“You believe me that it was Revile, right, Jazen?”
“I believe that you believe it,” Jazen replied. Jack could see Jazen hoped he was wrong about this. Jack hoped he was wrong about this too. Trouble was, Jack was pretty darn sure he was right.
Jazen turned the conversation to Jack’s training while he whipped a bowl of blue eggs into a scrambled frenzy. This morning Jazen was serving butter-battered Flopflips with special Kazellian Floovberries. The Flopflips were something very much like light, airy blue pancakes, but the flavor of the Floovberries, found only off-planet deep in the heart of the Kazellian Nebula, was literally out of this world. They were as delicious as they were rare.
“So! The School of Thought,” Jazen said. “Quite an honor there, Jack. They only pick a few students every year. Never more than one per Circleman, and sometimes not even that many. This year it’s just the three of you.”
“There are other kids in the program already?” Jack asked.
“Older kids from other years,” Jazen said. “You’ll meet them when you get in.”
“If I get in,” Jack corrected. “I have to get everyone in the Inner Circle to vote for me first.” He held up his copy of the Empirical. “There’s no way the guy who writes these headlines is going to give me his vote.”
“All you can do is try,” Jazen said. “Just put your best foot forward every day. At least you don’t have to worry about being dissected anymore.”
Jack agreed that was a definite improvement, and promised to do everything in his power to get into the good graces of his teachers. However, while Jack certainly wanted to get into the School of Thought and learn how to use his powers, finding out the answers about his past was still first and foremost on his mind.
When he was done eating, Jack offered to clean up the dishes if Jazen would go get the letter Stendeval had sent him. Jazen said there wasn’t anything in the letter except where to find Jack, but he agreed to get it. When Jazen left the room, Jack busied himself trying to figure out how to work a strange contraption called the SmartWater-CleanWindow, which was like no dishwasher Jack had ever seen. Jack tried to figure it out, but after pushing a few buttons that didn’t seem to do anything other than get him wet, he ended up just washing the dishes with plain old soap and water, and drying them with a rag. When Jack finished, Jazen came back without the letter.
“Jack, I’m sorry,” he began, “I can’t find it. Which is weird, because I know I left it in my room.”
“Isn’t this it right here?” Jack asked, eyeing an orange envelope on the counter. Jazen looked confused as Jack picked up the envelope that was definitely not there a few moments earlier. “No,” Jack said after reading the letter. “This isn’t it. It’s just directions to Cognito.”
“Let me see that,” Jazen said, taking back the letter and looking it over. “He changed it,” he said.
“Who did?”
“Stendeval,” Jazen replied. “Hmm… almost ten o’clock, too. C’mon, Jack, we’ve gotta go. We can’t be late, not in Cognito.”
“Late? Late for what?” Jack asked while Jazen pulled him toward the door.
“For your first School of Thought test,” Jazen replied.
Jack and Jazen rushed off to Stendeval’s corner of Empire City, the mysterious borough where everything was a secret or a riddle, just like him. Getting there was tricky. Directions in Cognito had to be followed exactly as they were written, straight down to the exact time a person had to be at a certain place. Jazen and Jack hurried through town with the SmartCams following close behind. Everyone else kept their distance, but no one shrieked and ran or tried to kill Jack, which was a vast improvement on his short but eventful stay in Empire City thus far. Apparently, word had spread pretty fast that Jack was a candidate for the School of Thought and protected by the Inner Circle. More importantly, he was personally vouched for by Stendeval, whose word carried considerable weight throughout the Imagine Nation. That said, Jack still got his fair share of dirty looks from some of the city’s more stubborn residents, and overheard the occasional person call him “Rusty” as well.
Soon the sleek ultramodern skyscrapers of Hightown gave way to rocky terrain at the border of Cognito. Futuristic MagLev roads were replaced by low-tech, brick-laid streets and red rock. Everywhere Jack looked, he saw identical white stone buildings. They had no markings, no molding, no gargoyles—nothing that would allow someone to distinguish one building from another. The buildings all had simple rectangular windows peppered about in odd places on their exterior. The only notable difference between any of the structures was their shape. Some were in L shapes, some in T shapes, and some were designed with random staircaselike patterns. The white buildings jutted out of the red rock and turned at right angles, some connecting to each other with bridges and steps, some not. When Jack looked at the skyline of Cognito, it was like looking at one giant interconnected puzzle. Cognito was a labyrinth.
After following Jack less than a block into the mysterious borough, the SmartCams started to weave and sink in the air. They flew in erratic patterns and bumped into each other. One of them even crashed into a wall. Eventually, it looked like the SmartCams had decided enough was enough, and they zipped back across the border into Hightown. Jack was happy to see them go.
“SmartCams don’t work in Cognito,” Jazen explained. “In fact, no cameras work here. It’s one of the reasons why it’s such a good place for a person to disappear. Most superpowered beings have their secret lairs and hideouts right here. It’s tough to keep a secret identity these days, so people set up their hideouts in Cognito. Or they rent them from the Secreteers.”
“Rent them? Don’t their landlords know where the hideouts are, then?” Jack asked.
“Well, as you might expect, Secreteers are very good at keeping secrets. People trust them with all kinds of information, but you’d never hear it from them. They keep things quiet. They’re also the ones who make sure all the ‘superheroing’ that goes on in the world doesn’t spill over onto the front pages of your newspapers. They’re not the only things in Cognito that work to keep hideouts hidden, though.”
“What else is there?”
“You’ll see.” Jazen held up the directions Stendeval had sent, and looked around. “There,” he said, pointing. “That street corner. Twenty paces north and ten paces east.” Jack and Jazen walked to the appropriate corner and stood there waiting. “Ten thirty-two a.m.,” Jazen said. “Right on time.”
“For what?” Jack said. “There’s nothing here.”
Jazen put his hand to his lips. “Listen,” he whispered.
At first Jack didn’t hear anything. But soon he heard a rumbling noise, followed by tremors. The city started shaking like it was being hit with an earthquake, but it wasn’t the whole city. It was just Cognito.
Jack watched in wonder as the streets around him began to turn over in place like blocks in a Rubik’s Cube. Encrypted street signs changed their code names. Dead ends became intersections. Buildings transformed, separating and attaching themselves to other buildings, sinking into the ground and rising up out of it.
Jack was speechless as the city blocks before him turned like cogs in a mighty machine, then finally settled and came to rest in their new layout. In less than a minute the landscape had completely changed.
“What just happened?” Jack asked.
“That’s the other way things stay hidden here,” Jazen said, leading Jack back the way they came, which was now a different path than it had been when they had first walked it.
Jazen went on to explain that every day the streets of Cognito rearranged like puzzle pieces being scrambled, and nothing looked the same twice in ten years. Jack remarked that this was where he ought to be living. No one would bother him there. Jazen laughed and asked him how he would ever find his way around. “Only the locals know the way, and it’s not like you can ask for directions. Everything in Cognito is supposed to be hard to find,” Jazen told Jack. “Streets have no na
mes that you can understand, doors don’t always lead to the same place twice, everyone uses aliases, and no one will tell you anything. We’d never reach our destination without Stendeval’s directions, and after today they’re useless.”
As Jack walked down the street, he saw people in supersuit costumes flying away, and people in civilian clothes who didn’t want to be seen without their masks. Everyone in the borough crossed the street, ducked into open doorways, and even scaled building walls to get away from Jack. They avoided everyone, though, not just him. As a general rule, people in Cognito kept to themselves. Eventually, Jack and Jazen reached Stendeval’s building. It was a large rectangular tower with a crooked shape. With the exception of an orange handprint slapped above the front door, Stendeval’s home looked no different from any other building in Cognito.
“This is it,” Jazen said. “I’ll be right here waiting for you after class.”
“Let’s just hope that the building hasn’t moved by then,” Jack replied. Jazen wished Jack luck as he went into the building alone.
Stendeval’s home may have been simple and clean on the outside, but the inside looked like the attic of a great museum, or the prop room of a long-running theater company. Jack entered into a single cluttered chamber that took up the whole of the building. The perimeter of the room was jam-packed with a random collection of old furniture pieces stacked on top of one another, plus sculptures, busts, and other antiques, some of them under tarps, some not. It seemed like every available space upon which something could be set down and still keep its balance was taken up by some manner of artifact. In short, it was a mess, but a mess made up of some very cool and interesting stuff. The only clear space in the room was in the center of the floor, where Skerren and Allegra waited.
Jack walked toward his classmates. Looking up, Jack saw more of the same clutter. The walls were lined with books and filled with massive paintings, portraits, and pictures that were all housed in oversize, ornate frames. All the way up to the ceiling, wooden scaffolding ran rings around the four walls, each level with a ladder leading up to the next level, like a fire escape. These “fire escapes” were, of course, all crammed with a hodgepodge of Stendeval’s curios.
As Jack approached the center of the room, he found Skerren practicing his swordplay, shadowboxing against a stationary suit of armor. Skerren glanced at Jack but continued with his training without saying anything. Thrust. Parry. Ignore. Allegra was standing by herself, waiting for class to begin.
“You think he ever puts those swords down?” Jack asked Allegra, hoping to make conversation.
“I think he must sleep with them under his pillow,” Allegra replied. “He’s been practicing since I got here. He didn’t even stop to say hello.”
“Sounds about right,” Jack replied. “Hey! You didn’t turn into a puddle!”
“Oh?” Allegra asked, perhaps just realizing that herself. “Oh, right,” she added with a bashful chuckle. “I’m Allegra,” she said with a smile.
“I know,” Jack said. “I remember. It’s a really nice name. I’m Jack.” He reached out his hand. As Allegra shook Jack’s hand with a shy smile, Skerren’s eyes cut over toward the pair for an instant. He frowned and resumed sparring.
“Sorry I always liquefy around you,” Allegra said.
“It’s okay. That’s no big deal.”
“It’s kind of embarrassing. It’s not about you, though. It’s more about the Rüstov.”
Jack sighed. “You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he said. “I’m not a Rüstov.”
One of Skerren’s swords shrieked its way through the torso of the suit of armor. Jack and Allegra looked over to see him thrust it through with an angry stab.
“I’m not a Rüstov,” Skerren mimicked Jack. “Isn’t that just what a Rüstov spy would say?”
“What’s your problem, Skerren?” Jack asked.
“I don’t know,” Skerren replied. “Maybe I just don’t like the idea of letting the enemy into a school for heroes.” Skerren walked right up to Jack. “Know this, Rusty,” he began. “I’ve been training my whole life to get into the School of Thought. Whatever you’re up to, you’re not going to get away with it.”
Jack stared back at Skerren. “Know this, Skerren. You’re a huge jerk.”
Somewhere in the jumble of bric-a-brac on the wall, several cuckoo clocks struck eleven and began to cluck. When the children turned toward the noise, they saw Stendeval hovering above them, his legs folded. “Amazing,” he said. “It never ceases to astound me how often friends begin their relationship as enemies.”
“Friends?” Skerren repeated, incredulous. “I’ll never be friends with that,” he said, pointing to Jack.
“Works for me,” Jack replied.
“So certain of the future, are we?” Stendeval asked. “Beware that impulse, boys. It has led many a man to draw sad conclusions and take unfortunate actions. But that is a lesson for another day.” Stendeval lowered himself down to hover around the children’s eye level. “Today’s lesson is about confidence,” Stendeval announced. “Confidence in yourselves. Confidence in your powers. This is always an exciting lesson. Some of you may even be introduced to new facets of your powers today.”
“I already know about my powers,” Skerren declared in a brash tone.
“Life is an education, young one,” Stendeval told Skerren with a patient smile. “Now. The first step is to take the lid off how you view your powers. To remove limits from your minds. To help you do this, I must first see how you all think of your powers. What limits you are unconsciously placing on yourselves but may not be aware of.”
Stendeval could see that Skerren was dying to go first and show his skills. “Skerren, I suppose we can begin with you.” He paused. “If you’re ready?”
Skerren blew a sharp snort of air through his nostrils. “Of course”.
Stendeval nodded. “Excellent.” He waved his hand and red energy flowed forth as he craned his neck to look skyward, up into the tower. Jack heard a rumbling, high in the upper regions of the building, far out of sight. All the way up in the top, Jack could hear something making its way down, tumbling through the tower. Jack saw it was a series of cannonballs flying down toward the group, being waved along by Stendeval. He directed the cannonballs to swoop in with a light glide and form a pyramid in the center of the room. He dove straight into his lesson.
“Skerren… do you think your blades can cut through these cannonballs?” Stendeval asked.
As always, Skerren was bold. “My blades can cut through anything.”
“Confidence!” Stendeval said. “Very good.” With no further warning he sent a swarm of cannonballs hurling at Skerren. They came whirling at him from all directions, with a life of their own. Skerren quite effortlessly sliced them all in half like cantaloupes. Each one fell to the ground with a clank. He was good—there was no denying it.
“Impressive,” Stendeval said. “Most impressive.”
Next, Stendeval raised the stakes, moving a marble column with a tarp over it into the center of the room. “I want you to cleave this column in half, straight down the middle,” he told Skerren.
“Heh. And I thought the School of Thought would be able to present me with a challenge,” Skerren said.
Stendeval pulled the tarp off the column to reveal a bust of the mighty Hovarth sitting on top.
“What is this?” Skerren asked.
“It’s only marble,” said Stendeval. “Are you not up to the task?”
Skerren grumbled under his breath. He was uncomfortable with it, but he wasn’t going to back down. He sheathed one sword and raised the other high in the air. He brought it down hard on the stone homage to Hovarth. With a great clang the sword rebounded in the opposite direction, driving Skerren back. He cried out, dropped his sword, and shook out his wrist. The bust of Hovarth was undamaged.
“No!” Skerren said, dropping to his knees.
Stendeval lowered himself to the ground and paced slowly ar
ound Skerren. “So. You slice through iron cannon-balls like butter, but when you face off against a marble bust of Hovarth, whom you grew up idolizing in Varagog Village, you can’t even chip it.”
Skerren looked up, mortified. “I don’t understand,” he said. “I’ve never… I thought I could cut through anything.”
Stendeval just smiled and reached out his hand. “It would appear that your only limit is your conscience,” he said, helping Skerren to his feet. “You can cut anything, but only if your heart is in it. This is a good start. It pleases me that you could not break your mentor’s image. Your confidence in your swordsmanship is well placed, but to what end will you use those swords? That is the question. Your power is amplified by belief in yourself. A true hero must believe in much more than that.”
Skerren nodded. It seemed to Jack that his arrogance was replaced with genuine respect. Stendeval moved on to Allegra.
Allegra started to tell Stendeval about her powers, but he stopped her. He wanted Allegra to show everyone what her powers were. “Our actions tend to speak louder than our words,” he said to her. “Allow me to help you.”
Stendeval thought for a moment, then with a wave of his hand, he drew an ornate glass sculpture out from a random corner of the room. It was a crystal globe the size of a bowling ball, filled with a million different designs and colors. It danced through the air at Stendeval’s whim, illuminating the room with color like a reflective disco ball. “This glass comes from Murano, an island in the Venetian lagoon. I purchased it from a master glassmaker there in the year 1565. It has extraordinary value, to be sure, but greater still is its sentimental value to me.” Stendeval placed the sculpture on a stand some ten feet away from Allegra. “Allegra. Please hand me the globe.”
Allegra started walking toward the stand, but again Stendeval stopped her. “Ah, ah, ah… from where you are currently standing, please.”
Reluctantly, Allegra reached for the globe. Jack watched in wonder as her arms extended across the room, her silver limbs stretching like pulled taffy. Her fingers wrapped around the globe and she picked it up. She was about to hand it to Stendeval, when he levitated up to the next level of the tower. “Please hand it to me up here,” he said.
The Accidental Hero Page 12
