Moving Into the Corso

Monday. We have the keys. The academy opens its doors on The Corso in eleven days, and I am writing this on a packing crate with a cup of tea going cold beside me.

Until last week these rooms belonged to a very serious gentleman known only as the Hitman, all briefcases and dark glasses. He has moved on. I had the corridors aired, the blinds opened and every cupboard checked for anything that ticks.

The builders made everything themselves, I am told: the stone corridor, the serpents carved on the wall, the scrolls, the cage, all in their own workshop, and then brought it over in pieces. Hollis, our caretaker, has been following them about with a broom and a look of deep suspicion.

Outside, the beach. Inside, five centuries of the Founders’ Spell. I cannot imagine a better, or a sandier, place for a school.