Spycraft Academy

by B N Miles

  "Don't worry about Franklin, he won't say anything," Sam said.

  Rosin threw her hands up with a sound of frustration. It was the first time Sam had seen her look anything less than happy or startled.

  "Fine." She crossed her arms under her breasts and held her nose in the air. "But if you get a demerit, I'm not going to feel sorry for you."

  Sam chewed his food thoughtfully and studied her face. She wasn't wrong, but she obviously didn't know him well enough to know any plan he agreed to was sound. He wouldn't do something that wouldn't work. He had confidence that Franklin wouldn't make a fuss, and his confidence was as good as his word.

  The girls kept bantering as they ate their supper. Sam tuned out their voices and kept an eye on Delcan as he ate. Sam would have to pass him to get to the waste bin, so he wouldn't draw attention if Delcan was otherwise occupied.

  Mattie finished her meal, then Drina. He could feel their eyes on him.

  "Go," he said.

  Their chairs scooted back and he fisted the vial in his front trouser pocket. Rosin stayed quiet, fuming where she sat, and Sam watched the girls. If Fletch were here, he'd think it a marvelous idea, but his roommate hadn't shown up for the evening meal.

  Drina strutted in front of Mattie, and as soon as Delcan's crew knew the girls were headed toward them, they all looked up.

  Drina grabbed the back of Brie's chair and bent down to whisper something in her ear. Brie's scowl was thunderous and she abruptly stood, snapping around to face the shorter girl. Mattie laughed and said something to June, whose mouth dropped open like a bolt had come loose from the hinge in her jaw.

  The rest of the crew was staring at Sam's girls intently, angling their bodies toward them. Whatever they'd said, it was insulting enough to get the entire table's ire. That was his cue.

  Sam polished off his plate and stood up, holding it in one hand and stuffing the other hand in his pocket. He uncorked the vial in his trousers as he walked, breezing past Delcan. His hand quickly darted out and he tipped the vial, splashing half the contents into Delcan's goblet. Or, he tried. The vial was so small, and he was moving too quickly, so the entirety of the potion splashed into Delcan's drink.

  Damnit!

  Just as quickly, Sam pulled his hand back and thrust it back into his pocket with a scowl. He threw his dishes into the wash bin, straightening his expression before turning about to saunter back to his table as if nothing were amiss.

  By the time he sat back down, Drina and Mattie were making their way back. Both of them looked very pleased with themselves.

  "Did you do it?" Mattie sighed, plopping back into her seat.

  "Yeah. Accidentally poured the whole damn thing in there," Sam sighed. "What did you say to them, anyway?"

  "That we heard they were letting Tobias' crew plug them." Drina shrugged.

  "And I asked June how she was dealing with the groin rot I heard she had."

  Sam rolled his eyes. Of course. Women were strange. Their insults were strange. It was never about strength or cunning but looks and sex. Whatever worked, he supposed.

  "Oh look, our boy's going down," Drina mumbled.

  Sure enough, Delcan's body was loose as a string, and he looked to be tipping onto his side before one of his guys pushed him back. As he slumped on top of the table, it was easy for Sam to hide his smile. It was vindicating and it was funny, but part of the art of not being caught was not being obvious that you'd done something.

  Brie and June were in a tizzy, hauling Delcan to his feet and rushing him from the mess hall, clucking and fussing over him like he was going to die. Everybody in the hall watched the girls drag him away; all except one.

  Sam's eyes drifted back to Delcan's table when he felt eyes on him. Prin was sitting between the two men in Delcan's crew, staring right at Sam like she knew what he'd done. Perhaps she did. In which case, he'd prefer her to keep quiet about it. It was obvious she didn't like her own crew much, so maybe she wouldn't say anything.

  She did look miffed, though. Sam tested her by giving her a bold wink and a grin.

  Her lips twitched and she rolled her eyes before looking away, seemingly smothering the urge to grin back at him. No, she wasn't mad. She probably wasn't even truly loyal to Delcan's crew. Maybe she'd like a new home with Sam's.

  14

  A week has passed since Sam’s started his late-night vigil, confident he could tackle any trouble from the thief. If he showed his face, that is, which hasn't happened since the first night. It had been in the back of Sam's mind all the while. When he had moments of quiet, when Fletch was out, when he was studying, his mind wandered back to the thief.

  Talk about the cipher had quieted after a few days, and the students' torn bedding had thankfully been replaced hours after the raid. It was like nobody remembered it happening, or maybe it was just a rumor and nothing serious had actually been nabbed. It didn't feel right to him, though. Not morally, but instinctively. Even if such a thing had been stolen, it was something serious, or else the dorms wouldn't have been destroyed in order to find it—whatever it was. And if it was something of a classified nature, their entire country could be in danger. Sam didn't consider himself especially patriotic, but after he graduated, his job would literally be shielding the country from Meeran agents.

  From the sweltering villages in the south to the mining towns in the north, Varins everywhere would be relying on him to keep their homes and families safe.

  If he didn't do his part, he would fail, and Sam did not stand for failure.

  Even though it wasn't his official job to stand with his peers and protect the nation yet, he couldn't ignore the itch to do what he could now. It was inconvenient, dangerous, and not his problem, but the stone in his stomach filled him with a thick black dread and he found himself unable to sleep most nights. When he dreamed, it was of fire and screams and the deep purple banner of the Meeran Empire flying high, signaling the presence of its proud conquerors.

  It was bloody hard to do anything, though, when the damned thief hadn't shown his face again. Maybe he got what he wanted, maybe Sam would be fruitlessly keeping vigil all semester because doing anything less would make him feel miserable.

  He looked up at the black sky and sighed through his nose. One more hour, then he would head back to his room. Hilda had put them through hell that day, so maybe he'd be worn down enough to actually sleep.

  The administrative building was only a few yards away from his post underneath a generous oak tree. He curled his fingers absently and the shadow near his feet stretched high and thinned until it looked like a needle impaled in the ground. The shadow book from the library hadn't said anything more about what Sam did to Delcan, only that incomprehensible spell, but it did have plenty of other useful information.

  As it turned out, The Sheet wasn't completely mad. According to the shadow book, meditation was the best way to expand power wells, though it took a lot of meditation before it made any great impact. What The Sheet didn't consider was that maybe not all of his students could follow along with his particular brand of meditation.

  The book pointed out a meditative exercise that worked the first time Sam tried it. Hold a shadow's shape and stare at it. So simple. So effective. He stared at his needle until everything around him fuzzed out of existence until no one item had any meaning at all, not even the shadow.

  And then something moved.

  Sam snapped a cloak of shadow around him on instinct, balling him into a world of black nothingness. He thinned the veil before his eyes, casting the world outside of his in a film of dull grey. A figure bound from the closest corner of the castle in all black.

  It was about damn time.

  Sam stood up when the thief flattened himself against the office wall, sliding against it until he reached the window. He passed right by Sam.

  The thief didn't have a problem picking the window, which was insane. He didn't go for Mode's office this time. Maybe the rest of the windows were simply ignored. It was s
till ridiculous. After he stole the first thing, all the windows should have been securely locked.

  The thief dove through the now-open portal and Sam dashed from his hiding spot, keeping his shadows clamped around him. He waited near the window and strained to hear the thief's soft feet pitter-pattering down the polished stone hallway.

  He would grab the man, trap him in shadows, then drag him to Mode's bedchamber to make sure he was both in custody and unable to tell that Sam had been the one to give him up.

  The sound of the thief's feet vanished. Now or never.

  Sam took a deep breath, dismissed the shadows, then pulled himself through the window, landing on the other side without a sound. He crouched under the window for a few moments. He was in a round lobby, two halls branching away from it in an L-shape. A long counter was immediately in front of him, and healthy green plants dotted the edges of the room. Nothing looked disturbed.

  Sam was sure the thief had gone down the left hallway.

  He stood up and silently picked his way toward his destination, but before he made it past the reception area, all of the air left his lungs. Something big and heavy pressed into his middle, forcing his feet off the ground and his whole body into the air.

  It lasted all of a second, and then he was on his back, wheezing and fumbling for the dull knife strapped to his calf.

  "A little past your bedtime, Croft." Apelles' raspy voice appeared before he did. Sam's hand stilled at his leg; his fingers wrapped tightly around the hilt of his knife.

  I knew it.

  Apelles' face loomed above him and Sam controlled the urge to scowl at the spymaster—at the traitor.

  "A little past your bedtime as well," Sam said evenly, then added, "Sir."

  Apelles didn't verbally respond, but he did grab Sam forcefully by the arm and haul him to his feet. Sam withdrew his knife subtly. The spymaster's eyes flicked to the blade and he cocked an eyebrow.

  "I'll give you a chance to make up a good excuse as to why you're here in the middle of the night without express permission. And if you don't come up with a good one, I'll drag you to my office and give you a lesson on creativity."

  He was the thief. He should be striking Sam where he stood. Sam had a knife, but he wasn't stupid enough to think that meant anything against a formally trained Varin spymaster.

  The fact that Apelles wasn't making any move to silence Sam made him much more nervous than if the older man had simply stabbed him. Was this a test to figure out what Sam knew? Was this a challenge?

  Storytime.

  "Following a mark," Sam said, forcing his stance to relax, as if he weren't threatened in the least by a man who could slice him to ribbons with a flick of his wrist. "We saw a man sneak into the window, I wanted to know what he was doing."

  "We?"

  "Mattie and myself. She's keeping point outside. In fact, she's listening right now, making sure nothing goes awry. Her talent is extremely useful when it comes to gathering information. And evidence."

  Apelles glanced at the window, then back at Sam. When the older man's hand came flying toward his face, Sam flinched involuntarily, but he stilled when Apelles only rested his palm on Sam's forehead, his eyes drifting closed.

  There was a strange sensation in his head, like all the air that possibly existed between his brain and skull swirled into a vortex. It got heavier and Sam grit his teeth, clutching his knife tightly because he didn't know what Apelles' talent was and he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

  Apelles dropped his hand and narrowed his eyes at Sam. "I see. Thanks for your diligence, Croft. Now get back to your room."

  He pivoted and stalked to the left of the lobby, headed right for the hallway Sam had targeted only a minute before.

  Sam stood paralyzed, torn between going after him or rushing back to the campus to wake the staff. There was no way he could take Apelles on without the element of surprise in his favor.

  "For the record," Apelles stopped at the hallway's threshold, "I'm not the thief. But if you don't leave now, I may not be able to catch the man who is the thief."

  Sam's jaw ticked.

  "This is a classified situation, Croft. Leave before I lose my temper."

  Fine. He'd regroup and figure it out from there. At least he wasn't dead. With a glower, Sam retreated to the window and hopped out of it, landing in the springy grass. He headed back to his post, calling his shadows to him as he went. He'd watch the building and see for himself that Apelles was lying, damning the man doubly.

  So, he sat against the tree again and waited.

  It didn't take long. The sound of shattered glass pricked at the otherwise quiet night, coming from the far side of the building. Sam scrambled to his feet and rushed to the right. A cloaked figure blurred into the forest just as Sam rounded the corner, disappearing into the night.

  Sam rushed to where the sound came from and found himself clear on the other side of the building, his feet shifting in glass and his eyes peering into the darkness of Mode's still, empty office.

  15

  He didn't wait until the next day to tell his crew about what happened. Instead, he woke them up as soon as he was back and told them to meet in his dorm. Fletch was not pleased and the girls were grouchy as they dragged themselves into his room, flopping on the bed in a tangle of arms and legs.

  "The thief came again."

  Drina scrubbed at her face and yawned. "What thief?"

  Mattie widened her eyes and blinked away the dregs of sleep. She mumbled, "The one that stole the cipher."

  "Oh, that one."

  "Why is nobody else worried about this?" Sam threw his hands up in the air and started pacing. "If somebody stole a decryption key for every classified document in the country, that would be the end of it. Even if it wasn't a cipher, it's still got to be important. Classified. Dangerous. Meera would know whatever it is they need to know, they'll invade us, destroy everything, execute everybody in the military—"

  Rosin grabbed his hand and pulled him down on the bed, patting his knuckles comfortingly. "It's not that nobody is worried, it's just...well, it's not something we can do anything about."

  "Yeah, Sam." Drina got comfortable with his pillow. "You didn't want to tell anybody that could actually do something, so we're pretty powerless here. You want us to wring our hands and worry about it until somebody fixes shit? The fucking Varin military is on it, Sam. They'll fix it."

  "That's awfully optimistic of you." Sam shot her a glare. "What if they don't fix it, Drina? You going to worry about it when a Meeran bone-splitter is on you?"

  "Hey." Mattie slapped his shoulder lightly. "Don't be mean."

  "I'm sorry." He scrubbed at his face.

  "You're stressed," Rosin said. "It’s okay."

  "Yes. I'm stressed. He needs to be stopped, and we're in a position to do it, so it's frustrating. I can't sleep at night, I just keep thinking 'if only I could catch him,' and I almost did, I can. I just...I need my crew to do it."

  He looked at his hands. He wasn't wrong here, he wasn't. Their country was in danger, why couldn't anybody see that? The girls were quiet. Rosin rubbed soothing circles along his back. The one that broke the silence was Drina, who sighed heavily and sat up.

  "Fine, you dolt. What do you need us to do?"

  Sam curled his fingers, fixating on his knuckles, his wrists, the tendons beneath. There were scars on his skin from years of work and knives. There was the power to do something in them.

  "Us?" He looked at the brunette. A sense of urgency in his chest rose in a tide of heat and swam into his limbs. Drina couldn't speak for all of them, but he had her support at least.

  "You're so thick sometimes." Mattie swatted his head, but her expression was gentle. "We're a crew. You have our support, always. Just like we have yours. You've never led me astray before and you're not going to start now. If you say something needs to be done, then it needs to be done."

  He turned to Rosin, who ran her hand up and down his spine. She was smili
ng, but it was watery, unsure.

  "I think it'll be dangerous," she said quietly, dropping her hand from Sam's back. He already missed the warmth of her palm. "But...if you need me, Sam, then you have me."

  They would help him. They may not believe it was their job to do this, but they were going to do this with him regardless. They were his crew, through and through, and he made a solemn vow, whispered as a prayer in the echoes of his mind. I won't let anything hurt any of you, not ever. I am yours, you are mine, and I will give my life for all of you.

  "While that’s all very sweet and touching, do you think that perhaps this can wait until morning? You're interrupting my beauty rest," Fletch drawled from his bed.

  Mattie tsked and stood up, crooking her finger at Drina and tugging Rosin by her dainty wrist. Sam wordlessly stood up and followed them out. Like hell he was waiting till morning. There was no telling when Apelles would come for Sam...or Mattie.

  Oh no. He'd told Apelles that Mattie had been with him. Granted, if Apelles wanted to parry, Mattie would be his first target anyway, but still. He'd compromised her.

  Mattie led Sam, Rosin, and Drina into her room and quickly shut the door. It didn't occur to him that the first and last time he'd been in here, he'd shared a bed with the two girls who lived in it. He stared at Mattie's bed and remembered, vividly, the way she crawled to the edge on all fours and sucked him shamelessly into her mouth.

  "Sam, are you alright?" Rosin said, waving her hand in front of his face.

  He cleared his throat and smiled, back in the present. Mattie sat on her bed with her legs crossed, and from the way she was looking at him, he could tell she was remembering too. Drina shucked off the trousers she was wearing and plopped beside Mattie in nothing but her thin underthings.

  Rosin turned around, saw Drina, gasped, and turned back around.

  "Drina!" She squeaked.

  "What? It's my room. You act like you've never seen smallclothes before."

  "Of course I have!" Rosin huffed. "But they were mine."