Monday

As Demi let herself out the narrow iron side gate, she took a deep breath and tried to steady her nerves. It was all right. It was going to be all right. Certainly navigating a new group of peers would be a little nerve-wracking, especially as she had so little experience with persons even vaguely close to her own age, apart her troop mates in the Forest Girls.

But.

She would be all right.

After all, she had plenty of experience making friends with adults, and she had done a great deal of research on this new and intriguing environment: high school. She had read quite a number of books and manga about the social lives of school girls, and felt like she theoretically understood important concepts like passing notes, going to slumber parties, and ‘hanging out.’ She had a lot of information, a boundless curiosity for new experiences, and only a very slight worry that she would make a total fool of herself and become a social pariah with no friends who was therefore excluded in principle from any engaging reindeer games.

It was an insignificant, tiny little worry that her first real attempt at socializing with people her own age, in person, without the comforting and guiding presence of her mother, would somehow spontaneously catch fire with such ferocity that the blaze might be observable from orbit.

It would be fine.

Everything would be fine.

She turned her face forward and straightened her beret with determination.

And then she was startled by the sound of polite applause.

There, standing right before the small side gate was a very pretty girl with long, dark hair, wearing a uniform that was almost identical to the one Demi herself had studied in the mirror that morning.

She was certainly a student of St. Muirgein’s, and she was still clapping, an easy and gentle smile on her face.

“Very good!” was what she said as she looked Demi over. “You look ready to ride to war, Lady Serraffield! I am personally very inspired.”

Demi shifted awkwardly on her feet, caught completely off guard by this girl’s calm and easy demeanor. It ended up looking like a funny little dance.

“Ah, thank you,” she said shyly. “I suppose you already know who I am, then. But for the sake of politeness: good morning, I’m Demeter Serraffield. I’m pleased to meet you.”

Demi offered her hand, and the dark haired girl took it and gave it a friendly squeeze.

“I’m Monday Volkova,” she said with a peaceful smile. “I’m a junior at St. Muirgein’s, and the acting vice president of the student council. I’ve been assigned to be your equerry for all matters relating to your school life, and so I’ve come to escort you to school. I can see you're looking forward to your first day,” she said with a mysterious, and slightly alarming giggle.

This caused Demi to respond very eloquently with a brief string of ara aras, perplexed. Then her brows drew together slightly. “I hadn't realized that I would be assigned my own equerry at school. My father didn't mention it when I spoke to him.”

Then again, he hadn't mentioned many things to her, including the fact that she was now expected to live in the attic of a derelict building that was built of matchsticks and kindling, and absolutely wall-to-wall with all of the objects that had most certainly not been used to start the fire (but still might be, at some later date).

“Well, it's through a special arrangement with the school, so I’m not surprised,” Monday said pleasantly. “I'm not attached to your father at all. I’m only attached to you, so you can trust me,” she said, placing her hand over her heart and bowing her head slightly.

“Ah, I see. You want me to know that you're not spying on me for my father, is that it?” Demi asked with a raised eyebrow. “Is that what you’d like me to understand?”

“Bingo,” Monday said with an angelic smile. “St. Muirgein’s is outside your father’s sphere of influence, so you should be free to exercise a lot of autonomy in your school life.” She tilted her head slightly to the side and laid two fingers against her cheek. “So, shall we go, Lady Serraffield? I’m sure you don't want to be late for your first day of school. That would be terribly embarrassing.”

She giggled again and Demi could not be absolutely certain that the giggle was as vague and harmless as it seemed to be. It was somehow worrisome.

—

Santa Maria Nascente — the Church of the Nativity of St. Mary — sat in the middle of its own special precinct, the Cradle of St. Mary, which included the grounds of the cathedral itself, the abbey, the monastery, the nearby churchyard and crypt, the apostolic barracks, the archbishop’s palatial residence, and a broad, beautiful square. The Nativity of St. Mary was one of the seven great cathedrals of the Apostolic Church, and so it was afforded special privileges that lesser churches did not enjoy. The entire district was bounded by a high stone wall, and there were tall iron gates at every point of egress. These were ordinarily kept open, Lumina had told her. They were closed only in the event of an emergency. If they were closed, the district was like a fortress. The only way in or out was with an escort from the apostolic guard.

The gates were open today, fortunately. Demi didn't have the time to hunt up a guard to give her permission to leave — although there were several of them loitering around in the early morning sun around the edges of the square. Monday led the way lackadaisically, floating along and giving random information about the buildings they passed, acting as if she were a tour guide that was paid by the hour.

St. Mary’s Cradle was a very small district, not a true ward of the City, and once they passed through one of the iron gates they were no longer in territory controlled by the archbishop.

They had passed into Asphodel, the ward ruled by Lady Lunamaia. The Cradle was an ecclesiastic precinct, and so it was comparatively quiet, but Asphodel was busy, alive with activity. Monday and Demi were soon weaving through crowds as they passed subway terminals and train platforms thick with commuters desperate to be on their way. Monday, however, seemed thoroughly uninterested in mass transit.

“Today is a special day!” she said with spacey enthusiasm. “So we’re walking almost the whole way!” she said. “That way you can enjoy the beautiful scenery of Asphodel!”

Given her late start, Demi wasn't sure it was the best morning for sightseeing — but there was quite a lot to see, and Monday assured her that they would make it to school on time. Demi was soon wandering idly behind Monday, her eyes on the buildings that towered up around them, connected by high walkways, elevated streets, and a skeletal network of stairways, ladders, and fire escapes. Although it was morning, the high buildings threw much of the ground into shadow, so all the ornate street lamps were lit.

It was strange how the character of the environment changed so swiftly when they crossed over a border line. St. Mary’s Cradle was all ivory marble, huge and magnificent and flamboyant, dominated by the architecture of the cathedral. Asphodel was markedly different, with color schemes in green and gold and brown. The forlornly curving lines of art nouveau were an often repeated architectural refrain — on windows, doors, street signs —

And there were flowers. There were flowers everywhere: in well kept beds that dotted the sidewalk, in flower boxes, climbing up the walls of buildings, even hawked at nearly every corner by a vast assortment of florists.

The abundance of live flowers made everything beautiful, but it also felt fragile.

As they walked through deep shadow thrown by a building that reared high into the sky, Demi cocked her head as she looked at the asters and heather blooming in a bed trimmed by wrought iron. They were in City Twilight, lit by the glow of green and golden lamps.

“How do all of these plants get enough light to bloom?” she wondered. “It can’t all be strangelight.”

“It's artificial daylight,” Monday agreed. “Almost all of the exterior lighting in Asphodel can switch between full spectrum daylight and ordinary street light and it does on a schedule to stimulate normal growth. There are plenty of places in Asphodel that receive normal sunlight, but flowers and vegetation are a part of the elementary character of Asphodel. The Midnight Duchesses have always wanted green growing things to be available for all to enjoy, even down here in the canyons.”

“Well, it is lovely,” Demi said.

The areas that did not directly feature blooming flowers often had intricate floral motifs. Even the streets seemed to be named for plants. As she followed along behind Monday, Demi had the strange sense that she was back at the eaves of the Deep Wood. Everything had an organic shape, and buildings appeared to have grown up between massive tree trunks. It was all architecture, of course. Even the massive trees of the Deep Wood could not have supported the weight of the megalithic structures of Metropoly.

And there was something else that reminded her of the wood. Asphodel was the first place in the City that had not smelled and tasted overwhelmingly of soot and exhaust. It did not smell fresh — not exactly — but at least it did not smell terrible.

There were no cars on the streets. It was all foot traffic, bicycles, and mass transit.

Demi was wandering along, taking in the sights of the ward when she suddenly realized that Monday was no longer with her. She stopped immediately and searched the crowds with a growing sense of trepidation. She had no idea where she was. Monday had taken her on a circuitous route, and Demi had only learned a little of the ward’s geography the evening before.

Just as she was beginning to panic, Monday appeared at her side again and handed over a warm pastry.

“It was impossible for me to ignore the rumbling of your tummy,” Monday said with a giggle. “We don't want your growling stomach to interrupt the beautiful and moving speech you’re going to give to your adoring public.”

Demi was hungry enough that she didn't even dispute Monday’s embroidered vision of future events. She simply accepted the pastry and munched away.

“Pain au chocolate,” Demi said blissfully as she devoured her pastry as daintily as could be managed.

“I’m glad you liked it,” Monday said warmly. “There are some wonderful bakeries along this street.” She turned her face forward. “Now come along, Lady Serraffield! We don't want to miss our trolley, otherwise there’ll be a wait and we’ll definitely be late for school,” she giggled again as she set off.

Demi was not yet sure what to think of Monday. She had claimed not to be in the employ of the Serraffields, so that was something, but just because Monday Volkova wasn't working for Tristan Serraffield did not mean that she was a safe person to share secrets with. Demi might have grown up outside the City, but she had not grown up entirely ignorant of its politics. Monday had said that St. Muirgein's was outside her father’s sphere of influence, but that only meant it was under the purview of another power. Since the school was located in Asphodel ward, that made Lady Lunamaia the most likely suspect. And Monday had not been particularly shy in her praise for the ward or its mistress.

Monday’s sponsor was likely the Midnight Duchess. Like Matthias Eisenreich, the current Lady Lunamaia seemed to have some unknown interest in Demi.

Demi couldn't say whether the interest of the Midnight Duchess was good or bad. Certainly, it was somewhat alarming to have powerful eyes watching her, but then again, it was always useful to have friends in high places.

So long as they actually were friends.

Still, Monday seemed nice enough, if slightly off-putting. She was obviously good at playing a featherbrain, but Demi doubted that she was empty-headed as she made herself out to be. Playing a silly, harmless featherbrain was a tactic that Demi often adopted herself, so she was acutely aware that Monday’s smile did not tell the whole of her story.