NPLH - Chapter 3 -- Witchblade Karma

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Date Posted: 15:07:57 05/22/03 Thu
Author: moondreamer
Subject: NPLH - Chapter 3
In reply to: moondreamer 's message, "No Place Like Home - PG-13" on 09:16:08 05/12/03 Mon

While the Headmaster busied himself with dreams of future splendor, young Nottingham was silently following the Housemaster through a maze of corridors to the main dormitory area of the building. It had once been housed in a separate building altogether but past experiences a few decades prior had resulted in the students being moved closer to the rest of the staff.

Ian walked slowly, carefully recording each twist and turn they took in his mind. He could see the changes in the building and furnishings as they moved farther away from the Headmaster�s offices. The high gloss polish of the wood gave way to dull, scratched surfaces. Brass trim and knobs that had shone so brightly became tarnished. Windows were now mottled with streaks of dirt and the grease of a multitude of sticky little fingers� rather than gleaming with a rinse of vinegar and brisk application of newsprint. Chairs and tables were covered in worn and faded prints, stained with spots probably best left unidentified.

It was depressingly familiar to Ian. Why, he wondered briefly to himself, did every school look the same? He sniffed the stuffy air cautiously. Not only looked the same and smelled the same. It didn�t seem to matter what country; the smell of little boys seemed universal.

Musty, rather moldy, overlaid with a touch of old sweat sock and a tang of fear. Ian knew the routine, once every couple of weeks a lackluster cleaning would be done. The smell of disinfectant would cover everything up for an hour or two. Then, like an ancient spider, the must would creep out and overtake it once again. Weaving a web with the scent of ages and lives past that couldn�t be denied.

He inwardly shuddered. It was always such a sad contrast to the estate. Kenneth Irons� stringent standards demanded only the best in his surroundings. Every breath was a feast, an opportunity to savor the aroma of victory, power and control. How Ian missed it when he was sent away. He supposed this was another lesson of sorts. It helped him appreciate each moment when he was home.

Every now and again he glanced up at the Housemaster. Again, the type was depressingly familiar. Ian savored the phrase once again in his mind while he simultaneously catalogued and labeled the man. Old before his time, signs of a nervous disposition; stooped and worn with fear of both unemployment and his young charges.

They entered a different type of hallway now. One that was dusty and old, studded on all sides with worn doors. Some had unreadable writing crudely scratched in the wood. Others were scuffed with kick marks.

They stopped before one of the scuffed wooden doors and the Housemaster cleared his throat as he looked down at his silent charge.

�This will be your room.� He paused nervously, and then continued. �You will not have a roommate per your Father�s instructions. Uh�and�.the rest of them have been followed as well.�

As the door swung open Ian walked through it and looked around. There were no carpets, no drapes; nothing to soften the hard lines of wood, nothing to warm the austere chill that hung like heavy smoke in the room. The bed was simple and plain. A dark wool blanket was the only adornment. He knew without testing it that the pillow would be flat and hard, as would be the mattress. There was an old desk, a chair and a small, rather rickety looking bookcase and what appeared to be a simple closet covered only by a thin curtain.

The Housemaster looked around uncomfortably. He couldn�t bear to look at the youngster. He was truly horrified at the instructions he had been given. He wasn�t an unkind man and tried to the best of his limited abilities to help his students adjust to their life away from home.

Never before had he been told to deliberately do all he could to make a student�s life uncomfortable. He understood the theory behind it, the removal of all that could distract and lessen a student�s focus. But he also knew the pack mentality; the textbook sociologic patterns that developed in a segregated society.

The differences he had been asked to create between Ian and the other students would do nothing but make the young man stand out. It was bad enough to be a new student and have to try to fit it. Painful and difficult to have to learn to adjust and meld your personality with the pack. Some students never managed it. They were the favorite prey for others. Bullies and victims alike were born in this rarified atmosphere. To be identified from the beginning as different, as an outsider would be like waving a bloody flag in front of those looking for an easy target.

Unable to help himself he looked down at the boy and was surprised to see�nothing on the young man�s face. Ian Nottingham entered the room as if nothing were amiss and nodded his head.

�This will do wonderfully. Thank you for showing me the room.� There was more than a hint of Irons� arrogance and command in the young man�s voice and the Housemaster obeyed it unthinkingly.

�You bags will be sent up shortly.� The Housemaster left the room quickly. He wasn�t sure if he should be grateful or concerned that Ian didn�t seem to notice the sparseness of the room. �You�ll have a few free hours before dinner. You�ll hear the bell; just follow the other boys.�

As the Housemaster fled Ian felt instantly felt more comfortable. While the furnishings were not up to the quality of his room at the estate the Spartan surroundings were a welcome balm to his senses. A soothing relief after the fussiness of the Headmaster�s office. His Father�s wishes worked well in his favor. The privacy awarded him by a single room would allow him to better achieve his purposes and gave him a place to lower his guard in comparative safety.

Ian looked out the room�s single window. As he had hoped, there was a large oak tree outside. The heavy limbs within leaping distance from his window. Easy access in, easy access out. Unable to help himself he grinned. He had hoped for more challenge this time.

Ian wandered around the room slowly, he wondered if there would be observation units here. Given the age of the school hiding such devices would require greater skill than he was sure the handymen employed would have. He would have time later to look for them and decide if he would sabotage some or all of them. It was difficult to know sometimes, if this was to be just another part of his training. Would he be expected to find and destroy the devices or should he play as if he were unaware?

He knew he was different, special. The manipulation of his genetic structure, the training he had undergone, all these things combined to make him more than the average 9-year-old. Intellectually and physically he was far more advanced than the rest of the children his age. Emotionally, well, for all his intellect, Ian knew that he was still emotionally a child and had much to learn.

He moved towards the closet and pushed the plaid curtain to one side. As he expected it was empty. His few items of clothing had not been brought up yet. There were names and dates scratched into the wood. Faded reminders of the room�s previous occupants who had been unable to resist leaving their mark. Their defacement of the wood somehow giving them a sense of false permanence.

His sensitive fingers moved over the marks as if tracing them. There! There were the ones he had been looking for. A form of reverse Braille, using a pin to make small holes instead of raised bumps. They had remembered what he had taught them! They were here!

As he read the marks quickly with his fingers he could hear the noises that had been muffled before. Boys. Lots of boys. It was starting. Ian sighed as he turned and silently watched as the door to his room swung open.

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Nope, not your average 9 year old.... -- Spin, 17:14:18 05/22/03 Thu