fool's mate with my own eyes. It's a privilege."

"It means I'm bad, doesn't it? It means I'm stupid."

Granddad reached across the table and gently wiped the few tears from my cheek that had managed to leak free.

"No, Amelia. If anyone's the fool, it's me. For not teaching you the most important rule of chess."

"What's that?"

He smiled.

"Blunders are not ends, but beginnings. And the bigger the blunder, the more auspicious the beginning. Now dry those tears. I'm going to teach you a few openings that will knock me out of my chair. In fact, you must promise to go easy on me, because I've a feeling once you picked these up, you'll commandeer the board."

He'd winked, I'd grinned, and we'd begun.

The memory faded. Reaching my darkened room, I kicked off my shoes and socks, then slipped between the covers of my new bed, not even bothering with pajamas.

I gazed out the window, letting all the thoughts and questions of the day rush directionless through my mind: granddad, the neglected lawn, the Patrol, the food, and the peculiar ceremony I could only hope I was prepared for tomorrow. But I kept returning to the boy. I didn't even know his name for sure, but I wouldn't forget what he'd done, nor how we'd never have met if I hadn't blundered right into the Patrol by staying out so late. A Fool's mate if there ever was one. Not the best first impression, but maybe we'd have a chance at another one.

Tomorrow, I thought as my eyes slipped shut, tomorrow I will find you in the crowd and ask your name. But only to make certain you're not a ghost.

For the first time since the train station, I allowed myself a smile.