Chapter Two: The Trial (P. 1)

Nathanael took the steps two at a time. The door to the dormitory was cracked open and a sliver of sunlight dimly illuminated the musty hallway.

 

"Lionel?" Nathanael tapped open the door a centimeter. "Can I come in?"

 

"'Tis not my leave whether or not you enter. 'Tis not my room." The bitterness, oh, it was painful. Nathanael's stomach lurched.

 

"Lionel, it was wrong of me to snap at you. I was just flustered."

 

"'There are no excuses'. 'Tis what my father told me. There is that truth and that that is not true. No more, no less," he murmured as Nathanael made his way to his bed. "I've come to agree."

 

There were two dormitories in Hardy Hall, the first identical to the second. The window directly opposite the door with the curtains drawn back (but the panes tightly closed, Nathanael noted) shed light into the low-ceilinged room. There were five pairs of crisply made beds marching stoutly down the oak-paneled walls and a sturdy chest at the foot of each. A nightstand on the door side of each bed completed the scene, the half-melted candles replaced with fresh ones, the white wicks erect with a sense of renewal. Nathanael's bed was under the window on the right wall, right next to Lionel's. He was perched on his chest, frowning over notes.

 

 "Lionel, honestly. Don't get philosophical on-" Nathanael stopped short. Turning down his friend's advice didn't seem wise, especially after he had before. "Never mind."

 

Lionel glanced up at him and attempted a small grin. "Of course, the truth isn't always what it seems. Bradshaw and Baker could have easily stolen that money from Over-Bridge. You never know."

 

Nathanael smiled, and the tension melted. He leaned over and glanced down the page Lionel was studying. "What is this?"

 

Lionel grimaced. "If I could read it, it would be a whole lot easier to tell. This is my instructor's handwriting, not mine. His is horrendous."

 

Nathanael laughed. "Can't be worse than Asa's. He's what, sixty-five? and still can't hold his pen properly. There were marks everywhere on my Midwinter's exam when I got it back."

 

Lionel giggled and then sobered. "How did you do on it?"

 

"I didn't fail, if that's what you mean."

 

"Obviously you didn't. You're great at Medicine." Lionel sighed. "I dunno, Nathanael. Sometimes I think that Trade just isn't my thing. It just doesn't sit right."

 

Nathanael smiled and said, "Trade doesn't sit right in anyone in Hardy," but when he saw that Lionel was serious he asked, "Why? You were always good at mathematics. Better than me, anyway."

 

His friend shrugged. "It doesn't make sense, I guess. All Trade is is mathematics. Why I can't manage it I can't imagine." He paused. In a small voice he said, "I was thinking of leaving."

 

"What?" Nathanael exclaimed. "You can't leave!"

 

Lionel shrugged. "'Twas just an idea. I haven't written Mother about it or anything yet."

 

"But you're the only friend I've got! You can't just go!" As he spoke, Nathanael realized the truth in the words.

 

"And you are my only friend, Nathanael. You have Jared Marksman. Besides, it's selfish of me to take up this spot when someone else could have it instead."

 

Nathanael went pale. "You don't mean Zachary Over-Bridge, do you?" Lionel was silent. "Two Over-Bridges!" Nathanael exclaimed. "Two! As if the first wasn't enough, always sneaking in and out of the corners."

 

"What was that?" Calvin Marksman walked in, his bag slung over his shoulder. "You should be grateful, Smithy, that Over-Bridge didn't pay any more to Baker and Bradshaw, or you'd be at the mercy o' yer bumbling teacher."

 

"Yeah," Jared, Calvin's cousin, walked in, too. "One more hit, I'd say, and you'd meet an end before yer time."

 

Calvin and Jared would have looked exactly the same, if Jared's hair was the same shade of straw as Calvin's, and it was less curly, and he had lighter eyes, and he was taller. That is to say, they didn't look much alike at all. Most people assumed that they were fraternal twins, but in truth the only physical thing that they shared was a pair of grandparents, both on their father's side. Yet they acted the same, and  laughed the same way, and their voices were difficult to tell apart.

 

Lionel snorted. "Mind your own business, Marksman."

 

"Which one?" they asked in unison.

 

"By the way, Nathanael," said Jared, "Asa said we've got to get to the room early today." He was a Medical student, as well.

 

"Exactly how early?" Nathanael said, slightly panicked. He was beginning to recall the fuzzy instruction. "I don't remember it well."

 

Jared glanced out the window. "North take the snow! It covered the sundial." He sighed. "Well, we're supposed to be there early, anyway. I dunno why. Asa's losin' it, if ya ask me. Never can keep that head of his right side up."

 

"There's still time to get there. 'Slong as we make it before half-past we should be fine. Class doesn't start until one in the afternoon, anyway. Half an hour should be fine."

 

More boys had been streaming into the dormitory as they were talking. Some were packing their sacks for the next class. Others were just sitting on their beds and chatting to one another. Timothy Over-Bridge was leafing through old letters. Bradshaw of the Wood had his shoes kicked off and was dozing quietly. Calvin had the other Education trainee engaged in a conversation about their instructor. It sounded to Lionel that they were discussing how to get him to teach them fencing, which, to Lionel, had absolutely nothing to do with Education.

 

"Better get going, then, Cal," said Jared. "See you, Carpenter." Nathanael grinned at Lionel and followed Jared out, his bag in hand.

PS: Chapter One is called "Porridge". You could probably imagine why
PPS: Please, post some honest, unsympathetic critizism (spelling?). Don't feel bad aobut hurting my feelings; they are uneasily dampened.