The smell and noice and confusion of a hallway full of colts can be quite awful at 7:30 am. The smell was the worst part - from this great disorderly mass rose the scent of sweat and sour breath and unwashed bodies, mixing with the 200-year-old school odor of carbolic and floor polish.
Colts as a rule don't notice bad smells, they've other things on their minds, but one did. He stood alone in the center of all this chaos, while the torrent of excited youth barged past him, and wished he were somewhere else. He wasn't used to these crowds, these numbers, this noise, this smell.
He was a new student; tall for his age and slim with a mint green body, with chocolaty-brown eyes and mane that matched.
A moment ago the hallway had been empty, and the colt had been wondering where everyone was, but now it was alive with shouting pupils who streamed down the stairs and into the dining room.
"You, kid!" barked a voice and the colt looked around.
A stallion stood there glaring at him and, despite the fact that he was short, shorter than some of the students, he had an air of self-importance about him.
"Yes, sir?"
"What's your name, kid?"
"M-mint, Chocolate Mint."
"Chocolate Mint - sir"
"Yes, sorry sir."
The stallion peered at him. He was short and stick-thin, with pale auburn body, deep-set, wiry grey hair and a very short, very black beard that covered nearly half his face. He reminded Mint of a king.
"Do you know who I am, Mister Mint?" he said coldly.
"I'm afraid not, sir. I just arrived."
"I am Mr. Coldmane. Your housemaster. I am to be your father, your king, and your master for the duration of your stay at this school. I should have met you yesterday evening, but some damned fool colt walked into the path of a pony-less carriage and I spent half the night in the hospital. I'm sure you met Headmaster Winter?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Now you had best run along or you will be late for morning school. I will see you for a chat before supper."
"Yes, sir." Mint turned to walk away.
"Wait!" Coldmane stared at Mint with his cold fish eyes. "Welcome to Trottingham School for Colts, Chocolate Mint."
Mint had arrived the day before at nearby Hattington Station, peering up through the clouds of steam at the great walls and towers of Windsdale Castle. He had wondered if a ruler was there somewhere: maybe he was even sitting at a window, looking down at the train?
He had followed a group of colts out of the station and into Windsdale, where they crossover the wide, grey waters of the River Tame that divided the town into two. On one side was the castle and on the other was Trottingham School for Colts. He was amazed at the size of the school: it took up nearly half the town, spreading out chaotically in all directions. Over a thousand colts studied here, all living in the numerous houses scattered haphazardly about the place
He had asked for directions and eventually found himself wandering, lost, down a long footpath called Dale Trail, looking hopelessly at the tall unmarked buildings on either side.
A slight overweight Zebra colt with a fez had approached him.
"Are you the new boy, by any chance?" he had asked.
"I suppose I might be," said Mint.
"Are you Chocolate Mint?"
"Yes."
The zebra smiled and shook his hoof.
"My name is Zira," he said. "I have been looking out for you."
He lead Mint into a nearby ramshackle building.
"I have the room next to yours," Zira said. "I'll introduce you to the tea group."
"Tea Group?"
"We make tea together," Zira explained. "And take turns in each other's rooms. You, me and a couple of other boys. We were wondering what you'd be like."
"Will I do?"
Zira smiled again. "I think so."
Mint followed Zira into the dim interior of the house, through the hallway and up three flights of ancient stairs, before arriving at a long winding corridor.
"Here we are," said the zebra as he pushed open a creaky door, thick with layers of dark-blue pain, and James got the first sight of his room.
It was tiny, with a sloping roof reaching almost to the floor in one corner and a great black beam cutting the ceiling in two. Mint was relieved to see that his trunk arrived safely. It was a small reminder of home in Trotland.
"Your new home," said Zira. "Not much to look at now, is it? But you can fix it up. There's your stuff from the school."
Zira pointed to battered pieces of furniture that consisted of a chest of drawers and a desk next to it with a small bookcase. It was scratched with the names of the previous owners, and one enthusiastic colt had even burnt his name into it with a hot poker.
Mint looked around; as well as that there was a small table, a coat rack, a chair and a thin, faded rug that lay on the floor next to the fireplace. Mint frowned. There was something missing.
"Where will I sleep?" he asked.
Zira laughed.
"Your bed's behind here," he said, indicating a curtain that hung over a bulky object on one wall. "Our school maid will fold it down for you just before evening gatherings. There is quite a lot to get used to here, but you will soon learn. First thing you must do is get some more pieces for your room. You will need an armchair, an ottoman, shoe cleaning box, maybe some pictures for your walls..."
"Hold on," said Mint, slumping into the chair "Not so fast."
"Sorry, friend," said Zira. "But it is important that you make yourself comfortable in here. You are going to spend years in this room."
Years? Mint tried to take that in. This was all so strange for him. For the past couple of years he had been educated at home by his mother. To be suddenly plunged into this new world, with it's traditions, it's crowds of strangers, it was quite unsettling
"Come along," said Zira, pulling Mint out of his chair. "No dilly-dallying, there is a great deal to be done. Let's go and see who will be teaching you. Follow me, we have to go to School Yard."
Zira led Mint out of the house and back down Dale Trail to Yost Way, where he stopped, nodding towards an ornate lamppost, decorated with elaborate floral ironwork, that stood on on island in the middle of the road.
"That's Fire Island," he said. "It is a famous Trottingham School landmark and very useful meeting point. Are you getting your bearings all right?"
Before Mint could answer, Zira dragged him across the road and through a large doorway set into the side of a long, square building.
"This is Upper Class," Said Zira as they passed through the gloom and out into a busy red-brick courtyard on the other side. "The heart of Trottingham School. The statue in the middle is the school founder, Prince Regal VIII. And that is Regal tower behind him. That clock will rule your life! Now, let us see what fate you will have."
They squeeded through the back of colts crowding round the noticeboards, and Zira talked Mint through the complicated tangle of lessons and teachers. Mint tried to follow it all, but could hardly keep up. All he could gather was some teachers were good and some bad, and some were demons from the darkest of Tartarus.
He did learn, though, that his tutor, the man in charge of most of his education, was to me Mr. Merry, which was apparently a good thing.
After studying the noticeboards they walked down the high street to buy some grammar books, though not before Zira had explained that as lower boys they must only ever walk on the east side of the road.
"Even if you're coming out of Brown's class and going to Chipper's, which is only a few yard further on, you have to cross the street and then recross it when you're opposite Chipper's."
"But why?" said Mint.
"Ours is not to reason why, and all that," said Zira.
"But there must be a reason, it's ridiculous."
"You will soon learn that there are a lot of traditions here at Trottingham School whose meaning has long since lost. Nobody knows why we do most of the things we do. We just do."
Mint hadn't slept well. His room was freezing and the springs in his bed had dug into him through the thin mattress. He had been troubled by dreams of his time here and had woken in the middle of the night, not knowing where he was. He had eventually managed to get back to sleep, only to be roused again at a quarter to seven by his maid, Spic, a blue old pegasus with wrinkled eyes. She had clattered a pan outside his door and shouted for him to be up, even though it seemed as if he'd only just nodded off.
Mint crawled out of bed, fetched his soap and went to the bathroom on the floor washed himself. Then returned to his room, took a deep breath and steeled himself for the hardest task of the morning -- putting on his school uniform for the first time.
He got into each new item with mounting discomfort: the long, black, itchy trousers, the white shirt with its wide, stiff collar: the waistcoat: the fiddly little black tie that was little more than a scrap of stiff paper: his Trottingham jacket and, most ridiculous of all, his tall hat. To a boy like Mint who was used to wearing nothing, it was torture. He felt awkward and self-conscious, as if he were at one of his father's dreadful dress parties. They weren't even his clothes and they were one more unreal element to this whole unreal situation. As he tied the laces on his heavy black shoes, he cursed. He hated laces.
Once dressed, he had hurried downstairs, expecting to find the hallway crowded with boys, but it was empty and the house was deathly silent. He looked nervously at the clock -- it was ten past seven. He had been told that morning school starts at half past seven, so where is everybody?
He checked the dining room -- empty. Perhaps they'd been teasing him, playing a trick on the new boy. He had certainly been horrified to learn that he would have his first lesson before breakfast.
He had looked out into the passage; there was nobody else about.
Then he'd gone back inside watched the long minutes tick by on the clock. Quarter past... Twenty past... He had been just about to go upstairs and look for Zira when there had been a noise like an avalanche, a horde of boys had crashed down the stairs and pushed past him into the dining room, where they had quickly stuffed their faces with toast and milk before stampeding out of the building.
Now here he was, pushing an unruly lock of his mane out of his face and trying not to say the wrong thing to Mr. Coldmane.
"Didn't you hear me?" said the cold-eyed little stallion, rubbing his beard with a noise like sandpaper. "Hurry along or you will be late for early class." Coldmane strode off and a group of colts parted to let him pass.
"Yes, sir, thank you, sir," Mint called after him.
The torrent of colts surged outside into the alleyway and Mint followed, though he had no clear idea of exactly where he was meant to go. He was trying to keep up, but he felt like he was in a dream with it's own mysterious set of rules. He hurried along, praying that he was heading in the right direction, and with a great feeling of relief he spied Zira and rant to catch up with him.
"You just learnt your first lesson here, Mint." said the little zebra, panting loudly. "Never get up before a quarter past seven."
Mint laughed. "Will I ever get the hang of all this?"
"Oh, yes. Don't worry too much. Now, come along, I'll show you to your school room."
"Thanks."
"So what was your last school like?" Zira asked. "A lot smaller than this I imagine."
"Yes," said Mint. "A lot smaller," and he explained about being educated by his parents at home.
"That sounds like excellent fun."
"It was certainly very different from all this."
Zira laughed. "Imagine how it was for me, coming from the Zebra lands," he said. "It's so cold in Trottingham and the sun is too dull... and the food! Goodness! You ponies are weird. Look out...!"
"What?"
But Mint was too late; as he raced round a corner he collided with a pair of older colts.
"Watch where you're going, newbie," sneered one of them -- a large unicorn with a big, rectangular head, bristly hair and a gap between his two front teeth.
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry's not good enough," said the second unicorn, who was probably a couple of years older than Mint. "You can't go charging into ponies like an idiot."
"Leave him alone, Sledge," said Zira. "He said he was sorry, we'll be late for morning class."
"Well, you better get a move on then, zebra," said Sledge. "You don't want to get into any trouble, do you?"
"No," Zira muttered, then looked apologetically at Mint and ran off. As he went he went, he passed one of the colts who slapped him on the back of his head.
A third unicorn walked up to them, "What's going on?" he asked in a casual drawl.
"It's nothing" said Mint. "There was an accident, I bumped into somepony."
"Did you, now?" said the newcomer, prodding Mint in the chest. "I don't think I know you."
He was a tall, handsome, blond-maned colt maybe a year older than Mint and spoke with a Canterlot accent.
"My name's Chocolate Mint, this is my first day here..."
The three unicorns laughed. "day?" said the Canterlot colt.
"Yes," said Mint. He kept his voice even and looked away, not wanting to start a fight.
"Well, Chocolate Mint," said the Canterlot colt. "I don't like the idea of you barging into my friends."
"I didn't barge into anypony," said Mint. "I'm late..."
"And you're going to make us late," said the Canterlot one. "Which wouldn't do at all."
Mint was very aware of the three bigger colts huddling around him threateningly, and he began to get scared. Scared of what they might do, scared of what would happen if he were late, scared of the unknown.
"Actually, we had better go," said Sledge, and the Canterlot one slowly nodded.
"There's no time to deal with you now, Mint," he said. "We'll see to you later."
The first two colts strolled off, but the Canterlot one hung back and stared at Mint, daring him to stare back.
"You've got a look about you, Mint, that I don't like. I'll remember you. And think on this." He leaned closer and Mint studied him.
He was different from the other colts. He looked healthier -- as if he'd been pumped up with vitamins and goodness, with orange juice and milk and bunches of oats. He had muscular legs and a strong jaw was packed with gleaming white teeth. His eyes were so blue they looked unreal. There was something too perfect about him, like an illustration of a dashing knight in a fairy tale, but behind it all Mint sensed a craziness that unnerved him.
He broke his gaze and looked down at his hooves.
"You are not at home now," said the Canterlot colt in a baby voice, and sniggered at Mint. "You can't go running to mummy..."
A hot, wild anger welled up in Mint. He felt his throat tighten and tears of rage come from his eyes.
"I hope you're not a crybaby, Mint," the colt laughed.
But Mint wasn't going to let anypony make him cry. He fought back the anger and took control of himself.
"I'd better go," he said flatly, brushing past the colt and walking away. He fully expected the older colt to try and stop him, but all he did was call out
"Crybaby shaking, mommy's not awaking..."
Mint clenched his teeth; if this was the trouble he got into on his first day, what was the rest of his time at this school going to be like?
