Seven Deadly

Chapter 5: Hallowed Halls

Wait… what? Did I hear him correctly back there? He said welcome to… Hell.

“Try to keep up,” Rhys says, grabbing a black leather document folder off the receptionist’s desk as we pass it. He shoves it into my hands without even stopping, and I hurry behind him, glancing down at the folder as I do. The words “Lucy Allbright - Orientation pack” are emblazoned in gold on the front, below the school crest. 

We walk in silence down the corridor, into the entrance hall where I first entered the building, and then up the long staircase that leads to a tall arched doorway on the second level.

As we walk, I sneak another glance at him. 

He’s good looking, but in a very sharp-featured, effeminate way. Judging by his warm light brown skin tone, he must be biracial, or maybe Mexican - either way, the bleached blonde platinum close-cropped hair is slightly jarring, and it’s clearly not his natural colour. I’m surprised he’s allowed to dye it like that - but maybe he’s a teacher’s pet or something, a favourite. Able to bend the rules. That would also explain why he’s been assigned to show me around the school grounds.

Rhys leads me down a long, high-ceilinged corridor, lined with paintings and murals.

“I’m guessing you couldn’t find out much about the Academy online?” He says, not even waiting for my answer before he continues. “Well, there are just over one hundred and twenty students in attendance at St. Selaphiel’s Academy, split evenly across freshman year, sophomore year, junior year, and senior year. That means approximately thirty students in each year traverse these hallowed halls, and an average class size of ten students to one teacher, depending on how popular any one particular academic subject may be.”

What? There are only thirty students in the ENTIRE senior class? There were almost two hundred students in the senior class at my last high school.

“The smaller class sizes mean more focus on the individual, and a better education… only fitting for the children of the elite,” Rhys says.

We are passing by various open doors, and he points out classrooms as we go.

“Biology,” he says, pointing at an empty classroom, naming them one by one. “And that’s Geography. Mathematics. English Literature. Science & Chemistry Lab. History. Art studio. The Library. The music conservatory is down this passageway, and the gymnasium is up these stairs and to the right. Ladies’ lavatories are marked out with signs. I assume you can find those by yourself. The dining hall is next to the chapel, adjoining the boarders' wing. You'll see it at lunch.”

"Boarders' wing?" I ask, now thoroughly confused. 

I didn't know this was a boarding school.

"Just nine of us," Rhys says. "Most of the kids here are like you - they live at home in Serpentwood or Maine. Those of us from further afield get to spend a little bit of extra time with the lovely Sister Evelyn you just met back there."

He grimaces, before huffing irritably. 

"Lucky me, right?" He says sarcastically. "I'm basically stuck here twenty-four seven."

After walking the halls with Rhys for some minutes, a thought strikes me. I haven't seen a single other person during the whole tour. And so eventually I decide to ask him about it.

“Where is everyone, anyway?” I ask. “It’s as if the whole building is abandoned… or just... empty.”

“That’s because it is empty,” he says. “Or this part of it, anyway. Everyone’s in the East Wing. The chapel. The morning prayer service is from eight thirty to nine every morning, and all students are required to attend - unless you’ve been roped into giving the new girl a tour of the school grounds, that is.”

I can’t tell from his tone of voice whether this annoys him - being forced to show me around the school - and I’m tempted to apologise for the inconvenience, but I think better of it.

So instead I decide to show my gratitude.

“Thank you for doing this,” I say. “I really appreciate you taking the time to show me around.”

“Don’t thank me,” he snaps back, sounding only mildly irritated. “It’s not like I had a choice in the matter.”

He rolls his eyes for a moment, muttering something under his breath about ‘Damn stupid nuns’ before continuing to speak.

“There are fifteen minutes between classes,” he continues. “During which time you can visit the ladies’s lavatories, or your locker. Speaking of which, I’ll take you to the lockers now. Come along.”

We walk in silence for a while, until we exit the building into a wide open courtyard, about half the size of the football field. There is a massive fountain in the middle of it, and lockers line the covered walkways around the courtyard.

“The cloisters,” Rhys says. “This is your locker. The key is in your orientation pack. Along with a map of the school, your class time table and a few other useful tidbits.”

He pauses in front of a metal locker, much nicer than any other school locker I’ve had at any other high school - it looks like it’s entirely made of bronze, engraved with the school crest and a motif of oak leaves forming a pattern around the front.

I unclip my orientation pack folder, peering in before spotting a small golden key, with a name tag. I take it out, and slip it into the lock. It opens with a click, and Rhys taps his foot impatiently. 

“Be careful about what you keep in your locker,” he says. “The nuns are extremely strict about that. No drugs, alcohol, not even makeup is allowed.”

I’m about to protest my innocence, but he beats me to it.

“I can already tell that wouldn’t ever be an issue for you though,” he says. “You’re quite the little goody two-shoes, aren’t you? Not for long though.”

Somewhere close by, the church bells begin the toll. Students begin to emerge from the chapel, into the cloisters and the courtyard.

"Perfect," Rhys says. "Time for you to meet the student body."