Fantastic Schools, Volume 3

by Emily Martha Sorensen

  As he wound up the lesson, he told Jon, “Just remember one thing. You have the right to defend yourself. If someone attacks you, or is abominably rude, you can and should defend yourself. But be clever, be smart, and make sure you don’t hurt anyone; that’s the best way to get their goats.”

  Jon laughed but said nothing.

  They teleported back to Jon’s room, where Leftwich continued to merrily snore away. Annbess was a bit more wary; she raised her head, and Jon gave her a good scratch behind the ears. Roberto raised his finger to his lips in the universal signal for quiet (apparently even the Trolls did this, which Roberto found puzzling considering how little the Trolls actually spoke, but whatever), and teleported back to his room for good measure.

  All that teleportation had given him a headache, but it had been worth it to see the light in Jon’s eyes. Roberto was sure, now, that Jon would be able to use his magic to better advantage. Providing he just believed he could, that is; he’d have to continue to work on the boy’s sense of self-esteem, no doubt.

  Fortunately, I’m a good teacher, Roberto thought in satisfaction as he started to drift off to sleep. And Jon’s a very good student. He really deserves better than this school.

  The next day started the same as always, for Roberto. He broke his fast, drank as much coffee as he could hold as he wasn’t as good on little sleep as he used to be, and prepared to teach his various classes.

  About midway through the day, right before he was about to head to lunch, he heard a shout. “Master Roberto! Emergency! Come quick!” Leftwich ran up to him, and pulled at Roberto’s sleeve.

  Roberto’s class had left ten minutes ago, so he didn’t have to worry about them. And he didn’t want to waste time asking Leftwich, who was panting with the effort (as Leftwich, like most of the boys, had never gotten the hang of the levitation spell for general purposes—and using it was even harder in a crisis), what was going on. He simply let Leftwich lead the way, and prepared to use whatever magic he could as he was sure it would be useful.

  Still, he felt no urgency ahead. He felt…laughter? A long-delayed comeuppance, perhaps? And maybe some frustration on the part of the tutors, though his spells to mimic the empathy he didn’t truly possess sometimes didn’t get things right.

  Once he got to the clearing beside the school, though, he understood.

  The chicken coop was open, which wasn’t usual for this hour. Jon stood before the chicken coop, too, and looked like he was concentrating hard. The usual tutor for natural magics, Farish, was half-in, half-out of the coop. And from what Roberto could tell, Farish was doused with chicken guano.

  Leftwich pushed him to the coop and looked at Jon, without malice, but with surprise.

  Ah, so Jon’s figured out how to do something…I wonder what…

  Then Roberto knew, as he saw the coop’s ceiling. With birds running about, as if they were on land, clucking and chasing each other as if they were on holiday…except they were doing so on the ceiling.

  No wonder old Farish was doused in chickenshit!

  “Can you stop it?” Leftwich whispered.

  “Did anyone ask Jon to do so?” Roberto asked, not whispering at all.

  Farish turned to him in startlement. “Jonny-wonny did this? How?”

  “Jon—” Roberto emphasized his name, as Jon, like Roberto, did not believe in the current Elfy convention of rhyming nonsense “—will have to explain that for himself. But he’s surely concentrating. Take a look!”

  Farish, unwillingly, looked back at Jon and swallowed hard.

  “What did you say to him?” Roberto couldn’t help but ask this, as he had to know what had finally broken Jon out of his rut. “Did you tell him he couldn’t do magic? Again?”

  Farish’s face said it all, at least, before another daub of chickenshit landed on his nose.

  Serves the bastard right, Roberto thought. How dare he try to mis-train Jon?

  “Never mind. You can tell me later.” Roberto went over to Jon, who still was locked in concentration, and gently spoke. “Jon, whatever you’re doing, you’ve made your point.”

  “He told me I was useless!” Jon grated out and kept doing whatever it was that had defied gravity and allowed the chickens to run on the coop’s ceiling. “He told me he didn’t even know why I was at Robin Goodfellow!”

  “He was wrong,” Roberto told him. Obviously! “Now, can you reverse the spell? Safely? Without the chickens falling on anyone’s head?”

  Farish looked as if he had swallowed a live trout. A huge, live trout. But he said nothing, which was just as well. Roberto would’ve throttled him, else.

  Jon made one small, arm motion. He closed his eyes, and Roberto turned back to the coop only to see the chickens slowly descend to the floor, turning right-side up again midway down. Somehow, Jon had thought of everything, though Roberto was sure Jon had no idea such a spell was considered impossible.

  An anti-gravity spell. That’s what it is, Roberto thought. And they think this boy has no talent?

  Then he looked at Farish again, and shivered. The man’s eyes were panicked; his pupils, huge. A fight-or-flight reflex.

  Roberto took Jon in hand and said, “I think we’d better go talk to Headmaster Carlito, Jon. Right now.”

  And if Farish thought Roberto was doing it for him…well, Farish had another think coming.

  Roberto led the way to Carlito’s office. Fortunately, as it was lunchtime, Carlito’s secretary had gone for her break. One fewer person to watch as Jon was chastised—unnecessarily—was all to the good as far as Roberto was concerned.

  Carlito grimaced as they walked in, and spoke. “Roberto? Farish? Why have you brought Jonny-wonny to me this time?” His voice sounded world-weary, but his eyes were hard. It was obvious he’d caught how disheveled Farish was but wasn’t about to say anything.

  “Jon,” Roberto said, “did something unprecedented. He put chickens on the ceiling.”

  Carlito laughed. “You’re kidding me, right? Jonny-wonny, our failed apprentice-mage, did something like that? How? He doesn’t have the power!”

  At that, Jon threw something at Carlito without moving a muscle. Roberto felt it as Jon did it, of course; so did Farish. But Carlito was caught unawares as a huge snare, akin to a fish net used for a particularly large trout, covered his whole body. Then the trap got tighter, and tighter, until Carlito’s lips started to turn blue.

  Farish looked as if his world had been turned upside-down since breakfast. This latest spell that Jon—now revealed as a prodigy—had cast apparently was the last straw. He took one look at at Roberto, then at Jon, and fainted.

  It figures, Roberto thought, disgusted with both Carlito and Farish. I always have to clean up after these bastards. They’ll never admit they’re flat-out wrong to anyone, if they can help it.

  “Jon, as much as I understand—”

  “But you don’t, Master Roberto! He told me I don’t have any power, and he’d never tell you that.” Jon scowled. “And it’s not the first time he’s said that. But it will be the last, because I’m sick of hearing it.” He moved his hands, just slightly, and his magical net picked Carlito up, suspended him in the air, then reversed his polarity.

  Being suspended in air didn’t exactly do Carlito any favors, because between the shock of being turned upside-down, and the continued constriction of his airway, he, too, passed out.

  “Jon,” Roberto said gently, “by this point, you have to know they’re mistaken. Farish is incorrect regarding your abilities; Carlito is, also. The other kids, save maybe Leftwich, couldn’t be more wrong about you. You have power. Lots of it. And you deserve better than this school.”

  Jon turned toward Roberto. His face, Roberto now saw, was flushed bright red, and angry tears had fogged up Jon’s glasses. He didn’t look like he’d ever let Carlito down, and if Roberto couldn’t talk Jon out of this mood, Jon might get into a whole lot of trouble unless Roberto could cover it up.

  Roberto tried again. “You d
on’t need to hurt Carlito. You’ve made your point. You have tons of power. You can let him go. I’ll deal with him.” He gave Jon a long, meaningful look, and hoped that would do the trick.

  Jon looked like he was considering all this. “It’s not that I want to hurt him. I just wanted him to be quiet.”

  “I sympathize, truly I do, but you can’t go around doing things like this. It’s bad for your reputation.” Then, Roberto played what he felt was the winning card. “You need to go to Earth, to talk with those folks, the Humans. They have magicians there. They mostly revere Elfys. And you could do quite well there, you know.”

  “They’d accept me? Even as short as I am? I’m at least two feet shorter than the average Human woman, much less the average male Human.”

  “Not every Human will care about your height. And really, Jon, there are interesting people there. They speak English, at least where we’d send you—Northern California—and I think you’d appreciate being there. Nice climate. Warm year-round, by our standards. And think about your opportunity to study comparative religions, sociology, history…it’s a treasure trove of information! They even have something there called the ‘Internet’ where you can look up what you need, far easier than anything we have here…”

  “Hm.” Jon looked struck by this. “And I could study to my heart’s content?”

  “You certainly could. And I’ll help you get there—but only if you let Carlito go. Now.”

  At that, Jon dropped his hands, and the net floated gently to the ground. Carlito, unfortunately, was still upside-down. Carlito’s head gently hit the floor first, before the rest of him followed.

  Roberto made a privacy bubble, just in case Farish or Carlito—or worse, both—came back to consciousness anytime soon. And continued to speak in English, as well, just in case Farish or Carlito could get through his spell, as neither of them spoke English nor wanted to learn. It also was an unspoken pledge to Jon that Roberto would back up what he’d said and find a way to get Jon to Northern California.

  “I’ll never say Carlito didn’t deserve this. Nor Farish, either. But you have to realize that after you get a bit of your own back, it’s time to move on. They ultimately aren’t going to matter. You’ll be out of this school soon—” And just as well, Roberto thought wryly “—and you’ll probably never see them again.”

  Jon took his glasses off, used his black plaid flannel shirt to wipe them off, and then put them back on again. It was obvious to Roberto that Jon was using every trick Jon knew in order to get his temper under control.

  “They told me, again and again, that I am a failure.” Jon said this unemotionally, almost robotically.

  “They were, are, and ever shall be erroneous.” Roberto loaded his words with as much certainty as he possibly could. “You will prove them to be idiots, as you grow older.”

  Then he banished the privacy bubble and sent Jon on his way.

  Five minutes later, Farish woke up. He looked Roberto full in the face, and said, “I don’t want any part of this. You can handle it from here.” And he took himself off.

  Roberto puffed a laugh. Farish was a bigger coward than he’d thought.

  It was even possible, Roberto supposed, that Carlito had brain damage from Jon’s magical choking spell, much less getting suspended in the air by his feet. If so, Roberto for one wouldn’t shed any tears…but how could he cover this up?

  I don’t blame Jon for any of this, he thought. But…

  There had to be a way to keep Carlito from blaming Jon. Perhaps a stunning spell would induce temporary forgetfulness; if it didn’t work, he could always call on Keisha and ask her to turn Carlito into a slug after all.

  As he laughed, he cast the spell. Carlito’s features, already still, somehow seemed even more remote, even more empty. The stunning spell would only last for an hour or so, but while it was in use, it should damage Carlito’s memories just enough to keep Jon’s name out of the fire.

  He sent a quick spell-message to his students, saying all afternoon classes were cancelled. And prepared to deal with Carlito, one way or another, once Carlito woke up.

  An hour went by. Carlito’s secretary had poked her head in, at one point, and Roberto had sent her on her way, too. She muttered something about this having happened to Carlito before, which Roberto didn’t understand, but at least was happy to take the half-day off with pay. Roberto knew he could make it happen, especially as Carlito’s memory was likely to be malleable for an hour or two after he woke up.

  After an hour, Carlito started to stir. Gently, Roberto helped him up, babbling about how he’d sent the secretary away and hadn’t called a Healer because of Carlito’s well-known orders (the man was vain, and he would hate to be known as a fainting idiot, even though he was). But that he’d stayed with Carlito until…

  “I get the point,” Carlito said irritably, waving him off. “But it’s night now. Wasn’t it just the late afternoon? Something to do with Jonny-wonny…”

  “You really should see a Healer,” Roberto put in earnestly. Yes, especially as any spell residue should be gone by now, he thought savagely. “It has been at least an hour since you passed out.” Lady of Light, please don’t let Carlito remember what happened!

  Carlito grunted. “I’ve been on a weight-reducing regimen. This isn’t the first time I’ve passed out.”

  Roberto just stared at him. Was it truly going to be this easy?

  But Carlito had gone on. “The Healers told me to take it more slowly. They even reminded me I could use glamours—glamours, when everyone with any magic can see right through them without even trying!”

  “Though it’s considered rude to do so,” Roberto murmured.

  “Even so. I’m the Headmaster of this school. I need to present the proper image. A glamour won’t do!”

  Roberto nodded, even though he felt the entire conceit was silly. Carlito had never struck Roberto as being overweight, not that Roberto cared about such things anyway.

  “If you didn’t eat today, you really should eat something before you head off to take your rest,” Roberto said, reaching out to pat Carlito lightly on the shoulder.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know.” But Carlito seemed touched that Roberto hadn’t called the Healers, and Roberto let that erroneous reasoning stand.

  After he made sure Carlito got to his room, Roberto sought out Jon. As Roberto had half-expected, the boy was still awake. His eyes grew round, especially after Roberto cast a privacy bubble spell. (It was better to be safe than sorry, and while Leftwich was snoring at the moment, Roberto absolutely didn’t want Leftwich waking up to hear any of what he was about to say.)

  “There will be no trouble with Carlito going forward,” Roberto said flatly, leaving the whole subplot about Carlito’s weight-loss journey to the side as was fitting. “He doesn’t remember what happened. And Farish isn’t about to bring it up, because he’s been deeply embarrassed.”

  Jon looked chastened, but a hint of relief was in his eyes. “I hadn’t wanted to stun the Headmaster, sir. I just wanted him to see that I do have talent. I do!”

  “Yes, son, you do,” Roberto agreed, ruffling Jon’s hair again. It got easier with practice. “But my advice now is very simple. Get away from Robin Goodfellow. Go to Northern California. Learn all you can, and keep on learning…and don’t let anyone tell you that you have no power and don’t matter.”

  Jon’s eyes filled with tears, which Roberto pretended not to see. “You really think those Humans will accept me?”

  “I truly do,” Roberto said, nodding his head in the Human way for emphasis. “And I can’t wait to see just what you end up doing once you’re there.”

  On that note, Jon’s near-future plans were settled. He’d go to Northern California, and use the English Roberto had taught him to learn and grow as a person…and as a mage.

  And if Jon needs me, Roberto thought, he can get a hold of me at any time by using the Emergency Book I’m about to give him. But what could possibly go wrong on
the Human version of Earth, anyway, that would require my help?

  Barb Caffrey is the author of An Elfy on the Loose, A Little Elfy in Big Trouble, and Changing Faces. She wears many "hats," as she's also an editor and a musician. She is also one of the biggest Milwaukee Brewers baseball fans on the planet, follows the Green Bay Packers during football season, and keeps an eye on the Milwaukee Bucks during basketball season. (Yes, she's from Wisconsin. Why did you ask?)

  She is rarely without a book in her hand (or on her Kindle), and has kept up a blog for nearly eleven years. Find her at https://elfyverse.wordpress.com, and tell her you read her story!

  (She'll get a kick out of that.)

  Kidnapped

  By George Phillies

  Adara Triskittenion is a student at Dorrance Academy, her society's equivalent of a technical university, In her first few weeks as a student, she survived three serious attempts by the resident bully to kill her, as recounted in Practical Exercise, a tale found in Fantastic Schools, Volume 1, She has now advanced to her second year at the Academy, where life is about to become more interesting.

  Kidnapped

  It was a beautiful late evening. The ocean breeze was cool, carrying the burnt sugar scent of katsura trees now starting to gain their fall colors. I stared across my desk toward the Pelnir Sea, into which the crescent of Ausonius, the third moon, was sinking through the twilight sky.

  The evening’s beauty was ruined by the note I’d found mixed with my graded Diagrammatics homework. “Adara Triskittenion. At next Lecture, you will see me after class. Young lady, there are certain anomalies in your work that need explanation. Aspen, Instructor.” On the bright side, it appeared that Serene Master Aspen actually wanted to see me, not throw me out of the course onto my underpadded backside, the way Serene Master Brennan did last year. Nor did Aspen accuse me of anything improper or quote rules at me.