TWELVE
December, 1919
The Monmouth Academy looked about like I had expected it would. It was a solid, elegant Georgian building in white stone, surrounded by an intricate fence of wrought iron. Above the columned entry was set a weathered black marble medallion carved into a sort of coat of arms: an owl in flight, gripping a sword in its claws. Above the emblem floated the profile of a Corinthian helmet, and below it, the inscription “SCIENTIA OFFICIUM EST.”
Knowledge is duty, eh? An unusual motto, but I approved.
Nowhere on the building was there any indication of the sort of business that went on inside. Probably for the best.
I had thought about not coming, about sending a little apologetic note with a promise to try again some other time. After last night’s ordeal, I was not entir
