Discipline Academy-The Mystery of Abbey College (#NaNoWriMo2016)

Sam

 It had been about a week since Abby had told us the tale of Abbey College, and she, myself and Charlotte were sat in St. Madeline's common room before a roaring fire. Charlotte was engrossed (read, swearing at) her Sciences homework, while Abby scribbled out a paper for International Relations.

I should have been doing my homework, but, instead, I found myself watching the flames dance behind the grate. It was late, and the campus was dark. Rain lashed against the windowpanes, wind howling across the moor to slam into the college's walls. Every now and then, the building shuddered in a particularly strong gust.

Abby looked up from her work, nibbling on the end of her pen. Her fingers were ink-stained, and there was a smudge of blue on the side of her nose. Her hair had been messily thrown up, as if to get it out of her face. She looked the picture of distractedness and absentmindedness.

"Sam?" she asked, seeing that I wasn't working. "What was the date of when Henry VIII and Francis I met at the Field of he Cloth of Gold?"

"June seventh to twenty-fourth, 1520," Charlotte cut in, without looking up. Then, "Bitch!" This, to her Sciences homework. "I don't understand how Leo and Will actually like this stuff."

I rolled my eyes, flopping onto my back on the sofa I was seated on. Abby was leaned against it, her papers spread out on the floor, while Charlotte occupied an overstuffed armchair. My books toppled off the sofa, prodded by my foot, to land with a muffled thump. Abby glared at me through cat-like eyes. In the firelight, her gaze was more amber than brown.

The St. Madeline's common room was done up in creams, browns and muted gray-blues. The walls were half-timbered, papered with a copper-flower pattern on a cream background. The sofas and chairs were cream plush, with blue and coppery-brown cushions, each embroidered with hand-done needlepoint. The tables and chair legs were a rich light-mahogany, and each table was covered with a creamy lace runner. Vases full of heather and bluebells were placed on every available surface.

All in all, it was a pleasant room. Now, as it was nearing nine o'clock, we were among the last few stragglers still hard at work. There were a couple of fifth-years by the great bay window at the far side of the room, playing chess, and a knot of third-years in another corner, comparing notes.


 I was bored out of my mind. I'd done the bare minimum for all my homework, and I couldn't bear to do more. I hadn't come to Discipline to be a paper-shuffler.

The sounds of the rain and the wind were almost soothing, and the heat of the fire made me sleepy after a day of miserable, damp cold. My eyes fluttered closed. I breathed in, out, in, out with the crackle of the fire.

Something thudded onto my stomach, and I sat up with a start, sending Charlotte's Sciences textbook tumbling from where she'd lobbed it onto my stomach. I glared at her, and she glared right back.

"Don't you still have homework?" she demanded. I noticed that she and Abby were both packing their book bags. "Curfew's in half an hour."

I groaned, knowing she was right, and picked up my History book. She smiled sweetly at me, and left with a wiggle of her fingers. "Ta, Sam." Abby giggled and followed her out the door.

Reluctantly, I cracked open my textbook, opening it to a random page. We had just moved on to Elizabeth I, and we were meant to read the chapter for tomorrow. Instead, I found myself staring at a picture of George III.

King George III, prior to the American Revolution, faced heavy opposition from various parties, the textbook read. His nobles, in particular, were displeased with the neglect they perceived of England in favor of expanding his colonial territories.