Ravenrook Chronicles: The Mysterious Student

Chapter 1

The rain fell hard through the gaps in the canopy of the Ravenrook woods as Timothy's mother's car wound its way along the woodland path toward the Academy. Chopin's Nocturne Op.9 No.2 played quietly over the car's sound system. The music helped to calm Tim, if only just.

"You'll be fine, Tim," his mother said softly in effort to comfort him, although it did nothing to soothe the knot in his stomach. The same knot that he had been feeling since the day that blasted letter had arrived. It arrived with a package of uniforms. Both the letter and the uniforms bore the same intricate crest of three silver ravens on a black field, above them stood a winged crown and below a monogram "R". The letter read:

Dear Master Timothy Garland

It is with great honour that I present to you an admission letter to the most prestigious Ravenrook Academy, based on your performance and victory in various music competitions worldwide. I understand that this letter may find you in a state of shock and doubt, as you may never have heard of us, and most certainly did not apply for a position at the academy. This is by design, as we only accept the truly prodigious and keep our operations, somewhat, secretive. We boast a high level of education and the highest level of career placement for our prodigies. There is surely no other choice. Not to mention, Master Garland was hand selected by myself, for such an honour.

I would ask that should you have any doubts as to the validity of this letter, ask yourself two questions:

1. If this were a scam, why would we send it by post and not over electronic communication channels? (We are living in the 21st century, after all.)

2. Doesn't this appeal to your sense of adventure?

For more information and an address for your new academy please visit www.ravenrookacademy.co.uk (21st century, see?)

Yours in perpetuity,

H.T. Ravenrook III

Tim was somewhat famous in the music industry. He was projected to be one of the world's greatest demonstrators and concert pianists. He wasn't very popular and had no friends outside of the music world, and very few within. He did make friends with an American boy named Miles, at a competition, when he was very young but after the competition he never really saw Miles again. Music had become his life. It was all he had known from a young age and it was where he had made his friends, fleeting as they may have been. He didn't mind the lack of friends, as long as he could play. To be honest, he didn't know whether he was comfortable with such a big change.

Tim looked down at his hands. He felt an indescribable sense of dread well up from his stomach. He wasn't of any particular high standing in society. He wasn't rich, nor attractive, in any sense of the word. He was tall and lanky, his dark brown hair curled in an unruly fringe in front of his large round spectacles. His piercingly dull blue eyes peered from behind his glasses. He wasn't grotesque, simply unremarkable in appearance. Both of his parents were blue collar workers in London's East End. Needless to say, he was terrified of the people soon to be his classmates, undoubtedly most of them were going to be filthy rich and he'd likely be treated terribly on account of his class.

"I'm just worried about first impressions," he said. His voice was monotonous and it

showed how caught up he was in his nerves. He paused for a moment, hesitating slightly. Trying to feign confidence he said:

"Let's just check it out,"

"I'm still not sold, but I guess it's a free private education,"

***

The car screeched to a halt in front of the giant, ornate wrought iron fence, each gate bore the same monogrammed "R" from the letter. Two massive marble ravens with outspread wings stood sentry on either side of the gate, their heads turned to look down on the car and its passengers. Their unseeing stone eyes seemed to follow every minute movement Tim made, as if daring him to try doing something nefarious. For a moment, Tim felt his anxiety surge. The lifeless unseeing ravens commanded Tim's attention as he struggled to turn his gaze away. He watched them as if they were about to spring to life and carry him away, never to be seen again. Those black iron gates, framed by the dreary sky, were what stood between Tim and a terribly exciting adventure. In an instant, the gates began to open. And a gentleman's voice greeted them over an unseen intercom.