Tristan had intended to work with Alldusk the next morning, in hopes he could learn more about what the marbles were being used for, but Grindlethorn informed him at breakfast that he needed to pitch in with building the new longhouse.
Tristan, Grindlethorn, Gracewright, and Merridy spent most of the day sawing away charred wood from the destroyed structure and hauling trees to the clearing; though the sky was clear, the air was crisp and the wind icy, numbing his exposed fingers. Only Gracewright had the sense to wear gloves, and Tristan’s hands were soon blistered and bristling with splinters.
The sun was sinking low in the sky by the time Gracewright declared them finished.
"You’ve got a bit of time to wash up before the feast. Gerard would hate for you to miss it—he’s been preparing food for days now.”
Tristan did not need to be told twice. Abandoning his stack of salvaged nails and faded old boards, he dashed down to the ballroom.
When he reached the foot of the stairs, he paused in surprise. Brikkens was tottering around putting the final touches on his decorations, but the ballroom was already transformed. Eleven jack-o-lanterns leered at him from the edge of the raised platform, candlelight flickering within. The chandeliers had been dimmed, and the ballroom floor looked like a graveyard—headstones hulked above the polished floor, draped in dusty cobwebs and curling brown leaves. The whole room smelled of pumpkin innards and candle smoke.
“Not bad, eh?” Brikkens said, spotting Tristan. “I think the skull’s a nice touch, don’t you?” He waved to a narrow animal skull of some sort propped beside one of the gravestones.
“Very nice, Professor,” Tristan said quickly. “I’ve got to shower, so—” He hurried away before Brikkens could recruit him to help with further decorating.
When he reached the Subroom, Tristan pulled open the door and was confronted by impenetrable darkness. Where were the other students?
He stepped inside, groping for the nearest lamp, but as soon as he crossed the threshold, lights flared all around. Voices and the crackle of the enchanted fireplace replaced the silence.
“Where’ve you been?” Rusty called from his perch on a pillow by the fire. He was playing cards with Eli, Trey, and Cailyn; for once it did not appear to be poker.
Tristan just stared at him, unable to comprehend what had just happened.
Then Cailyn noticed his expression and giggled. “Oh, you weren’t here—Gracewright planted our Prasidimum at lunchtime! Now no one else can get in.”
Tristan shook his head to clear it. “That’s really trippy. But yeah, it’s great.” He glanced around. “Where are Leila and Amber?”
“Leila’s up in the kitchen—big surprise,” Rusty said. “She doesn’t even have hours to work off this time! And I’ve got no idea where Amber is. She’s always disappearing, though, isn’t she?”
Eli set his cards carefully to one side. “Have you learned anything useful yet?”
“I’ve spent all day rebuilding that damn longhouse,” Tristan snapped. “Give me a bit more time.”
Grabbing a pair of clean clothes, he stalked off to the showers before anyone could interrogate him further.
Once he was clean, he still had an hour before dinner; instead of getting a start on his homework and resting his aching arms and back, he headed to Alldusk’s classroom to ask whether he needed any help. If he could just think of the right questions, Alldusk might be willing to answer. He trusted Tristan.
This time he knocked on the classroom door and waited. He did not want to intrude if Merridy was there again.
But instead of voices, he heard a loud thud, like a textbook falling off a table. Crashes and a clatter like rolling marbles followed it; what was Alldusk doing? Tristan knocked again, louder this time.
At last the sounds faded, and the door swung open. Sweat glistened on Alldusk’s forehead, and his black hair stuck out in sloppy tufts.
“Tristan! What are you doing here?”
“Um—I thought I could work off an hour of punishment with you. But if you’re busy…”
“Not exactly, but—this isn’t the best time.” As Alldusk wiped his forehead, Tristan glimpsed the classroom behind him.
It looked like the aftermath of an earthquake. Shelves were smashed down the middle, shattered jars and marbles littering the floor; chunks of marble had been gouged from the walls; one of the tables had broken clean in two; and pages torn from textbooks lay like dead leaves over the rubble.
“Holy crap,” Tristan breathed. “Is this what you meant about having more important things to worry about?”
Alldusk nodded grimly.
“Is it the same person who attacked the—” He realized his mistake a second too late.
“Tristan, is there something you’re not telling me? How do you know there was another attack?”
Tristan swore under his breath. “I know what this looks like, but I’m not—I swear I had nothing to do with it.” His hands were sweating, so he hid them behind his back. “Amber and I were helping Gracewright collect plants the night after the greenhouse was attacked, and we sort of…overheard you talking about what happened.”
Sighing, Alldusk sagged against the doorway. “I don’t want to get you in more trouble than you’re already in—especially if you’re telling the truth—but this is a matter of safety for the academy. Can you tell me why you set fire to the longhouse? I still can’t understand why you did that, and until I do, I have to assume you were involved in the other attacks as well.”
Tristan pressed his hair over his scars, thinking furiously. He wanted to tell Alldusk that he had lit the fire to help someone else—he liked Alldusk, and hated the thought of losing his professor’s trust—but Alldusk was not stupid. If he knew Tristan had deliberately created a diversion while the Prasidimums were being set up, he would assume someone was hiding in the school. And if Alldusk told Drakewell, they might go hunting around in the tunnels and find the two children.
“I can’t tell you anything,” he said at last, “or someone might get hurt. But I seriously didn’t mean to burn down the longhouse. The fire just got out of hand. I would never do something like that.” He indicated the wreckage of Alldusk’s classroom with his chin.
“I see.” Alldusk let out a breath through his teeth. “I’m not going to do anything just yet. But I will investigate further, and if I find out that you had anything to do with this…” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I’d be grateful if you didn’t mention this to anyone. You can work off hours next week, but for now, I need to get a few things in order.”
“Right,” Tristan said. “Sorry to bother you. I’ll see you at the feast?”
Alldusk nodded, looking older than usual. “Just try to stay out of trouble, won’t you?”
Tristan grimaced. “Of course.” He had been trying his best—studying hard, keeping up with his homework, and not exploring any deeper into the tunnels—yet none of it made any difference. Now he had fifty hours of punishment to work off, and his favorite teacher suspected him of attacking the school twice more.
Not wanting to return to the Subroom, Tristan slouched up to the kitchen, where he hoped to find Leila. Even before he reached the kitchen, he could smell the rich aromas wafting down the corridor. As he breathed in the smell of spices and sizzling turkey, he almost expected to find his mom standing over the stove, humming along to the radio. Instead it was Leila who stirred a simmering pot of broth, face lost in the steam, while Quinsley chopped potatoes behind her.
“What’s with the Thanksgiving food?” Tristan asked, endeavoring to keep his tone light. He didn’t want Quinsley to suspect anything was wrong. “Shouldn’t we have little skeleton cupcakes or—”
Leila whirled at his voice. “Triss! I thought they’d keep you up in the meadow all day!” She turned down the heat on the stove. “Gerry says we won’t be celebrating Thanksgiving, so we have to enjoy this while we have a chance.”
Tristan frowned at Quinsley. “No Thanksgiving?”
Quinsley popped a chunk of what looked like raw potato into his mouth. “Canadians celebrate Thanksgiving in October, not November, so we’ve decided to compromise and combine it with Halloween.”
“Oh,” Tristan said, “so that’s where we are!”
Quinsley chuckled. “Drakewell probably didn’t want us to mention that. No idea why, but there you go.”
Leila grinned at Tristan, though her smile quickly faded; she must have noticed something in his expression. “What’s wrong?”
As though to give them privacy, Quinsley retreated to the opposite side of the kitchen and began washing dishes with excessive clatter. Lowering his voice, Tristan told Leila about the destruction of Alldusk’s classroom.
“And he thinks you might be involved?” Leila’s voice rose with indignation.
“I sort accidentally mentioned the attack on the greenhouse,” Tristan mumbled. “I’d be suspicious too, if I were him. I don’t know how to convince him it wasn’t me.”
“We’ve got to catch the real attacker,” Leila said. “Not that it’ll be easy, when we’re not even allowed into the tunnels. And stupid Eli isn’t helping at all—he’ll get us all kicked out if he’s not careful.”
Leaving the soup to simmer, she began mashing a bowl of sweet potatoes, muttering a string of curses under her breath. “This is all Evvie’s fault,” she said at last. “Evvie and her stupid—wretched—interfering—” She punctuated each word with a thrust of the potato masher.
“What?” Tristan was nonplussed.
“You were talking to Evvie just before you started that fire. The diversion was for her, but of course you’ll never tell the teachers that. No, perfect little Evvie gets away with everything while you’re the one working your ass off rebuilding the longhouse.”
“It wasn’t just for her,” Tristan muttered, though he had to admit he was also angry at the injustice. Evvie hadn’t even thanked him properly. “Those kids are still here, and they might’ve been trapped in the tunnels forever if they couldn’t get through the new Prasidimums.”
“Oh.” Leila stopped mashing the sweet potatoes abruptly. “I thought they’d long since left.”
“So did I.”
“But that’s still rotten of Evvie. She doesn’t even trust you enough to tell you where they’re hiding, but she’s happy for you to get in trouble instead of her.”
Quinsley had been watching the two of them with amusement, and now he held out a hand for the bowl of sweet potatoes. “The feast is about to start, so you may as well get out there and enjoy yourselves.”
The feast was delicious, though Tristan was too worried to appreciate it. Neither Drakewell nor Alldusk appeared until halfway through dinner; Tristan was sure they were discussing his supposed crimes.
When Alldusk finally slipped into the ballroom—hair damp but no longer caked with dust—he gave Tristan a wan smile. The headmaster was still nowhere to be seen.
At last Tristan was able to relax. It seemed Alldusk had kept his word, at least for the time being.
Hunger suddenly gripped Tristan—he had spent the day laboring hard, and his lunch had consisted of nothing but a small sandwich—and he dug in with relish. There were slabs of turkey and rich gravy, creamy mashed potatoes, stuffing packed with herbs and spices, sweet potatoes baked with a syrupy topping of caramelized pecans, and green beans with slivered almonds.
“I think Alldusk’s on your side,” Leila said quietly as Quinsley began clearing away the empty platters. “You don’t need to worry just yet.”
Nodding absently, Tristan leaned back in his chair and watched the shadows of two enchanted paper bats darting across the ceiling.
“What are you guys talking about?” Rusty asked, helping himself to one last scoop of sweet potatoes before Quinsley took the pan.
“Nothing,” they said at the same time.
When Tristan rose from his seat, yawning, Alldusk said, “Wait. Can I speak with you quickly before you head to bed?”
All trace of sleepiness vanished. Tristan nodded warily—had Alldusk found evidence to condemn or acquit him? Or had he spoken to Drakewell after all, and the headmaster was saving his wrath for after the feast?
“You too, Amber.”
Amber’s eyes widened. “What?”
Alldusk merely beckoned her to follow him from the ballroom. Giving Leila a significant look, Tristan hurried after.
“Sorry about this,” Alldusk said when they reached his classroom. “I just wanted to catch you before the news slipped out.”
Amber made a small noise of surprise at the sight of the destruction. Even though Alldusk had swept away the dust and torn papers and broken glass, there was no way to hide the splintered shelves and table or the gouges like small bomb craters in the walls.
He led them through to his office, which was just as much a mess as the classroom. A once-comfortable leather chair had a slash down the middle, stuffing hanging out, and a bin in the corner held the remnants of what looked like the school’s entire stock of glass jars.
Sinking into the gutted leather chair, Alldusk beckoned Tristan and Amber to sit on two wooden chairs whose backs had been smashed off.
“Has Tristan talked to you today, Amber?”
“No, I haven’t seen anyone. I was just up in the forest—the sky was so clear, and the snow makes everything sparkle.”
“Where did you go after you left my office?” Alldusk asked Tristan.
“Just up to the kitchen to help Leila.”
Alldusk nodded. “Amber—Tristan mentioned you know something about another attack on our school, similar to what has just happened to my classroom. How do you know about it?”
Amber’s expression cleared, and her eyes flickered to Tristan’s for a split second. He nodded fractionally.
“Tristan and I were helping Professor Gracewright work off punishment. It was right after we grew the lemon tree that broke Professor Brikkens’ classroom floor, and she said she would sign us off for extra hours if we helped her that night since she needed to restock the greenhouse. We were searching for auras when we heard voices in the clearing, and we followed them to the greenhouse. There was a broken pane, so we could see that everything was smashed apart.”
“Thank you,” Alldusk said quietly. “And you haven’t told anyone else about this?”
Amber shook her head.
“Just Leila,” Tristan muttered. “But she wouldn’t tell anyone else.”
Alldusk steepled his fingers before his face and studied Tristan and Amber for a long time. Tristan tried to look as innocent as possible, though his hands were hot and itchy and he couldn’t remember how often a person was supposed to blink.
At last he spoke, slowly and deliberately. “I want to believe neither of you were involved in this. I can’t see what would compel you to risk your places at the Underground Academy, but then again, I don’t understand why you started the fire a couple days ago, Tristan.”
Alldusk sighed. “We need to catch whoever is attacking our academy, and soon. If you know anything, you must report it to me. No matter who is involved. If one of the students is behind this, they have no idea how much danger they are putting us all in. You see—” Alldusk paused. “You must promise not to share this information with anyone. I am only telling you because I want you to understand how urgent it is that we catch whoever is attacking our school.”
“Of course,” Tristan said. Amber nodded solemnly.
“There is a place deep within our school where magic is stockpiled.”
“What’s it for?” Tristan asked before he could stop himself.
Alldusk smiled grimly. “That is for Professor Drakewell to explain when he sees fit. But the point is, large quantities of magic are extremely volatile. If anything disturbed this stockpile, it would combust with incredible force. The whole Lair would be destroyed.”
“Do you think the attacker is going to target the magic stockpile eventually?” Tristan asked.
“It depends on who they are,” Alldusk said. “If it is a student just trying to cause trouble, I doubt they realize how serious the repercussions of their actions could be. And if someone outside the school has broken in and intends to destroy us, that must be their eventual aim, though the Prasidimums should stop them now.
“My classroom was attacked yesterday, just before we planted the Prasidimums, so it could be our enemy knew they would be unable to get into the Lair before long. They probably wanted to bide their time until they found our stockpile, but once that was no longer an option, they decided to cause as much chaos as they could before escaping.”
“Why are you telling us this?” Tristan asked.
“Because I need your help.” Alldusk leaned forward. “I need you to keep an eye on the other students. If you see any of them straying deeper into the tunnels or doing anything suspicious, can you tell me? I want to keep Drakewell out of this if possible—I’d prefer if you didn’t get in any more trouble unless you deserve it. But that means we need to find out who is attacking our school, before it’s too late.”
He held Tristan’s gaze. “Our lives are in grave danger until our attacker is caught.”