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8
Ishouldn’t be surprised when I’m led out the stately wooden front doors of Lochkelvin, but I am. It’s the first time I’ve been outside since arriving and the weather is as variable as ever. There’s a low breeze, as if the wind is pretending to be innocent instead of giving in to the violent urges it had been prone to yesterday. In the gray sky, the sun still shines a darkened yellow, its setting rays casting a murky glow over everything my eyes can see.
Headmistress Baxter stands on the stone steps of Lochkelvin, gesturing out to the grounds beyond. A thick copse of trees cluster at the very bottom of the hill upon which Lochkelvin stands, a wide river winding around them.
All at once, I’m reminded of how isolated Lochkelvin is. There’s nothing here but this ancient school.
“For tomorrow’s detention, I want you here at six o’clock sharp.”
“Six?”
“In the morning.”
I swallow. Six in themorning? “But I thought I’d be getting a double detention today…”
Headmistress Baxter glares at me. “Do you think the staff here have nothing better to do with their time than supervise a single girl all night?”
Then why give me two utterly pointless detentions?
Nevertheless, I sigh. “No, Headmistress.” I look out at the large green hills, trying to admire them. I would be able to acknowledge how beautiful our surroundings are if I felt happier in the school behind me, but Lochkelvin has managed to taint even the glorious wilderness of Scotland.
Headmistress Baxter leads me inside the school again. We stand in front of the gilt lion and unicorn statue, gazing up at it. For a moment, I wonder if she’s about to say something grand and important about the ancient ways of this noble school, and how, in time, I’ll be able to fit in.
Instead, Headmistress Baxter runs a finger along the plinth, inspects it for dust, and snaps, “You’ll be cleaning this.”
I gape at her departing back.
It’shuge— taller than me. The lion itself is an intricate work, with individually carved teeth in its roaring mouth. The unicorn’s mane is frozen mid-swish, tendrils of hair curling around its proud, determined face.
Headmistress Baxter directs me to the cleaning cupboard with a dismissive wave of her hand. And then, as she swans into her office, she leaves me to suffer for the rest of the night. With a sigh, I dump my bag by the stairs before rolling up my sleeves and getting to work.
I’m armed with a variety of cleaning equipment. A bucket. A sponge. Gloves. Polish. Several sizes of brushes and cloths, including a tiny toothbrush-sized one.
Well, I know what I’m using for the teeth.
It takes a while but an hour or two later and I’m actually getting into the groove of cleaning this beast — well, two beasts. Sliding the wet sponge over the unicorn’s sloping back almost makes it feel like a real horse I’m cooling down after a race. And the lion doesn’t look nearly as intimidating when I’m poking a toothbrush down its cavernous throat.
I trace my fingers over the unicorn’s flank and notice with a start that there are tiny carved letters. After running my thumb over the grooves, I realize that it’s the same letters that had been on Finlay’s blazer. Only instead of studs, the carving is clearer, more meticulous, and I can see the small details and accents in the words.
Alba gu bràth.
It’s another language, that much is clear. I’m glad I’m not turning illiterate just because I couldn’t read the studs on the back of Finlay’s blazer. I puzzle over the words, wondering what they could mean. I’m pretty sureAlbameans Scotland, so maybe it’s in Gaelic?
Thankfully, the front hall is quiet and I get to ruminate in peace. The occasional student wanders downstairs and laughs when they see me with my bucket and sponge. One of them, who looks about twelve, says he’s glad I’ve finally found where girls belong and demands I make him a sandwich once I finish.
At this, Headmistress Baxter opens the door, reminding us she still exists. Her arms are folded and her gaze is stern. She doesn’t have to say anything at all for the twelve-year-old to scurry off, and I find myself grinning at her in solidarity.
The grin slips off, however, when she examines the statue with disapproving eyes.
“What?” My arm muscles are aching and my uniform is damp from all the splashes.
“It’s dull. Clean but dull. What did you use?”
“The stuff that was in the cupboard. The stuff youtoldme to use.”
She snatches up the tin of polish and narrows her eyes. “I told you to use silver polish on a gold statue? Really?”
I say nothing. My body feels like a wreck, and all I want to do is sleep—
