Chapter 8
Eight
After getting a few hours’ sleep behind a barn, followed by a busy morning of prying stories out of folks who lived near the bay, I returned to the Under Slump armed with a bit of knowledge and a lot of trepidation.
The dead dirt monster had been shoveled out of the way and placed next to the tower’s edge.
Should we ever find a student with any knowledge of life magic, we’d be able to plant a garden there.
It would surely take magic, because it wasn’t like anything would grow naturally in this endless shade.
I looked up toward the sky of pipes and foundations, and already missed the star-filled sky I’d slept beneath next to the bay.
The Slump only descended a few inches a year, and was barely crunching the tops of our tallest buildings, but still, that oppressive weight somehow felt a bit heavier than when I’d left.
It was hard to believe I was embarking on such a dangerous endeavor for this place, but such is life.
Inside the Tube, I was greeted by one nervous student and an angry poltergeist, which threw a rock at me. I’ve got good reflexes, so I caught it, and hurled it back through the shimmering mist floating in the corner. “Fuck off, ghost.”
Thankfully, it vanished, which made the room feel about ten degrees warmer.
“It’s good that you have returned, Mr. Carnavon!
” Morton Smorp was our gnome. He was a tiny fellow who only came up a bit over my knee.
At forty, he was about twice my age, which meant he was still young by gnomish standards, but the oldest person here.
Having tested as a rank two, Morton was supposedly more magically gifted than myself.
Except he only knew two spells: a basic light spell—which wasn’t particularly useful since light charms were so common and cheap—and a simple warding that chased off fleas and ticks, which admittedly wasn’t going to win any arena fights, but was incredibly useful when you lived in a shit hole.
“I’m glad to be back.”
Since Gaul Haddar had left me in charge, and gnomes were big on orderly protocol, Morton was constantly sucking up to me. Today would be no different. “We need your wise leadership. There is rebellion afoot!”
“What now?”
“Mr. Tartaros gave a very rousing speech last night. So moved by his call to action, I even shed a single tear. However, not all of the students agree about this adventuring business. Since you weren’t here, some of them claimed that after Cutter Joran’s threats, you’d fled in fear, abandoning the rest of us to our fate. ”
“Well, that’s stupid.” As a follower of Saint Persistence, the idea I’d be such a cowardly quitter was downright insulting. I’d have warned my friends first, then run.
“Indeed. I told all who would listen that Mr. Carnavon would never forsake this academy which he has strived so hard to organize. You should have them flogged for their impudence. I have kept a list of names—”
I stopped Morton before he could get the folded note out of his vest. “Nobody’s getting flogged. We’re being extorted by a crime lord. It’s natural to grouse about that. Where’s Azarin?”
“Last I saw, your lady was in the main chamber for the day’s practice.”
“Great. But don’t call her my lady in front of her, or she’s likely to hit you with a jolt stick.”
“But I thought—”
“It’s complicated, Morton.”
“Forgive me. Human courtship remains a mystery to me.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Among gnomes, the courting families simply enter into a period of prolonged contractual negotiations, debating the pros and cons of the arrangement for both family businesses until the two sides reach a mutually beneficial—”
“Now’s not the time.” He was nearly as bad as Trax telling me all I needed to do was kill some whales to impress Azarin. “Gather everybody else and send them to the main chamber. I’ve got to tell the whole school what we’re up against.”
“I believe they’re already there, sir, but I shall check for stragglers.”
I headed for the largest room in the Tube.
The central stairwell that we used as our hall had loose dirt and gravel everywhere from the monster barreling down it, and most of the wooden platforms and ladders we’d cobbled together hadn’t been repaired yet.
Broken bits dangled everywhere. Seeing that destruction was profoundly depressing after having put in so much work.
There were enough windows and light charms floating above that our big space was kept bright.
I discovered that most of our students were already there, though rather than practicing their spell craft, they were sparring.
Which was surprising, because many of them weren’t particularly skilled at violence.
Today, it was mostly sticks wrapped in rags playing at sword fighting, and what looked to be some boxing and wrestling.
I was rather decent at the brawling, as Fogo folk have an instinctual love of beating the snot out of each other over petty grievances or rivalries, or just for fun, but I knew nothing about all that slashy, flashy sword business. Rade was our only trained swordsman.
All mages needed some way of defending themselves when their magic wasn’t handy, and having been a trapper, I preferred the pragmatic application of bullets.
There were a handful of firearms among us, but we lacked the money for practice ammunition.
I had twenty rounds in the loops of my belt, and a few dismantled shells in the fire room I’d been experimenting with recently, and that was all.
Azarin quit her playing at combat and strolled over, happy to see me. “Good to have you back. How went the reconnaissance?”
“The locals were more helpful than I’d hoped. Turns out fishermen and stevedores are a talkative bunch. Only, the stories they told aren’t exactly confidence inspiring. I’ll give the rundown to the whole group. Why the fighting?”
“Practice for our adventuring. We figured we’d best save what element we’ve got left for our expedition rather than use any more up in practice.”
“Smart.” I watched the awkward flailing of some of our students.
There were a few who could handle themselves.
The rest, not so much. Our ten remaining students came from a wide variety of backgrounds, some of which apparently hadn’t offered many opportunities to learn proper stabbing or head smashing. “They look ridiculous.”
“That’s what Krachma’s been saying all morning.”
“He’s talking to them?”
“He’s not really expounding; more like he paces around them as they spar, grunting out words like awful or pathetic over and over. I do think he’s actually trying to teach them, though.”
Krachma was probably our most experienced combatant, and other than his single loss to me, he had the best record in the arena of any of us.
I’d only bested him by trickery. In a straight-up battle where I couldn’t fake him out with magic, he’d probably have ripped my arm off and beaten me with it, as he’d done to one poor bastard while rescuing Azarin from Adderlane’s hired goons.
As I watched, the lob stopped two stick fighters.
He shook his head angrily, took Bognar’s stick away, and showed him the correct way to thrust it like a short sword.
When he handed it back, that student promptly stuck Danny hard in the gut with it.
The injured student fell to his knees, gasping, and I think for just a moment, Krachma might have smiled a little at his suffering.
“By the saints, I think Krachma’s enjoying himself.”
She grinned. “I think we might’ve finally found something the big fellow is good at here.”
Trax was probably more dangerous than Krachma, but what was Trax going to teach these people to improve themselves?
Simply move with inhuman speed and bite the enemy with your rows of razor teeth while letting their daggers bounce uselessly off your resilient aquatic hide?
I’m sure such tactics would work out splendidly for our soft land dwellers.
Krachma picked out another student, adjusted his grip, then showed him how to block an overhand blow, turn into it, and slice his opponent across the neck. He actually nodded approvingly when the student did it correctly by himself. Krachma satisfied? That was a first.
It wasn’t magic, but they were learning something useful, and sweating builds character. It pained me to have to interrupt the fun, but it was time to make my speech. By dumb luck, these people were my responsibility, so I wasn’t about to send them on a fool’s errand, blind.
“Alright, listen up!” I walked to the center of the room. “Here’s the plan.”
I’m a pretty good talker, by Fogo standards at least. I tried to remember how my father used to call the shots on Barge 519, because though he hadn’t been our bargemaster, he’d been our real leader.
Men had trusted him with their lives. There could be lava shooting up over the sides, and he’d keep them calm, focused on the work, and even make them laugh to break the tension.
I was no Myles Carnavon, but I was his son, so I’d try to make him proud.
“Contrary to rumors some of you circulated, Ozwald Carnavon is no quitter.” From the way Bognar and Rufus looked at their feet as I said that, I knew who’d been muttering behind my back; Morton hadn’t even needed to make his list. “However, I hold no resentment toward any among you who grumbled, because I’m not overjoyed about our predicament either.
The Latrocinium has got us over a barrel.
I don’t know what Rade told you about our deal last night, but it was either take this job or disband the academy. ”
I’d not noticed Rade sitting at the back of the room, wiping the sweat from his brow with a rag. “It was a rather moving speech, if I do say so.”