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April, 351 M.E.
On the first warm afternoon of spring, Hildred Cuthing lay in the shade of a vast, spreading lilac bush in the garden of Queen Freyda Hall. She was supposed to be inside, translating a passage from Horatius, but she did not like Classical Immani any more than she liked mathematics, rhetoric, Myrcian history, or religion. So, she had come out here and fashioned herself a little nest under the bush, half-hidden by the daffodils, where her governess, Lady Irving, was unlikely to see her.
As she lay in the shade, she was not thinking about Lady Irving, or Horatius, or her schoolwork at all. She was looking up the hill at Filner Hall, one of the boys’ dormitories, and trying to imagine how one could sneak into it. She had, in an idle moment, boasted to her friends that it would be the easiest thing in the world to get in and watch the boys bathing. Her friends did not believe her, so now she was determined to think of a way, even if she never actually did it.
The problem of getting into Filner Hall was beginning to annoy her. In the first place, thinking too hard about anything always made her cross. And in the second place, she really didn’t care about seeing boys bathing. She had only said it because she wanted to seem daring.
She was about to give up the whole business as a lost cause and walk up to the playing fields, when she heard low, urgent voices approaching on the neat little brick path.
“She’s allowed to read it, if she wants, but she says it’s completely improper!”
“Completely improper? What’s wrong with it? What did her governess say?”
Hildred recognized the voices even before she saw the two girls: Lauren Byrne, daughter of the Duchess of Keneburg, and Donella Gramiren, daughter of the captain general. She had known both of them for years, because her father was the Duke of Keelshire. But they were a year older than her. And while they had always been friendly, they had their own little clique that no one else was ever really permitted to join.
Lauren and Donella fancied themselves authors. They wrote little stories they rarely shared, and they seemed to think this made them better than anyone else. Hildred was pretty sure that she could write a book, too, if she ever felt like it. Which she didn’t.
At the moment, however, Hildred didn’t care about their odd little pretensions. She only wanted to know more about this thing that was “completely improper.”
The two older girls stopped at a bench only ten feet from Hildred’s lilac bush—close enough to hear every word, even when they dropped their voices to a whisper. For half a minute, though, their conversation was almost unintelligible: “She said...well, you know what she’s like.” “Oh, yes, she’s so...well, you know.” Then giggling.
Finally, Lauren provided the vital clue by mentioning “Mrs. Rambeau.” That was the name of the governess of Sophie Byrne, Lauren’s older sister, who was in her last term at Atherton.
“Mrs. Rambeau says she thinks it would do Sophie good to read it,” said Lauren. “But she’s from the Empire, so of course she would say that. Sophie is embarrassed at the very thought. She says she can write her paper on Sahasran poetry without it.”
There was a long pause, and then Donella, in a more sober, contemplative tone, said, “I wonder if they’d let us look at it?”
“A book of erotic poetry with engravings of...you-know-what?” gasped Lauren. “They’d never let us see it. I can’t even believe they’ve got something like that in the Atherton library.”
“The library has everything,” said Donella. “It only stands to reason they have smut in there somewhere.”
Another long pause, and then Donella asked the very question Hildred was almost on the verge of screaming at them: “I don’t suppose you know where this book is, do you?”
“Second floor with the rest of the poetry,” answered Lauren. “In the back, though. And there’s a gate of some sort. But Sophie said it didn’t look very sturdy—like you could climb over it pretty easily.”
With an exasperated sigh, Donella said, “It’s almost too tempting, isn’t it?”
“You know we’d get caught,” said Lauren sadly. “It’s a shame though. I’m sure the poetry is very interesting.”
“Precisely,” said Donella. “It’s the poetry I’d like to see. Not the...um...you know.”
“Oh, of course not,” agreed Lauren. “I wish those engravings weren’t even in the book. Then everyone could read it.”
“Quite right.” Donella stood and dragged her best friend to her feet, as well. “Come on. I’ve been working on another story about Lord Byron Heartsbane, and I want your advice about the conclusion.”
The two girls walked back through the garden toward Queen Freyda Hall, leaving Hildred lost in thought. Hildred never liked being lost in thought, and as usual, she found her way out as quickly as she could. Once she was certain Donella and Lauren were gone, she gathered her blanket and ran up the back stairs to the room of her best friend, Ariana Hodges.
“I’ve just learned there’s an amazing book in the library,” she said. “And I need your help to get it.”
Ariana wasted a lot of time with pointless questions, like “Where did you hear about this?” and “Won’t we get in trouble?” Ariana was always worried about getting in trouble. Fortunately, another good friend, Samantha Ward, stopped by and immediately sided with Hildred.
“Sooner or later,” said Samantha, “somebody is going to find that book. And then the librarians will hide it somewhere better, or else they’ll get rid of it entirely. We’d better do this while we can.”
Ariana said that didn’t make much sense to her, but she was outvoted now, and she had no choice but to submit to the will of the majority. Taking the back stairs again to make sure Hildred’s governess didn’t see them, they left Queen Freyda Hall and hurried up the hill to the grand Atherton library.
The cool, cavernous main reading room was almost deserted, which was hardly a surprise on such a beautiful day. One of the student librarians at the great central desk noticed the girls and gave them a friendly wave. His name was Henry Buell, and he was rather handsome, but his father was no one in particular, so Hildred tried not to give him too much encouragement. Sometimes she liked to flirt with him, though, for practice. She gave him a smile and a wink as one of the adult librarians happened to turn around, and Hildred was forced to pretend there was something in her eye.
The three girls climbed the narrow stairs into the stacks. Hildred almost never went up there herself, preferring to let her governess fetch her books for her. The long, dimly lit rows of shelves, full of huge, ancient volumes and scrolls, frightened her. Being among them reminded her of going down into the crypt of a church somehow.
After a couple false starts in the labyrinthine passageways of the second floor, they found a gate blocking their way. It barely came up to chest height, however, and as Sophie Byrne had said, there would be little difficulty in climbing over.
As Hildred peered into the inky gloom beyond the gate, however, a thought occurred to her. “Someone really ought to stay here as a lookout,” she said, “in case the librarians come around.”
Ariana, who had already put a foot on a crossbar, opened her mouth as if to volunteer, but Hildred was too fast for her. She patted Ariana and Samantha on the back and retreated up the narrow passage, calling over her shoulder, “It’s a dangerous job, but I don’t mind. Don’t worry about me.”
She could hear the other two muttering together—no doubt admiring her courage—and then the clanking and scraping of metal as they climbed over the gate.
Suddenly Hildred felt very alone and vulnerable in the deep shadows, with only a few distant windows letting in sunlight. She began to feel very stupid for volunteering to act as lookout, and she decided she could probably do the job better if she stood over by the windows and the stairwell. When she got there, she realized she would look awfully suspicious if anyone came by, so she took a random book off the nearest shelf and pretended to read.
It turned out to be a volume of De Bello Civili by Horatius—the very book she was supposed to be translating. The irony made her smile. Then she frowned as she tried to remember whether that was really an example of irony or not. Her governess had given her an essay to read on the subject of irony, but Hildred had only ever skimmed it.
Just as she was about to give up on the question, she heard quick footsteps on the stairs. She had no time to call out a warning to her friends. She barely had time to lower her head and try to look like she was reading before the adult librarian—a balding, middle aged man named Horace Wendt—appeared in the doorway.
“Do you need any help?” he asked in an accusatory sort of tone.
“Er...no,” she said, proudly holding out the volume of Horatius. “I found what I needed, thanks.”
From the direction of the gate, there came a muffled clang of metal and some hushed profanity.
“What’s going on there?” Mr. Wendt called out.
“No idea,” said Hildred, slipping behind him and down the stairs.
Halfway to the ground floor, she heard him again, voice raised in the distance. “What in the Void are you two doing? What’s that book you have there?”
She did not stay to hear her friends’ reply, whatever it might have been. Down in the main reading room, she dropped the Horatius on a return cart and blew a kiss to Henry Buell. Then she hurried out of the library and walked through the quad and past the headmaster’s house over to the playing fields.
She took a seat on the shady back steps of the conservatory so she could admire the boys playing football. Some older girls were playing field hockey on a different field, and Hildred admired them as well. In fact, she often had trouble deciding quite where to turn her gaze. And she spent several hours caught in this pleasant dilemma until she grew hungry and went to the dining hall.
Ariana and Samantha were not at their usual table, so Hildred was obliged to eat alone. Toward the end of her meal, she overheard Gwenevir Dryhten telling another girl about “a frightful scene” she had witnessed back at Queen Freyda Hall.
“Mr. Wendt marched them both down there like prisoners,” said Gwenevir. “And the matron fetched both their governesses, and you should have heard the yelling!”
“What book was so important they would climb a gate to get it?” asked the other girl.
Gwenevir let out a giggle. “Apparently it had engravings that were positively filthy. I’d be surprised if they’re allowed to leave their rooms again before the end of term.”
Hildred tried to feel sorry for her friends, but her heart wasn’t in it. She mostly felt relief on her own behalf and gratitude for her own good fortune. No, she decided, it hadn’t simply been good fortune. It was good sense—her own quick wits and wisdom—that had kept her from getting caught. Ariana and Samantha weren’t clever enough to stay out of trouble, the poor dears.
She certainly didn’t feel any responsibility for their fate. When she saw Ariana down in the baths the next day, and the girl said it was “all your fault,” Hildred felt genuinely confused, as if Ariana had blamed her for a bad snowstorm.
“I have no idea why I listen to you,” said Ariana. “I should have told Mr. Wendt stealing the book was all your idea. I should tell your governess, too.”
For the very first time, Hildred felt a stab of something almost like remorse, even though it wasn’t. “You wouldn’t do that, would you?” She put on her most plaintive smile. “We’re friends, right?”
“I’m not a snitch.”
Feeling a sudden surge of relief, bundled with affection, Hildred tried to give Ariana a hug. But the girl brushed her arm away.
“I don’t know why I’m even talking to you anymore.”
“Because you don’t know anyone else who’s as fun as me?”
Ariana rolled her eyes. “You know what my governess would say if I told her about your part in all this? She would say, ‘It’s time you get yourself some proper friends.’”
“No doubt,” said Hildred. “But isn’t it fun to have the improper kind?”
Ariana didn’t laugh, or even smile. But she did heave a defeated little sigh, and Hildred knew they were friends again.