Boys of King Academy Page 3

  “Oh my dear, sweet, naïve Ivy,” my father laughs. “Look around you. The world is a violent place. There’s nothing going on here that doesn’t happen outside the walls of our town. There’s nothing special going on here. I guarantee you that your disappearance will barely register with the media. Perhaps a photo in the local newspaper, a brief mention on social media. And for those rare occasions when a journalist has decided to stick their nose where it’s not wanted…” He shrugs with one shoulder. “We have very effective lawyers who know how to squash a story before it begins, not to mention other ways of persuading people round to our way of thinking. Kings Town is one of the country’s best kept secrets, and we like it that way. Only the elite can enjoy what we have here.”

  “I see.” I take a bite of my grilled cheese, chewing slowly. It had to be said that whoever made it is a master chef. It still wasn’t as nice as Katy’s meal would have been. For that reason alone, the sandwich tastes like bitter poison in my mouth.

  If my father thought a good cheese sandwich is going to make up for a lifetime of abandonment, he is the naïve one, not me.

  “I know. It’s a lot to take in,” my father says. “I think that’s enough for now.”

  He presses a buzzer on his desk and a moment later, the door opens and a woman wearing a simple black dress walks in. She is pretty with lighter blonde hair than me, a tiny button nose and she can’t be more than five or six years older than I am. Her heels are high and sharp, clicking on the tiles as she walks.

  “Sir?” She nods her head in a little gesture of respect.

  “Isabella will show you to your room,” my father tells me. “I’ve taken the liberty of buying you a brand new wardrobe. My shopping assistant has a good eye for detail and she has a daughter about your age, so I think you’ll like everything she’s picked out for you. You’ll also find your new school uniform.”

  “School uniform?” I gasp. “You expect me to go to some shitty school and play happy family? Katy home schooled me because of issues at my last school.”

  The memories from my last school haunt my mind, making my hands sweat.

  “Oh, yes you will go,” my father tells me. “I’ve enrolled you at King Academy and I think you’ll find it a very different experience to the establishments you’ve frequented in the past. My chauffeur will drive you there in the morning, so be ready for him by 8:15. They frown on tardiness at the Academy. However, you’ll be pleased to hear that they also have a zero tolerance for bullying. You won’t have to suffer anything like you did in your old school.”

  Bullying was a nice word for the shit that went down in my old school. I still have the scars on my back to remind me what being a victim to rich bullies is really like.

  “But I don’t want to go,” I angrily snap. “I’ll stay here, I won’t be any trouble. I’ll stay in my room. You won’t even know I’m there.”

  “I’m afraid this is not up for discussion,” my father tells me. “It is essential that you mix with your peers from the other houses so you can learn their strengths and weaknesses. This is a crucial part of your education and not something you can escape.”

  “Fine,” I huffed, standing to follow Isabella. I’m older now and apparently have a rich dad. I won’t let myself get into the same situation I once did four years ago. Four years ago I was naïve and desperate to make friends. Now I’m just angry but I do know how to protect myself thanks to self-defence lessons Katy took me to. One of the many reasons I will never put Katy in danger by trying to run away.

  “Let me be clear, Ivy,” father warns, no doubt seeing the resistance in my eyes. “I will not stand disobedience. As an Archaic, you’re strong willed and headstrong, traits which will stand you in good stead when your turn comes to rule the House, but can get you into trouble in the meantime. If you rebel against me, you’ll find I can make your life a living hell. But if you do as you’re told and follow all my instructions, you’ll discover that being an Archaic is a wonderful privilege which brings with it many advantages. The finer things in life are all yours now. All you have to do is ask and your wish will be carried out by one of my servants.

  “Have a good day at school tomorrow and if I get positive feedback from the Head Master, you will be able to call your foster mother at the end of the day.”

  He turns his attention to some paperwork on his desk, making it clear our time together is over. I have no choice but to follow Isabella and see what my new room is like, while making sure to remind myself that this is just the start.

  And my “Dad” might have all the cards right now, but he won’t for long.

  Chapter Three

  Ivy Archaic

  “When Solomon says the finer things in life are all mine, he isn’t kidding, is he?”

  My jaw drops when I see the room that my father had given to me. And by room, I actually mean a full on suite, with bathroom, walk in wardrobe, living area and bedroom. It’s ridiculously nice and expensive, nothing like I have ever had in my entire life. A part of me doesn’t want it all, knowing I don’t deserve any of this shit. I wish my mum was here to tell me what to do, how to get through this, and if my father isn’t the snake he seems to be.

  Why did you leave all this, mum?

  “He hired the best interior decorator to furnish it for you,” Isabella tells me, “but if there’s anything you don’t like, all you have to do is say, and we’ll change it.”

  “No, no. Don’t be silly. This is fine. More than fine.”

  And it really is. For a girl who’d grown up on the wrong side of the tracks, this is unbelievable. Going into the wardrobe, I can see my father had spared no expense to get everything he thought a girl my age would like. The scary thing is that the clothes hanging up are just my style–sassy tees with funny slogans, cargo pants and black denim jeans, slouchy jumpers made from the softest materials.

  It is quite spooky, really. He must have been watching me for a long time before he sent Archer in to snatch me.

  Laid out on a low table in the middle of the wardrobe area is what I supposed is my school uniform. Picking it up, I can’t avoid letting out a grunt of disgust.

  “Really? They can’t have designed something better than this?”

  I’m being forced into wearing a black pleated skirt and black V neck jumper with a crest embroidered on the left hand side. Above are the words ‘King Academy’ and underneath ‘House Archaic.’ There are also some long black socks, a white shirt and a black and white striped tie.

  The only good thing about it are the funky black Doc Martens. I have always wanted a pair, but Katy said they were too expensive. She was right. These have my name on the inside, and last name in a small font down the outside edges so they must be custom made. As it is, they are a small consolation for the fact I’m going to look like an idiot.

  “Is there anything else I can get you?” Isabella asks with an overly sweet voice. I don’t trust her or anyone for that matter. “More food, perhaps? There’s a small fridge in your lounge with a supply of soft drinks, but if there’s anything in particular you want, let me know and I’ll arrange for it to be sent up.”

  “No, I’m fine for now, thanks,” I tell her. “To be honest, I would like to be alone for a while. It’s been a bit of a day.” I pause. “Wait, can you send up some bells on a string or rope of some kind. I lost my bag and it’s a comfort thing.”

  “Of course,” Isabella nods, looking a little confused. “I’ll leave you be then. But if you do need anything else, pick up that phone on the wall and press the button for the person you want to speak to. Solomon has asked me to be your personal assistant, so most of the time you should call me, but you’ve also got a direct line to the kitchen and chauffeur should you need them.”

  “O-okay.”

  Isabella leaves, closing my bedroom doors behind her. I hear the distinct sound of a key turning in the lock and even though I don’t feel that threatened here, I still panic. Rushing over to the door, I try the handle. Sure en
ough, she locked me in.

  I try to suck in deep breaths, pushing back all the memories of that one foster parent who loved to lock me in my tiny room and not come back for days, forgetting about me. I sink down to the floor, taking a long time to remind myself I’m not there anymore before I hear the lock being turned. I climb to my feet as a woman in her late fifties and soft eyes brings a tray of tiny blue bells and blue string, placing them on the small table by the door.

  “For you,” she claims in what I think is a Spanish accent.

  I nod and she leaves the room quickly, the lock turning once more. I make quick work of tying bells to all the doors and windows like I do in every home I’ve lived in since I was fourteen.

  Finally, I feel like I can breathe again. I slump down on the bed, knowing I’m stuck here for the foreseeable future.

  Then something caught my eye, which made me sit up and take notice.

  “Hol-ee crap!”

  In the corner of the room is a guitar on a stand. Crossing over to it, I pick it up. Running my hands over the wood, I can scarcely believe my luck.

  It is a Gibson Montana Hummingbird!

  Placing the strap over my head, I strum a few chords and feel like I am in Heaven. It is the most beautiful sound I have ever heard.

  Dad certainly had taste in guitars, but I had to keep sight of the fact that he seemed to be planning on keeping me prisoner for the indefinite future, perhaps the rest of my life. I have to stay strong, stay focused, and not let his money turn my head.

  It is a gorgeous guitar though…

  Sitting on the bed, I pick out notes at random, a song practically writing itself as I play. I have to get this written down.

  Opening a few drawers, I eventually find pen and paper and start scribbling out what I have played so I wouldn’t forget.

  “Any other day and I would have noticed you,

  Any other time and I might have forgotten you.

  Forgetting is easy, cos my heart is taken.

  But after what you did, how can I dare care?

  After you.

  Before you,

  Who knows what I might dare?”

  Not bad. With a bit of polish, this can be one of my best songs.

  I spend the next few hours playing and singing, music becoming my escape from reality once more like it always has. I’m a bird in a gilded cage, Katy once told me, but boy can I sing.

  “Ivy, wake up. Come on, wake up Ivy.”

  I’m woken by Isabella shaking on my shoulder and I jolt, shoving her away and wondering why I didn’t hear the bells. In fact…when did I fall to sleep or get into bed? I must have been tired. I glance around the room, seeing the bells are still in place and it relaxes me. It’s only Isabella. Apparently she moves like a cat.

  “Sorry, Ivy. You’ve got to go to school. I’ve brought you some breakfast. Eat up and get dressed. Your car’s leaving in half an hour and your father will not be happy if you’re late. Trust me. You wouldn’t like to see what happens when he’s angry.”

  A shadow crosses her face that makes me wonder what my father had done to her in the past. But there is no time for questions if I only had half an hour to get ready. Isabella is right. Now is not the time to push boundaries. I need to play the game and get to grips with my new life so I can figure out the best way to escape.

  Never a morning person, I ignore the food, chugging down the glass of orange juice instead before I get dressed in my new school uniform. It looks as bad as I thought it would, but I do my best to improve things with makeup. Someone had bought me a wide selection of the top brands, so I gave myself a smokey eye and choosing a dark lipstick to make a statement. Nobody is going to mess with me today. I don’t care what my dad says–all schools have a problem with bullying. It goes with the territory. But if anyone tries to take advantage of me, I will hit back so hard they won’t have time to blink. I won’t be a victim for the rich boys of King Academy.

  If dad wants me to play princess...then King Academy has no idea who they are letting through their doors.

  And if I get expelled for defending myself against a bully, I won’t be able to go back to school and it wouldn’t be my fault. Let’s see what dad does then.

  Isabella is waiting outside for me, when she sees my appearance, she smiles. “A little rebel, just like your father. Come on. The car’s ready and waiting.”

  She leads me through a warren of corridors and finally to the front of the house. I’m grateful for her help, I would get lost without her, especially since it looks like I’m going to be confined to my room for a while, and the last thing I want is to be late for school because I can’t find my way round the mansion.

  A large limo is waiting for me, a chauffeur standing silently by the open door waiting for me to get in. As I climb inside, he shuts the door behind me.

  “Have a good day.” Isabella waves me off as the car pulls away.

  I wiggle my fingers in return, not wanting to alienate her. Right now, I can do with all the allies I can get.

  There is a rucksack lying on the seat next to me, I open it up to see brand new exercise books and a pencil case filled with supplies. Dad really had thought of everything.

  “How long have you worked for my dad?” I ask the driver, but he ignores me. There is a screen separating us and I tap on it, but he still doesn’t reply.

  There is a slight buzzing, and I hear someone speak over the intercom.

  “Your father would prefer if we don’t talk unless there’s an emergency,” the chauffeur tells me. “If you do need to contact me, press the orange button set in the armrest, but I would request you only do so if you really have something important to say. Otherwise, I need to focus on the road and be alert for any danger. In the event of an ambush, I will need to take extreme evasive manoeuvres, so I advise you to sit back, buckle up your seatbelt and let me do my job. Thank you, miss.”

  That tells me.

  After about ten minutes’ driving, we turn into the driveway leading to the school. A large sign by the gates announced that this is King Academy, Headmaster Mr Pilkington, Cantab. We join a queue of equally impressive limos, all there to deliver their precious cargos to the school. I assume that the gates would close once the school day starts. This is just as much a prison as the one I left at “home”.

  We slowly nudge forward, patiently waiting our turn to pull up outside the entrance. I’m glad for the tinted glass making it impossible for anyone outside to see me. Now that we are at the Academy, school is all too real and the butterflies performing an Irish jig in my stomach refuse to be still.

  My dad is rich enough to hire a tutor for me. He doesn’t have to send me here. Doesn’t he know that home educated students performed better academically than those who went to school? And it isn’t like I’m going to fit in with all these rich snobs. They’d take one look at me and know I came from the wrong side of the tracks. I will never fit in here. This is a disaster waiting to happen.

  At last, we reach the front of the queue. I try to open the door to get out, but it is locked. Surprise, surprise. I have to wait for the chauffeur to come and let me out.

  Embarrassing.

  Hefting the rucksack on my shoulder, I take a deep breath and walk up the steps leading to the entrance. As I make my way up, a couple of younger boys run past, knocking my shoulder and making me trip up the stairs. My rucksack falls down and books spill everywhere.

  Brilliant way to start the first day.

  “Are you okay?” A girl around my age kneels down to help me pick up my things.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  I don’t look at her, ashamed of the tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I’m not going to let anyone see any sign of weakness. I’m an Archaic and while that hadn’t meant an awful lot to me up until now, if we are some big powerful family, that makes me a target, whether I like it or not. If there is one thing I have learned from the last time I went to school, it is how to avoid drawing attention to yourself. If bullie
s got even a hint of blood, they’d go for the jugular.

  “Here.” The girl passes me a stack of books. “I’m Milly.”

  I take the books from her and shove them in my bag with a soft smile. “Ivy,” I reply.

  “I know,” Milly says with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. This girl looks like one of the popular girls who lived near me. Pretty, dark luminous hair and bright blue eyes. She must be rich, based on her designer bag and watch. Her uniform fits her tightly, just like mine, and I can’t help notice that all the girls here look the same. The guys are far more casual. Typical. “It’s all anyone can talk about–Ivy Archaic coming to King Academy at last!”

  “Gee. I always wanted to be famous,” I sarcastically reply.

  “You’re funny.” Milly laughs, and it brightens up her face. Now I get a closer look at her, there is something familiar about her, but I’m sure we have never met. “Let me take you to Mr Pilkington’s office. He’ll want to see you before you go to class and he’ll tell you everything you need to know about this place. Or at least, everything he thinks you need to know. If you want to know what really goes on here, we should talk. I can fill you in on all the gossip, let you know who’s cool and who you need to avoid, especially since you’re an Archaic.”

  Milly continues to talk as she escorts me to the Headmaster’s office. I barely have to say a word as she babbles on about how I hadn’t missed much, even though I am joining in the middle of term. Apparently, the Academy is doing well in the football and hockey leagues but not so well in swimming. Like I care.

  “And here we are. Headmaster Pilkington’s office,” she announced, coming to a halt outside a solid oak door. “I have to head over to English, but hopefully we’ll be in some of the same classes. And maybe we can have lunch together?”

  “Maybe,” I say, inwardly planning to find somewhere private where I can eat alone. I had no intention of staying at the Academy for a minute longer than I needed. Friends don’t fit into my escape plan.