Chapter 9
On the morning of September 1st, I got out of bed in a terrible state: tired, exhausted, and desperate to go back to sleep. A small, pale zombie-like girl with dark circles under her wild eyes stared back at me from the mirror. Yeah, I was a bit worried yesterday. I’ll have to go see Sister Liza; she has a “secret army energy drink” stashed away for such occasions. It wasn’t until a month into my stay at the orphanage that I noticed this oddity—almost every morning, one of the children would wake up extremely tired and feeling terribly weak. The solution was simple: go to a teacher, they’d give you fifty grams of a strange mixture, and within five minutes, the fatigue and weakness would vanish, and you’d be running and jumping like everyone else.
I knocked on the door, waited for the voice to say “open,” and entered Sister Lisa’s room. Incidentally, the teacher’s quarters weren’t much different from mine, except the space was more lived-in and a couple of square meters larger. Seeing me as irresistible, Sister nodded to herself, went to the back cabinet, where she poured some slop into a measuring glass, and returned.
“Drink this, you’ll feel better right away,” she said cheerfully.
– What is this? – I’m interested.
“A magic potion!” Lisa joked and added, “Come on, drink it, you’ll miss the beginning of the warm-up.”
I drank it down in one gulp; the pleasantly minty-smelling mixture tasted absolutely disgusting. After returning the glass to Lisa, I went to my room to change for exercise. The potion really did turn out to be magical—five minutes later I was jumping around like a sprightly little goat; it was some kind of magic. I’ll think about it later.
The morning then proceeded almost as usual: bathing and a hearty breakfast, the only difference being that all the children were in school uniform, and upon leaving the cafeteria, each took a lunchbox for a snack at school. Two buses were waiting at the orphanage gates, ready to transport the rodents to the granite of science. Sister Nancy, the older girls’ teacher, was driving the bus assigned to the younger group. The second bus, with Father Joshua, was already being boarded by the senior students themselves.
In general, the education system in the British Empire is quite interesting and very different from the one I was familiar with in my previous life. School is divided into primary and secondary levels, each in a separate educational institution, meaning young children attend separately from older children. Children enter primary school at the age of five. This level lasts six years, and upon completion, they take a full final exam, the results of which determine their choice of secondary school. Naturally, the more prestigious the institution, the higher the passing score, but almost all of them offer full boarding—in keeping with the good old English tradition, children are taught independence and only come home for the holidays. Senior schooling lasts seven years and culminates in the Unified Imperial Attestation, the equivalent of the Unified State Exam from my previous life, only here it’s a whole series of tests, written and oral exams. After successfully passing, young people are awarded the Imperial Certificate of Secondary Education.
Given that all higher education in the Empire is fee-based, and compulsory military service is deferred during the course of study, only the children of fairly wealthy parents can enroll in the University immediately after high school. Everyone else’s path leads to the glorious British Army, with many girls voluntarily signing a three-year contract. Yes, the minimum military service in the Empire is three years, and it’s the same for both men and women. According to Sister Nancy, living conditions and training are also no different.
After serving the minimum term in the armed forces, young men can apply to universities. Demobilized soldiers have lower entrance exam scores, and the Empire pays half to the full tuition, depending on their merits. The Empire will cover the full tuition of the “lucky one” who spent three years chasing rebels in the colonies and risking his life, unlike someone who was shuffling papers in a rear office.
Technically, I’m entering second grade straight away. Lady Priscilla personally tested my knowledge and was very pleased, but she made me memorize the phone number in her office and demanded I call immediately if anything happened. Father Benedict then added something like, “The mechanized corps of heavy breakthrough tanks will arrive within fifteen minutes, and until then, I must hold the line and not succumb to enemy provocations.”
After twenty minutes of driving, our bus stopped at a large, three-story red brick building. Surrounded by a high wrought-iron fence, the grounds were adorned with numerous flowerbeds and ornamental shrubs, with stone-paved paths winding between them. The building itself wasn’t new, but it was very well-kept: the large windows sparkled with cleanliness, and the huge front porch still smelled of fresh paint. There were no morning assemblies or other events planned; the children went straight to class, and Sister Nancy took me to meet the principal. My documents were already at the school, but this is a tradition of sorts.
The only way to enter the school is through a security post manned by two armed police officers. A large bulletin board and class schedules for all grades are posted in the first-floor hallway, and a cabinet with a telephone and a large phone book tucked into a corner. The principal’s office is on the second floor, where we were greeted by a short, smiling man, thin and receding. He introduced himself as Mr. Kasdan and ceremoniously handed me my still-blank report card. The principal told me I was very lucky to have such a teacher, as Mrs. Dietrich has nearly forty years of teaching experience, and added that my classroom is right next door—the last door on the left down the hall. With that, we said our goodbyes, and Sister Nancy warned me once again not to be late for the bus, which would arrive at exactly three o’clock.
I entered my classroom with about ten minutes left before class started. What can I say, the large windows made the room feel spacious and bright, the walls covered with posters and other educational materials. Three rows of two-person desks, just like in my previous life, abutted the now-empty teacher’s desk and a huge chalkboard. I was barely noticed; as I gathered, the children had missed their friends over the holidays and were now eagerly sharing their impressions. A steady hum, punctuated by children’s laughter, filled the room with about thirty students, huddled in pairs or small groups of three to five. Only in the first desk of the middle row did I notice a lone girl with a shock of brown hair. As I approached, I noticed she was holding a math textbook and pretending to read, but in reality, she was sadly staring into space. Well, let’s get acquainted!
– Hello! Is this place occupied? – I greeted cheerfully and put my bag on the desk.
The girl looked up from her textbook and stared at me with a surprised, uncertain expression. She had beautiful eyes, the color of milk chocolate, with lush eyelashes. If she could just fix her front teeth, she’d be a real beauty. Hmm. She seemed to be frozen.
“Hi! Can I sit next to you?” I repeated the question with a smile.
– H-h-hello! O-o-of course you can! – she stammered and added sadly: – I’m sitting alone.
“Well, I’m not alone anymore. Let’s get acquainted, I’m Rigel Evans, the new girl at your school.” She extended her hand.
“H-Hermione Granger! Nice to meet you!” The little girl shook my hand, a little apprehensively. The movies said she didn’t have any friends at school, but here, apparently, she’s being bullied. I’ll have to change that, since she’s so intimidated. The main thing is no murder; killing children is wrong, period.
At that moment, a quiet cough came from the entrance and everyone suddenly fell silent. A short, thin old woman stood in the doorway. Under her watchful gaze, the children quickly began to take their seats, and she, slightly hunched over and the heels of her shoes clicking leisurely, walked to her desk. I studied this Mrs. Dietrich: dark hair heavily streaked with gray, a long, sharp nose, black, dissatisfied eyes, and long, thin fingers. She looks very much like the old woman Shapoklyak from the old cartoon about the kindly crocodile; I don’t like her. I hope this old woman has met her crocodile and won’t make our lives miserable; the director didn’t praise her so much for nothing.
I silently walked up to the teacher’s desk and handed Mrs. Dietrich my report card. She looked at me appraisingly and gestured for me to stand next to her. A minute later, the bell rang and she spoke quietly:
“Children, hello, I’m glad to see you all in good health. I hope you’ve had a good rest over the holidays and are ready to study. Before we begin, I have a quick announcement: we have a new girl in our class named Rigel Evans,” she gestured at me, “she’s been transferred to us from St. Ursula’s Orphanage. You’ll meet her later during recess, Miss Evans, take your seat.”
The first lesson was math. Mrs. Dietrich started with a short quiz, trying to test my mettle, but when I didn’t make any mistakes, the teacher moved on to other children. Then we solved simple addition and subtraction problems. Overall, it was boring and quiet. Hermione sat silently throughout the lesson, only occasionally glancing hopefully at me.
Immediately after the bell rang, Mrs. Dietrich left the classroom to attend to her errands. Breaks, by the way, are long here—a full fifteen minutes each—and the lesson itself lasted a standard academic hour, or forty-five minutes. As soon as the teacher disappeared from sight, three local authority figures, all quite large for six years old, approached our desk. The plumpest and fairest stood in front of our desk, a tall, dark-haired boy stood next to me on the left, and a tall, red-haired boy settled in next to Hermione on the right. As they approached, my neighbor cringed and looked down at the floor.
“Don’t be friends with her,” said the chubby guy opposite me.
“Why is that?” I asked, standing up and clenching my fists. “They’re children, you can’t take out the precious one.”
“Because she’s a nerdy beaver!” the redhead laughed and spat loudly right into Hermione’s notebook.
“Quickly wipe it off and apologize!” I commanded him.
“So what? Will you tell Mom or Dad?” the dark-haired, stocky man asked me with a sly smile.
“She doesn’t have any! She has no one to complain to!” the red-haired man laughed and spat again, this time at my deskmate.
I started shaking. You little assholes are fucked, kids this age absorb information very well, so I’ll explain to you in detail why you shouldn’t bully girls.
My perception speeds up, time slows down around me, but that doesn’t stop me. Let’s go! The first one is a dark, big guy, almost a head taller than me. I crouch down sharply and punch him in the groin. He didn’t expect the blow, so he doubles over, clutching his junk with his hands, and starts screaming with the bulging eyes of a shitting mouse. Too loud! I grab him by the hair and slam his face into the table. The blow is hard, I throw the whining asshole aside and lunge for the fat one. He doesn’t know what to do, apparently used to no one hitting back. This shorter one immediately punches him in the nose and lands a two-punch to the body. He clutches his bloody face with one hand and his stomach with the other, but I push this massive guy away and the kid obediently falls to the floor, starting to cry and whine. The redhead is left, the tallest of the trio of local thugs. He met my gaze, swallowed huntedly, and, clenching his fists, rushed at me with a scream. Too slow! I easily sidestepped and kicked the kid in the shin. The redhead crashed to the floor, and I jumped up and kicked him in the face. I’ll bleed you all, you little jerks. Yes, hitting children is wrong, but I’m still a child myself, so let’s continue with the educational process.
“What’s going on here!?” Our teacher’s scream brought me out of my near-battle trance. I raised my head and looked around: all the children, except Hermione, had huddled at the far end of the classroom, closer to the door, looking at me with fear and confusion. One of my neighbors remained in her seat, watching the execution with amusement.
Having finally kicked the fat man in the kidneys and adjusted the hem of my dress, I looked at Mrs. Dietrich and calmly said:
– Self-defense, ma’am, these three were bullying me and my friend.
“How dare you lie to me, girl! These are the children of respected people in town and they wouldn’t hurt a fly!” Shapoklyak continued to squeal. “Unlike you, they have a good upbringing!”
– She attacked us! – the fat one screamed. – We just wanted to meet her! She’s crazy!
The old woman quickly ran up to the victims and began to coo over them, carefully helped each one to stand up and began to examine their broken faces.
“I’ll take the boys to the infirmary now, and you, you naughty girl, run to the principal! I’ll be there soon to decide on your expulsion from our school!” The teacher gestured for a few more boys to come help the unfortunate victims of my tyranny. And these malingerers continued to groan, almost fainting. Damn it, I didn’t hit them that hard—I just broke their noses and left a couple of bruises on their bodies.
As the procession of wounded left the classroom, I glanced at Hermione. She looked at me with tears in her eyes and began muttering:
– I’m sorry, it’s all my fault, you shouldn’t have stood up for me…
“We’re friends!” I told the crying girl. I turned to the rest of the class with a predatory smile, causing many to flinch and back away. It’s a good thing Hermione can’t see. “And I won’t let anyone hurt my friends.”
I left the office with a leisurely gait and headed downstairs to the telephone. I dialed the right number, called Lady Priscilla, and told her about the chaos in the classroom, how “respectable” boys were bullying a student, and the teacher was turning a blind eye. That they had insulted me and I had fought back, as I’d been taught in self-defense classes, and that now they would beat me up in the principal’s office, maybe even kick me. Lady Priscilla listened to me silently, then praised me for calling, telling me to go to the principal and wait for the cavalry. She demanded that I fear nothing, because no one dares bully HER children. I hung up and headed to the right office, where an enraged Shapoklyak and a bewildered principal were already waiting.
For about fifteen minutes, I silently listened to the old woman’s screams about how I’d beaten up three diligent students, how insane and dangerous I was, and how I needed to be sent to a mental hospital right then and there. For the last couple of minutes, my hand had been reaching for Prelest, I really wanted to cut out the hag’s vile tongue. But then the door swung open without a knock, and Lady sauntered into the room, her mere appearance making the teacher shut up and the principal stand at attention.
“My ward had a conflict with your students, and you didn’t even deign to inform me about it? What am I supposed to understand, Mr. Kasdan? And you, Mrs. Dietrich? What are you doing? Who gave you the right to insult a defenseless orphan?!” The Lady’s voice was full of anger, and her gaze was full of contempt.
In response, the grump started babbling about how bad I was, a liar, and everything, while the boys were all from highly respected families and simply couldn’t have offended anyone. Lady Priscilla listened and demanded that the three “victims” and Miss Granger be brought in so that everyone involved could hear their perspectives. At these words, the old woman turned pale and glared at the headmaster, but he nodded silently, confirming Lady Priscilla’s request.
Soon a crowd of five children and three adults had gathered in the principal’s office.
“So you’re saying Miss Evans attacked you first when you approached her? And you didn’t defend yourself because hitting girls isn’t allowed, young gentlemen, am I right?” the Lady asked the three whining malingerers. “Although the dark circles under your eyes will be quite severe, they won’t go away for a long time, and will serve as a reminder.”
“Yes, that’s how it was!” sobbed Fat Charlie. While they were throwing mud at me, I learned their names.
– She started it! – and this is already the big guy Randy.
“I was just standing next to you!” the red-haired Donald began to wail.
“Okay, I believe you,” said the Lady, taking out her Bible. “Are you willing to swear that you’re telling the truth? You know that whoever lies about Holy Scripture has lied to God Himself and will burn in Gehenna until the end of time!”
There was silence in the office for a couple of minutes, and then the little thugs burst out:
– It was all Randy’s idea, he doesn’t like the nerd!
– And Charlie tore her bag last year!
– It’s all Donald’s fault, he spat on her!
The confrontation was a success; the petty hooligans gave each other away. Mrs. Dietrich looked down and remained silent, and the director was furious.
“Mr. Kasdan, there’s a student being bullied at your school, and a teacher is covering up for the perpetrators of this outrage. This is unacceptable! Father Benedict will definitely raise this issue at Sunday’s sermon. I will also insist on Mrs. Dietrich’s re-evaluation.”
After another ten minutes of debriefing, the adults realized the kids were just trying to keep their ears open, and we were escorted out of the room: Hermione and I were sent back to class, and the half-wits were sent to the infirmary to wait for their parents. The boys were glad to escape the sight of the headmaster and Lady Sellon.
“Stop!” I commanded the boys, who were practically running to the infirmary. They stopped abruptly and turned towards us.
“Who’s going to apologize? Or are you going to punch me in the face?” I smiled predatorily.
The boys flinched in unison, the red-haired one even backed away, and began mumbling words of forgiveness. Waiting for my nod, they quickly ran off.
“Rigel, why? Fighting is not the answer!” Granger started lecturing me.
“So, was I supposed to just sit there and take it? Now they’ll think twice before they offend anyone, because they could get a real beating in return! Or did you enjoy being bullied?” I’m starting to get a little angry. “This brat is going to teach me a lesson.”
“No, but… They definitely won’t be friends with us now,” she said quietly, lowering her head.
“Do you need friends like that? You saw for yourself how they sold each other out. Why be friends with cowardly idiots?”
“Maybe you’re right… Mom told me Dad used to fight for her. Don’t you think I’m a cowardly idiot?” He looks straight into my soul, like the cat from Shrek.
“An idiot, no, but the fact that you’re afraid of all sorts of fools, we’ll fix that, my friend.” Granger stopped at the last word and looked at me strangely.
“Do you really want to be friends with me?” she asked hopefully.
– Why not? – I was surprised. – Do you want to be friends with a crazy orphan from an orphanage?
About ten seconds later, she snapped out of her stupor and rushed to hug me. I thought it was the last hug I’d ever get, and that I’d just be squeezed out like toothpaste from a tube. A couple of minutes later, Hermione calmed down, and we leisurely walked to class; this lesson was already canceled anyway. Entering the classroom, I noticed the students’ faces darken at the sight of me. We sat down at our desks with satisfied smiles, and no one bothered us with questions. Then a disgruntled Mrs. Dietrich arrived, announced the matter had been resolved, the injured boys had been sent home for the day, and began teaching the next lesson. The grumpy woman began pointedly ignoring Hermione and me, but in my opinion, that was even better.
During recess, I introduced my new friend to the kids from the orphanage. It turned out I was the youngest in the group, so I was alone in the class—everyone else was in two or four students per class and stuck together. Granger was received favorably, and when she told them about the “outrageous” incident and how these heroes had cowardly ratted each other out, she was finally accepted into the group.
– If they don’t calm down, Riya, just point your finger at them, and the boys and I will explain everything to them in no time! – Dick is hyperactive as always. – Last year, four people in class teased Clarence about being a giraffe!
“Now I have four monkeys in my class, that’s what everyone calls them now,” our lanky, good-natured man finished contentedly.
The rest of the lessons went smoothly, except Mrs. Dietrich continued to dismiss us with disdain, which upset the knowledge-hungry Hermione. I didn’t care; I came here for knowledge, and I wouldn’t be baptizing children with that old woman.
At exactly three, I said goodbye to my friend, boarded the bus, and we all headed back to the shelter. Lunch and a ton of chores await us. I think I’ll get a couple extra shifts in the laundry for today’s outburst, since boys always get punished for fighting. Although I’m a girl, and it was self-defense anyway… Oh well, we’ll see what happens.
