War Bird

22. Somewhere There's Music.

I’m not going to bed. I''m too hepped up for one thing. The urge to hit someone hasn't gone anywhere; I'll never sleep like this. I walk back through the foyer and up to the double doors. The usual guards aren’t here, they’re probably at that boring party, downing watery beer. I touch the handles of the big door, feeling the cold brass under my fingers. I could do it. Just run away, hide out somewhere. But even as I think it, I know it's a stupid idea. The key to getting back home, to Mum and Ribbon, is here at the compound. It can't hurt to look though, so I push on the door. It's firm and solid, I think it's locked, because I can't get it to budge even an inch. I give it a sullen kick and move away.

I keep on walking, my footsteps heavy. I can't get over how the boys can be so chilled out about everything. It’s like they’ve accepted the fact we’re stuck here and they’re fine to wait for a solution to just appear. But not only am I miles away from home, I’ve found out the life I left behind isn’t what I thought it was. I’m a Sorcerer. A useless Sorcerer at that. I wish I knew a spell to erase that truth from my mind. If I knew it, I’d totally make that happen.

I stop, as I realise I've totally lost track of where I am. My head still feels light and now I feel a bit sick. I’ve wandered down the wrong tunnel, this isn’t the way back to the Nightingale dorms. The air smells of something weird and old, like Christmas dinner; sage and herbs. There’s also something making the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. It’s not the smell, but something else. Like there’s an energy in the air. An electricity. I ain’t got nothing better to do, so I push on.

After a few minutes, I come to a large door, made of heavy wood with big rusty hinges. Next to it, by a wall lamp, is a long wooden sign. On it, in black, patchy paint are familiar spiky characters. I must have picked up the runes from that book quicker than I thought, as I can easily read it. It says ‘The Rookery.’ I touch the runes, and they make my fingers tingle. This is the place Finlay told me about, although I can’t see any cordons or barriers like he said. 

“He’s so full of rubbish.” I have to stop thinking about him. I pull on the handle, which creaks under my touch. I tug hard, turning it left, then right. The door groans, but stays shut. I give it a kick and a shove, and it finally swings open. I step through in to a wide room that’s cold and the smell of bleach is mixed in with that herby one. The room is round and high, and across the ceiling are lots of exposed beams with Runes carved into them, loads and loads of Runes. There’s too many to read easily, but taking them all in makes my head hurt, like there’s a big weight pressing down on my skull. Finlay said this is where the Dirty Work of the war happens and looking at the etchings above, I believe it.

There’s a couple of sconces on the walls that light the room up just enough for me to make out the contents of the room. There are three cages alongside the far left wall, and opposite me, a corridor leading into darkness. To my right, there is what looks like a meeting room, with thick glass walls that look out across the Rookery. I walk over to the room and try the door. It’s locked of course. I push my face up to the cold glass. Ah. It feels nice against my pounding head. Inside the room is a long table, like the boardroom, with four matching chairs. But the chairs all face out, looking towards the window. Like, people only sat in that room to watch what was going on in the Rookery. Huh. What would be so interesting that they’d just sit there and watch? The thought makes me shiver so I turn away.

There are loads of weird contraptions scattered throughout the lab; a shiny chair that looks like the one at the dentist, a wide capsule thing with wires coming out of it and a cage suspended from the rim of the ceiling. The cage is just the right size for a person. Oh man. I look back the weird viewing room. It all makes sense; the Dirty Work, the tortures and interrogations would happen here and those sick freaks would use that glass room to listen in on what came out-