But Charlie was still turning over in his head what the blind woman had said about Miss Alice and Marlowe. He didn’t understand. “Because of you?” he whispered, as the boy sat back down. “What is she talking about?”
“I helped,” said Marlowe. “In the carriage, on the way here. Alice was sick and I helped.”
Now Miss Davenshaw was speaking again. “You will have questions, I am sure. Let me set your minds at ease,” she said. “Miss Ribbon, what is the purpose of the Cairndale Institute? Would you care to enlighten our guests?”
“Um … it’s our home?”
“A home is not a purpose, Miss Ribbon. Miss Onoe?”
“It is a bulwark against the dead.”
“Indeed. Against the dead, and the drughr. We preserve the passage between worlds and see that it stays closed. And what is Cairndale’s purpose in your lives?”
“To equip us,” said Komako. “To give us the skills we need, so we can be safe.”
“The skills, and the knowledge. There are twenty-one students here. You will meet the others in time, no doubt. But most of your interactions will be with each other. To that end our days are divided into morning classes, wherein we receive an education, and an afternoon practicum, wherein we work on controlling and strengthening our particular talents. We have not had a haelan in many years, Mr. Ovid. We are pleased to have you among us.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you, Marlowe. You would do well to remember that being known of is not the same as being known. Yes?”
The boy stared at her with big eyes. “Yes, Miss Davenshaw,” he said, clearly confused.
Miss Davenshaw’s face was impassive. “Now. Firstly, the rules. You will listen when you are spoken to; I will not need to tell you a thing twice, I trust. Lessons begin at half past eight each morning; you will not be late. In the classroom you are not to move objects or furniture around; I shall not look kindly on anyone who sets a chair in my path. Attendance in the dining room for each meal is mandatory. You will not leave the grounds of Cairndale under any circumstances, nor for any reason, except when accompanied by staff. It wouldn’t do to have unusual children drifting about the countryside, alarming the locals. Our safety here depends upon our discretion. Now. The rooms of the older residents are off-limits, as is the upper east wing, where Dr. Berghast works. Do not let me hear of your snooping. The other children, with their tutors, need not concern you. This is your class here. Most important, the glyphic’s island is strictly forbidden. You will not disturb it. Do I make myself clear?”
Marlowe put up his hand.
“She can’t see you,” whispered Charlie. “You got to just say it, Mar.”
“Miss Davenshaw?” said Marlowe. “What’s the glyphic? Is it the big yellow tree?”
She made a tsking noise. She tilted her blindfolded face as if she could see them all with a greater clarity. “I’d have thought Miss Onoe would have told you all about our resident glyphic, when she was waking you in your beds this morning. No? She did not mention the Spider?”
Charlie saw Komako tug at her long braid, her face reddening.
“The glyphic, child, is the one we all depend on here. He lives below the tree, in the ruins of the old monastery, on the island in the loch. It is he who keeps us safe, who harnesses the power in the orsine and keeps it sealed. Should anything happen to the glyphic, the orsine would tear itself open. It is a thin membrane; on its far side lies a different world, a world of the spirit.”
“Aw, you got to at least tell em what he looks like, an all,” Ribs burst out.
Miss Davenshaw frowned. “You have an unhealthy interest in our glyphic, Miss Ribbon. Indeed, in all manner of things that are forbidden.”
“I don’t.”
The old woman arched a disapproving eyebrow.
“I mean, not just in them kinds of things,” mumbled Ribs.
“I am sure Miss Ribbon will regale you with tales both fanciful and imagined about the nature and appearance of our glyphic,” said Miss Davenshaw. “Listen to them at your peril. I expect none of it will interest you just now; but we shall speak of it later, when you are settled.”
But Miss Davenshaw was mistaken, in saying that the darker machinery of Cairndale wouldn’t interest Charlie, nor the strange creature the children called the Spider, nor the mysterious orsine itself. In the weeks to come he would, in fact, learn a considerable amount about such matters, and he would, in time, eventually learn more about the orsine, and the terrors loose beyond it, than almost any other talent in the world. But for now all of that would remain shrouded in mystery. For while they were meeting with Miss Davenshaw a pudgy boy came to the door, a boy maybe Charlie’s own age, or a bit younger, with hair so blond it looked white, and white lips, and pale blue eyes. He looked like he’d rolled in flour.