Prydwen Hall A novel I'm working on

This is broken up in to parts to make it easier to view. Chapter One

Day of Arrival

Streams of golden light shimmered through the arched windows of the Great Hall, illuminating the royal blue gown of a peculiar old man standing in the center of the room. He was hunched over the podium, squinting through the cascade of light, trying to see the heads of the six hundreds boys in blue suits who were all waiting for him to begin his speech. Just behind the old man were four distinguished headmasters, draped in magnificent blue robes, and seated in red velvet high-backed chairs, waiting for him to proceed. They were all nearing the end of their morning school assembly with the old honorary professor about to give the final speech of the day to send the boys off on the Easter Holidays.

The old professor simply stared into space as if he didn’t know where he was. He then mumbled something and pulled out of his pocket a series of crumpled notes. Smiling feebly, he scratched his head as a blank look came over his face. He seemed bewildered of why he was standing at this podium and why on earth everyone was staring at him.

Peter Bradden was three rows from the back, casually reclining in his seat with arms folded at his chest, waiting along with all the others for the old professor to begin. His light grey eyes, ever filled with mockery and mischief, traveled around the room, amused to find that everyone was bored beyond belief.

Meanwhile, the old man abruptly fell silent at the podium. A moment later, his low snoring could be heard throughout the chamber. The headmasters behind him exchanged looks of concern. A low grumbling began moving through the crowd, growing louder and louder. All around Peter, five hundred ninety-nine boys were beginning to moan in anger as the little old professor was serenely snoring at the podium.

“Where did they get this old geezer?” shouted a fat boy with red hair.

“Wake him up!” cried another.

Someone screamed shrilly just for the heck of it which started a stream of mindless giggles. Another boy burst out a thunderous belch which sent many boys reeling in laughter. The rest of the crowd was not so playful. They were becoming more and more uncomfortable till their patience was at its boiling point. They were gripping their chairs, leaning forward as if they were ready to pounce.

Pandemonium was, indeed, threatening to break out and Peter now sat up, taking a keen interest in the dark mood brewing around him. This could be the rumblings of a riot, he thought, excitedly. Everyone around him looked so frustrated they could tear the old man‘s head off.

Peter leaned forward, wondering if it could be possible that all of these pampered, whiny boys were about to finally show some guts and earn his respect, at last, by rising up in a collective madness, throwing chairs, breaking windows, smashing in walls, destroying every sacred object in the place, revolting against the mindlessness of all the rules of this institution that they have been forced to endure for years. Could it really be happening? Was it even possible that spoiled brats could suddenly become revolutionaries? Peter sensed that all hell was about to break to loose. One more minute of having to wait for this old man to wake up was going to send them all into an explosive frenzy.

Peter was on the edge of his seat, holding his breath in anticipation, waiting for the first boy to throw a chair.

But, as usual, in this boring place, nothing happened at all.

The Deputy Headmaster rose from his regal chair and nudged the old man to wake up. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, all their anger having dissipated while Peter sighed in disappointment, slumping back in his chair.

The old man jumped to attention with a look of bewilderment. He then muttered a few words, absently twirling a handkerchief in the air, signaling the end of his speech and the beginning of Easter Vacation.

A wave of blue swooped up from the chairs and mind-shattering applause filled the room. Boys were screaming to the top of their lungs as they climbed over chairs and stampeded toward the arched doors. Many boys were dancing in the aisles wiggling their rumps, while still others did flips and cartwheels. Rowdier boys were riding piggyback and galloping towards the Entrance Hall. All the schoolmasters stuck their fingers in their ears, rushing to the doors to escape while four headmasters slipped into a door just behind them to free themselves from this madhouse, but the little old professor had found a cozy chair near the window and was now going back to sleep which was remarkable considering all the mayhem going on around him.

Peter remained there until all of the students had crammed themselves through the large doors, pushing and shoving each other. When he realized he was the only one left in the Hall, except for the old professor, of course, he rose to his feet and made his way to the doors.

When he got to the threshold, he witnessed a scene of incredible chaos inside the elegant Entrance Hall. Boys were running in every direction, most of them heading towards the staircase to fetch their luggage they had packed the night before. There were some just standing around, however, laughing very loudly and punching each other in the arms. A group of boys were high up on the stairs, looking out over the balcony, expertly spitting down wads of chewed-up paper and laughing uproariously when they made their mark.

Peter left the threshold and made his way through the crowd as invisibly as a breeze. No one noticed him at all, which is what he wanted, and he seemed to have almost made it out of the room when a group of boys walked by. As they passed, an unusually splendid-looking boy noticed Peter.

He had beautiful blond hair that had been carefully combed into curls so lovingly shaped on the side of his forehead it must have taken him several hours to sculpt it to such perfection. He had an assortment of school medals above his breast pocket of which he seemed to wear proudly, and his suit was so wrinkle-free, it was as if an army of laundry personnel had pressed it for him just that morning.

He saw that Peter was about to enter the long corridor up ahead, exiting the Entrance Hall. His lips broke into a wicked grin. He seemed very pleased about something.

“Peter!” he called, waving.

Peter rolled his eyes, seeing that it was Devon, and continued walking.

The boy immediately ran towards Peter and, in no time, caught up with him.

Devon walked beside Peter now, grinning broadly and teasingly punching Peter in the arm as if they were old friends.

“You slipped out this morning before I could find out how miserable you must be feeling. I’ve been laughing all morning thinking about you having to stay here for the next ten days. I couldn’t have put together a better revenge--it’s too funny! I’d rather be dead than you right now! There is justice in the world, after all!”

Peter’s mood quickly changed, and he became cheerfully tolerant, even jovial as Devon burst into a fit of laughter.

“That’s right,” said Peter, shaking his head. “Go ahead and laugh it up. I guess you’ve earned it today after all the things I’ve done to you over the years.”

Peter stood still while Devon hung on his arm, laughing so hard he started coughing.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” he said, taking a breath. “I was just thinking about you being left here all alone with Duncan, Byron, and Theo… You must want to hang yourself!”

He went on laughing, but then, abruptly stopped short, and gave Peter a devious look; then stood on tip-toe to murmur into Peter’s ear, “But there’s something I have to tell you that will make you even more miserable.”

“And what’s that?” asked Peter, folding his arms. “That you’re staying with me?”

“No, it’s not that,” said Devon glowering at Peter, “although I would if I could just to torture you even more. No, sorry, Peter, I’ll be too busy on my father’s yacht, sailing off the coast of Italy, having the time of my life. There will be plenty of blue skies and sunshine for me. No, what I have to tell you is a lot worse than that. You’re getting a new roommate.”

“What?” Peter’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

Devon put his arm around Peter. “I said you’re getting a new roommate. He’s supposed to be arriving any time now. And he’s the kind of roommate…well, you’ll have to see for yourself. I think you better get that noose ready!”

Peter brushed his arm away. “What are you talking about? Who is he?”

“Who is he?” parroted Devon. “Well, for your information, he’s right over there. Take a look. Your new roommate.”

Peter's gaze followed Devon's finger and rested upon a boy by the entrance doors with luggage at his feet. A woman in a fur coat and white gloves was bending over him, kissing him repeatedly. Peter couldn't see his face. Then the woman stepped back and a man in a black suit and hat shook hands with the boy and patted him on the shoulder. They were standing near Professor Bimble, one of the housemasters for the Lower Hall. When Professor Bimble shook hands with the man, it was then that Peter could see the boy clearly.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about him. He was dressed in a blue suit like all the boys around him--except, as Peter peered more closely, he did seem a bit small and slender, with dark hair framing an angelic face that could only be compared to a girl's, it was so pink and creamy. But even this didn't cause a high level of revulsion in Peter. It was only when Peter detected tears upon the boy's cheeks that Peter flinched. The boy had obviously been crying. A lot. He didn't look old enough to be eight years old.

"He's too young to bunk with me," said Peter, dismissing it and about to walk away.

"He's as old as you as you are!" snapped Devon. “Well, almost anyway. He’s twelve!”

Peter was taken aback as if stunned. He took another look.

The mother bent down again this time with a handkerchief actually wiping her little son's nose. Peter stared in disbelief. Then disgust. The only thing that went through Peter’s mind was a memory of an obnoxious boy who seemed creepily similar to this one.

That boy cried so much his tears seemed to be stained permanently on his cheeks, and he had a runny nose that he never bothered wiping. He followed everyone around, asking over and over again if they were mad at him. It was horrible with everyone trying to avoid him and with his whining and pleading for someone to be nice to him, to be his friend, going to anyone at all, naively seeking comfort even from the jocks.

Peter learned that the boy left when the schoolmasters told the parents that he was much too young emotionally to be at Prydwen. Peter could sense this was going to be the very same situation here with this new boy and it gave him a really nasty feeling. But Devon was watching him closely, being very smug, and expecting him to show how dejected he really felt. But he wasn't going to give Devon the satisfaction. He, instead, decided on a different course.

Peter straightened up and said, coolly, "He looks all right to me. I think I'll like him. Thanks, Devon. I believe I'll stroll over there right now and introduce myself."

Devon shook his head, clenching his teeth, knowing that Peter was trying to rob him of his victory. "You're just bluffing. You can see what kind of a baby that boy is. Don't pretend with me. I saw the look on your face."

"You didn't see anything," said Peter, with a sigh. "Your problem, Devon, is that you're jealous. He looks like a top-notch kind of fellow. Finally, I have someone I can respect. After so many years of being your roommate, I get a break! Thank you, God!"

Devon tightened his fists, seething. "You're lying!"

Peter put his arm around him, affectionately. "Don't be hurt. You know I never liked you."

Devon furiously shoved Peter's arm away. "I never liked you either, you rat!"

"Oh, yes, you did," said Peter, now grinning, "You just couldn't imagine why I couldn't stand the sight of you. You've been trying to win my approval for years."

"You're insane!" screamed Devon, stamping his feet. "I hate you!"

"Sure you do," Peter taunted him. "Everyone knows how you really feel about me."

Devon growled and tried to swing at Peter. Peter put his hands up, playfully, and backed away.

"Now, now, Devon. Don't get so emotional about it. I'm sorry I can't return your feelings. But you don't have to lash out at me!"

"I'm going to bust your nose!" Devon howled.

"That could never win my friendship!"

Devon swatted at him and Peter pretended to duck--soon Devon was chasing him in circles. Hulky Ted Sanders and clever Tom Middleton stood nearby, observing them.

"We better break it up," said Ted to Tom, moving towards them.

Ted immediately grabbed Devon and put him in a headlock. Devon began to squirm, yelling about the state of his hair. He was particularly proud of his blonde locks and didn't like for anyone to touch them. Ted rubbed his knuckles slightly on Devon's skull and he screamed as if he were being tortured. Peter and Tom looked on, chuckling.

Tom was the same height as Peter but thinner with lighter hair and dark blue eyes. As Peter's sidekick, he was playful, whimsical, cruel--a little like the pixies of old who flitted from village to village, spoiling milk or ruining freshly hung linen by leaving behind their muddy little footprints and infuriating all the farmers by misplacing much needed items. The more miserable the people were made the more the pixies liked it--this love of mischief definitely shone in Tom's eyes now as he relished the look on Devon's unhappy face.

"Please, dear God, leave my hair alone!" cried Devon. "I mean it, Ted. I've got an important party tonight--I'm the guest of honor!"

"Should I let him go?" said Ted, holding Devon tight. "Peter? Tom?"

Ted waited for them to respond as Devon looked up at them, pleading with his eyes.

"Come on, Peter!" whined Devon. “Make him let me go!”

Peter glanced at Tom who smiled back at him, nastily. Tom never cared for Devon, either. Devon was a mean-spirited boy who spied and tattled on everyone and many boys had been severely punished over the years because of Devon's pointing finger. There was not one kid that liked him, even though Devon never knew it. He was so vain he couldn't conceive of anyone not liking him. He thought it was Peter who had turned everyone against him for Peter was well-liked by most everyone and could win just about anyone over to his side. At least once a week, Peter succeeded in making him the laughingstock of the entire school and Devon despised Peter for this.

Now Peter was rubbing his chin, as if seriously weighing whether or not he should let Devon go. "I don't know, Devon. You were pretty rude to me just a few minutes ago. I think you ought to apologize."

Devon's face went red with fury. "Drop dead!" he shouted.

"Well," said Peter, throwing up his hands. "I guess that's a go-ahead for Ted to mess up your hair. Ted, go ahead--"

"No! Wait!"

"What was that, Devon?" said Peter, cupping his ear. "Tom, I think I heard him say something."

"I didn't hear anything," said Tom, impatiently. "Go ahead, Ted--"

"No, please! Okay! Okay!"

Devon was so upset he was about to cry. Ted held his knuckles close to Devon's face and Devon winced, looking at them.

"I'm sorry, Peter," Devon whimpered.

"You're what?" said Peter, smiling and nudging Tom. "I don't think I heard you."

"He said he's sorry!" called out a gruff masculine voice coming up from behind them. It was a cold, familiar voice that caused all of them to cringe. Ted let Devon go and they all stood at attention with Devon briskly smoothing down his beloved hair.

Professor Loftiess peered down upon them, his dark eyes piercing under black, bushy brows. He was one of the housemasters for the Upper Hall who was in charge of the older boys ages twelve to fourteen. A very formal, no-nonsense, humorless sort of man, he was sadly under the impression that he could cast fear and trepidation in all the boys with just the slightest glimpse of displeasure, but who, in reality was only given a surface respect. When he turned his back, the boys would go on to repeat the same offense. The students were getting so unruly over the years that he felt he was becoming more of a prison guard than a teacher, spending more time breaking up fights and preventing property damage than he ever spent in teaching an actual class.