Chương 5: Chapter 4 ~ Not So House and Not So Cat

18/10/1111 EotTS, 11: 39 The common-room of the female dormitories smelled of herbal tea, perfume, and tobacco (the booze must be saved for behind closed doors) as they wafted up into the high wooden vaults of the ceiling, making an invisible cloud of scents strong enough to give anyone a headache.

There were about thirty women in the room, all in groups of twos, threes, and fours, and gathered on the couches by the hearth, or at reading tables—but the single group of one does not have any interest in talking or mingling with the others—Gysel kept pushing through, towards the stairwell beyond the next set of propped doors.

The wheels of the cart thumped as they crossed the threshold, then with a click, they hit the ramp and pulled both the cart and Gysel behind them down the slope, before coming to a stop at the bottom, in the center of the stairwell. It was a tall room, tall enough that if fog could form within, the upper floors would be clouded behind it. The walls were made of a walnut paneling and were decorated with bronze wall sconces and pointless windows that rendered only the fog of the outside world.

Shallow ramps made of a carved grey stone ran upwards along the walls like the double coil condenser Father said he would buy but never did. Two iron staircases spiraled up from the center of the room, their wooden steps attached to the landing of each floor. A wooden sign hung between them, and it read 'left for up, right for down' in inlaid bronze lettering.

A small brass sign holder sat before the cart with a piece of paper behind its smudged glass reading: 'Descend with Caution'—why is this not placed closer to the door, or maybe at the top of the ramp, where it would be providing useful information, instead of a cheap gag? With her stomach still in her throat, Gysel sighed, and pulled the cart away from the sign, pushing it towards the left ramp—assuming that the left ramp is also used to ascend, but signs seem to be useless around here.

The flooring of the ramp was a dark hardwood, with a green carpet running up the center, and by the time Gysel had finished pushing the cart up five floors, she was huffing and puffing, so after making sure she was well onto the landing, she leaned on the handles, and tried to catch her breath.

"Look on the bright side, at least you are only on the fifth floor," said a woman sitting at a desk that was placed between the entrance and exit of the staircases.

"Ah..." was all Gysel could manage—this is the most exercise in a long, long while. The woman at the desk was young, likely in her mid-twenties, probably a student. She had a warm smile and warmer auburn hair. An open book sat in front of her, and a wooden box of keys to the left.

"What is your name, Miss?" The woman asked.

"Gysel Neekhilst."

"Oooh. The special request." The woman started digging through the box.

"I'm glad to meet you. We are excited to have someone as talented as yourself. Just be careful around the lab equipment." Gysel smiled.

"Thank you." The woman pulled out a brown leather fob with '547' in gold lettering; two brass keys hung from the attached brass ring, one large, one small.

"These two keys are yours. The big one is for the door to the shared kitchen and common area for you and your roommate, and the smaller one unlocks your room. The restroom is on the far end of the hall, and the bathhouse is on the ground floor past the stairwell." Pushing herself up from the cart, Gysel retrieved the key, placing it in her pocket.

"The number is a bit confusing. You want to go to room '54,' which is the third room on your left. Room '547' is the room on the right of room '54.'" Gysel squinted: why seven? why not room '541' and room '542'. She walked back to the cart.

"That's confusing."

"You'll get used to it," the woman said with a shrug.

"All right." Gysel went back to the cart and pushed it into the hallway. The same carpet that lined the ramps also lined the hallway—likely purchased together... for a discount—and was lit in the rounded pools of yellow and orange light emitted by the brass wall sconces. The walls were papered in a green only slightly darker than the carpet and were decorated with gold spiraling sprigs of foliage and flowers. Ebon wainscoting of black oak panels ran along the bottom.

It took significantly longer than expected to arrive at room '54'; either the rooms were spacious, or the walls were thick—in a just and perfect world, it would be both. Producing the key from her pocket, Gysel unlocked the door, pushed it open with the back of her foot, and tugged the cart inside. The door slammed shut the moment the cart was clear of it.

The common area was unlit, and the only light shone through the ajar door of the bedchambers, so Gysel went about lighting the sconces on the wall, and one by one, with the disks in place, the room came to life. The floors were made of a dark hardwood, and the walls were made of stone bricks with the occasional wooden support.

It had all the appliances needed for two people to live comfortably together, but was sparse enough to show that the Academy clearly wanted most food to be acquired at the cafeteria, or from restaurants in town: a small kitchenette with a sigil cooler box, a two-burner sigil range, and sink on the same wall as the door; to the left there was a table for four before a large stone hearth (the school even provided coal disks that burn for much longer than the traditional wooden ones) with a clock on the mantel; there was a staircase to her right leading up to a second floor, which was likely only a space for storage, but there might be something interesting up there—it will be checked once Kawvel is free.

Gysel unlocked and pushed open the door to room '547.' The hardwood flooring continued in from the common room, and was only interrupted by a brass threshold that had been set into the floor with nails. She stepped inside; it smelled faintly of lavender, likely from its last cleaning, but there was a thin layer of dust on the floor, and motes floating about: clearly, last cleaning did not involve the opening of windows. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The private quarter was larger than Father's study, and had the benefit of a small loft that would certainly make an excellent reading nook, if it could be reached without spilling one's tea. The left wall was covered by a walnut shelving unit that went from wall to wall and nearly to the top of the ceiling (the gap between the top of the shelf and the ceiling looked large enough to be crawled inside).

A large built-in desk in the center and an upholstered-leather chair sat comfortably in the cutout from the bottom-middle section of the shelves. The bed was centered in the outside wall and flanked by a shuttered bay window on either side. It lacked sheets but had four pillows and a featherbed mattress. On the right-side wall, there was a carved wardrobe far larger than needed, and the spiral staircase up to the loft.

The wall behind was papered in the same paper as the hallway, and had a walnut paneling wainscoting on the bottom. After three trips, the trunks were off the cart, and placed end to end at the foot of the bed (this was still the job of a bellhop; unfortunately, the Academy fails to provide and teach classes on the subject of 'being a bellhop')—and were exactly, exactly, the same width as the bedframe, extra storage, and no unevenness... perfect.

Gysel began to open the trunks in search of Kawvel, who ended up being in the last one. He was gently removed and set carefully on the desk, propped against the wall to keep vigil over the room (at least until the bed was dressed, then he would resume his vigil atop the pillows).

Just like Kawvel, the air of the room was stuffy, and not the air one wanted to unpack in, so Gysel went to the right-side window, opened it, and leaned on the windowsill, taking in the moist air of the foggy autumn; the fog had raised, not a lot, but enough that the ocean was visible from the window, but most of it was obscured behind the turning trees—the view must be excellent in the winter, how many ships could there be? there are five masts, or are those branches?

there is no time for this, there stuffs and a stuffy to unpack.

The books were the best place to start, as that trunk was closest to the bookshelf, and there were fewer books than clothes, since it only made sense to bring the books related to Operative Alchemy and leave the fiction; there would be plenty of fiction at any library (there was the lingering question of if there was even a point to bringing books with, but the Academy would certainly have copies of the same books, but those copies would lack personal annotations and loose-paper notes, so bringing the alchemy books was the right choice)—are books included in the scholarship?

that would be a question worth asking at the entrance ceremony. One by one, the books were placed in alphabetical order—apparently, some people organize their books by color, the farther they stayed away... the better, there is no reason to waste time associating with minds that demented, where is this author, oh, he is in the green section, what? why?

why, not in the section that starts with the last letter of his name, by the Gods, some people are such fools, so much wasted time—on the reachable shelves, but not the ones at eye-level—these were reserved for trinkets and tools. Once all that belonged on the bookshelf was on the bookshelf, Gysel began dressing the bed: the sheets were a few shades lighter than the wallpaper, but the room was coming together nicely. Kawvel was moved from the desk to the bed, and placed leaning against the pillows.

The wardrobe was spacious, with two brass railings stocked with hangers in the center, three drawers on both sides, and an alcove at the bottom for shoes. Garments were placed in groups: tops on the top hangers, bottoms on the bottom hanger, and smaller pieces in the drawers—why is there a clicking? what is this clicking?

it is not the hangers, as that is the clicking of metal on metal and they are not moving, this clicking is the clicking of wood on wood, and it is in a rhythmic stepping, and it is annoying, it is impossible for a new student to organize a dorm-room with this constant clicking, it sounded like a marionette show, but it thankfully lacked that unbearable sound of children cheering as the little wooden sword clicked and clacked together, what is this, and can it for the be quiet!

Gysel whipped towards the source of the sound. There was a strange-looking wooden cat in the process of jumping from the windowsill to the bed; it looked like a marionette, with the metal ball sockets visible behind its limbs, but it was moving without strings. There were stories of people making golems, but they were tiny little wooden men who harvested eggs: not cats. Gysel rushed over and picked the puppet cat up, holding it where the front legs connected to the body.

It hung exactly like Grandmother's cat did when picked up: with its back legs dangling below its body like a pendulum. The body looked to be made of northern black oak and had been masterfully carved; if it had fur, it would have been passable as a real cat. Its eyes were painted glass marbles, with cat-slit pupils ringed by green irises, and its jaw was hinged with silver dowels.

"What are you?" She asked the thing.

"A puppet cat? You have no strings." The head slowly turned in the joint, rotating clockwise like a doorknob. It made a clicking noise throughout its rotation. Gysel swallowed sharply; this puppet cat was disquieting, but it was also far too interesting of a thing for the uncanny to dissuade a proper understanding of it.

"Is that a yes or a no?" The head turned clockwise again.

"Can you give me a nod for 'yes' and a shake for 'no'?" The head turned counter-clockwise; the rotation was silent.

"Clockwise is 'yes,' and counter-clockwise is 'no'?" Clockwise.

"Can I call you Puppet-Cat?" Clockwise.

"Are you a she?" Counter-clockwise.

"Do you have a soul?" Puppet-Cat's marble eyes rolled upwards; the green cat eyes disappeared, and blue ones with a circular pupil replaced them, but they did not stop and continued to rotate up. The marbles made a complete rotation back to green.

"I do not know what that means, Puppet-Cat." Puppet-Cat did not answer—if he could smile, this seems like where he would, slyly, coyly... all while insisting that every adventure requires a first step.

"Can you smile?" Puppet-Cat's hinged jaw fell open with a clack, and both top and bottom rows of teeth appeared, both dropping down from the upper jaw. The teeth looked human and were made of mother-of-pearl rimmed with silver. They retracted as quickly as they appeared. There was a rolled paper at the back of his mouth—what is it? Gysel reached for the paper, but Puppet-Cat's mouth shut with a snap. His head spun clockwise ten full rotations, before stopping half-cocked to the left.

"May I have the piece of paper?" Puppet-Cat's head turned counter-clockwise and settled in a neutral position. Gysel huffed—fine, enough of you, enough Puppet-Cat for one day.

"I am going to set you down now. Please do not touch Kawvel." The head turned clockwise. She gently placed Puppet-Cat back down on the bed and backed away, but she kept her eyes on him; there was something strange about him; there was something strange about the way it stared: it did not feel as lifeless as the gaze of a puppet, not the inquisitive stare of a cat, but it could not be human.

Puppet-Cat turned away from Gysel, glanced at Kawvel, and then back at her, and his mouth opened, flashing the paper briefly before shutting; then he leapt back to the windowsill and left her room. Gysel hurried after him, looked out the window, watching as Puppet-Cat leapt from ledge to ledge, and glanced into every window. After five leaps, he disappeared, likely having found another open window and slipped inside.

Leaving the window, Gysel finished with the clothes and returned to the common-room, locking the door to her room behind her. It would be best to bring the cart back to the front of the Academy—someone else likely needed it—so she did, pushing it out the door and into the hallway. She returned to the fifth-floor landing, smiled at the key woman, and started down the ramp to return the cart to the entrance hall. It would be fun to just sit down on the cart and let it roll down the ramp.