A Proper Education: Chapter Six

Why couldn't I have been chosen?

Credence pondered the question as she dressed the next morning. Adam must have done something very good indeed to have earned such a reward from the Headmaster. Adam told her that he was the Headmaster's favorite. He followed the rules and never caused trouble, so it made perfect sense that he would be shown special favor.

She kept an eye on Adam, studying him for any qualities that might help her endear herself to the Headmaster. There was a slightly irksome suspicion that so much medicine might make the boy sick, but Adam appeared his normal self, directing the other students as always and chatting with his peers at breakfast.

As she walked to class, Credence weighed the risk of asking Adam what he had done to earn the previous night's reward so that she might repeat it. Instead, she vowed to be the best student in her class, so the Headmaster would recognize that she was worthy of being a favorite. Whatever undertaking the Headmaster set them to, Credence promised herself to succeed first.

***

The day's lesson was different.

There were no tasks to complete, no balancing books or playing with wooden teacups.

The Headmaster entered the room in shocking attire, sans the long, shapeless robe that covered everything but his hands and head. In its place were dark trousers and an elegant fitted shirt, which, unlike the usual frock that did nothing to enhance his figure, gave a clear outline of muscled arms beneath its sleeves, and a defined chest with a small view of skin from the window of its unbuttoned collar.

His appearance caused an immediate, though quiet, disruption in the class, particularly among the female students, who appeared simultaneously pleased and agitated. They would never know it, but their minds formed a collective word:

Handsome.

It was a welcomed sight.

If the Headmaster knew the commotion he caused, he didn't show it. When he rolled his sleeves and exposed his bare arms one of the female students softly gasped, but the Headmaster did not acknowledge it. He sat on the edge of his desk and crossed his arms, creating the slightest strain in the fabric of his shirt.

Credence's throat, one of many, grew dry, and her attention was fully his.

"Our lesson today may sound strange," the Headmaster began, "for the topic will be you." He pointed to the girl who had won the flower making potion. "Stand up, please."

The girl stood slowly, a deep blush covering her cheeks and nose as she struggled to look the Headmaster in the eyes.

"What is your favorite color?"

"Pink, Headmaster."

"We might have guessed from the beautiful decorations you graced us with. Thank you for that bit of brightness"

The girl's blush spread to her ears and neck.

"Go on," the Headmaster directed the class, "thank her for her lovely work."

"Thank you," the class echoed back.

The poor girl looked miserable, not enjoying any of the attention directed her way. Credence thought it an odd turn, for she had languished in praise before.

"Tell us, where do you come from? Who are your parents?" The Headmaster's attention was back to his selected student. The girl mumbled and the Headmaster gave a soft tsk. "Do not be shy, speak up."

"I come from here, like everyone," the girl said meekly. "Mum tends house and my da's a baker."

"A good profession, and important. Everyone needs bread, don't they?" The girl nodded. "And do you know why they sent you to school?"

The girl shrugged. "I think it's 'cause we had little to eat. Meal's got smaller and....and—"

She stopped herself.

"No wrong answers here," the Headmaster comforted. "Tell us what you know."

"I heard mum say once they couldn't keep me. I needed to make my own way before I ate them out of living."

"Did your parents ever tell you how you might make your own way?"

"They just said the school would teach me. That it was the best chance I had 'cause I was still young and pretty enough, they supposed."

"Pretty enough?"

"To make a living."

"And what sort of living does a pretty girl like yourself make?"

She thought about it. "It's to do with the fancy dressed people, isn't it? The ones with keepers...I can't remember the name—"

"Walkers," offered another student.

"Yes, that's it."

"Angels," the Headmaster corrected. "Only the lower people call them 'walkers', but here we'll use the proper name. Just as we say 'patrons' and not 'strangers' for those who visit them." He turned his attention back to the class. "Does anyone know what being an angel entails? Besides dressing in fancy clothing?"

When no one answered him, the Headmaster nodded.

"Being an angel is one of the highest callings in the towns. Reserved for only the most beautiful and good-natured few. And while other professions are not scorned, they certainly aren't as prestigious. It's an honor to be an angel, and a position to be sought after. So. How does one become an angel?" His gaze returned to the girl, who was now trembling. "Your parents believed you would learn how to become an angel here, yes? And you'd be sold to a keeper at the Auction?"

"Yes, Headmaster."

"Do you wish for that to happen? Do you want to be one of those angels, dressed in gowns and receiving stares from everyone else?"

The girl remained quiet. The question felt like a trap, but which answer was the wrong one?

"Speak," the Headmaster commanded gently.

"I...I think I would like to be one."

"Why?"

"Because...it's like you said, angels are the best. Everyone likes them."

"Indeed—"

"Including you, Headmaster?"

The girl's eyes went wide after she said it, and the room tensed with her. No one fully understood why the question sounded out of turn, but they all shared a dread that she had misspoken.

The Headmaster tilted his head, amused.

"Including me," he said. "You may retake your seat."

The Headmaster called upon each student and asked the same questions.

Where were they from? What was their family like? Why were they at school?

The responses varied, though it became apparent that the common trend was that children had been sent to school to ensure their home survived. Their families were on the verge of ruin, most of them near starvation, or the house had become too crowded with the arrival of a new sibling.

A few of the students did not have a family, and had lived on the streets before they were caught for stealing or fighting. To them, the school had been a miracle and much preferable to life without a roof or parents.

No matter their background, every last one of them spoke positively about their future as an angel.

When it was Credence's turn, her answers stood out from the rest.

"Where do you come from," the Headmaster asked by rote, "and who are your parents?"

"I come from the woods," Credence said what was already known, "where I lived with my parents and brother."

"How did you come to the towns?"

"I was...I was caught in the woods by men."

"They thought you were a runaway?"

"Yes. They put me in a cart with other people and brought me here. Mistress Cinder said she would be my keeper, but she wanted me to go to school first."

"Why?"

"She said I needed a proper education. You remember, Headmaster, you bought me before the Auction."

The Headmaster nodded. "How do you like school?"

I find it very boring, except for you, Credence thought.

"I like it very much."

"And are you of the same mind as your classmates? Do you wish to be a pretty angel, admired by all?"

"I don't know," Credence answered honestly. "Sometimes I think I don't want to be looked at by anyone."

"Why?"

"It makes me uncomfortable."

"You wish you were still in the trees?"

"Yes."

The Headmaster paused, considering her for a moment, and Credence felt heat rise to her face. She wondered if the Headmaster could sense the loss in her voice. The resignation that no matter what anyone said, she could never embrace a life in the towns. She hoped, as a companion in magic, he might somehow recognize the special kinship between them.

"You may retake your seat."

When he finished questioning the class he stood from the desk.

"Soon the older students will go to the Auction. You will move up to take their place and begin a very different kind of training." He put his finger to his mouth, thinking carefully about his next words. "Raise your hands to tell me which of you has ever been kissed."

Almost every hand went into the air.

"Raise your hands to tell me which of you has ever been kissed by someone who is not your family."

Every hand but one fell, and there was a smattering of embarrassed giggling.

A question like that from the Headmaster, especially as he appeared now, sent a small thrill through the room.

"I understand," the Headmaster admitted with a chuckle. "It does seem a very funny thing, doesn't it? Why would anyone other than your family kiss you?"

"You kissed me on my head after I held the book there," the winner of the potion said as she lowered her hand from the air.

"I did, didn't I? There's one reason to receive a kiss: When someone is proud of your accomplishments. But what if someone wanted to kiss you on the lips?"

The question birthed more nervous giggling, louder this time.

"Maybe they love you," suggested the only other boy in class besides Gregory.

The Headmaster tapped his finger against his lips.

"A kiss to show love," he mused. "But is this the same love as family?"

Credence knew the answer, but she wouldn't be the one to voice it. She knew there was a kind of kiss between husband and wife, and it was different from any other.

There was the kind of kiss the Collector promised, which was full of danger.

She knew very well that there were all sorts of kisses in the world, and not all of them came from love.

The Headmaster scanned the room, looking over the anxious expressions of his students. His eyes stopped on one of the girls who had been proclaiming her admiration for him during the last dinner.

And now the Headmaster's attention was hers alone.

"Come and stand before me."

The girl obeyed, and the whole class was washed with mystified, giddy anticipation.

When the girl was directly before him, the Headmaster sat back on his desk to lessen the distance between their heights. He took her hands in his and Credence could see the girl visibly shaking, though she could not decide if the girl was frightened or thrilled.

"Look at me," the Headmaster commanded in a whisper.

With great effort, the girl's focus rose from her feet to meet his gaze. The Headmaster's eyes, those blue lace agates, bore into her with stunning intensity.

Credence imagined that being so close, the attention of those eyes must have felt like the coldest day of winter, and would have pierced even the hardest resolve. She wasn't sure if she was jealous or relieved not to have been called upon for such a task.

The mood of the room shifted. Gone was the innocent mirth from before, now replaced with utmost seriousness.

Like the tip of a finger pressed against a blade, where one slip would spell disaster.

"Tell me your name," the Headmaster said.

"P-Penny," the girl stammered back.

The Headmaster began to recite:

"Pretty Penny in the snow,

Where she's been, or where she'll go,

No one can say, no one can know..."

Penny held her breath, utterly entranced.

Carefully, the Headmaster raised his hand and took a few strands of her hair between his fingers.

But this action distressed Credence, for it was the same way the Collector had touched her hair, and the sinister glint that had been in his eyes was in the Headmaster's stare.

"Tell me, Penny, would you—"

A scream from the hall interrupted him, and the spell of silent tension was broken. The Headmaster tore his gaze from Penny and moved to the door to peer outside.

"What is—" the Headmaster began, but once again his words were cut off by a howl, longer and louder than the first.

From her seat, Credence could see the door from another class opening, and the heads of several students peeking out in confusion.

A strange shuffling was heard, and a sound resembling an animal in pain followed.

The Headmaster was gripping the door so tightly his knuckles were changing color.

Another scream tore through the hall and the Headmaster ran from the room.

The students let go of all care for adhering to the rules and rushed to cluster around the door, everyone pushing for enough space to see into the hall.

It was Adam.

Moving through the hall with an eerie, limping gait, and throwing his arms about as if he were swatting away a bee or trying to scratch an unreachable itch.

Possessed was the word that came to Credence's mind as she watched him twitch and jerk.

Every few steps Adam would stop and let out a mournful wail.

The Headmaster was quickly at the boy's side, and without a word of acknowledgment from either of them he wrapped his arms around Adam's body, holding the boy so he couldn't move. Adam thrashed about, and he spoke to the Headmaster in a rasping groan.

"I c-ca-can't help it! It-it-it hurts!"

"Hush now," the Headmaster said. "We'll see you to bed."

Adam roared and tried to butt his head into the Headmaster's face, but the Headmaster dodged with surprising speed.

"S-sorry!" Adam yelped, and when the Headmaster pulled the boy's hair back to keep his head from banging into anything, he stammered, "I'm-m n-not d-doing i-i-it!"

Around the corner came a domestic, ready to ring the bell with a brass rod. When the old woman saw the scene in the hall she stopped in her tracks.

"Get the others," the Headmaster commanded and the domestic dropped the bell and rod before running from the hall.

The Headmaster tried to soothe the poor boy, but Adam could not keep from twisting and jerking, and he began to gnash his teeth together so hard that Credence could hear them clicking against each other.

Now the entire hallway was filled with the heads of children poking out from their classrooms to stare in horror. Neither the Headmaster nor Adam cared about being watched, and every child knew better than to ask about what was happening.

Several domestics poured into the hall, with scowls and wide eyes, and together the grown ups took hold of Adam to lead him away.

He fought and screamed in a deplorable display of violent disrespect.

The Headmaster's expression remained blank.

Just as the group was about to disappear from the hall, the Headmaster threw a stern glare towards the scared audience watching from their doors.

"Back to your lessons," the Headmaster shouted, his voice reaching a level of threat never heard before. "And not a word from any of you about this!"

Just like that, the Headmaster, the domestics, and poor Adam were gone.