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Phew. OK, it’s two days late, but here you go, your monthly fix of the 1800 Days gang.

I know I’m talking up the Mighty Knights right, left and sideways lately, but I promise you folks who got hooked on this one first that it’s still there, too. I’m just trying to finish Draft 0 of MK before I go back into 1800 Days because I have folks lined up to read it and critique, whereas 1800 Days is still very much in full blown draft form and nowhere near Beta-reader readiness.

That said, I know some of you have been waitingandwaitingandwaiting for more news of Tristan and the gang, so – here you go!! Here is Tristan’s first time in the Synesthete dorm, getting settled in after the induction ceremony:

It was twilight; the sun was just going down, barely still visible on the horizon line they could just see beyond a series of distant mountain chains. They could see on this side of campus that the school was built on a tall hill overlooking a vast spread of grasslands, which gently rose into those mountains. Off to the left, a dense forest jutted up against the stone gate surrounding the school grounds. To the right, they could see an enormous lake spreading to the horizon, no land in sight between the school and its other side in the half-light of dusk. Before them were a series of low stone buildings, built in a semi-circle around a central, parklike space about two acres wide. “The dorms,” Edvard told Tristan. “Come on, you’re housed with the other synesthetes. I’ll introduce you.”

Tristan followed Edvard to the building farthest to the left of the circle. Edvard entered first. The room they walked into was spacious, with a ceiling higher than the outside of the building suggested and a fire set in the great stone fireplace, a smaller replica of the fireplace in the commons room they had inhabited during the testing period. The rug on the floor was a great, shaggy white bearskin, with the head still attached; incongruously, it was wearing a glittering, green-and-gold scarf around its neck. There were two couches, placed facing one another, three sets of chairs and tables around the sides of the room, and a series of doors, all closed, that Tristan supposed probably led to the bedrooms or bathrooms. A floor-to-ceiling bookshelf on either side of the fireplace completed the room; Tristan walked over and scanned the titles on the shelf closest to him: A History of Magic in Europe, Volumes 1-8, edited by a Seth Grollingsen. Magic in North America in the Time of the Witch Trials, by somebody named Jaggers. Angels, Daemons, Vampires, and Shapeshifters, a Field Guide, by a Gretchen Fielding. Encyclopedia of Herbs and Their Properties in 10 volumes, supervised by Leonora Blake – he wondered if that were Mistress Blake, here at the academy.

“Each dorm has a set of reference books, for times when the library isn’t open,” Edvard explained. “You can use them whenever you want to, but they aren’t to be removed from this room.” Tristan shrugged and nodded. Suddenly, he felt a warm flush rush through his body, and tasted thick, luscious caramels. A bright arpeggio danced in his head.

“Oh, there you are! I was so excited when they announced another synesthete,” a bubbly girl’s voice exclaimed; turning, they saw a thin, angular brunette with large, bright eyes and a wide mouth grinning at them. A taller boy with a similar brightness about him followed her.

“I’m Agatha, Agatha Overstreet, and this is Paul Grieski,” the girl introduced herself and the boy with her. “Raoul will be along directly. You’ll make the fourth synesthete here, we’re glad to have you. There hasn’t been a new one for two years now!” Tristan noticed that Agatha was wearing a red robe, and Paul a black one.

“Tristan McKendrick,” he said finally, his mouth moving around the taste of caramels.

“Welcome, really,” Agatha said eagerly. “If you have any questions at all, just let us know. We’ve all been new ourselves, and there’s so much to remember, sometimes it can be a bit overwhelming.”

“Thanks,” Tristan said, feeling awkward. She was so….happy. Who was that happy all the time?

“A-hem,” a deep, husky voice interjected. Tristan looked around, but didn’t see anyone else -

“Down. Here.”

Of course. Of course, the bear rug talked. “Welcome to Vestribliss. I’m Arturus.”

“So you’re, like, the dorm mascot?” Tristan guessed. Arturus looked so deeply offended that it was hard for him not to laugh.

“I’m the Dorm Master.” Of course he was. It made about as much sense as anything else here did. “We’ll get better acquainted in the days to come. For now, you should get some rest. Classes start tomorrow.”

“Here, let’s show him his room,” Paul offered, and Tristan obligingly followed as he opened one of the doors on the far side of the great room. Looking inside, he had to admit it was a lot better than his testing room; he couldn’t help but smile as he thought back to that first day, when he had drawn the snake and realized that all of this might not be the complete hoax he had assumed it to be. Not, he reminded himself, that he would ever let anyone know that. Tristan had long ago given up letting people in to his innermost thoughts and fears; it was a sure recipe for a black eye at worst, a lot of teasing at best. No, it was best to maintain a completely noncommittal demeanor rather than to allow anyone in. Still, he felt the hominess of warm brown earth tones spread through his body and heard a deep, low contended humming, like the purr of a cat, as he looked around the small but comfortable room. There was a bed – good sized, large enough for a tall adolescent boy to sprawl on without his feet dangling over the edge – a dresser and closet – for what clothes, he couldn’t say, since he was wearing the only ones he had brought with him – a large chest made of some sort of wood he couldn’t identify off hand, and a desk with a shelf over it. There were books on the shelf, and he walked over to look at them: Introduction to the Magical Arts, 18th Edition; History of Magic in Europe, Fourth Edition; From Trismegistus to Isaac Newton: Alchemy in the Western Tradition – that one had a corresponding workbook –  Principles of Astrology, Book One; Synesthesia: A Primer With Source Documents. There was also an English dictionary, a Latin dictionary, a thesaurus, an Algebra textbook, a Biology textbook, a Latin textbook and workbook, and copies of Joseph Campbell’s Power of Myth and The Hero’s Journey, Bullfinch’s Mythology, the Iliad, the Odyssey, the Aeneid, and Selected Works of Aristotle and Plato. There was also a copy of Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar.

“Oh,” Agatha exclaimed, grabbing The Hero’s Journey off of the shelf. “I remember this! I loved this book. You are going to have so much fun in English this year! We’re reading the 19th century French and German novelists this term – it’s not nearly as interesting.”

“These are for my classes?” Tristan looked over the shelf again. He was taking classes in alchemy and magic?

“Oh, yes,” Agatha replied, reluctantly putting The Hero’s Journey back on the shelf.

“Why is there a Latin textbook? I don’t take Latin.”

“Everybody takes Latin,” Paul assured him. “It’s compulsory.”

“What about the two years of Spanish I already took?” Tristan wanted to know. It had been his best subject back home, mostly because the teacher supplemented the class with Spanish music and food and art, a multi-sensory approach which held Tristan’s interest.

“Oh, you’ll be allowed to continue it in independent study if you want to,” Agatha assured him. “You need a modern language anyhow, so that will do.  And next year, once you’ve gotten a solid base of Latin under your belt, you’ll get to start Greek.”

Tristan stared at her. Get to?

“Oh, you’ll love it,” she assured him. “It’s so, so interesting.”

“Well, you’ll probably want to take a shower and stuff,” Paul said. Tristan realized that he actually did want one, very badly; but what would he change into?

As if she had read his mind – could she read his mind? – Agatha pointed to the closet. “Your bags were sent up earlier; all your clothes and stuff are in there.” He opened the door and saw two large duffel bags – his duffel bags. His parents must have packed them – but how did they get here?

“There’s the door to the bathroom,” Paul pointed to the closed door on the wall opposite. “It adjoins with my room. Agatha is across the great room on the other side, in the girl’s wing.” She nodded assent. “We’ll leave you to get settled in,” he finished, and they were gone, closing the door behind them and leaving him to try to absorb it all.

Left to his own devices, Tristan walked back over to his desk and looked at the textbooks again. This was really happening, it occurred to him, as he ran his forefinger along their spines, re-reading the titles. Urged by some unknown force, he pulled down the Alchemy textbook and looked at the front cover; then hastily he put it back on the shelf, shook his hands vigorously as if he had just handled something distasteful, and walked over to his closet to look for a towel; he did very badly want a shower now: he felt Zombie, diseased green all over. Why the hell was there a picture of a snake on the cover of a magic textbook?