Spycraft Academy

by B N Miles

  Sam frowned at the top of her head. Drina and Mattie looked between one another, then looked at him, and he could tell what they were thinking because he was thinking it too. The only people that had the privilege of conserving their modesty were the people who didn't have to share public washing spaces. Nobles.

  "Aw, c'mon Rosin." Mattie patted the bed. "We're comfortable enough around each other to tolerate a little bare skin. It's really not so improper."

  "Maybe she'd feel better if you were wearing a little less?" Drina said.

  "Maybe. Sam would certainly feel better." Mattie looked at him like she wanted to eat him alive. It sent heat to his groin but he didn't let his mind wander away from the task at hand.

  "How about we save getting naked for later," he said, tearing his eyes away from Drina's long, bronzed legs. She pouted.

  Sitting on Mattie's bed with the two of them was probably going to be counterproductive to his focus, so he sat on Drina's bed and faced the three of them.

  "In case you're wondering," he started before one of the two sirens could distract him. "It was Apelles."

  "You're kidding!" Drina's face was somewhere between shock and disappointment. "Man, I liked him. Wait, did you see his face? Are you sure?"

  "Yeah, I saw his face," Sam said. "He caught me in the office lobby trying to follow him."

  Come to think of it, he'd only seen Apelles' face when he was inside of the building. Outside of it, he had a mask on. He was wearing the right clothes for it, though...Sam was pretty sure. Tight black from head to toe. And why did he jump out the office window? He could have just lifted it and not drawn Sam's attention.

  It didn't add up...unless he was trying to catch Sam's attention, get Sam to follow him into the woods...or unless he was giving chase to the real thief because he'd been telling the truth. Either way, Sam had to figure it out, and his only current lead was Apelles.

  "Wait, you like him? Why? He's such an ass!" Mattie said.

  Drina shrugged. "He's just a bit strict. And, you know, I always did need a bit of discipline to keep me in line." She wiggled her eyebrows and Mattie rolled her eyes.

  "What? He's pretty!"

  She might have been kidding, but he liked Apelles even less now. He didn't think it was possible, but apparently it was. He brushed off the thought as quickly as it came and refused to acknowledge it. He was not jealous and he was not a hypocrite.

  "Anyway, Sam." Rosin was like a boulder, anchoring the two more easily distracted girls back to the present. "Plan?"

  "Tie him up and beat the shit out of him?" Drina sounded a little too hopeful about that.

  "Psychological torture?" Mattie suggested.

  Sam rubbed the bridge of his nose and ignored them, sifting through his head to find an inkling of an idea. Apelles already knew Sam was onto him, and he knew who Sam ran with, so there was no sneaking up on the man at this point.

  "We won't be able to corner him or catch him off-guard. Chances are that if he didn't get what he wanted the first time, he got it the second time. So, I vote we watch him throughout the day. Take shifts at night. It's not like we don't know where he lives. Rosin, Drina, I know this is rude, but I have to ask just in case it can help us now—what are your talents?"

  It was so rude to outright ask, but he had to, etiquette be damned.

  Drina looked at Mattie smugly. "Told you he didn't guess," she said, flicking her hair and addressing Sam next. "I can control smoke."

  Okay, that was helpful. She could probably push it into people's lungs. He'd have to look up the amount it took to make an adult male lose consciousness.

  "Uhm. Perfect memory," Rosin said quietly. "Sorry, I know it's not much, but—"

  "Hey," Mattie clasped her on the shoulder, "it's perfect. Sam here is fantastic at wheedling out soft talents."

  "Actually, I won't need to." He pushed off his shoes and kicked his legs up on the bed. "I could have used your talent tonight. The thief wears this black outfit, and Apelles always wears black, and I should have been paying attention but I wasn't, and now I can't seem to remember if his clothes matched the thief's."

  Rosin looked down, a small, pleased smile on her doll-like mouth. Her face flushed. Maybe people didn't compliment her or acknowledge her usefulness that often.

  "Wait, so you aren't sure?" Mattie asked.

  "Yes and no. I think it's strange that he let me go, for one. Most people would have killed a witness like me. That, and after I left, a window got broken. I went and looked, and I caught a sliver of a black figure running into the forest. I checked the broken window, and there was nobody on the other side that might have spooked him. Apelles could have simply opened the window, and he had to know that I was still around, so why would he break it and draw my attention?"

  Drina shrugged. "I guess we'll find out. I'll take the first shift tomorrow night."

  Sam found himself in the hallway with Rosin after Mattie and Drina kicked them out of the room so they could get some sleep. He turned to the blonde girl and gave her a small, warm smile.

  "Thanks for staying up, and thanks for helping."

  She stood there, still as a statue save for one hand. It was always twisting the tail of her silvery braid, and now was no different. She seemed nervous and high-strung. He bet with a little training, she could channel that jumpy energy into something lethal.

  "You're welcome." She met his eyes. It seemed she was staring at the floor most of the time, never directly into his eyes. He was somewhat glad for it, because it was not okay for him to notice that her eyes were arctic blue, or that she had a dusting of freckles along the tops of her cheeks.

  He turned to go, but she squeaked out a 'wait,' and so he stood still. She bit her lower lip, but she didn't look down. Her mouth was quirked a little at the corners; it wasn't a smile, at least not a conscious one. Her cheeks were stained an even brighter red than when Drina stripped to her underthings.

  "Please don't get offended, I just really need to know...are you or are you not in a relationship with either Mattie or Drina? I know it's not technically my business, but I'm part of your crew now, and if something is going on, then whatever happens between you going forward affects all of us. Like, if you're with Mattie, what if she doesn't like the way Drina flirts with you...or what if you end your relationship and things become antagonistic...just..."

  She lifted her chin high. "Give me a straight answer. Please."

  Sam sighed through his nose and scratched the back of his head. He didn't know how to categorize the three of them himself, much less to somebody else. And the dynamics were very taboo; if Rosin was scandalized by Drina in smallclothes, she might be outraged by the sordid details of their little situation. He might have thought that it was a one-off had it not been for Drina declaring she wasn't a third wheel, if he didn't feel so at ease and right with the two of them, even if they were doing nothing more than walking to class.

  He supposed Rosin would find out eventually. She was whip-smart, and it wouldn't be long before she caught onto the sexual innuendos and familiarity they all shared as if they'd been doing this for years.

  "I'm courting Mattie in an official capacity," he admitted.

  Rosin let out a breath like she'd been holding it for a while, frowning and nodding as if she'd been expecting as much.

  "I'm also...well, Mattie and I are..." how could he explain this? What was Drina, exactly? "being courted by Drina, I suppose."

  All of the air left Rosin in one big whoosh and she stood there blinking at him as if she didn't quite understand what he was saying. Silence passed over them for five seconds. Ten.

  Rosin took a deep breath and asked, "You're in a relationship with both of them?"

  "I...um, yes."

  She cocked her head, her blush intensifying but her eyes unrelentingly curious. "How does that work?"

  "Well, ah..." This was awkward. "I'm not sure, to be quite honest. It just...does?"

  She did look down then, biting her lip far more furi
ously now.

  "You won't tell anybody, will you? This is just between us. As a crew."

  Rosin looked up sharply, nodding, "Of course. It wasn't my business to ask but—"

  "No, you were right to. What we do affects you, too."

  "Thanks," she said quietly, folding her hands behind her back. When she looked up at him again, she smiled a sweet, unassuming smile. "Goodnight, Sam."

  "Goodnight, Rosin."

  She turned away slowly and walked the short trek to her room deeper in the corridor. Sam didn't stop watching her until she was safe inside.

  16

  Three weeks and Apelles hadn't done anything but go about his day, retire for the night, and wake up in the morning before going about his day again. Sam should have felt relieved the spymaster wasn't making any moves against him, Mode, or his crew, but all it did was fill him with more and more apprehension because eventually, he knew, something would happen. That's just how life worked—eventualities and probabilities.

  "What a glorious morning!"

  Like now. The probability that he was going to leave Hilda's watchful care without a scratch was incredibly improbable. She was tilting her head to the sky, her eyes closed and her nostrils flaring as if she were scenting the air. Behind her were rows and rows of swords. This did not bode well.

  "Ah!" Hilda breathed, opening her eyes to grin wolfishly at the lot of them. "Today will be the day you get to learn how to wield a sword."

  Some of the others chattered excitedly, some looked just as nervous as Sam felt.

  It was silly to ask a spy to wield a sword, just like it was silly to ask an assassin to wield a battle axe. He supposed he should learn to use all weaponry, just in case. Who knew, maybe he would be disarmed one day, and the only thing around would be a sword.

  Hilda folded her hands behind her back and paced in front of them, just as she did every morning before breaking them off to do katas and stretches. "You have been practicing your movements for the past two months, and now it is time to put those movements to good use. I will be breaking you off into pairs, and you will try your very best to kill one another without killing one another. If you do well, you may have your low-lander name back."

  Without warning, Hilda started calling names at random, pointing at the sword rack. The group thinned as one by one, the students trudged to the rack and grabbed a sword before going to wherever Hilda directed them.

  "Torjan and Ivrer!"

  Sam expelled a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Of course. Hilda was always putting them near one another and pairing them up for grappling. It's like she wanted them to fight to the death just to see who would win. Considering Sam wasn't trained in sword play, it wouldn't be him. He got lucky last time, but the same tricks wouldn't work again.

  Delcan smiled sharply and sauntered to the sword rack. Sam took a deep breath and followed after Rosin patted him reassuringly on the shoulder.

  Maybe he could evade the blonde until the iron bell tolled to signify the class was over.

  When Sam got close to the rack, he noticed little scrolls of parchment tacked to the wood beneath the hanging blades. Names. Hilda had picked out their swords for them. Spirits, he hoped that was a good thing for him.

  Delcan was on the other end of the rack, hefting his sword and swiping it side to side, testing its weight, probably. Sam slowly grabbed the hilt of the sword with his name on it and lifted it off the rack. It didn't look any different from the others, and it was as heavy as he assumed it would be. How did Hilda decide who got what, and what set this one apart from the one Delcan was swinging around?

  "Torjan!" Hilda shouted. "Stop swinging it like a toy and get in your spot!"

  The blonde huffed but did as he was told. It was strange how utterly nasty he could be to Sam, and yet he was as docile as a lamb for Hilda. He didn't even roll his eyes or mock her when her back was turned like he did with the other instructors. Perhaps there was something to that, something that Sam could use. Somehow. Anything that would keep him from getting maimed would do at this point.

  "Ivrer! What are you staring at?! Get your scrawny ass over here!"

  Then again, Sam supposed nobody whispered behind Hilda's back. She had the hearing of a vessar, and she was also oddly endearing. She had a harsh tongue and she pushed them harder than she was probably supposed to, but she took care of them as well. When Sam twisted his ankle, she wrapped it and rubbed the swelling down herself. Granted, she did it while lecturing him on eating more to strengthen his 'brittle lowlander bones,' but underneath that, he could tell she cared.

  Delcan could probably tell as well. Sam didn't care how mean and nasty the man was; everybody wanted to feel like somebody cared about them.

  The image of Delcan standing naked in front of the mirror and slapping his face came to mind, but Sam shut it out. He wasn't going to feel sorry for the man who cornered him, burned him, and antagonized him at every possible turn. Compassion got people killed.

  Sam held the hilt of his sword tightly and made his way across the training arena, Delcan set in his sights. An old and familiar voice welled up, jabbering and fretting about what sorts of scars he'd get this time, but Sam shouted it down with confidence that had absolutely no bearing on reality. Didn't matter, he just needed the boost in morale.

  He and Delcan stood before each other with relaxed postures, staring at one another while the rest of the class armed themselves and got into position.

  "Brie was very disappointed that I couldn't decorate your face," Delcan said. "Maybe I'll make it up to her this time around."

  Sam stuck the tip of his sword into the sand and scowled. "What is your bloody problem with me, huh? This is getting a bit ridiculous, don't you think? Why are you so intent on me? Is it because of the mother comment, because if it is, I'd hate to see how you behave in the ranks when somebody insults her."

  Delcan's smirk disappeared in favor of a scowl. He growled, "I don't like you."

  "Yeah, well, I don't like you either, but I don't go out of my way to physically assault you, do I?"

  "That's only because you know you'll be kicked to shit if you try."

  "Are you sure about that?" Sam snapped. "Or don't you remember getting shut away from the sun, getting your very own fire stolen away from you, twisted and molded into something that you couldn't control?"

  Delcan looked livid. Before he could retort, Hilda screamed for them to begin.

  And Sam's opponent moved like the wind. This wasn't the mindless fury Delcan had last time, but a swift and fluid display of years of honing his body to react and move in perfect synchronicity. Sam was lucky he dodged the first blow. He wasn't so lucky on the second, and it all went downhill from there.

  Delcan used the butt of his hilt more than not, striking Sam in the belly, in the throat, in the head, using his large body to push Sam back, back, back against the wall. Every time Sam tried to evade or parry, Delcan would either brush it aside or use a second maneuver that Sam couldn't block because he was too busy defending against the first.

  He tired insulting Delcan since it worked so well last time, but the blonde didn't respond to a single one. In fact, his usually snide expression was gone in place of something mild and non-threatening. He didn't taunt Sam like last time; he didn't speak at all, in fact.

  It was like Sam's words passed through his ears unacknowledged, like he wasn't even there. Maybe Delcan was in a trance, in his 'center' as The Sheet liked to call it, his mind far away and his body falling into a fluid rhythm.

  By the time Sam called yield, he already had a shiner.

  Hilda was very pleased by the fight. So pleased, in fact, that she gave Delcan his name back. Sam didn't have his though.

  As Delcan walked away from Sam, he looked casual enough, but the way he kept looking at Hilda, the way he tried to pinch back on his smile when she praised his strength and poise, made Sam realize two things. One, that Delcan associated winning with getting affection, and two, not only was he an assho
le who would do anything to win, but he was an asshole that had years and years of training to hone him into the sort of killing machine that cut nobodies like Sam down in the street without so much as a thought.

  Worrying about survival, being afraid of dying in a fight, that made people into quick and masterful evaders. But worrying about winning was different. Deep down, people who wanted to win at all costs didn't really fear death, they feared failure. That made them very, very dangerous to people like Sam.

  That night, Sam watched Apelles' house as he had done every night for the past week. The instructor housing was attached to the main building, stretching to the side like an arm. The homes were designed to sit together like blocks, one pushed against the other on either side of a narrow cobblestone walk. They were squat and grey, large enough for one person to live comfortably.

  Apelles lived at the very end of the line, right next to one of the fourth-year instructors.

  Sam sat under one of the many trees that belonged to the vast forest surrounding the school in a semi-circle. If he got down and walked to the right, he would pass under one of the stone archways that led to the crossroad walkway. If he walked to the left, he would run into one of the teacher's houses.

  It was late already, too late to read his shadow book. His muscles were still throbbing from the thrashing he got from Delcan earlier, but he didn't go to the medical chamber. He'd had worse, and he didn't want to have to go to Miss Cher every time Delcan gave him a new wound. Every time he closed his eyes to do a shadow meditation, he would become keenly aware of his bruises, so all he could really do was sit there and watch Apelles' house. His silent, dark house that looked very much like the denizen inside was asleep.

  After a while, his eyes got heavy and he slumped more and more into the trunk of the tree. He slapped his cheeks a few times to wake up, but he eventually dozed off despite his efforts. It wasn't a true sleep. There were no dreams, and it seemed like only a few moments had passed between closing his eyes and being shaken awake.