Spycraft Academy

by B N Miles

  When Apelles cocked an eyebrow, Sam quickly added, “I know that sounds ridiculous. But it’s a feeling I can’t shake. Something was incredibly off about her behavior, and I couldn’t think of anything else nefarious that they could be involved with besides the thief. I was hoping that by searching Delcan’s rooms, I might figure out whether my hunch was correct, or perhaps something else was afoot.”

  “Why wasn’t this in your report?” Apelles asked, his voice much calmer now as well.

  “It wasn’t while I was on watch.”

  “Sam,” Apelles sighed. “Look, I get it. I came from the slums in Yort. You get used to keeping your problems to yourself, but I told you before and I’ll tell you again: you are no longer alone. And the more you keep to yourself, the more danger you put upon the rest of us. You see something after your watch, then you report it verbally. I cannot trust you to work with me if you don’t actually work with me.”

  Sam knew that on a logical level, and he didn’t mean to keep things from Apelles, it was just that it was so habitual at this point that it honestly didn’t cross his mind to tell the spymaster. At the time, it had seemed like a personal problem…oh.

  Sam frowned and looked at the ground. It had seemed like a personal problem because he thought Delcan was involved, and when Sam tried to find evidence, it had been an almost desperate attempt. Maybe he wanted an excuse to get Delcan expelled…or worse. Maybe he wanted to believe that Delcan was evil by nature, because knowing that the hatred the blonde felt toward him was random meant that there was no reason. Sam needed there to be a reason. Any other option meant chaos. He didn’t like chaos, not the kind he couldn’t create and control.

  “I understand,” Sam said. “I don’t mean to keep things to myself, I apologize, and since we’re on the subject, I think it’s pertinent to tell you about something else I saw before that incident. I didn’t think it was related to the thief, but I was worried anyway…and I didn’t think to tell you because…well, I don’t know. It simply didn’t cross my mind...”

  Sam trailed off. He didn’t want Apelles chasing down Franklin or watching him, it wasn’t the old guy’s fault he was dealing with awful people. But Apelles was absolutely right. Sam would have been furious if one of his crewmembers had hidden things like this from him; accident or not.

  “Mattie and I overheard a woman and Franklin late at night. Months ago. The woman was asking him for something, and he didn’t want to give it to her…or something like that, I can’t remember. She threatened him, though, and said that she wouldn’t give him another chance, that he was on thin ice. He seems fine and everything now, but I wouldn’t be so sure that the woman he spoke to isn’t hanging around.”

  Apelles clasped his pointed chin in his fingers and studied Sam for a handful of silent moments. Sam looked straight ahead, just like he’d seen the guards do back home. It was a sign of attention and respect. He was pretty sure that’s what it meant, anyway.

  “Thank you for telling me.” Apelles clasped Sam on the shoulder. Instead of the tight grip from earlier, it was warm and familiar. “I will look into it and keep an eye on Franklin. He’s always been a bit helpless, ever since we were in the Academy ourselves. I hate to think that he’s still being pushed around and taken advantage of as an adult.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Sam said. He thought that Apelles, satisfied with the tongue lashing he’d given Sam, would dismiss him immediately. Instead, the spymaster’s voice dropped an octave and thinned into a whisper.

  “There’s been a lot of activity around the admin building these past few nights.”

  Sam repressed a frustrated sigh because that meant the thief had slipped right by him.

  “Don’t look so glum, he got past me as well. I picked up some tracks and disturbed foliage three days before, and the tracks have been consistent since. I have a feeling that our thief is going to make a big move very soon, and I don’t think it will be in the admin building this time.”

  “Sir?”

  Apelles rubbed the back of his neck. “Did you do any research on the Cipher?”

  “No, I’m sorry. I haven’t had time.”

  “Find the time, preferably tonight. You’ll find out eventually, but I would rather you know now when it’s pertinent to the situation.”

  Sam gave him a confused stare, but Apelles shook his head and gestured down the hall they came from. “Hurry to Hilda. No doubt she’s about to come looking for you.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Sam almost said, ‘bye,’ but that sounded too casual and familiar in his head, so he just gave the spymaster a stiff nod and walked away, his thoughts pulling in a million different directions. He supposed he could think about each one while he suffered under Hilda’s special brand of torture.

  25

  Franklin was allegedly sick that day, according to The Sheet, who was not too pleased about having to breathe in the ‘toxic fumes’ of the ‘synthetic abominations’ and upset his ‘balance.’ It was so very convenient that Franklin disappeared hours after Sam told Apelles about what he saw.

  He hoped for Franklin’s sake that the spymaster was helping him and not interrogating him or worse; Sam would feel awful if Franklin was subjected to that. He couldn’t imagine the potions teacher being anything but uncomfortable and frightened of the spymaster. No doubt Apelles’ interrogation tactics were brutal, even if they were only verbal, even if they were against a fellow faculty member who hadn’t done anything wrong.

  Sometimes Sam didn’t know what to think of Apelles. One moment he was an emotionless asshole and the next, a patient and supportive guide. The spymaster was no doubt a complex man. Sam would love to crack open his mind and take a look inside; he was certainly a confusing one.

  Sam shaped his little shadow from a fine needle into a square on the ground, focusing on the dimensions and the angles to make it seem solid. He’d only been on watch for a little over thirty minutes, and he had about fifteen minutes left. It was a short shift because the tournament would be underway within the next two hours. It would last until at least the dark hour.

  Sam had been practicing with the girls almost every night before watch until yesterday. Rosin said he was getting better, but it was hard for him to tell from where he was, which was always on his back, blinking up at the blonde while she flashed him another guilty smile.

  It had been utterly stupid to agree to enter. He shouldn’t have lost his head with Delcan, which was the understatement of the century. He couldn’t help that the blonde pushed his buttons so well, but he needed to get better at mastering how he responded to those buttons being pushed.

  That would come with practice, he supposed. For now, getting through the tournament without embarrassing himself or getting maimed was the top priority.

  Suddenly, the sound of two dozen dying geese screamed right beside him, worming into his skull and rattling his eardrums like a play ball. Though sitting practically next to the admin building, it sounded like six dozen panicked birds were diving right for his head.

  Got you, you bastard.

  Sam shot to his feet and stared hard at the stone building, his eyes roving the wall directly in front of him and coming up with nothing. He carefully picked his way along the forest edge, hugging his shadows close to him. He moved to the right of the building first, where Mode’s office was, but nobody was there. He moved to the left, and still, nobody was there. The front of the building was equally bare of anybody.

  Did the defensive wards get triggered by mistake? Sam looked toward the main building. In the distance, a handful of people were running full tilt toward him. Sam frowned at the empty air and pressed back into the forest shadows.

  Apelles would not be pleased if the other instructors knew that the spymaster was permitting him to do the job of a trained spy.

  26

  The roar of the crowd was deafening, but perhaps that was only because Sam’s opponent had rung him like a bell and his head was throbbing like a wound.

&nb
sp; Sam put his hands on his knees and glanced up briefly, breathing through his open mouth and looking for his crew among the sea of faces in the stands that surrounded the arena. He gathered blood in his mouth and spit it on the sand. Then he looked at his opponent and began to rise into a defensive position.

  But then he stopped.

  Because his opponent was laying on the ground, panting, with one hand held high in the air. Yield. He won. That’s why they were cheering so loud. He actually won a match.

  Sam laughed, pushing his hair out of his face and smiling in disbelief. Hilda’s voice reverberated through the arena when she lifted her metal megaphone and shouted ‘defeated!’

  His opponent groaned and rolled to his feet, sticking his hand out with a wince. Sam shook it, and he didn’t know if he was more shocked that he won or that the loser didn’t seem angry about it. How did he bloody win?

  Sam stumbled out of the arena in a daze, unable and unwilling to wipe the happy smile off his face. He’d been sure that he would be defeated by the first round, but he actually won and although he would never say it out loud, hearing the entire school—first through fifth years, instructors, support staff, everybody in the school—cheer for him. Him, Sam Croft, the orphan from the Varin slums.

  Sam plopped onto the wooden bench where the winners from other matches, and the fighters who had yet to face off, sat in varying stages of rest and readiness. Delcan had already fought his first match and, unsurprisingly, he won easily.

  Now, the question was, could he keep winning, and could Sam dare to think that maybe, just maybe, he could make it to a face-off with the blonde?

  Sam stood off to the side with his crew. They’d been allowed onto the arena floor and were making the most of what little time they had left before Hilda started the match. Delcan was also on the other side of the arena with his crew. June was missing, though.

  Delcan’s usual sleekness was scuffed up and bloodied. One of his cheeks was swollen and he had dried blood smeared along his forearms. Sam had no idea if it was Delcan’s blood or not.

  “You better not lose,” Mattie said, brushing a tangle of his sweat-damp hair out of his eyes.

  “Don’t listen to her,” Rosin patted his hand with a bright smile, “we know you won’t lose.”

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t worry about it. If it looks like you’re going down, I’ll just cast some smoke and yell ‘fire!’” Drina said, bumping his hip affectionately with hers.

  Sam winced, but he smiled through it. As it turned out, when he was confident that he wasn’t going to get killed in a fight, something strange and magical happened. It felt like joy and anger all at once. His blood was singing and he just felt so alive. And he had his crew with him to experience it. It was a perfect moment, one that he would remember for the rest of his life.

  “And, hey, if you win, I’ll let you test my gag reflex later.”

  “Drina!” Rosin shrieked.

  “What?!”

  Sam laughed and threw his arm around Mattie, sharing a look that was part happiness, part hunger. Maybe this sensation was what Hilda was always going on about—bloodlust. At the mention of a tryst later, something beastly inside of him bared a wicked set of fangs and slavered for the sound of metal on metal, the feeling of the sand giving way under his feet, the smell of sweat, the sound of a battle cry. He wanted to fight. He wanted to win.

  Hilda sat on a raised dais, a referee chair propped behind her. Sam hadn’t seen her sit in it yet. She was too busy pacing, jumping, howling with excitement whenever somebody landed a hit. Now, at the final match, with the dark hour moon shining silver through the overhead sky grate, she looked positively rabid. Despite her microphone getting shattered during the third round of fights, Hilda’s commanding voice didn’t suffer for it. Her menacing tenor thundered across the arena.

  “Warriors!” She howled. “Tonight, we feast on the flesh of our enemies! To battle!”

  “Do you think she’s having flashbacks?” Mattie muttered.

  “Do you think she should be the referee? I’m entirely certain there is something very wrong with her.”

  “Yes to both of those questions.” Drina cocked her head and smiled. She turned fully to Sam and without warning, kissed him full on the mouth, sliding her tongue past his lips. He was ravenous for her, for all of them. The three of them would need to sit on ice packs tomorrow.

  When Drina released him, Rosin stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, but that wasn’t enough for him, so he threaded his fingers through her pretty hair and kissed her like he might never see her again. Rosin gasped and blushed, but she melted into him like ice all the same.

  When Sam released her, he turned to Mattie and she gave him a wolfish grin before cocking her finger at him. When their lips met, he poured every ounce of love into her that he had, pressing it into her until they were both breathless.

  “Kick his ass, love,” she muttered against his lips.

  Sam smirked, took a final kiss for good luck, then turned to his opponent.

  Delcan was already waiting for him, his sword glinting sharply in the light of the moon and the fires illuminating the arena walls. The claps and the cheers from the crowd quickly turned into a rhythmic thumping like a rapid heartbeat. Like a war drum.

  Sam pushed his tangled hair from his face, and as he walked to the middle of the arena, he scanned Delcan from head to toe, looking for spaces between his leather armor, looking for weaknesses.

  “What are you heathens waiting for?!” Hilda shouted, “Fight! Suck his soul from his body! Let the Gods fear you on this night! Battle to the death!”

  Sam brought his sword to his hip and rushed Delcan, a shout clawing at his throat and spilling into the air as a roar.

  Delcan feigned and there was a flash of silver in Sam’s eyes, but his sword was blocking the swing before his mind could comprehend that it was a swing to begin with. Delcan swept his sword to the side and it glanced off Sam’s shoulder. Sam winced but absorbed the hit and struck Delcan in the side of the neck. Delcan stumbled to the side and Sam pressed on, sand flying from under his feet.

  If Sam could just get under his guard, he had a chance to win this quickly, but Delcan was admittedly a great defensive fighter. If Sam could just slide underneath his legs…but no, he’s done that before already. He would have to take a hit that might make him lose the match altogether if he didn't time it correctly.

  He could rush Delcan and Delcan could thrust forward. Sam could hit him in the stomach just as he hit Sam. Whoever made the first strike would win. Delcan went on the offensive, striking lightning quick and beating Sam back.

  And then, Duncan started herding him, just like he did the first time they fought. The blonde guided Sam around the arena like a sheepdog. Every time Sam got a little ahead, Delcan would jump in front of him and force him to turn the other way.

  Delcan was caging Sam in, he knew this on a logical level. He would either have to go up or down, slide under or over Delcan.

  The blonde was controlling the fight. Sam needed to change that if he wanted to win, but he would need to think of something clever very quickly.

  Sam ground to a halt and pivoted to face Delcan. The blonde shouted, loud, guttural, and ran at Sam with his sword raised.

  The cheers rang so loudly that Sam could hear nothing but deafening applause. And then a scream pierced the air and everybody in the arena went still.

  Even Delcan hesitated, his sword in midair. Everybody in the arena, students and staff alike, stared at the entry corridor.

  It was happening now. Of course it was. What better time than when the entire school was distracted? Sam sprinted to the scream without thinking about it. It was the codex. He knew it his bones even though no alarms went off.

  He could hear Delcan’s feet pounding in the sand behind him but he ignored him. Since Sam was already on the ground and everybody else was in the stands, he was the first to leave the arena and stumble into the hallway beyond, racing to the nearest exit.
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  Someone was in trouble.

  He didn’t know who followed him out of the arena, but it didn’t matter anyway. Sam knew Apelles was going to be there at some point, as was his crew. So he just ran. Sam took a left when he exited a tunnel, then several more turns until he was out through the unused alley.

  He spotted the administrative building. It looked so far away, so tiny in the behemoth valley. A slim figure clad in black exited through the front of the main campus building and bolted for Sam.

  Apelles.

  Somebody far behind them demanded to know what was going on. It sounded like Mattie.

  Apelles caught up to Sam and together, they flew to the squat stone building. They shared a glance and Apelles looked…nervous. Sam had never seen that on Apelles’ face before. Strangely, Sam wasn’t feeling nervous whatsoever. His blood was already up from the fight.

  He was ready to take this thief down.

  27

  Sam didn’t make it to the admin building in time to grab the thief as he darted from the window. But he was close enough to see the man disappear into the forest. Had he been on a horse, he could have run the man down.

  Suddenly, a second figure, clad in all black, also shot from the window, flying into the forest in a different direction than the thief.

  As the forest swallowed their retreating forms, it looked like all was lost, that they had been too late again, but something stirred inside of Sam. A swollen surge churned in his stomach and shot through his limbs, cold and heavy. It filled the shell of his body and threatened to overflow. His skin didn’t feel like his skin, his mouth went numb, and even as he kept running, his body felt on the verge of exploding. The cold surge shot through his chest, through his arms, pooling at his fingertips, urging him to pull.