Professor Ravenwood took Minerva about three corridors away from the inquisitorial chamber, into a side passage that was far from any prying eyes, then withdrew a wand of black wood and glowing white runes that crackled with power along their entire length. Her wand tip flicked and she snapped out, in sandpaper tones: "
Awer Kemb Haater."
Her wand tip glowed and a thick bundle of cloth burst from the tip. She yanked it free with a hand that seemed more gold than flesh, then held it out between two sharp, black tipped fingers. "Here."
It was a handkerchief.
"Dry your eyes and do stop blubbering," Professor Ravenwood said, her voice not exactly unkind, even if her words were brusque.
Minerva took it. She blew out a truly awful amount of snot with a honking noise, then sniffed once more. "Thank you, Professor," she said, her voice porcelain fragile.
"Yes, well, we all had to go through it," Professor Ravenwood said, her veil rippling in time with her voice. "No need to get so weepy." She flicked her wand again. "
Haater Kemb Awer!"
The hankie - rather...full now - vanished. Minerva smiled. "Air to cloth. Cloth to air. R-Rather tidy."
"Saves on the laundry," Professor Ravenwood said, her voice sharp. "Now, come." She turned and continued her way through the corridors of Hexgramatica. Minerva followed after, still feeling as if she had been scooped out and left hollow. The path was dizzying. Ravenwood took no time to describe her destination, nor did she indicate where and when she would turn. Instead, she simply took a left, a right, ducked under an awning, went up a flight of stairs, down once more. The stairs were made of stone, but they led through wooden walled structures that had as much to do with the exterior stonework of Hexgramatica as Minerva had to do with the far side of the moon.
They sometimes came into larger corridors, where other students were talking, laughing, and walking to various destinations, but more often than not, they seemed to be moving through an abandoned school. Some of the turns required odd rituals - the pulling of a torch sconce to open a door concealed behind a tapestry, or rapping with one's knuckles on the bust of some ancient wizard to cause a stairway to unfold from the ground in some sophisticated display of grinding stone machinery.
The end result was that when they at last came to House Sildanus' wing of Hexgramatica, Minerva felt
completely
lost.
Fortunately, she was distracted enough by the sheer gothic splendor of the entrance. It was protected by a pair of carven stone statues of a statuesque woman and a powerfully built man, both with the grotesque devilish features one might expect of gargoyles. The woman had an extended tongue, long and rippling, and a pair of sharp fangs that swept down towards her chin. The man had a beaky face and curled horns big enough to serve as a king ram's headpiece. They were both clad in carven stone scraps. But as Minerva and Professor Ravenwood walked towards the two of them, Minerva noticed that both gargoyles had gleaming red gemstones for eyes. Those gemstones caught the light from the torches and reflected them back towards the pair of them, as if they were being watched.
The gargoyles stood to either side of a wooden door, painted dark blue, with orange around the edges. A large pair of knobs sat to either side. The door looked big enough to serve as a dinner table for the main hall - outsizing the two women standing before it.
"This is our pass phrase, don't allow others to know it. The Houses don't make war on one another like they used to, but there are pranksters and other jokesters who would love to get in here and ruin our laundry. Or the bathrooms." She shook her head, veil rippling. She lifted her chin and then spoke, her voice firm. "In Darkness, We Thrive. In Victory, we Triumph."
The two gargoyles glowed. When the glow faded, their arms moved as if their stone was flesh, and the female gargoyle withdrew her tongue, her lips skinning back in a wicked smile. "Good evening, Professor. Miss Sableknight." She nodded her head to Minerva, who felt a crawling chill run along her side as the doors creaked open, pulled aside by the two moving statues.
"That's...the pass phrase?" Minerva asked.
"It is the old motto," Professor Ravenwood said, her voice prim. "House Sildanus has always prided itself on exceptional students - that means hard study, good breeding and getting things
done
." She sniffed as she led Minerva through the doors. "Fortunately, as is true throughout history, to victors go the spoils."
Minerva's eyebrows went right up as they came into the common room of House Sildanus. To call it extravagant would have been rather insulting - the floor was covered in rich, sable soft carpet that was colored a dark blue and decorated with streaks of gold that formed into complex, swirling patterns of geometric perfection. Whoever had fashioned the carpeting had done so with surpassing skill, because it sure as hell didn't look machine stitched. The walls had a pair of fireplaces that flickered with warm flames that blazed out before sitting chairs and couches that were finer than even the Blythe's townhouse had sprouted. There were complex writing desks, a small set of shelves full of books tucked into the corner, and glass windows like a vast garden greenhouse, but rather than looking out into greenery, it looked out into the deep dark blue of the lake beyond. Fishes swam past in schools like moving constellations - but for a single moment, Minerva swore she could see something larger and darker and sleeker moving in the gloom beyond.
"The girl dormitories are that way, the boys, that way, the baths are there," Professor Ravenwood said, gesturing. "We have an attached stable of fae, they will do anything you ask within reason - they have the school's geas, so you can't order them to turn against it." She frowned slightly. "We have...added male fae, but I take it that won't interest you."
Minerva's cheeks heated. "Professor!" she said, shocked.
Ravenwood snorted. "I don't care that you're a dyke," she said, her blunt words and dismissive tones making it clear at least part of her did. "Just know, if free access to fae distract you from your studies, we shall be deeply disappointed. We in House Sildanus do not appreciate being disappointed."
Minerva frowned. "I take it that we're in all for one, one for all kind of situation, Professor?"
"Do you not know how Houses work?" Professor Ravenwood asked, snorting. "No, don't answer that, you're Sleeperborn. And not even from what passes for the higher strata in their...society." She sighed. "Yes, Houses are ranked against the other Houses. You earn points, given by professors and faculty. At the end of the year, there will be a House Cup, which will be bequeathed to the House with the most number of points by the Headmaster. If you do poorly, you lose points. If you lose us points, Miss Schross-Sableknight, because you can't keep up with your classwork-"
"I can keep up, Professor," Minerva cut her off, her voice holding a quaver that gave her words near a lie. It was funny, she was...rather mad right now. But thanks to that damn inquisition, she
still
felt near to tears. They pricked at the corner of her eyes.
Professor Ravenwood noticed both the quaver and the trembling.
"We'll see," she said, flatly.
The professor, thank God, chose then to incline her head and turn and walk away - heading towards the rear of the Common Room and out through one of the side doorways. Minerva shivered, then slumped into the nearest sitting chair. The other Sildanus students who were in the common room started to walk over, each of them eying her curiously. They were, to a T, all tall and thin and elegant. Most were blond. Quite a few of them bore family resemblance to one another. A pair of rather lumpen looking men grinned at her.
"You're the new one, huh?" one asked. "Professor Ravenwood says we got a Sleeperborn, right?"
His fellow nodded. "I'm Clyve," he said, then gestured to the one who had spoken first. "This is Gregory."
Gregory nodded. He seemed...nice enough, if standoffish.
"T-This place is a bit gloomy, isn't it?" Minerva asked.
"Oh it so is!" one of the girls of the group said, her voice going a mile a minute as she stepped beside Minerva, placing her hand on her shoulder. "My name's Milicent Bathory-Whytchapel, but you can call me Millie and don't worry about the name, we don't do that anymore. Ha ha!" She had a high, nervous, squirrely laugh. "Is it true you're one of Maximillian Sableknight's grandchildren? He was a big hero. Bit of a Glintfair but we can't hold that against him, ha ha!"
"Shut up, Millie," a perfect copy of Millie said, stepping to Minerva's other side. "You're going to give our newest member a headache."
"You always tell me to shut up, Penny," Millie muttered.
"Cause you need shutting up," Penny said. "I'm Penelope Bathory-Whytchapel, her half sister," she said, nodding to Millie.
"Half?" Minerva asked. She felt almost ready to stand once more.
