The Headmistress by Milena McKay

7

Of Trouble Brewing & Revelations About Things Long Past

Sitting alone in the dim light of a bar sipping a substandard glass of cabernet was not all that it was hyped up to be. At least two men had already made a pass at her, and she felt exposed and uncomfortable. Books and movies really romanticized the hell out of this utterly dreary experience. She wasn’t a drinker, and she couldn’t for the life of her fathom how people did this night after night.

Maybe if she had company. But she was alone in New York, having begged and borrowed and cajoled and pretty much bent over backward to make sure Orla found at least the pitiful funding for a train ticket and the participation fee to get her to this conference. Fate had it, that out of all the events she could have spent the pitiful travel allowance on, Sam ended up attending one of the most useless ones. Either due to poor organization or lack of insights from normally very interesting presenters, the conference was a total wash. So after wasting her time and the school’s money, Sam was down in the hotel bar, drowning her sorrows as countless pop-culture references had advised her to. So far she had found nothing but boredom and trouble.

A whiff of wild jasmine—a scent that had no place among the dank and bitter smells of the bar—reached her as a presence materialized by her side, and within a second she was looking into the most peculiar eyes, a deep aquamarine with a brilliant amber ring around the iris. ‘Central iris heterochromia at its most beautiful,’ was the last thing that crossed Sam’s mind before she lost all capacity for thought. If the eyes were remarkable, their owner was downright astounding. As the woman took a seat at the bar, it occurred to Sam that perhaps some of those pop-culture references were right after all. When the bi-colored eyes twinkled at her over the liquor menu, Sam knew that whatever trouble she had encountered before had nothing on the trouble she was in from here on in.

* * *

The Dragons were in trouble. Orla was in trouble. Joanne and the scholarship girls were in trouble. Sam was in trouble. Everything around her was changing with the speed of light, and she could barely hold on for the ride. Every day she joined the transition committee for the morning meeting to discuss the day’s plans. And every day new, absolutely ruinous—to Sam’s thoughts—plans were brought up. The only one spared so far was David, who, despite being made to endure a particularly grueling interview process, had gotten his position as History Chair back. Sam knew about this because her colleague had pulled her aside rather excitedly and hugged the stuffing out of her, just before they got caught in the rather awkward embrace by both Magdalene and George. The former frowned disapprovingly and the latter wiggled her eyebrows before whispering, “Young love, you go, Sam and David!” and hastily followed Magdalene out the door. Sometimes—whether in her personal or professional life—trouble found Sam, even when she had nothing to do with it.

And it just kept coming. That day, seated comfortably in her office chair and taking a careful sip from her steaming mug of coffee, Magdalene made an announcement with such a mellow, emotionless tone that it completely belied the disastrous implications it would have for the school.

“I am doing away with the Houses.”

In retrospect, Sam should have probably waited to drink her own brew until Magdalene finished announcing her next villainous pursuit, because she promptly choked on her coffee and proceeded to cough for what felt like forever. When she was able to breathe again, with George patting her on the back, she could see that the pronouncement had left absolutely everybody around the table just as stunned.

David, as the newly confirmed History Chair and the latest addition to the transition committee, had his jaw hanging somewhere on the floor. Even Joel seemed speechless.

And no wonder. Since the school’s inception, Three Dragons had been divided into Houses, symbolizing each dragon—Sky Blue, Viridescent, and Amber—corresponding to the cliffs that the school perched upon. At the beginning and for centuries, the girls had been sorted into the Houses according to their eye color. However, thankfully during Orla’s tenure, this division had been abandoned, both due to the school’s student body becoming more diverse and the whole concept’s distinctly racial connotations. Nowadays, the girls chose for themselves where they wanted to be placed. Once assigned, they spent their years at the school being part of that particular tight-knit community. Each House was led by three Proctors, senior girls who excelled in academics and sports, and thus were honored with a position of authority and high responsibility.

These exclusive, rather insular communities were one of the oldest and most cherished traditions at Dragons. Sure, they were also the biggest source of contention among students and faculty, with numerous conflicts arising from the sports and academic competitions. The hatred between Houses was legendary, with the arguments and competitiveness at times resulting in injury to students, but they also stood for teamwork and accomplished banding the students together like very few things did. By the time they graduated, their allegiance to each other was so strong, they felt like family.

Sam herself didn’t particularly fit in any of the Houses and had felt stifled in her Sky Blue designated one. She had always assumed it was mostly due to her being the only poor and orphaned child at Dragons at the time. Since scholarships for disadvantaged students were introduced much later, for the longest time Sam had been the only kid at school whose fee was paid by virtual strangers and the only one who had absolutely nowhere to go in the summer and for holidays. She’d stuck out like a sore thumb regardless of the color of her eyes or the whole sisterhood concept that the Houses had pushed on the pupils. And once she figured out she liked girls? Her otherness became self-imposed. Poor, orphan, and secretly queer. No, teenaged Sam did not belong and certainly had not felt like her House was her family.

But this fight wasn’t about her anymore. This was larger than anything else Magdalene had proposed so far. She could do away with half the faculty, hell, all the faculty and Dragons would survive. But to do away with the very foundation of the school?

To dissolve the Houses… Sam did not really have a simile for how that would affect Dragons. Hell, they probably would have a revolt on their hands. The Old Dragonettes—the graduates of the school—might even march on the island, and burn Magdalene in effigy or some such thing.

The low husky voice dripping with sarcasm and derision brought Sam out of her harrowing musings.

“From your highly intelligent facial expressions and lack of opposition, I can surmise that you are all on board?” Magdalene smirked into her mug and Sam felt her face heat up at the audacity.

“With all due respect, Headmistress—”

A regal hand rose to stop whatever Sam was going to sputter next.

“Every time I hear anyone begin their tirade with ‘all due respect,’ I assume none of the said respect is about to be given.”

George laughed out loud, and Joel gave out that scratchy half giggle of his before quickly sobering, perhaps remembering that it was Sam’s attempted defense of the Houses he was laughing at, and extending a tentative hand towards Magdalene.

“Surely you’re joking?” His tone was incredulous as if deciding whether to take the whole proposal as a ruse or start puffing up in outrage at the realization that it was completely serious.

“Headmistress—” Sam tried again.

“If you are about to tell me that the Houses are the oldest tradition, that they unify, that they teach teamwork, that they band the girls together in battle or whatever utterly inane demagoguery they’ve been feeding you since you were a student here yourself Professor Threadneedle, I would ask you not to proceed any further.”

Sam bit her lower lip and nodded, biding her time. Getting into a major altercation in front of others would not do her any good.

So when David stood up and offered to wait for her after the meeting was adjourned, Sam just shook her head. He rolled his eyes and then gave her the thumbs up. Yeah, yeah, he was rooting for Sam. So was Joanne, who was still due to have her re-hiring interview, and so was Orla, who by some miracle, was still around. Sam made a mental note to ask Magdalene if she’d changed her mind about the former headmistress.

Joel stood up quickly, but before he opened his mouth—surely to spew whatever high-handed invective, after finally realizing that the new headmistress was about to single-handedly dismantle the very soul of the school—once again a single dismissive gesture of a graceful hand was enough to swiftly shut him up.

“Joel, we can discuss this further. I’m sure your knowledge, understanding, and insightful advice will guide me and shape my opinion further on this matter, and if all else fails, you can help me articulate my position better.”

He puffed up at the unexpected praise, and Sam wanted to simultaneously gag at the fake compliment Magdalene was paying his nonexistent intellect, and at how neatly she put him not just in his place, but in her corner. Even if he staunchly opposed the reform, he was now duty-bound to help Magdalene. A beautiful woman was relying on him after all. God, men could be simpletons, all of them. He bowed to her rather clumsily, though Sam knew he fancied himself charming, and exited the office, almost stepping on the swaggering-in Willoughby, whose arrival signaled eleven o’clock. As Joel cursed under his breath, Willoughby just meowed something that sounded decidedly profane in the direction of the departing trustee and continued on his path, undeterred.

To Sam’s surprise, Magdalene did not even bat an eye as the massive ginger cat hefted his considerable bulk up on the windowsill and made himself comfortable on his pillow. Sam wondered how the hell the aforementioned pillow was still on the windowsill, with Magdalene showing her displeasure at every opportunity that the ‘mangy animal’ was being allowed to roam the school.

As Willoughby kneaded his bedding—that had, by some miracle, escaped the Headmistress’ wrath—and stretched before making a neat cat loaf and proceeding to purr as loudly as a tractor, Magdalene gave Sam a long look out of eyes that were more amber than aquamarine in the summer sun.

“I assume you’ve stayed behind to plead the case for the Houses.”

“Yes.”

Magdalene stood up and, to Sam’s even bigger surprise, extended a slender hand and gave Willoughby’s ear a quick scratch. The cat—who tolerated absolutely no touching—leaned into the caress and purred louder. Traitor, Sam thought, even if she herself craved the feeling of long, graceful fingers on her skin. Unbidden, a memory of those cool hands holding her face as that lush mouth took everything it wanted from her—her breath and her sanity—intruded with the power of a sledgehammer.

“Don’t...”

The quiet, husky sound, more an exhalation than an actual spoken word, shook Sam out of her reverie. Magdalene’s face was shadowed, but the expressive eyes gave her away. Just as they had given her away at that bar, showing her interest, emboldening Sam to make the first move by sending her a drink. The hooded eyes had seen right through her then and did so now, effectively guessing exactly what memory Sam was reliving.

The moment stretched between them for what seemed like an eternity, and Sam thought it had to be some perverse god’s cruel joke to bring Magdalene to Dragons. Of all the people who could have become the new Headmistress, and by virtue of that were forever out of Sam’s reach, it had to be Magdalene. Of all the people who were cutting and tearing Sam’s beloved Dragons to pieces, it had to be the one woman who’d taken her apart and put her back together in the space of one night in Manhattan. It had to be Magdalene. Sam hoped that the aforementioned deity had a good laugh, cruel bastard that it was.

Sam shook her head slightly, willing both of them to move past the awkwardness of the moment and the clear yearning that was surely all over her face. To break the deadlock they found themselves in, Sam chose to change the subject to something if not easier, then at least something that probably already had a concrete resolution.

“Have you made a decision on Professor Fenway?”

Magdalene faltered slightly in scratching under Willoughby’s chin, and the cat opened his eyes which had been slit in ecstasy seconds ago and gave Sam what she could only interpret as a glare for having caused the interruption. How he knew, Sam had no idea, but he definitely blamed her, his feline disdain evident.

“Yes, I decided to keep Professor Fenway at Dragons. She agreed to a probationary year as English Chair. We shall see how it goes.”

Sam’s breath left her lungs in a whoosh, and she saw the sensuous full lips curl into a little smile.

“Well, that’s… well, that’s good. Thank you. May I ask what changed your mind?”

“Despite a number of people spreading rumors to the contrary, I actually do try to take all information into account when making a decision, Professor. I listen.”

“You mean…” It was too huge, too unbelievable to even voice it.

“I mean that you made a compelling case.”

Sam’s heart was hammering so loudly in her chest, she was certain the whole school could hear it.

Magdalene's smile was a touch self-deprecating when she added, “Of course, I also spoke to the trustees and some of the current and former students, but overall, your staunch defense of the esteemed—or, depending on your point-of-view, less esteemed—Professor Fenway got the ball rolling. So if she has one individual to thank for still being at Dragons, it would be you, Professor Threadneedle.”

“Except gratitude isn’t why I provided the defense I did.”

“Ah, yes, she is essential to the school.”

Sam swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat at the thought of all the things essential to the school that were being simply swept aside.

“Headmistress, the Houses are essential for the school too.”

“Of course. You are like a dog with a bone. A new bone, I should say, since we have settled one of your charity cases.” Magdalene waved away Sam’s look of outrage. “Fine, fine, I apologize. Orla Fenway is no one’s charity case, obviously. Next thing you will challenge me to a duel over Joanne Dorsea.” Sam’s face fell and her heart plummeted. Joanne, more so than Orla, was the one person at Dragons she cherished, she treasured, she truly loved.

“No, stop.” Magdalene turned away from her and looked out of the window, hands on her hips. “Do not give me the kicked puppy look. Before you actually mount another campaign, let me reassure you that Professor Dorsea is safe and sound and will continue at Dragons. She will not remain in the Art Chair position. Her health condition prevents her from doing so. But she agreed to stay on as a member of the Residential Faculty. The students love her, and having her closer to the dormitories will be a boon for everyone. And she’ll still teach photography. So—”

“So she keeps the job she likes, adds another that she will excel at, and gives up the bureaucracy and paperwork she hates as the Art Chair. Thank you.” Sam’s words were tearful, and she couldn’t make herself care. Joanne was safe. Better than safe. Magdalene had made a change that Orla should have implemented five years ago. She’d taken away the strain and the pressure of the Chairmanship and given Joanne the joy and simple pleasure of doing what she loved to do, anyway.

“Yes, yes, you’re all welcome, I’m sure. But can’t you see that you seem to be fighting absolutely every single decision I propose? And I’m not even sure you understand why you’re doing it. Tell me why the Houses are as ‘essential’ as you and everyone else seem to think?”

Magdalene sat down, rolled her chair closer to the window, and resumed scratching Willoughby’s ear, with the cat unrolling from his loaf-like position and stretching in complete and utter ecstasy under her ministrations. Now that some crucial things had been resolved, Sam allowed herself to relate.

“The girls learn the importance of a collective, that they are stronger together, that they can achieve so much more as a team, that belonging is important—” Sam stopped her enumeration when an eyebrow rose questioningly.

“Did you belong?” And with one question, Sam felt her argument start to fall apart and her defenses crumble. She wanted to stand her ground, but three simple words had dismantled the very foundations of her position.

“Your eyes are grey, Professor Threadneedle. How did you fit into whatever House they shoehorned you into? Sky Blue, I assume? Did you feel you belonged? And how about the girls with hazel eyes? And god forbid, girls with heterochromia?”

Sam dropped her chin and looked away. She knew the answer to that one. There were no girls with this rare genetic condition at Dragons and, to her knowledge, never had been.

“Here you are, defending Doctor Fenway’s presence at the school to me, defending the scholarships, arguing that the school should accept and include and innovate, yet you are standing up for an archaic structure that excludes, divides, and pits students against each other.”

Sam wanted to jump and defend a two-hundred-year-old tradition, but to her own horror, all that came out of her mouth was a choked sob. But Magdalene wasn’t done.

“Did you know that, in the pursuit of the soccer cup just last year, there were fifteen violent incidents between members of the different Houses? Or that, during the lacrosse competitions, the girls from Sky Blue and Amber got into over twenty altercations off the field? Bullying, verbal abuse, hazing. Is this the unity Three Dragons has been promoting? House over school loyalty?”

Sam was, of course, aware of those developments. The Houses were notoriously competitive, and the adversity was only stoked higher by all the cups and competitions that pitted them against each other. Sam could still remember getting her nose bloodied by the Amber House girls after she’d scored the winning goal in the soccer championship in her sophomore year.

“This isn’t that magical school in Scotland, Professor Threadneedle. And even there, the Houses were the ones to tear the school apart, to establish unfair stereotypes and misconceptions, to pretty much determine the entire future of a student before they uttered a single word!”

Impressed and not a little turned on now at Magdalene’s display of nerd-like bravado, Sam just stared. The cat, disturbed by the agitation of the hands that were caressing him, jumped off the windowsill and hissed at Sam before putting his tail up in the air and departing with a disgruntled air.

“Pop culture references aside, and wow, how cool is it that you even know…” Magdalene’s eyes narrowed and Sam decided not to finish that sentence. “The Old Dragonettes will not permit this to happen.” The last line of defense seemed flimsy even to Sam’s own ears.

“Alden and Tullinger, Ohno and Rolffe, are the people who have to permit this to happen, Professor. They actually have the power to allow things. Believe me, when I say, I couldn’t care less about the thousands of women who stood idly by when the school was sinking lower and lower on the national chart of private schools. Did you know that Dragons went from number one in the Northeast to dead last in every single denominator, academics, sports, everything in less than ten years?”

Sam had, of course, known this.

“The only bright spots on the school’s horizon were the awards the faculty kept receiving and the recognition they kept getting from the state and national education boards. And in the past three years, by faculty I mean you. You have single-handedly kept the school in the good news column, papering over the cracks of incompetence. And yet you sit here and argue that some women who descend on the island once a year—to get boozy and rowdy and break chairs and kitchenware down at Rowena’s Pub—are the reason I should not do whatever I deem necessary to drag the school out of the quagmire it has sunk into? Do you seriously think they are going to be the ones to stop me from doing what’s right?”

Sam hated that Magdalene had a point. That she, in fact, had many many points, but her stomach clenched for a different reason. There it was again, the unfailing correctness of the terminology used by Magdalene. Sure, you could learn the customs of the locals, you could even know the nickname of the one local watering hole down in the village, for nobody called it The Rooster or whatever its original name was. Both the school folk and the townspeople called it Rowena’s, after the first owner who had long since passed. But the way Magdalene kept correctly hitting all those notes, never once missing? Sure, Magdalene was always prepared, always so on top of things, but this was just a bit too accurate, uncannily so. All of Sam’s instincts were standing at attention.

“I accept that some of the reasons behind your proposal are reasonable—”

“Some? How generous of you, Professor.” The eyes, more blue than amber, were watchful and the voice dripped with sarcasm.

“We agree that we disagree on this for the moment, Headmistress. Could we perhaps revisit?” At Magdalene’s dismissive wave, Sam bid her farewell, agreeing that the matter was by no means settled, although Magdalene’s eyeroll certainly spoke of the opposite. A strategic retreat left her more options than a balls-out crash and burn, and so Sam decided that leaving was best for now. Plus, she and her aforementioned instincts were on a mission.

* * *

Guided by her intuition and a conviction that was forming with every new interaction with the headmistress, Sam decided to check on her suspicion that Magdalene had a connection to Dragons in the one place that was open to her. On her way to the archives, located in the basement of the Sky Blue House dormitory, Sam found herself despairing at the disrepair awaiting her in the dusty and moldy underground corridors. She had not remembered it being quite so shabby in her days. Sure, about twenty years had passed since she’d last been down here, hiding from the Proctor who had insisted on her participation in some House event or other, when Sam had only wanted to read her book in peace.

The rusty lock opened with an ominous creak, and Sam looked inside a veritable dungeon. Rows and rows of dusty cardboard boxes lined the somewhat sagging wooden shelves that filled the cramped room. It pained her to admit that some things Magdalene was absolutely right about. Parts of the school were in such a precarious state that it was embarrassing they had been allowed to get this bad.

She stopped and gave herself a good minute to formulate her query in her head. Googling Magdalene hadn’t helped much, since most of the information about her related to her years at Rodante after her marriage to Timothy. Sam had no idea about her maiden name or her age. And Magdalene’s looks didn’t help matters at all. Shallow wrinkles around her mouth and eyes didn’t give away her real age but only added to her allure. Yeah, Sam knew she must be totally gone over this woman if even her wrinkles were alluring.

Not having any real help from her quarry herself, Sam cast her mind to the clues in front of her. Orla and Joanne acted like they knew Magdalene. And while Orla’s knowledge could be inferred from whatever academic events they might have crossed paths at during Orla’s time at Dragons, it was Joanne’s familiarity with Magdalene that Sam found surprising.  She had been on staff at the school most of her life. Considering that Magdalene could be any age from forty upwards, Sam had her work cut out for her.

But after two hours of being bent over countless boxes of student files, Sam found what she was looking for. As luck would have it, there were surprisingly few Magdalenes that had attended Dragons, and only one that fit the scarce criteria. Magdalene Smith had been admitted as a sophomore on a probationary basis. There was no picture, and the file itself was pitifully thin. The student’s probationary period had been terminated six months later and Magdalene Smith expelled for ‘physical and background unsuitability’ and ‘failure to integrate into Three Dragons’ existing institutional, cultural and religious principles.’ High grades were interspersed with disciplinary measures taken against young Magdalene, mostly for common or silly infractions like occasional fighting, refusing to take part in House activities, and—to Sam’s utter astonishment—fidgeting. Damn, what barbarian counted that as a strike against a child?

And Magdalene fighting? She couldn’t see the now cool and collected woman losing her composure under any circumstances. Well, under certain circumstances, but those were behind closed doors and sans clothes. Still, nowadays Magdalene was faced with protests and outbursts and downright insults from pretty much everyone at the school, and had been since she’d arrived—and she hadn’t as much as raised an eyebrow, not to mention her voice. And fidgeting? The formidable Headmistress was a veritable sphinx at times, not a muscle moving in her countenance when repose was required.

What had happened to the perfectly normal and ordinary child, who’d fought and argued and was restless through boring classes, to transform her into the person who was now systematically dismantling the school brick by old, dusty brick?

Sam felt like everything recorded in the sparsely populated file barely painted the whole picture. She herself had been a belligerent and reluctant pupil, as Magdalene had remarked, ‘shoehorned’ into a rigid structure she did not belong in. But she’d been allowed to stay. Why wasn’t Magdalene?

A noise behind her made her turn around abruptly, heart beating noisily in her ears.

“I figured you’d come down here sooner or later, child.”

Joanne stood in the opened doorway holding a flashlight.

“I guess you figured right.” Sam carefully set the file aside and put the cardboard lid back on the box. “I also guess you know who I was looking up? Since you yourself pushed me towards getting curious about it.”

“Always too smart for your own good, little one. I wasn’t entirely sure if letting you know she had been a Dragonette once was a good idea. And she hasn’t brought it up herself. Though perhaps she should have. Would’ve gotten her much more goodwill from the faculty and the girls who are summering at the school. Seeing as how she is one of us.”

“Is she? One of us?” Sam put the box back on the sagging, moldy shelf and picked up the file, holding it in front of her like a shield, although she couldn’t say why she had to defend herself, especially when speaking to her oldest guardian and friend.

“She was, Sammy. Until she wasn’t, I guess.” Joanne came in and sat down next to her, her hands shaking slightly, whether at the exertion of getting down to the basement through the labyrinth of passageways or at the prospect of having this conversation.

“Why was she expelled six months into her first year?”

“Her file says she did not fit in.” The answer was so ridiculous to Sam’s ears that she felt rooted to the spot.

“File says? Did not fit in? Are you talking about her eyes? Heterochromia is genetic. It is not her fault. Hell, I did not fit in, and not just because my eyes are grey. This kind of logic is like telling any of the scholarship girls they don’t fit in. You and Orla and everyone else at the school championed both myself and Lily and countless others. But you lot canned a sixteen-year-old kid for having bi-colored eyes?”

Her outrage was so strong, Sam hadn’t noticed a second person crossing the threshold into the archives.

“So is this where the precious personal information of students and faculty is kept? Seems rather careless, if not downright hazardous. It looks more like a den of iniquity. George said she saw you troop down here, and I thought I knew exactly why.”

Magdalene stood tall and proud in the dim light, the overhead emergency bulb washing her in an eerie glow. With both Sam and Joanne staring at her, she went on.

“While my eye color was perhaps the most simple reason that could have been used to dismiss me from the school, Professor Threadneedle, it was my less than legitimate birth that was ultimately utilized as too big of a scandal for the deeply religious trustees, and my presence at the school was curtailed swiftly. A very conservative school like Three Dragons, built on all those illustrious principles of having children inside the sanctity of marriage between one man and one woman, did not suffer bastards, Professor. Thirty years ago it was kind of a big deal, certainly enough for the devout, good ole church-going trustees to vote unanimously to remove me from the school.”

She stepped farther into the dusty room, seeming to fill it with her presence. The subtle scent of wild jasmine did warm, familiar things to Sam’s insides.

“What Professor Dorsea is not telling you, is that soon after my so-called probationary term was terminated prematurely for the stated reason of me not being able to fit into any of the houses due to my ophthalmologic condition and, in actuality, for being a bastard...” The word simply rolled off her tongue making Sam and Joanne visibly cringe again. “She and a few other teachers went on strike to make sure this never happened again. Didn’t you, Professor Dorsea?”

Sam’s mind, too busy doing the math, suddenly came to a screeching halt.

“You mean when I was found?”

Joanne moved uncomfortably on her perch and refused to raise her eyes.

“I did not fight for a sixteen-year-old sophomore whom nobody wanted at the school because she was questioning everything Dragons was built upon. Sure, she was starting to mobilize the students and to speak out against some of the most egregious things, but I still did not say a thing. Modern, positive, brave ideas are like birds, once you set them free, they are almost impossible to rein in afterwards. It was easy to dismiss her as a troublemaker and a bad influence on the other girls. But the reason they gave when they got rid of her never sat right with me. Sam, I couldn’t allow the trustees to simply throw children to the curb because they were orphans or came from single-parent households. It seems ridiculous these days. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, it’s something that happens every day. But back then…”

Joanne looked away with an agonized expression on her face and continued, “It was a very big deal in this place at that time. Reverend Sanderson was still at Dragons, we still prayed twice a day… And so I let one child be tossed aside. But when you were found on the steps of the chapel, I couldn’t allow it to happen again. I couldn’t let them put you into an orphanage, simply because you had no parents. Foundling or not, orphan or not, we had to make sure history did not repeat itself. You belonged at Dragons. We went on strike, Ruth and myself and most of the others. To our great surprise, we weren’t fired, and the trustees caved in quickly enough with Alden and Tullinger volunteering to take care of the legal side of things. And so we kept you at the school.”

Sam kept looking from one woman to the other in complete shock.

“Well, this is so heartwarming, that when faced with the massive strike of its faculty, the trustees decided to change the less-than-savory rule of ‘no bastards’ and to finally move the school from the swamp of their religious prejudices of the 19th century into the modern era. So, in a sense, yes, Sam Threadneedle, I crawled so you could run. No need to thank me.” With the parting shot, Magdalene tugged the file from Sam’s hands and vanished as quietly as she’d come in.

To her utter astonishment, Sam observed Willoughby’s tail disappearing behind the corner as the cat trotted placidly behind the Headmistress, apparently forsaking all his usual sleep patterns and the comfort of his afternoon pillow in the library where he should have been at this hour. It seemed Magdalene was prone to disruption of even the most ingrained rituals and customs.

Sam remembered making a wish while standing desolate and desperate on the Amber Dragon weeks ago. Didn’t they say ‘beware of wishes coming true’? What had she started by making that plea? And what would Magdalene finish by returning to Three Dragons?