Chapter 48: 48 First day in Ashford

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48: First day in Ashford 48: First day in Ashford The dining room occupied the ground floor, at the end of the corridor, its door locked with the latch Kairan had already cataloged the night before.

Eight chairs, arranged in almost military symmetry around a wooden table worn by decades of elbows and spoons, were already lined up, one for each person, their opaque surfaces reflecting the grayish light from the window like blades dulled by overuse.

Mrs.

Hargrove observed the pot on the coal stove with the calm of someone who has long since ceased to consider this action a chore, and now treats it like a ritual.

The wooden stick, leaning against the wall behind her, was not an object.

It was a permanent statement.

“In line,” she said.

“As always.” The seven of them arranged themselves with the automatic discipline that comes only from daily repetition.

Kairan took the last free chair.

Mrs.

Hargrove poured the porridge onto the table, one ladle at a time.

Facing Kairan, he paused to catch his breath longer than necessary.

“Did you sleep well?” “Yes.” “Good.

After breakfast, you and I will talk.

Alone.” It wasn’t a request.

He continued walking along the table.

Peter waited until they were far enough away, then leaned forward, his voice low and fast.

“Before I call you, you have to know how this place works,” he said, “otherwise you risk looking even more stupid than you already do with those eyes.” “Tell me,” Kairan said.

And Peter, with the smug enthusiasm of someone who knows something the other doesn’t yet know, began to speak and never stopped.

“The Ashford Orphanage isn’t just any place,” he said.

“Mornings are devoted to household chores: cleaning, cooking, maintenance, whatever Mrs.

Hargrove decides is necessary that day.

But afternoons, before dinner, are free time.

And here, free time means only one thing: games.” He paused, like an actor who knows he has the audience’s attention.

“There are eight challenges,” he continued.

“Everyone chooses the one they’re best at and puts it into practice for their room.

High jump.

Running.

Freediving, in the tub behind the laundry room.

Chess.

Arm wrestling.

Wrestling.

Dancing.

Weight lifting.” He counted the eight challenges on his fingers, one by one, never losing his rhythm.

“Every afternoon, two rooms compete.

It’s not necessary to play all eight challenges on the same day: it depends on how many people are available and what the two rooms agree on.

But in the end, whoever wins the most challenges wins the game.

And whoever wins the game commands the other room until the next game.” “Command in what sense?” asked Kairan.

“In the sense that they decide,” Peter replied, without slowing down.

“Extra work, who eats first, who sleeps where, favors, little punishments…

anything, really, until you cross a line that even Mrs.

Hargrove can’t ignore.” “And who decides who wins a challenge?

Who judges?” Peter nodded, as if the question were part of the expected script and didn’t catch him by surprise at all.

“The judges,” he said, “are always the eight from Class One Hundred.

They’re the strongest in the school, no one doubts that, not even those who hate them.

And they don’t judge randomly: each of them judges the event in which they’re the strongest overall, the one in which they won the title.

One always judges the high jump.

Another always judges the running.

And so on for all eight.” “And how do you become a judge if you’re not from Class One Hundred?” “With the general tournament,” Peter replied.

“Once a month, all twenty rooms compete in all eight events simultaneously, in half-hour sessions.

Whoever wins a single discipline in that tournament—not the entire tournament, but just that discipline—is awarded the title of judge for that discipline, if they so choose.

A person could win both wrestling and dancing, for example, and then choose to judge both, if they so choose.” “And the eight from Room One Hundred?” “Right now, they’re the champions in all eight disciplines,” said Peter.

“No one has yet beaten them in any of the eight.

That’s why they’re the only judges, in every single competition, every single day, and they always judge in the discipline in which they won the title, even in events their room doesn’t compete in.” “That,” he concluded, “is all you need to know to survive the early afternoon.

The rest—who’s above whom, how the rooms are organized, all that stuff—I’ll explain another time.

Now comes the hard part.” When the last bowl was empty, Mrs.

Hargrove tapped her cue twice on the edge of the table.

“Everyone out.

Work until noon.” Then, without changing tone: “Kairan.

You stay.” The seven of them rose and filed out.

Peter gave Kairan a knowing look from the door.

The door closed.

Only the two of them remained, with the stove fire crackling softly.Mrs.

Hargrove sat at the head of the table, her hands clasped in front of her.

“Where are you really from?” she said without preamble.

“From far away,” said Kairan.

“You already told the police that.

I want a place.

A city.

Something I can verify.” “It’s not a place you find on a map.” The woman’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“And your parents?

Who are they?

Where are they?” “They’re gone, for me,” said Kairan.

It was an answer true enough to seem credible, but also vague enough not to be contradicted.

“Those eyes,” she said.

“Were you born this way, or did you become this way?” “I was born this way.” Mrs.

Hargrove stared at him for a long time, searching for a crack in that unnatural calm.

She found nothing.

“All right,” she said finally, standing up.

“Keep your secrets for now.

But remember the rules of this house.

And remember that room at the end of the hall is none of your business.

Understand?” “Understand,” said Kairan.

A few minutes later, he emerged into the courtyard, where the other seven were already waiting for him, some sitting on the steps, others leaning against the low wall that ran along the perimeter.

“Someone’s already been called for today’s challenge,” said Gregory, crossing his enormous arms over his chest.

“Now that we’re down to eight again, we want to see what we can do.” Peter turned to Kairan, his eyes shining with nervous excitement.

“Are you ready for your first battle?”