There was such a dangerous glint in his eye that I was sure he was going to strike Colin down on the spot. But he merely nodded to the far door, saying to Colin, “That will do.”
Colin looked at me, but could ask nothing further. So he shrugged and walked off.
The Headmaster stepped back, making a grand gesture with his arm, so that the drapery of his sleeve filled the doorway for a moment, and then receded, like curtains being drawn before a play. “Miss Windrose, if you please.”
His was a massive desk of oak. Behind the desk was a chair whose back reached all the way to the ceiling. The surface of the desk was entirely bare. The desk and the chair stood on a dais, which was covered with red carpet. Before the dais was a small uncomfortable chair of black wood. It sat on a floor of wood, which was harder and no doubt colder than the carpeted dais.
Two framed paintings filled the wall behind him, one to either side of the chair. One showed a green mountain in the midst of the sea, atop which a walled city rose, with towers and colonnades. Above the island rose, even higher, a great wave poised to drown the city.
The other painting showed a mariner tied to the mast of a ship, his face contorted with longing and agony, and, on the rocks past which they rowed, sat beautiful women with harps, their mouths wide with song.
5.
The Headmaster said, “I see you are observing the masterpieces. The one on the left depicts Atlantis. You are familiar with the myth? A virtuous people under the leadership of the sea god Poseidon enacted laws, which they inscribed on a pillar of orichalchum in the center of their great public temple. But when, as time passed, they came to forget these laws, an angry Zeus called destruction down upon their greatness, and sank the island. He had cause to be angered, you see. All other laws are written by mortal legislators, who had only the wisdom of men to guide them; and human laws can be good or bad just as human men are good or bad. But the laws of the gods are the order of nature.
“The painting here on the right shows Odysseus being tormented by the Sirens. Their song is so beautiful, you see, that anyone who hears it is enchanted. Fortunately, he had the wisdom to have his men lash him to the mast, since he knew he would not be able, just by his own effort, to exercise the self-control he would need. No doubt he was terrifically annoyed at those bonds at the time. No doubt he was glad of them later, once he had wits about him enough to see the danger of the Sirens’ song. They were cannibals, you see, and ate the flesh from the men they lured onto their reefs.
“Or so the story goes. One must remember that, according to Homer, it was Nausicaa who found the shipwrecked Odysseus on the shores of the magical isle of the Phaeacians. The whole tale we think of as the travels of Odysseus, was nothing more than his report to Nausicaa’s father, the king of Phaeacia. Since he was the only survivor of his journey, there was no one to contradict him, was there? He may have learned more from the Sirens’ song than he admitted.”
He folded his hands on the desk before him, and leaned his back against the carven back of his tall, tall chair.
I was beginning to learn that when grown-ups drone on and on about something, they are driving at a point they don’t want to admit they are driving at.
It was with a sense of wonder that I realized that such indirectness might be meant to spare my feelings. In other words, it was a sign of kindness, not cowardice. What cause could the Headmaster have to fear me? His expression was a friendly one.
On the other hand, what in the world could he be trying to protect me from?
As when I didn’t know what to answer in class, I decided merely to sit, look attentive, and keep my hands folded in my lap.
Boggin pursed his lips, then said, “You are often annoyed, too, aren’t you, Miss Windrose? Like our wandering Odysseus here, eh? You want to see the wide-open spaces of the world, to walk where no white man has trod, to drink from untasted streams of unclimbed mountains. You are chafing at your bonds, like he is.” Now he pointed to the skulls and bones that the artist had placed around the feet of the Sirens. “What always puzzled me about the story is that he saw the remains of the other men, but was eager to throw himself on the rock at the feet of the Sirens nonetheless. Do you know why?”
It was a direct question. “No, Headmaster.”
“Because he was an optimist. At least, during the moments when the Sirens’ song was influencing his reasoning powers. He thought himself equal to the task.”
Boggin was silent for a while, watching me. He had more practice at the staring and waiting game than I did. I began to squirm and fidget.
“Very interesting, Headmaster. May I go now?”
“Have you been well treated here, Miss Windrose?”
That was unexpected. “W-what…? I mean… Sir…?”
He repeated the question.
“Well, I… I do want to leave here.”
“Why, and so you shall, once you have reached the age of your majority.”
“How old am I, Headmaster?”
“Sixteen.”
“That is odd. Because you told me I was sixteen four years ago. By that reckoning, I am at least twenty by now. If I was actually twenty when you said I was sixteen, I am now twenty-four.”
“Your recollection must be in error, Miss Windrose.” The dismissal was curt.
“But, four years ago, you said—”
“I am sure we have exhausted this topic, Miss Windrose. Let us dwell on the main point. You appear to be unhappy here, and I am at a loss to understand why. Have you been beaten? Starved? Mistreated? No indeed. You have received a first-rate education, food, medicine, clothing—some would say very fine clothing—and have been sheltered in a mansion of singular historic import, and great beauty.
“Why, Sir Francis Drake was said to have obtained his famous looking glass from the master of these lands, after throwing a pin made of gold into the well at Holywell. And Owen Glendower bivouacked in the haunted woods north of Penrice Castle yonder, to make attacks against Edward’s mighty fortress at Carreg-Cennen. Earlier myths say that the giant stone slab at Cefn Bryn, upon four upright standing stones (still called Arthur’s Table) marks the very spot to which King Arthur removed the head of the giant Bran, after the High King unearthed it from the Tower of London. The Head of Bran preserved the realm from foreign invasion, you see, and Arthur feared the forces from the Otherworld more than he feared those from France. You should deem yourself honored to dwell in such a setting, Miss Windrose. Honored!”
I said, “My room is cold. At night.”
“What?”
“It is a fine mansion, Headmaster. The grounds are beautiful. But my room is ice-cold.”
To my surprise he frowned, and said, “I’ll see to it.”
“You mean—?”
“I am sure you are not prone to the accidents, or the antics, which tempted our young Mr. mac FirBolg to abuse the privilege of having a fire in his room. I will see you are supplied with firewood and kindling. Unless you would prefer an electric space heater?”
“May I have both?”
“Why not? We are not your enemies, Miss Windrose, no matter what you may have been led to believe. We are your legal guardians—in loco parentis, so to speak. We shall be very much derelict in our duties if we do not do everything parents would do to see to the health and well-being of their children.”
Greatly daring, I said, “If you did not lock us in at night, we could use the water closet on the second floor. Instead of a chamber pot.”
“My, we are optimistic, aren’t we? Well, why not? If…”
“If… what…?”
