House of Windows by Alexia Casale Read Free Book Online Page B

into a courtyard filled with balustraded stone staircases, gothic towers, copper-plated cupolas, grand oriel windows and even a stretch of lawn.
    ‘Just remember that the Downing Site, where we’ve just been, is not actually part of Downing College, but home to various lecture theatres and departments,’ said the Welfare Officer, leading them back out to Tennis Court Road.
    A right took them down Trumpington Street; where it met King’s Parade, they turned left on to Silver Street. On the bridge, the Welfare Officer pointed downriver to the woodenQueen’s College Mathematical Bridge. ‘When Isaac Newton first constructed the bridge, he built it without a single nail. Then students took it apart to figure out how it worked, but they couldn’t solve the riddle so it had to be bolted back together. There’s a reward for anyone who can return it to its original form.’
    ‘How big a reward?’ one of the Freshers asked.
    Nick turned away, grinning, wondering if he should tell the others that it was all a fib: a prank played on tourists.
    Coe Fen stretched out on their left and, beyond, the start of Granchester Meadows, with the river winding through the waving beds of reeds and marsh grasses.
    Nick let the paths of the Sidgwick Site wash over him, barely listening as the Welfare Officer listed the faculties and departments that made their home there. On West Road they turned right, back towards town.
    Nick hooked a finger into his shirt collar, pulling against the stiff fabric, then tugged wearily at his tie. All the others were in normal clothes, but there wouldn’t be time between the tour and the Matriculation photo for Nick to get home to change, so he was already in his suit, gown bundled awkwardly under his arm.
    ‘What’s that?’ someone asked, pointing towards an ugly tower of iron-grey brick rising above a line of trees on their left.
    ‘That, my friends, is HM Prison UL,’ said the Welfare Officer.
    ‘A prison? Right in the middle of the town? Is that safe?’ one of the other Freshers squeaked.
    Nick rolled his eyes. ‘UL stands for University Library.’
    The Welfare Officer made a face at him. ‘It’s a prison for books, not people: only third years and graduate students are allowed to borrow the books, you see.’
    The others turned to Nick for confirmation.
    ‘Seriously,’ said the Welfare Officer. ‘Scout’s Honour and all that.’
    They crossed Queen’s Road at the traffic lights by King’s, then followed the Backs to the left. A right into Clare let them on to a long straight path bordered by gardens on the left and King’s Meadows on the right. At the end of the path, a beautiful black-painted filigree gate of wrought iron curtained the path from the grey stone bridge beyond.
    They walked under an arch of grey-white stone, emerging into Old Court, then out another arch and finally through the front gate into Trinity Lane. A few dozen paces and they were back at Trinity Hall. The others hurried away to throw on their suits and gowns, while Nick wandered slowly towards Latham Lawn, where they’d been told to gather at eleven on the dot.
    The day before, the College had looked enchanted in the sunshine: the warmth of the golden brick of Front Court, the autumnal glow of the buildings around Latham Lawn, the purple of the copper beech leaves, the riot of late-blooming flowers in the beds. Now, it was all shades of brown and grey. Instead of smiles, people’s faces were pinched and reddened by the icy wind.
    ‘How long’s this going to take?’ whined a girl to Nick’s right.
    A group of begowned fellows were signalling for attention from the path in front of the Jerwood building. Slowly the crowd turned to face them. There followed a few brief speeches that were largely torn away by the wind: stuff about ‘welcome’ and ‘privilege’ and ‘opportunities’ and ‘make the most of’ and, bafflingly, ‘penguins’. At one stage, the wind dropped and he caught ‘Matriculation