The bell hadn’t rung yet.
Five children loitered beneath the crooked statue of Baron Malsham outside the school gates, pretending not to dread what waited inside.
Petunia picked at the peeling paint on the bench and scowled.
“Yesterday’s adventure was way better than this. That troll fight was glorious. Lucille — thanks for that healing potion. Eustace, you didn’t help at all.”
“I did help,” Eustace protested. “I cast the fire spell that gave Percival the chance to attack.”
“Yeah,” Lucille added nervously. “We probably shouldn’t play in Mrs. Sanger’s cornfield anymore.”
“That’s what makes it fun,” Petunia snapped.
Percival sighed. He’d spent most of the evening trying to scrub yesterday’s mud from his shoes.
Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.
“We weren’t even gone fifteen minutes. You nearly fell into a compost pit.”
“I was scouting,” she huffed.
Lucille didn’t answer. She just stared at the iron gates and clutched her lunch tin like it might bite her.
Digby arrived last, dragging his feet and licking something red from his fingers.
“You reckon lunch’ll be better today?”
“No,” said everyone.
Above them, Baron Malsham’s stone face scowled down from its pedestal. The plaque beneath it read:
Obedience is Order.
Order is Compliance.
“Creeps me out,” Petunia muttered. “I bet he watches us.”
“He does,” Eustace said. “There are spies everywhere. Edmund told me.”
Petunia rolled her eyes. “Maybe you’re the spy.”
“Maybe you’re the spy.”
“No, you’re the spy!”
Percival raised his hands.
“Alright, stop. No one’s a spy.”
Then he glanced toward the distant smokestacks rising beyond the town.
“What’s worse is that fertilizer plant. It’s always billowing smoke.”
Petunia wrinkled her nose.
“Smells like boiled cabbage and misery.”
The school bell rang.
A sharp, angry clang echoed across the courtyard.
“Glory to Baron Malsham,” the children muttered without enthusiasm as they trudged toward the doors.
