Estella Krieger understood this. She pressed her lips into a line and ordered:
– Take your luggage and follow me!
We obeyed, except for Beata and Mallory. The first one didn’t have any luggage, the second one didn’t have it here. But as soon as we had moved a few steps away from the porch, a shout lashed the Utar driver from behind with a whip:
– Adept Blackrock, to my office!
I even cringed in surprise. It was the first time I had seen my father so angry.
– Wow… Your daddy seems upset. I sympathize,” Vilde supported me.
– Still would! She interrupted the speech of the rector himself. This is against the rules! – Volde noted.
– Give me the bag here, kyari. Good luck! “Ada took my bag.”
– Thank you. I hope it will work out…” I sighed.
“Adept Blackrock, don’t keep daddy waiting!” – Ashsheri Krieger sarcastically hurried me.
Without answering her, I hurried onto the porch. At first I hurried, but then I remembered what I was taught at the boarding school and slowed down. She straightened her back, straightened her shoulders, raised her chin and, with a “royal gait” from the hip, as our teacher of graceful gestures at the boarding house called it, walked toward her father, who was shifting impatiently at the door.
– Hello father! I'm terribly glad to see you! – She greeted the Duke in a whisper and smiled disarmingly.
The father's face flashed with adoration for a moment, but then returned to a stern expression.
– Let's go. Let's talk in my office. “The Duke opened the door for me.
We found ourselves in a spacious hall with high ceilings and giant crystal chandeliers. The noble polished stone, still gray, intertwined with black here, sparkled with gold veins and seemed warm to the touch. The tall lancet windows were decorated with colored stained glass windows depicting scenes of magicians training. Busts of famous scientists stood along the walls, and gilded plaques under them told about the achievements of these glorious men. The solemnity and pomp of the hall was brightened up by many plants in large tubs and seating areas on both sides of the massive staircase. Adepts sat and chatted on leather sofas. They followed us with curious glances.
I didn’t have time to read the inscriptions on the signs under the busts or look at the guys, barely keeping up with my father. We climbed up a massive antique staircase and headed down a wide corridor, on both sides of which there were doors. They differed only in the inscriptions on the bronze tablets, and my father chose the one where the inscription read: “Richard Blackrock, Dean.”
“Come in, Mirre,” he invited me inside the office illuminated by magic balls.
I carefully stepped over the threshold and began to examine the situation. A large table on which documents lay in neat stacks, next to an old tome with a leather cover and many protruding bookmarks. The writing instruments were neatly put away in a special box. Behind him stood a bookcase filled with books, and to the left was a window with heavy, deep blue curtains.
And there was such a familiar smell here! This is what my father smelled like when he came home. My heart immediately warmed and, smiling, I turned around and threw myself on the Duke’s neck.
– Daddy! How I miss you!
“Me too, my girl.” Me too…
My father hugged me back, stroked me on the back and sighed heavily, and then seemed to reluctantly push me away. He walked behind the table and sat down in a worn leather chair that creaked under his weight.
