“Reverie said it.”
That did not make him look less alarmed.
He looked down the hall behind us.
“Not here,” he said, and his voice had dropped to a whisper.
“Why not?”
“People do not need to stand in a hallway to hear what happens in one.”
That shut me up. For the moment, at least.
Hale turned and kept walking.
I followed again. Mostly because I wasn’t sure I’d be able to find my way back on my own.
We came up two flights and out into a corridor I had walked last night.
“Where are we going now?” I asked.
“The archives.”
“Are we allowed in those?”
“Today.”
We reached a heavy wooden door with three locks. He undid two. He showed me he didn’t have a key for the third by not attempting to open it.
“Student files. Pre-founding records. The pre-founding ones are behind the third lock. The third lock is for archive staff.”
“And students,” I said, “do not have access to the pre-founding ones?”
“Students do not have access. Neither do instructors. Anyone who wants to read those records must get access through the faculty. The faculty signs for them at the desk.”
“Have you ever read in the pre-founding stacks?”
“I have.”
“Who signed for you?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“I’ve noticed no one around here gives me any answers unless I do.”
Hale frowned. “Careful with that.”
“With asking questions?”
“With assuming you want to know the answers.”
Then he opened the door and said, softer, “Aldric.”
Hale walked me past the second-year files, the third-year files, the fourth-year files, and the records of students no longer in residence.
Those stood in cabinets at the back.
Last year. The year before. The year before that.
