Istand in the grand entrance hall, cold and quiet.
It feels strange to have walked through the front doors this time, knowing my father never will again. He spent so much of his life at work here, even when I was young — early mornings, late evenings, some weekends. He spent his life within these walls. And yet, I had never been here until just a few days ago, when everything I thought I knew about him changed.
I can imagine him sweeping through this vast space, striding down the corridors, preparing to lecture on his latest research. He’ll never walk these corridors again.
Ichabod hangs back, sensing the weight of my thoughts, or perhaps he’s lost in his own, of the last time he was here. Neither of us speak for a moment.
I’m startled by the front door opening behind us. I spin around, and Ichabod steps protectively in front of me. But of course, the Horseman wouldn’t use the door handle. I sigh with relief as Brom steps into view.
“I see you’re waiting for me to get this search party started,” he laughs, just slightly out of breath.
“Thank god you’re okay,” I say, stepping forward and giving him a quick hug.
Ichabod claps him on the back. “Impressive. How did you manage to outrun him?”
“I was on the cross-country team at school, I’ll have you know.” Brom peers out the door, checking he really hasn’t been followed, and then closes it firmly. “Anyway, I risked my neck out there and you two haven’t even started looking yet! Let’s get a move on.”
I nod. “I’ve been thinking about it, and if the bones are here, they’ll be in my father’s office. That’s where we should start.”
“Okay, if you say so. Lead the way,” Brom says.
I turn to Ichabod. He realises my hesitation.
“This way,” he points to the staircase on the right. “Second floor.”
At least we don’t have to walk through the destruction on the ground floor again. I’m not sure I could bear to see the spot where Ichabod was almost sacrificed. Or the place where the police chief was killed.
We begin to climb. I trail my fingers along the smooth banister, trying not to think about how many times my father would have climbed these stairs.
The second floor is one long corridor, lined with doors. Each bears a brass plaque, and a different professor’s name glints in the dim light thrown by the half-moon wall sconces. Ichabod leads us to the headmaster’s office right at the end of the hall. There’s my father’s name, engraved in elegant script.
“Are you sure about this?” Ichabod could be asking many questions wrapped up in just one. I hesitate. Entering his office at home was one thing, but this? We need to find those bones,but they’re hardly going to be sitting in a display case on the side. Who knows what else we might unearth as we dig?
Taking a steadying breath, I push open the doors.
I suppress a laugh. This office is almost identical to the one back at home, bookcases lining the walls, the large mahogany desk. The air is filled with the scent of large leather-bound books. Typical Philip Van Tassel.
Ichabod gives my shoulder a squeeze as he steps past me and heads towards the desk. Brom moves towards the bookcases. I linger near the doorway, looking at the gallery of certificates my father has hung on the wall. So much knowledge. So much that I’ll never learn from him. I swallow a lump in my throat.
Focus.
“Uh, look for anything that could, I don’t know… disguise a hiding place?” I say unhelpfully. This is the most bizarre scavenger hunt I’ve ever taken part in.
Brom is pulling out books, flicking through the pages and replacing them again, while Ichabod rummages through the desk drawers. I’d better get stuck in too. I step further into the room, scanning the walls, the shelves, the cabinets. I try to put myself in my father’s frame of mind. Where would he have hidden something so important?
We work silently as the minutes tick by, and I’m acutely aware that the Horseman could appear at any point. Every sound the old building makes has me pausing, straining to hear more.
“There’s a false panel over here,” Ichabod says, his voice low but filled with excitement. He’s on his hands and knees, leaning into the fireplace behind the desk. There’s a soft click. Brom and I immediately cross the room to join him, and I crouch down to get a better look. Ichabod sits back on his heels and points with a soot-covered hand to the side of the fireplace, near the back. Whatever he’s done, a small opening has appeared.
We all look at each other, the tension palpable.
“Are they really in there?” I breathe.
“Only one way to find out.” Ichabod leans forward again, reaching into the fireplace and the small hatch. Slowly, he pulls out a wooden crate, about the size of a large jewellery box. It’s dark, with simple iron hinges but no other markings.
Ichabod places the box in my upturned hands, and a shiver runs down my spine. This is it.
With a glance up at them both, I steel myself and then lift the lid — just a little at first, and an old, dusty smell hits my nose. I open it fully and there, nestled inside dark velvet, lies a collection of aged and brittle-looking bones.
