Chapter 2: The Dread That Followed

I half turned then, my attention firmly divided between the departing vehicle making its way past those approaching and the whispers and grim looks of the crowd that had been before me. The full sobs as the younger girl continued her wailing which few attempted to stifle slowly faded with her departure toward what I assumed was a common building. What struck me in that moment as considerably deficient was the palpable lack of surprise or shock of those gathered in this courtyard. It was as if these events were not only unfortunate but entirely unavoidable, the resolve of the condemned permeated with the unerring resolve of base survival.

It was after the pregnant silence was interrupted by an interjecting cough that we all turned toward the source of the abrupt intrusion. My eyes again met that of the boy who’d introduced himself on the train, his face painted with an almost smug knowing smile before we both turned our attention to the speech that followed from the abrupt sputterer.

"Ladies and gentlemen, permit me the courtesy of your attention a moment!" Our speaker was a younger man, presentable, lean and a little moth-eaten, the cause of which wasn’t entirely possible to decipher from immediate observation. "I’m sure everyone has questions, but let me assure you, that was merely an ill-timed advisory meeting and nothing that should concern everyone. If all the students would mind making your way to your respective dorms for check-in, we’d like to have all the parents in attendance come take a tour of our facilities. I’m sure all of your questions... and concerns will be answered in due time."

It would seem this was appeasement enough; the crowd finding whatever comfort usually came from bureaucracy. The gathered parents and progeny split with a few parting words and I took note of their diversity. Much like their varied methods of transport, most ran the gamut from simple farm folk to the kind of higher fashion one associated with the upper crust. Neither faction seemed entirely thrilled by the notion of associating however briefly among the other.

Reluctantly dispersing, I took note of the boys and girls each dividing toward two of the gambrel-roofed buildings which apparently were to serve as out dormitories. Some unusually cheery representatives from each class sat at long tables that had been brought out beside the grass strewn path that lead to the entry doors of each, giving forced but warmish greetings to the unreceptive or otherwise oblivious future residents. Although I was eager to unpack, and perhaps stretch out on a real bed for even a moment, I turned to watch the elder members all heading toward the main building.

It was a newer building to be sure. The architect had obviously hurried to accommodate both the usual local aesthetic and the symmetrical trend of the current French Deco Movement. I heard a withered senior old man with untamed white hair spit words through his remaining teeth, "Too mod’ren... T’aint right. S’too mod’ren." This barely distinguishable grumble was met with several looks of disdain from the rather too upright men in suits with fur-ruffed and over-preened wives which took a little more distance for themselves before the entire ensemble followed the speaker prior who was gesturing for them all to follow him on that promised tour.

It was then I noticed the boy from the train waiting crouched, obscured by a low hedge row making his way into the monolithic building as the last of the adults passed beneath the doorway arch. He waited a few moments as they paused in the main hallway, no doubt all listening or bickering under the points of interest which caused the halt, before they continued onward.

Prudently and with caution did he follow then, and I stood aghast a moment at his tenacity before my own mind devised a means with which to follow. It wasn’t that I was particularly curious as to the points being presented away from the student body, but for the moment, that boy who had been so adamant about dire conspiracy and hidden treachery was no longer talking at length and now appeared only to be listening, intently.

My eyes darted around the courtyard in search of both a place to get out of sight, and hide my possessions if only for the duration of this little diversion. Finding my target, I headed in the direction of my assumed dormitory under the impromptu guise of merely inspecting the grounds while waiting for my turn to register. Finding a poorly pruned thicket of overgrown grass surrounding a wrought iron bench with a seemingly fresh coat of paint, I placed my valise just out of sight while stuffing my journal in its usual place under my arm beneath my jacket and gave pursuit.

The entry hallway way mostly shining tile and glass, which did not favor stealth, as the trod of my hard-soled shoes made an audible yet discreet clamor with each furtive step. I could hear the drone of adult voices down an adjacent hallway further on. The quality of my surroundings were all equally shining, new symmetrical, and hollow as the fixtures had clearly been intended to showcase the achievements of students that had yet to be earned. Where others might have been filled with a sense of emergent potential, I imagined the same dread funerary feeling that must have been experienced by the makers of the tombs of the pharaohs when they surveyed their finished labors.

My nerves sang with every tense step, a succession of objections rattled my stance as my ears picked up fragments of the conversation ahead of me, which were far less placid and far more argumentative than I had expected for what should have been a routine explanation of the resources and grounds of an academic institution. My fingers rose to secure the leather-backed bundle of papers again, then to restrain the loose strands of colorless and raven behind my ear from whence they had shaken loose. The throng of parents and keepers had worked their way into what appeared to be an empty classroom to give some discretion to this continued discussion.

"I assure you again, we only have the best interests of your children in mind."

A haughty voice was quick to sever this thought with an unmasked spat of contempt. "As you did the best interests of the young lady on her merry way to the hospital this very moment?" This statement was followed by a few low chuckles and the general pitch of snide agreement.

"A very unfortunate matter of timing, I can assure you. We’ve been receiving students over the last few weeks and some simply reach the breaking point of being removed from their families earlier than others. I expect several of you will receive desperate calls and telegraphs over the next few months as your children adjust to life away from their hearth and homes. Until our regular alienist arrives, we will have to rely on the kindness of the local amenities."

The tour’s guide seemed to be losing the crowd, as the drone of mixed voices grew louder and more agitated. Yet, all seemed fervent in their questioning to the reasons for keeping their children in the school, without any question of withdrawal or any such obvious alternative. From the very basic survey I’d taken in the courtyard, families had come not only from the Miskatonic Valley, but like me as far as states away from the accents and custom I’d spotted on the train. No, not a single person was considering the option of not leaving their offspring here, but instead was intent on what the purpose was.

"As I have said, this is a new sort of institution we have begun here, one whose goal should be obvious. Miskatonic University as well as your federal government are offering a unique opportunity to give every young person the benefit of an advanced and personally structured education for their future development. Up to this point, public education has meant simply the monitoring of obedience more than ability. On that I’m sure we can all agree. We have contacted you all because we believe your children to be exceptional, and with the full support of the college may attain remarkable and astounding things."

"And what about our children in private schools? What exactly does this academy of yours intend to offer them?" a haughty voice chimed in with the now familiar sound of dismissal and contempt of an empty threat. "And that horrible spelling on your sign hardly inspires confidence, you know. Whoever heard of an ’akademy’ anyway? Preposterous!"

"It’s from the Greek, actually. I’m sure you are quite aware of Plato of Athens and antiquity who established a similar institution from which we derive our name and particular method of teaching. The ‘Academy’ of classical thought was the name for the assembly of people, whereas the name of the place where they gathered was Akademia. A garden to be precise, but I’m sure those formally educated among you were already aware of that distinction. As I was saying, it’s in that conjoined spirit we built the grounds here. No classes, no structure, merely a place with an exchange of ideas including professional supervision and further resources. I can tell you personally that this program has already garnered a great deal of attention of both Harvard and Yale, the Rhode Island School of Design, as well as the Federal Office of Education.”

"Resarces? Whut kind’er resarces?" spat the wild old man and the titter of conversation went silent for the first time.

"Obviously we have a collegiate staff whom are all very interested in teaching outside of their usual curriculum, and the obvious challenge. Miskatonic is well known and regarded for its library. I’m happy to say a selection of those volumes will be available here on rotation for those that take an interest. The college is also planning on diverting any number of artifacts from our scholarly expeditions through this very campus to give our younger students the privilege of first access and in some cases study. Our staff doctor as well as students from the medical school will be here also should any medical emergency arise."

I noted the mutters which began with the mention of the staff dying down suddenly at the mention of the library. I noted this, because of my own personal obsession with what was usually contained within. I closed my eyes for a moment, reflecting on the smell of nicely aged paper, before returning my attention to the conversation unfolding in the adjacent room.

"Whur’s Armitage?" The man with the feral features who had muttered earlier spake louder. "We been tol’ Armitage would be hurr to aynser fer hisself."

The crowd tittered in agreement, with the young professor calming them with his hands patting downward, trying to maintain control. The sound of sweat in his voice was enough to let me know of his restraint in dealing with these unruly people.

"I understand the confusion, but Henry Armitage will be acting in a purely supervisory capacity. His nephew, the well respected child alienist, is arriving today with the train here in... a few hours. I believe he is intending to address everyone this eveni..."

"Nu’un cares abut Armitage the Yun’gur! Whur’s Henreh? Whur’s Henreh Armitage?" the wild old man bellowed with an immodest grunt, and another round of agreement passed among the gathering.

"Retired..." a wizened voice echoed from the hallway behind me as I felt fingers seize the collar of my shirt and pull me upright. My neck craning to see who the unexpected assailant was, and noting that in their other hand, struggling to retain posture as the speaker grasped his ear, was Finnigan.

The man who had us seized was aged, almost cured in years which wore on his face and demeanor. His eyes were stolid, grey as were his hair and general aura. The crowd seemed shocked at the arrival of the subject of their discussion, and I assumed that I had now met the esteemed and, from his proclamation, former librarian of Miskatonic University himself who currently had me hanging by the scruff of the neck.

I hung there like a scolded cub, resigned to not moving as I averted my gaze to keep from glaring at the boy whom I found myself suspended in that grasp before we each were released. A harsh disciplinary gesture sent us to motion to wait with our backs up against the tile wall. I caught a solitary apologetic glance, which was met with a proportionately icy glare. I was seething, and now apparently grouped in whatever regard with someone who had already tested my admittedly short patience twice today. I was surprised then, as the elderly man who had detained us spoke much more cordially, with an underscore of severity that was only masked by the slightest regard for decorum in front of the assembled visitors.

"As you can see, we are quite capable of looking after your progeny, even those who seem to disregard our authority. Dr. Morgan, I’m sure this procession might continue elsewhere…" The words were pointed, but blameless in their accuracy. I could feel Finnigan’s eyes at me again, and continued my aversion to making further eye contact as I crossed my arms, feeling that treasured position shift slightly against my ribs. "Now, you two will sit on that bench just down the hallway there by my nephew’s office. I’m sure he will want to hear exactly why you decided to snoop on a meeting of adults instead of checking into your respective dorms."

"Yes, Sir," I said, which was echoed half-heartedly by the boy beside me with the sound of defeat in his tone. I maintained a polite disposition despite my rage which might have boiled an egg were it water. Perhaps overcompensating, I gave a terse little bow and turned then toward the bench where I had been instructed to sit, and kept my head turned to avoid further conversation, of which I should have known better. I was not in the mood to hear the words that followed, especially as the onrushing thoughts of my valise being discovered away from my personage crept upon me.

"I’m sorry, mate. I had no idea we’d get pinched. I tol’ you I thought somethin’ was fishy with this whole arrangement, and did you haer them? Nobody saems te buy intae this horse rubbish."

"Stop talking to me." I decided to entertain the direct approach, as any previous attempts to be subtle had thus failed me.

It would be an hour of waiting there, in an empty hallway with the sound of awkward silence making my ears throb; slowly feeding myself the confections from my pocket in lieu of whatever meal we might be missing while waiting on the supposed headmaster to meet the first two trouble students of his brand new charge. Thus it came as no small surprise when that door to our left finally opened and we stood out of respect, I would come face to face with a girl not two years older than myself whose dark and expressive eyes turned away as suddenly as mine did, only from behind abundant curls of deep chestnut hair. She skirted any further courtesy, and seemingly had just finished a similar conversation as I expected we would soon receive. She hurried past us down the hallway, looking back in my direction for just a moment. The man’s voice which followed from the doorway did not carry the stern tone I was expecting.

"Ah, Mr. Finnegan O’Brien, come right in... And I assume you to be Miss Warren. Come, I hear we have something to discuss."

Finnegan paused and looked in my direction with a bit more resolve than his previous attempts to engage me.

"Miss?"

I ignored the question as I moved around him into the office, trying to hide a hint of purely reflexive blush in my paler cheeks from showing. Most people were simply too polite to broach the subject.

Next Chapter: Chapter 3:The Shrouded Room [Draft]