The Blind Side of Ingenio [completed]

Part III

Amahle awoke the next morning with thoughts of the previous day's events flooding her head. She couldn't fathom how she had ever had the illusory belief that her life would be simpler and easier at the IoI. The subtle changes in the layout of the Institute, she and Figaro's trip to the library, and, perhaps the most mysterious of all, the threatening message. Of course, all of these seemed to be triggered by Professor Evings'—whatever it was. In truth, that single question was what had kept the young girl awake for a great part of the night: What on earth was responsible for this dreadful ordeal?

As she continued to ponder these questions that she was determined to answer, Amahle made herself presentable for breakfast. After taking as little time in the powder room as she could allow herself, she slipped into one of her favourite dresses. It was a simple garment of light green cotton, adorned with a vague pattern of lilac lilies. Its skirt pleated out from the waist below the bodice, which was standard at the top, only to transition into smaller folds itself just underneath the neckline. She never was one for putting butter upon bacon, preferring to dress modestly and to her own tastes, yet elegantly. Amahle sighed as she looked in the mirror, hoping and praying that it would give her the courage to solve the riddle that plagued her. The reserved yet brilliant teenager would have to leave the comfort and safety of her nest of facts and tomes.

Walking into the dining hall but a few minutes later, having lost her way more than once, Amahle made a beeline for her friend and partner in their investigation.

"Morning, Nozze. How've you slept?" she inquired.

"Well, and you?"

"Splendidly but for my incessant wondering. Have you had some great revelation?" she replied dejectedly.

"Unfortunately, I've not been so lucky," Figaro informed his friend, hardly holding back his laughter at her exaggerated tone. "Have some eggs, they've been made just the way you like them."

Amahle took his suggestion, starting to eat at the exact moment that an announcement rang through the hall. The echo off of the stone walls riddled with gems was so strong that Figaro had to wait for whole seconds to comprehend the words: "Due to unforeseen problems with a select few amenities in the north wing that require the professors' attention, classes will not take place until tomorrow. You may use your time as you wish, we only ask that you stay away from the aforementioned wing."

"Odd, isn't it? Not a day after Professor Evings..."

"Indeed it is." Amahle had finally swallowed and was now deep in thought. "The only way for us to solve this cursed riddle is to bubble around."

"Right, and what exactly does that entail?" Figaro couldn't for the life of him see where Ama was leading her theory.

"It means that I believe we should explore the north wing."

{...}

After spending the rest of their meal planning their route and the things they would need, Figaro and Amahle went their separate ways to take a coat and the odd other supply from their respective dorms.

Amahle was walking towards their meeting point with her satin cape slung over one arm. Her fingertips twisted and fiddled with the flounce of her dress. It was long and there were two on each sleeve, each of which Amahle was now tugging on methodically to tame the nerves raging inside of her. After all, this would be the first time that she broke any rule of greater importance than the maximum number of books one was allowed to borrow from the library.

Figaro, on the other hand, was thinking of what other things he could set in motion. He would finally be on the inside, and he planned to take advantage of that fact, using the excuse of these strange circumstances to get a glimpse into the teachers' private world: the teachers' lounge. If he could evade Amahle's gaze for a minute or so, he would even slip an anonymous note that he had stashed in his pocket onto one of the professors' desks.

As he approached the window nook where Amahle was waiting for him, the girl noted his off-white silk shirt and royal blue vest, both partially obscured by the long black coat that he was wearing.

"There you are, Figaro." Amahle checked her rusted pocket watch. Her friend had know she would inquire upon this very matter and thus he had a suitable explanation prepared for just this occasion. "What in the world were you doing that took such a month of Sundays?"

"It surely couldn't have been that long a delay. Lawrence seemed suspicious, so I made sure to quash his theories before leaving." This was in fact a distinct untruth. Though his roommate would likely have done exactly this, he had not in fact been in the room when Figaro had been assembling his things. Instead, the supplemental time was spent writing the anonymous letter to the teachers that now rested inside the front pocket of his trousers.

Satisfied with his answer, Amahle led the way down the hallway and towards the north wing, which, in reality, included a part of the school and a smaller cottage that served as the staff's quarters and lounge. The two teenagers would need to back slang it to infiltrate the house in search of clues, the theory being that the few teachers would all be attending to the 'unforeseen problems'.

However, every step the pair took seemed to be countered by a door disappearing—Amahle could have sworn it was there—, a corner filling with shadows, or even once a message carved into a nearby wall telling them to turn back. The situation quickly became quite too shady for either of their comfort.

Nevertheless, they wore on, finally managing to find themselves at the farthermost entrance to the ancient castle, which was looking more and more disheveled all of the time.

After a brief discussion, it was agreed that they should divide the work, much to Figaro's satisfaction. Amahle would explore the lounge and Figaro the rest of the rooms.

Not ten minutes into their search, Figaro knocked on the wall between him and Amahle, indicating that his companion should join him.

"It's strange," she told him as she rounded the corner. "Not a speck of dust is out of place. One would think that they would disturb something while working."

"Yes, but look..." Figaro gestured to the room behind them.

It was filled with nothing but a measly line of chairs and a dresser. The latter was the main attraction of the room, for the drawers were labeled peculiar things like 'tests I - XV' and 'backstories: subjects IV - X'. It could only be assumed that this was some manner of testing room.

On the far side of the room, the gleam of a brass doorknob caught Amahle's eye, allowing her to notice the door for the first time. With a gesture from her, the two stepped towards the adjoining room, and an odd sense of foreboding weighed on them both.