Chronicles of Charanthe
REBELLION
Rachel Cotterill
Copyright Rachel Cotterill 2010
Visit the author's website at
https://rachelcotterill.com
Prologue
His attention was caught by the snapping of a twig down in the valley. Laban held himself still, forcing even his breathing to silence, and turned his eyes to follow the sound. The disturbance came not a moment too soon; he'd been starting to doubt the quality of his informants.
It was a few moments before the girl emerged from the dense cover of the trees. She walked barefoot up the slope, a purposeful look on her face, and though she looked up she didn't seem to see him hidden between the branches. She was a thin child, short for her thirteen years, with stunning red hair which flowed down her back. She looked so like her mother.
She came blinking into the sunlight, paused for a moment, then seated herself cross-legged on the ground. Now she was closer, he could see she'd been crying.
He'd been thinking for so long about what he'd say when he met her but now she was here, tearful and intense and real, he felt everything he'd rehearsed slipping away from him. Nothing in his thirty-one years had really prepared him for this.
She pulled a slate from her pocket and began scratching something; Laban couldn't make out what she wrote but she'd fallen into an intense concentration, stylus moving rapidly across the slate as she worked.
He lowered himself from his perch, slipping silently to the ground, and took two small steps towards her. He knew he'd made very little sound – certainly nothing that couldn't have been attributed to the shuffling of a small creature or the gusting of a summer breeze – but she stopped writing and looked straight up at him, fixing him with the penetrating stare of those bright green eyes.
"Excuse me," he said, aiming a small bow in her direction. He watched the battle between fear and curiosity play across her face. He knew this was the most important moment, in a way, and it was out of his control – if she was too scared to be intrigued, there would be no sense in persisting. Yet he badly wanted her to pass this first test.
"Who are you?" she asked at last.
He breathed a silent sigh of relief, but he couldn't yet afford to relax. "My name's Laban. I'm sorry to disturb you, I was just going home." He took another couple of steps towards the rock face, tucked his fingers into familiar crevices, and started to climb.
Her incredulous voice interrupted him. "You live here?"
"Yes. Well, almost – just on the other side of the hill."
"You can't." The flat certainty of her tone amused him; she had a typical child's arrogance. "I've been up – it's just a cliff. You can't live there."
"Well, I do," he said, and continued to climb.
Once his fingers reached the sharp ridge of the summit he decided it was time to show off, so with one smooth movement he somersaulted over the ridge and dropped comfortably onto the rock ledge some ten feet below. He moved just far enough inside the cave to be sure that he was no longer visible from the hilltop and paused; waiting, listening. It was only a moment before his ears picked up the sounds he was hoping for – the echo of someone clambering up the rocks.
She was bold enough to follow him, then. That boded well.
PART I
Chapter 1
The hall fell silent at the headmistress's entrance, but all eyes were on the man who followed two steps behind her. The Imperial Assessors were the only men who ever visited Mersioc Regional School for Girls, and this one looked particularly austere in his formal grey tunic. He was carrying a large box of what could only be their assignments, and the girls craned their necks as if there was a chance they could glimpse the contents of the letters. The rivets on the Assessor's boots caused his footsteps to click, echoing into the rafters as Isabelle led him onto the stage at the front of the room.
"Good morning, girls," Isabelle said warmly. "And congratulations to you all on your Day of Assignment. You've been my charges for seventeen years, but today you become adults. I'm sure you're all looking forwards to learning what your future lives will hold."
"Are you excited yet?" Gisele whispered to Eleanor.
Eleanor shrugged, trying not to show any particular emotion for fear that the whole of what she was feeling would flood out.
"We'll see what happens," she said. The assignments had already been made, the letters already written; it was too late to change anything now. That knowledge didn't comfort her.
Annette leaned across, twirling one of her blonde ringlets idly in her fingers. "Oh, but we all know you're going to get something great. You've always been so good at all the physical stuff, and you're clever, you're bound to get something exciting."
Gisele nodded. "I know you don't want to let yourself think too much about the Specials," she said, "but there are loads of good opportunities for someone like you, even outside of the military."
"Well, we all know it'll be a mistake if they don't give me a place in the Special Corps," Eleanor said. But despite her confident words, her nerves made her feel sick to her stomach.
"There's a letter here for each of you," Isabelle continued from the front of the room, holding up one example. It was carefully folded and sealed with the Imperial crest. "And inside you will find details of your future career in the Imperial Service. But before we begin, I'm sure our honoured guest has a few words to say about the process."
"Indeed, indeed," the Assessor agreed. "In a moment I'll read out your names, and you may each come forwards in turn to receive your assignment. For some of you, there will be extra training at special academies; for others, any new skills you require will be learnt on the job. The details are all in your letter, along with your new address – which could, of course, be anywhere in Charanthe. It should all be self-explanatory, but I'll be here all day to represent the College of Assessors if you have questions."
Isabelle thanked him and turned back to the students. "As you must surely realise, over the past seventeen years a lot of effort has gone into matching each of you with your most productive future path, so I hope you will join me in extending heartfelt thanks to the Assessors for their work."
The girls all clapped politely.
"And now," she beamed, "our honoured guest will call for each of you in turn. When you hear your name, please come and collect your letter and leave the hall quietly. We have a lot to get through this morning."
The Assessor nodded, and picked up the first letter. The girls cast nervous glances at one other as they waited, but no-one dared speak as the Assessor read the names and identification numbers from each letter in turn.
Almost half of the girls had already gone by the time Eleanor was called. Feeling a little dazed, struggling to believe that this was really happening at last, she got to her feet and walked towards the front of the hall. The Assessor nodded as he handed her the letter, and she managed a weak smile back at him before turning to leave the room.
Pushing her way through the crowd who had thronged around the corridor, who were swapping notes and giggling excitedly, Eleanor found her way outdoors at last. She wanted to be alone for this, and that left only one place she could go.
She stuffed the letter unopened into her pocket and slipped between the school buildings, making her way to the edge of the forest which bounded the school playing fields. There was no shortage of rumours about terrible things lurking in the darker reaches of the forest but Eleanor had taken refuge between the trees since she was about six years old, taking advantage of her classmates' fears to buy herself a little privacy. Even now they were older, most of the girls wouldn't venture beyond the first few trees.
; Eleanor kicked off her shoes. Other than the occasional disturbance of a stone or beech-nut, the ground was comfortable underfoot; a thick mat of many years' fallen leaves covered the earth, slowly decaying into a soft mulch. She picked a familiar path between the trunks, winding her way up the steep hillside. She tried to make sure she varied her route from day to day, not wanting to create an obvious track, but her destination was always the same.
The walk felt longer than usual today, with the assignment letter weighing heavily on her mind, but eventually the trees began to thin and she came to the rocky outcrop – bare apart from a smattering of moss and lichen – which formed the top of the hill. The closest semblance of a walkable path from here was a long, winding route which would have taken far too long to negotiate, so Eleanor chose as she usually did: a direct climb was both more efficient and more fun.
As she scrambled up the rocks she remembered the first time she'd climbed this way as a girl; although she'd already been a moderately accomplished climber, she hadn't made that first ascent with the effortlessness she now managed. After four years of practice, her fingers knew every crevice.
Her mind was full of memories as she clambered over the peak of the rock, and down a slight slope on the other side until she was standing right at the edge of a deep, narrow gorge. It was barely five yards across, but the near-vertical rock ran much further down than that. A fast-flowing river filled all the floor of the gulley below.
With a quick glance behind her – it was a firmly ingrained habit to make sure she hadn't been followed before proceeding from here – she put her hands to the ground and lowered herself over the edge. Hanging by her fingertips, she allowed herself to drop, and landed smoothly a few feet below. Although the ledge was barely visible from above, she'd done this often enough now to feel comfortable with the routine. The platform on which she now stood extended back into the rock, forming a natural cave where she'd spent a great deal of her time over the past few years.
Whatever the weather outside, the cave was always cool and dark; even today's midsummer sun barely filtered inside. She kept a box of candles here and she lit one now, looking around in the flickering light. Everything was exactly as she'd left it. The target board on the wall to her left hung at its usual tilt, and there wasn't a single new crease in the pile of blankets and cushions which formed a makeshift bed against the opposite wall.
Today more than usual, she felt a deep disappointment that nothing had changed, that the cave was still abandoned, that he hadn't returned.
She pulled out the small throwing knife which she kept hidden beneath her clothes and flicked it towards the target, a familiar shot which she always executed perfectly. Today, however, the anxiety affected her aim and she missed the bullseye.
She knew it was irrational, but she'd hoped Laban might have come to wish her luck. She'd never stopped thinking of this as his cave, though he'd left eighteen months before, without so much as a note to explain. He'd taken all his possessions except for the knife, which she now carried everywhere.
She'd always wondered whether he'd return one day, but time was running out now.
She retrieved the knife, took a moment to focus her attention, and repeated the shot. This time, she hit the target perfectly – yes, she had talent, there was no doubt about that. Now it was time to find out where it was leading.
She sat on the edge of the pallet, pulled the letter from her pocket and slid her knife along to break the seal. She smoothed the paper carefully against her leg without allowing her eyes to focus on the words.
Only then, after a few deep breaths, did she pick up the candle and permit herself to read the first line of the letter.
Assignment: Police Officer, Level Three, Port Just.
Waves of bitter disappointment washed over her. She'd hoped against hope for the Military Special Corps – although, she admonished herself, it had been stupid to let herself get too attached to the idea, when she'd known all along that the odds were stacked against her. The recruitment for the Specials was only about fifty students per year from across the whole archipelago, and since she knew little of the hundreds of other schools across the Empire, she'd always known there was no guarantee of getting her dream. But this – a job in the local police force, not even a posting to the capital – was just insulting.
Eleanor longed for the bright lights of the city. Though she'd lived in the school all her life, the stories of Almont had an irresistible allure, and she'd just assumed that she'd be going there whatever the actual assignment had been. She'd also assumed that she'd get a Level One job, with further training and scope to progress over the years: she was undoubtedly the best in the school when it came to the physical arts. How could they overlook her talents like this?
She looked at the sheet of paper again, vainly hoping that it might have changed when she re-read it. But the words were still there in black and white: still the same; still depressing.
She flung her knife towards the target again and glowered at the quivering hilt; how could she possibly be expected to abandon all her skills and join the police? It wasn't as though Port Just was a hotbed of criminal activity, and they hadn't had a rebel disruption in years. She could almost see the lifetime of boredom stretching ahead of her. She was skilled to handle more than a little drunken rowdiness.
She settled back onto the bed and skimmed the remaining paragraphs of the assignment notice. Key phrases leapt out at her, each one feeling like a knife between the eyes. A small role maintaining local order... No further training necessary... No need for the Assignee to encounter real responsibility... No opportunity for transfer to other locations...
But the last line was arguably the worst of all, reading like the punchline to a horrible joke: This assignment has been assessed to be the best fit for your known personality and skills.
Eleanor wanted to scream. It was as though the letter had been written for someone else, or worse, as if it had been phrased specifically to annoy her every time she looked at it.
"And what about my unknown skills?" she yelled, shaking the sheet of paper as though it was to blame for the words so neatly inscribed there.
She flopped onto her back, watching the shadows flickering across the roof of the cave and wondering how long it would take before she could face her friends and pretend to be appropriately delighted by her assignment. No other emotion would be acceptable on a day like this, but she couldn't stop wondering how the Assessors could have got her assignment so wrong. The system was supposed to be perfect; it wasn't in anyone's interests to make mistakes. The whole functioning of the Empire was predicated on the assumption that everyone could be found a suitable job, and that people would work harder and be more productive if they were appropriately matched to their work. The lifelong testing and profiling measured every student's strengths and weaknesses to allow the Assessors to work out exactly what best suited a person. So why would they have given her something so very far from what she was capable of? Eleanor just couldn't believe that the best fit, for her, was to join the police force in a small provincial town.
She shuffled to try and get comfortable, but something hard was pressing painfully into the small of her back. Feeling behind her, she found a book half-buried in the blankets. She didn't remember leaving any books here, so she pulled it out and flipped curiously to the title page. Stories of the Assassins: An Analysis of the Myths, it said. It was marked as a school library book but she didn't remember taking it out; she certainly hadn't read it.
She flicked through the first few pages, hoping it might help to take her mind off her horrible assignment, but she just caught herself wishing she could have that kind of excitement in her life. Though the Empire had never quite denied the existence of an elite assassin cadre, facts were hard to come by. What survived was a mix of rumours and legends which were usually impossible, and often self-contradictory. A bit of diverting nonsense, nothing more. Yet, dredged up now from the back of her mind, the one story which really sto
od out in Eleanor's memory was that of the selection process. She remembered it just as Gisele had told it one night, up in the dormitory after lights-out, many years previously.
"Becoming an assassin is the hardest part of the job, you know," she had said in hushed, awed tones. "I heard one of the girls from our school tried, just one, just once, but she failed... ooh, it sounded awful! Blood everywhere. They took her eyes out first and then, once she couldn't see to fight her way out of trouble, they slit her throat. Left her like that in the fountain in the Grand Square in Almont for everyone to see. Can you believe it? But the stupid thing – the really crazy thing – is that she could have been a nurse. That's what her assignment said. But they say that's how it always is, they can't write Assassin on your letter, so they put something else, and you just have to know, somehow, if it's meant to be you..." Gisele had continued for quite some time, and they'd all talked well into the night about the trials and troubles of would-be assassins, swapping stories and trying to scare one another with tales of blood and gore.
Recalling the story now, Eleanor was mildly surprised to find herself wishing for there to be truth in the tale, wishing that it could apply to her, wishing that she could magically know that she was supposed to head off in search of some secret training academy instead of becoming a boring police officer. She shook her head gently, amazed that she'd let herself get so carried away by childhood stories. Being a mysterious assassin sounded much more appealing than some dull police job – but it was just a fairy tale. Nevertheless, she skipped to the relevant part of the book, where a very similar story was laid down. Postulants are expected to reject their assignments in order to seek out the Academy.
She dropped the book to the floor, annoyed at herself for getting distracted by such stupid things when she should be focusing on how to fix this mess. All that she really wanted was to hide away in the forest forever, but her friends would already be wondering where she was. She knew she'd have to face them eventually, so she snuffed out the candle and made her way back to the school.
As she passed by groups of younger girls playing carelessly on the lawns she wished – not for the first time – that she'd run away when she was younger. She'd thought about it often enough but just as she was growing old enough to act on those dreams, Laban had showed up in the forest and insisted she should stay and complete her schooling.
No-one ever left the Imperial Service – with the exception of the criminal fraternity, and a few who became desperate beggars, you did the job you were assigned to until you became too old to be useful to anyone. But perhaps she could've escaped from the Empire and found her way to some far-away land where people were free to do whatever they chose. Maybe that was still an option.
She'd never before stopped to wonder why Laban had been so insistent that she stay with the system, when living in a hilltop cave was clearly about as far from normal as it was possible to get. Could she do likewise, if she decided now was the moment to run away at last? So far as she knew, no-one else was aware of her cave... could she live out the rest of her days there, scavenging for food in the forest? But it wouldn't take long for that to become just as boring as being a police officer, without the comfort of a house and a wage.
Gisele, Annette and Sophie were already in the dorm when Eleanor arrived, sitting on their beds and waiting for her and Lucille to come and share their news. Eleanor had known she'd find them there; they'd grown up together in this room, and the dormitory group was the closest thing each girl had to a family unit, so when something of this magnitude was happening it was the natural place to congregate.
"And?" Gisele asked as soon as Eleanor walked through the door.
"Police," Eleanor said nonchalantly, hoping that no-one would read her true feelings on the matter.
"See, I told you! I knew you'd get something good!" Annette said, smiling broadly. "And I've got a teaching post here, which is perfect, and Gisele's off to the diplomatic corps like we always knew she would be – and Sophie's going to be a cook, if you can believe her luck!"
Eleanor felt relieved, really, that the system was so well trusted. No-one even stopped to consider the possibility that an assignment might not be the best possible thing that could happen to the person to whom it was given. Annette had instantly assumed that being assigned to the police force was brilliant news for Eleanor, and the others adopted the same view, so none of them actually asked her what she thought about it. Probably they assumed she was off to work on something exciting like fraud or smuggling or hunting out rebels.
A moment later Lucille burst through the door; she'd clearly come running up the stairs, gasping for breath and with her wavy brown hair strewn all across her face. "Assessor!" she cried happily as she kicked the door shut behind her. "I'm going to be an Assessor, it's a Level One, it's going to be so exciting!"
Another round of congratulations ensued. Eleanor wished she could feel happy for the other girls, wished she could set aside her own emotions for long enough to share in their celebrations, but though she put on a good act, all she felt was a cold, sick emptiness in the pit of her stomach.
She excused herself as soon as she thought she could get away with it, claiming she needed to visit the library, but in reality she marched back to the assembly hall, determined to sort this out once and for all. Just as he'd promised, the Assessor was sitting near the stage, looking rather bored as he pored over a folder of paperwork.
"Excuse me."
He looked up, surprised to have been disturbed. "How can I help you?"
"Is this really my letter?" She pulled out the crumpled paper and offered it to him, but he didn't take it.
"Is it your identification number?"
"Yes."
"Your name?"
"Yes."
"Then it's your assignment."
"But I want you to check that it's right." She straightened the paper and pushed it in front of his face. "This doesn't sound like me at all, so I want you to check it."
He slammed his folder shut and looked up at her, still refusing to take the letter which she held an inch from his nose. "You must be Eleanor. No-one else at this school has ever had such a reputation."
"What reputation?"
"For being difficult."
"Difficult?" She stared at him. "I'm not difficult!"
He raised an eyebrow. "Do you have any idea how few complaints we receive? Every objection in the last five years has been from you. I suppose it was naive to think you'd accept your assignment quietly."
"If you did your job properly, I wouldn't have to complain," she said. "If I hadn't had to fight so hard to even study the subjects I'm best at, then maybe some idiot wouldn't have put me in some dead-end police job now."
"Considering how much disruption you've managed to cause even while you're at school, I suspect it's best for everyone that you settle down somewhere quiet," he said, finally deigning to glance at the letter. "This sounds about right."
"It's not right at all! I want you to change it."
"Sorry, Eleanor, I can't do that."
"Well, who can?"
"The decision has been made; the College is in agreement. No changes will be made."
Eleanor snatched the letter back from him and tore it sharply down the middle. "Well that's what I think of your stupid assignment!" she said, continuing to rip the paper into jagged pieces which she then scattered into his lap. "And you can shove it wherever you please, because I'm not taking such a pathetic post, not now and not ever!"
He stared at her, stunned into silence, and she turned and stormed from the room before he recovered from his shock. It was only as she made her way to the dining hall, where the other girls were gathering for dinner, that she realised the magnitude of what she'd just done. It wasn't just a job she'd turned down; in a moment's fury she'd opted out of the whole Imperial system, and after they left school at the end of the month she wouldn't even have a place to live. Perhaps she'd be looking into those crazy assassin myths aft
er all.
She toyed with the hilt of her knife and wished again that Laban would come back. Now more than ever, she needed someone she could trust.
She was just settling down to her meal when the headmistress came up behind her, the heels of her shoes clicking on the cold stone floor.
"Eleanor, a word, if I may."
Eleanor looked longingly at her plate, but decided that she'd better not argue. Ignoring the curious looks that her friends were shooting at her, she got up and followed Isabelle from the room without a word.
They walked through the corridors and up a flight of stairs Eleanor had never climbed before, into the headmistress's private office. The door closed behind them with a click that echoed through the room.
Isabelle indicated to Eleanor that she should sit down, and then pulled up another chair alongside.
"Now, Eleanor," she said, and though her voice was soft it lacked much of the warmth that was usually there. "I understand you've chosen to decline your assignment."
Eleanor nodded, a lump rising in her throat. She hadn't expected the consequences to come so quickly.
"I can't be seen to condone this," Isabelle continued. "This school has an impeccable record. We've had only one drop-out in our history – and her fate wasn't pleasant so we won't discuss that. I will allow you to stay here tonight, but unfortunately I'll have to ask you to leave first thing in the morning."
Eleanor gasped involuntarily; she'd thought she'd have longer than this to plan her next move. "I thought we had the rest of the month," she said, a hint of a question in her voice.
"Usually. Usually, yes," Isabelle agreed. "But what you have done is not usual. You have to understand that you've put me in a rather difficult position. I cannot be seen to support your decision, and the girls must see that rebellion has consequences."
Eleanor nodded mutely.
A look of sadness flickered briefly across the headmistress's face and she looked as though she was about to say something, but then stopped herself. "I hope you know what you're doing, Eleanor," she said at last, and there was a slight tremor in her voice which made her sound almost worried. With that, she stood up and went to open the door.
Eleanor felt numb; she didn't even bother to go and check whether there was still food to be had in the dining hall. When she opened the door to the dormitory, she was surprised to find that all four of the room's other inhabitants were already there, looking expectantly at her.
"Well?" Gisele asked immediately.
Eleanor gave a mental shrug; they'd find out soon enough, so she might as well get this over with. "I rejected my assignment," she said flatly. "So I'm to leave the school tomorrow."
Four pairs of eyes stared at her in amazement.
"You did what?" Annette shrieked.
Gisele waved at the other girls to be quiet, and when she spoke it was with a calm, measured tone that befitted a future diplomat. "Eleanor," she said, "I think you'd better tell us what's going on."
Eleanor nodded. She wasn't sure what she had to tell them – but she'd grown up with these girls, they'd shared their childhoods, and she didn't want to lie to them. But she thought, in the circumstances, that it might be prudent to be economical with the truth. "The assignment I was given was dreadful," she said. That much was true. "I decided I'd prefer to go it alone."
There was a moment of stunned silence; even Gisele wasn't sure what to say to such a frank admission. Annette looked positively scandalized.
"So what are you going to do?" Lucille asked.
"I don't know." Giving simplistic but truthful answers was proving easier than Eleanor had anticipated. "I'd like to see Almont."
"Oh, well!" Gisele smiled, suddenly back on territory she could understand. "Lucille and I will both be there, you know. You'll be able to come round for tea."
"Excellent!" Lucille said happily, apparently satisfied that this was reason enough to forgive Eleanor's strange behaviour.
Annette and Sophie glanced at each other; Eleanor caught a glimpse of the look that flashed between them but chose not to take them up on it. She'd known they wouldn't approve, but she was happy with the minimum of discussion on the subject.
Deciding that the conversation was over – at least she hoped it was – Eleanor turned to gather her things together. She began to pull clothes at random from her wardrobe, throwing them haphazardly into her trunk – they'd each been provided with one the previous week so that they could start packing their possessions to move into their adult lives. She didn't feel it was important to be particularly neat about the process; a journey like the one she was about to embark on called for packing light, so she was fairly sure that she'd be leaving most of her things in the cave in the forest. She would only take essentials beyond the very first stage of her trip.
She was aware that the other girls watched her as she flung clothes and shoes carelessly into the case. She could picture their faces perfectly without looking round; there would be no shortage of surprise at the idea that Eleanor could possibly be doing anything in a less-than-meticulous manner. But she didn't really care what they thought any more, she just wanted to get the job over with.
Only when her hands reached her private bag of tricks, which she'd kept carefully hidden under a stack of trousers in the bottom of the wardrobe, did she begin to take care of what she was doing. The small canvas bag contained almost everything that mattered to her: a couple of knives she'd 'borrowed' from their hand-to-hand combat classes and conveniently forgotten to return, a number of crooked pieces of metal which came in very handy for opening doors, and an assortment of day-to-day useful objects like rope and candles. She knew that if she threw the bag too heavily into the trunk, the clattering of metal would generate unwanted interest from the other girls; she also knew that it would be noticed if she suddenly abandoned her casual manner to place the bag more carefully.
"I'm hungry," she pronounced suddenly, looking up at the others, who all immediately put all of their efforts into pretending they hadn't been watching her. She took advantage of the momentary diversion to slip the bag silently into a corner of the trunk, hastily flung in a handful of underwear to hide it, and stood up. As she did so, she realised that she really was hungry. "Let's go down to the kitchens and see if we can get a snack," she suggested, pushing down the lid of the trunk. It closed with a satisfying clunk.
"I'll come with you," Lucille volunteered.
Annette and Gisele both said "Me too," at the same time.
They all looked at Sophie, who nodded; she was the smallest of the five, thin in a feeble way contrasted with Eleanor's equally slender but well-toned frame. She'd always been a nervous girl, seeming young for her age, and not the sort of person to want to stay alone in the room at night, even though no-one had ever really questioned the safety of the school.
They walked down the stairs in silence, trying not to disturb any of the girls in the other dormitories along the way. When they reached the kitchen door, Eleanor slipped a couple of pins from her hair and proceeded to work on the lock; it was a simple design, and always opened easily. The only time she'd let anyone see any of her more unusual skills was when they had snuck down to the kitchen for midnight snacks, as they'd been doing off and on for years – none of the girls had ever asked her how she'd learnt, but they knew she was a practical person, so they probably just assumed she'd taught herself.
But when she turned to let them into the kitchens, Eleanor stopped short: Sophie was looking inexplicably terrified.
"You won't do that in the outside world, will you?" she asked, her voice wavering uncertainly. She looked like she might burst into tears at any moment.
"Of course she won't," Gisele said briskly. "Will you, Eleanor?"
"No, of course not," Eleanor agreed, although she was quite sure she was lying.
Sophie was visibly relieved. "Sorry," she mumbled, blushing a fierce shade of scarlet. "It's just, well, you know what they say about people who drop out..." She shuddered. "I don't
want you to become a criminal, Eleanor. You'd be too good at it."