Boreal

Chapter Thirteen

Should he go in? Or maybe he should go and find Almas instead, discuss the events of the night before. It wasn't like whatever was being taught would be useful, anyway, and he had much bigger things to worry about.

Ptarmigan stood before the great oak doors of the Citadel's lecture hall, playing with the cuffs of his shirt, trying to make up his mind.

He'd arrived far earlier than he'd needed, afraid Siskin or Ciarran would return and discover they'd lied about spending the night at the Citadel. He'd sat quietly in the courtyard with Shyam, until she'd needed to leave for her own classes. By the time he'd worked up the courage to face the horde of waiting children, collecting behind the windows of the floor above, class had already started, and the corridor was abandoned.

He took a step back...but he'd already skipped most of his classes, Siskin and Ciarran would be even more upset with them. The last thing they needed right now would be their instructors breathing down their necks - not if they wanted to prove the thing behind the gates was responsible for the disappearances.

As indecision clawed at him, he barely noticed the echoing of footsteps, coming up the corridor behind him. Someone cleared their throat, and Ptarmigan span around to find himself face to face with Pater Rook.

"Morning, Ptarmigan."

His throat tightened, and he inched back towards the doors.

"Good morning, Pater."

"Late for class?" His brow furrowed as Ptarmigan nodded. "But you were here so early?"

"I...aye, Pater. Lost track of time."

The older man clicked his tongue, glancing between the doors and the boy.

"Ah, well. Can't be helped, I suppose. No point interrupting things. Come."

He gestured for him to follow, continuing along the corridor. Ptarmigan's heart sank; now he'd gone and done it. He should've just gone straight inside, consequences be damned. Pater Rook would drag Siskin and Ciarran from whatever they were doing, embarrassing all of them, and then he'd be locked away in his room until the next Emergence.

Worry wasn't going to get him anywhere. Resigned to his fate, Ptarmigan jogged to catch up with the older man, falling into a steady pace beside him.

Pater Rook said nothing as he was led up a narrow flight of stairs, up to a floor he'd never been on before. The walls were bare, dark tiles polished enough for Ptarmigan to make out his reflection. Alembic lanterns hummed, suspended from the exposed rafters, the harsh glow dancing across the floor. Voices drifted from behind closed doors; prayers mumbled to the gods, beckoning the Long Season to set in. The words became muddied, a constant unyielding drone which sent chills up the boy's spine. He shrank back in his cloak, gaze fixed solely on his boots.

"It's probably better, this way," Pater Rook said, noticing his unease. "Save me from dragging you out of class, embarrassing you, aye?"

His head snapped up, puzzled. "You need me for something?"

"Aye. I spoke with Grebe, last night, after you left." He sighed. "Asked me not to, but these vanishings...she's shaken. I'd rather the Guardians get involved in this business, but I've encountered some issues."

Ptarmigan swallowed, but nodded, waiting for the man to continue.

"They've been informed already you witnessed something, down in the Undercity, some days back. Brushed it off then, but with all that's been happening, well."

A smile tugged at his lips.

"Really?"

Ptarmigan could barely contain his shock, eyes wide. Siskin hadn't even believed them, but somehow, Pater Rook had managed to convince them to at the very least listen? In an instant, worry was replaced by... not quite excitement. Anticipation. They could stop the angels from taking anyone else, maybe find the people it had already snatched away. He opened his mouth but bit his tongue as Pater Rook stopped before one of the doors. Two voices whispered, winding together, but quieted as the older man knocked. He hesitated, then pushed it open, ushering Ptarmigan inside.