Gruefield 18 (Tarnished Sterling Omnibus)

by Robert McCarroll

  The redhead noticed his attention and leaned forward. "I don't think we finished our introductions yesterday," she said. "Errol was it? I'm Fae." She offered her hand and Errol shook it. "I don't share Sarah's attitude," Fae said.

  "That's good to know," Errol said, unable to muster the wit for anything better. He mentally kicked himself as Fae sat back again. The dutch girl elbowed the one-eyed kid.

  "Wake up Travis."

  "You know I'm not asleep," Travis said.

  "Well, stop looking like it," she said. Travis sat up straighter, ending his slouch. Errol turned his attention back to the front. The electronic scoreboard suspended over the middle of the gym held the names of all sixty-some-odd contestants. A three letter abbreviation after their names indicated their school of origin. Leyden Academy was listed as LDN. With the amount of activity in the hall between the locker rooms, Errol knew he wouldn't get into the school proper unnoticed.

  A one-armed man with a cane stood up and limped in front of the crowd. Errol tried not to stare at the stump of his right arm. From the way he swung his left leg forward, it was fairly obvious he was being propped up by a prosthesis. He had a long gray ponytail and a neatly trimmed goatee. Balancing himself by the firing line, he waved his cane at the crowd. The dull roar petered off to a murmur as he began to speak.

  "If I may have your attention please, my name is Alan Keene. I am this year's Master of Ceremonies. While last year was the big eightieth anniversary of the Heartstrings tournament, this year marks the thirtieth in which the Community Fund has been a sponsor. Once upon a time, I was in the hero business, but it's kind of an expensive hobby. It cost me an arm and a leg." There was an awkward silence and a few nervous chuckles. For the most part, the crowd was uncertain if they were allowed to laugh at an amputee making jokes at his own expense. Keene frowned and resumed speaking. "Even though I can't shoot anymore, I still like to encourage the younger generation to get involved in archery. So I come out to events like this one and bore them to sleep." In the aftermath of his previous joke, there was little reaction from the audience. "Used to be, I could guilt more of the community to show up. All I could manage this year was an overgrown sidekick." He pointed to the man in costume with his cane. "What silly name are you going by this year? Arrowwarp?"

  "Laugh it up, old man," Arrowwarp said. "I'm still in one piece."

  "Even with your powers, I could still out-shoot you back in the day."

  "But I never accidentally shot you in the back."

  "He's kidding," Keene said. "It was the leg. Anyway, that's why we've got some safety precautions for this event." Keene went through the rules about where people shouldn't go and when contestants shouldn't draw. Errol had heard it all before. Keene cleared his throat. "Any contestant who violates the safety rules is automatically disqualified. For those of you who didn't bother to read that informational packet, there are actually three contests going on today. We've got Cupid, Psyche and Loxley. Now Cupid and Psyche are the big two contests running in parallel, one for the boys, one for the girls. At about lunchtime, anyone who qualified to compete can try to win a Loxley medal. It's an intermission game, just a bit of fun. We've got medals for anyone who can fire two arrows and impale the first with the second. You don't have to split it all the way or anything, just telescoping is sufficient."

  "Accidents during normal competition do not count," Arrowwarp said.

  "I was getting to that," Keene said. "Anyway, what he said. Well, I've been blathering for too long. Let's let my old sidekick go over the scoring rules. He can bore you for a while."

  Arrowwarp stood and moved over to where Keene stood. The essence of his spiel was no different from what Ostberg had said the day before. "We've got sixty-three contestants in total, so there are five rounds. The first round is the longest, but should be wrapped up by lunch. During the intermission for lunch, we'll hold the Loxley shoot. The rest of the rounds put together won't take as long as the first. In the end we will have two winners, one boy and one girl."

  Keene tucked his cane under the stump of his right arm and took a clipboard from Arrowwarp. "Now these names have been completely randomized, then sorted by score in the qualifier round. On lane one, can we get Two-ninety-four? No, wait, that's the score. Amber Galton, Brooksville Senior High." A girl with a black ponytail and a toothy grin bounded down the other set of bleachers. Her navy track pants and white T-shirt both bore a school logo not represented elsewhere in the crowd.

  "She must get a lot of practice," Sarah said. "What else is there to do out in the boonies?" Errol glanced towards Sarah. He hadn't seen her take a seat. Errol told himself he shouldn't be surprised Sarah was there, since she had qualified the same time he did. As he struggled to think of something to say, his attention was ripped back to Keene.

  "Errol Rickard, Leyden Academy, lane two," Keene said. Errol hopped up and ran to his spot. Amber glanced over and flashed a row of bright white teeth.

  "I beat out the top rich kid in the quals?" she said.

  "We're not competing against each other," Errol said.

  "Shame, I could use a challenge."

  As Keene called up more students, it became apparent that his list alternated by gender to have four of each on the firing line. Errol fought to ignore the fact that he was between two girls who were both in nice shape. He couldn't afford to be distracted. He focused his gaze and all of the attention he could muster on his target. As the authorization to start shooting came, his brain conjured up all the entendres he couldn't afford to have muddying his mind. He forced all thought out of his head save for the mechanical task of drawing and firing. Garnering a nice tight cluster about the X, he couldn't help but smile. Compared to pegging moving targets in the dark, this was almost too easy.

  As the range judges tallied the first end and pulled the arrows, Errol glanced towards Amber. Her face was a stoic mask, the joviality erased by razor focus. Errol kicked himself as the distracting thoughts returned. He turned his attention back to the target, forcing out all other elements; his grandfather, the pheromone synthesizer, the girls.

  "It was what... two years ago we last saw a perfect round," Keene said. "I'd give you a hand, Mister Rickard, but I haven't got any to spare." The audience supplied the applause for him. Errol returned to his seat, burning with embarrassment at being the center of attention.

  "How?" Sarah asked. "I mean, before yesterday I've never seen you hit the ten ring."

  "Rickard was always precise," Ostberg said. "It was accuracy that was his issue."

  "I still find it hard to believe."

  "Don't worry about him," a tall, ginger-haired young man said, putting an arm around Sarah's shoulders. He was dressed in the shirt and tie from a Leyden Academy uniform, but Errol couldn't put a name to his face.

  "If my dad sees you doing that, he's going to get mad," Sarah said. The young man's arm returned to his side. Behind them, Fae sighed.

  "Travis, am I the only one without a date tonight?"

  "No," the one-eyed kid said. He brazenly put his arm around the dutch girl and pulled her in close. Fae scowled at them.

  "Don't treat me like an Ex, we never actually went out."

  "I'm not doing anything," Travis lied.

  Errol glanced back over his shoulder, trying to judge his chances of making it into the tunnel unseen. His eyes were caught by Fae's sapphire gaze. He sheepishly turned back to the competition, trying to pretend he hadn't looked back. A contemplative look crossed Fae's face. Another set of competitors were called up to the firing line. As the round went on, the amount of scatter in the ends fired by the competitors increased. The scores consequently marched downward, though a few outdid their low qualifying marks. Errol cast a few more furtive glances back, but the move always seemed to catch Fae's attention. It seemed slipping away unnoticed would be rather difficult. He waited.

&
nbsp; "That's sixty-three," Keene said. "Since Arrowwarp promised you guys a break about now, we're going to have an intermission. I hear they've set up food vendors along the visitor's gallery towards the parking lot. I don't know if there are also tables."

  "There are no tables out there," Ostberg said. "Food and drink are allowed in the stands but not past the railing. That is, none in the bleachers or on the floor."

  "In case you missed his lack of introduction," Keene said. "Mister Ostberg represents our host school. So, what he said. At this time, anyone who qualified to compete and wants to try for a Loxley medal can line up behind Arrowwarp. We'll see how many we've got."

  With a lot of the crowd standing up to either head for the floor or the food vendors, Errol decided to try to make for the locker room. Fae hopped down over the side of the bleachers, landing in front of him. She smiled, her coral lips twisting impishly.

  "I got the impression there was something you wanted to ask me."

  "Uhh." Errol was at a loss. Nothing in his brain came up with anything more than question marks. He shifted back and forth, uncertain of what to say or do.

  "I also get the impression you have trouble talking to girls."

  "Just the pretty ones," Errol said before his brain could disconnect his mouth. He mentally cursed himself as Fae chuckled.

  "I know what you've been trying to build up toward. Lets make a deal," Fae said. "You go out there and score a Loxley Medal from those codgers at the Community Fund, and I'll let you take me out to dinner tonight. Give you the chance to practice your conversational skills."

  "You're that desperate for a date?" Travis asked, looking over the edge of the bleachers. Fae pretended to scratch the back of her head so she could flip him off without Errol seeing. Her smile faltered slightly, but she kept it up.

  "All right," Errol said. All other thoughts were swept from his mind as he turned and joined the line for a shot at the medal. He didn't even notice the scowl his grandfather wore. The look caused those near Hephaestus in the stands to look for an excuse to get up and scurry off. Picking up two arrows, Errol took up the spot indicated. The bundled straw targets weren't wearing any target faces. They didn't need them, as the first shot was the target for the second. Instead of the much-abused center of the bundle, Errol picked the sturdiest-looking span of bundled straw.

  The first arrow plunked in, the quivering fletchings pointed directly at Errol. Inhaling deeply and letting out the breath, he held it with his lungs near empty as he lined up the second shot. As he released the string, a smile came to his lips. Again, time felt like it slowed as the wobbling shaft crossed the gulf to the target. Errol was at peace, it was going to hit exactly where he'd told it to. In a shower of shattered plastic, the target point ruptured the nock and split open the carbon fiber body of the first arrow. It lodged a third of the way down the length of the first arrow.

  "Now you're starting to impress me, kid," Keene said. He held out another arrow to Errol. "Can you do it again?" Every eye in the gym save his own was on Errol as he drew back the third shot. Again the plastic nock shattered. The second arrow wasn't lined up directly with the path of the new shot, and bent out of the way. The third arrow scraped along the previous two and sank into the same hole the first had made.

  Errol frowned. "If I'd know there was going to be a third shot, I could have planned it better," Errol muttered to himself.

  "That doesn't matter," Keene said. "You still earned this." He held out a Lincoln green ribbon with a bronze medallion on the end. On one face was an arrow split nock to tip by another. On the other was a stereotypical depiction of Robin Hood. Errol took the medallion in his hand and all but ran back to where Fae was standing. He was unable to suppress his grin.

  "I doubt either of us has reservations," Fae said, "So we might not be looking at the most upscale of restaurants."

  "That's okay, I won't notice the restaurant," Errol said. His hand slapped against his face, pressing the medal against his eye. "That came out very badly," Errol said. Fae laughed it off.

  Errol lost track of the scores and rankings. His mind was as far from the competition as it could get. Each time his name was called, he hopped up and purged it of everything save for the mechanics of what he had to do. Once the round was done, the delirium returned and he floated back to the bleachers. Not even Sarah's snide barbs could penetrate the bubble his thoughts were in. The fact that she'd put her bow away didn't register either. She'd been eliminated in the second round. He almost didn't notice the end of the tournament. It was only when flashes were going off and Arrowwarp was pressing an acrylic block into his hands that he realized he'd actually won.

  Reality seeping in, he glanced up at the scoreboard. 'Errol Rickard (LDN) - 1492' sat at the top of the list. Just below it was 'Amber Galton (BHS) - 1481'. She was all but mugging for the cameras, shaking her trophy at them. The applause reminded Errol how much he disliked attention. He shrank under their combined gaze, trying to disappear behind the rest of the knot by the judges' table. Amber leaned over slightly. "I beat you that last round."

  "We weren't competing against each other," Errol muttered. The award in his hands was only mostly acrylic. The base was wooden, and a metal figure of an archer stood on it. This archer had wings and his modesty was protected by a strategic swath of cloth which would not have remained in place on an actual person. The acrylic encased the figure so that the trophy was a block with beveled edges. Fae lifted the trophy from his hands and looked it over.

  "You know," she said. "The little guy kinda looks like you." Cheer sapped from him as Errol realized Cupid had come back to haunt him again.

  "We're going to need that so we can get the name plate engraved," Keene said. "It should be done by the middle of next week." Arrowwarp took the trophies back.

  "That's okay," Amber said. "I don't need a trophy to tell me I rock."

  "I should be going," Fae said. She handed Errol a slip of paper. "Call me around six." She sauntered away. The last delirious euphoria shattered as Errol spotted Hephaestus' gaze. He shivered.

  "I can't stick around too much longer either," Errol said, making for the locker room. Changing back into his street clothes, Errol swapped quivers for the one he'd stashed earlier. Taking up the bag, he headed for the door. The milling crowd worked to his advantage as he moved to the door to the school. Pressing the crash bar, he opened the door and slipped through.

  In the crowd, Travis' gaze narrowed as he noticed Errol heading in the wrong direction.

  "I know that look," the girl with him said.

  "I'll be right back," Travis said. "It might be nothing."

  "Has it ever been 'nothing'?"

  The squeak of Errol's shoes on the well-buffed floor echoed down the eerily quiet halls. Only every fifth light was on, casting the familiar surroundings into gloom. Ascending the stairs to the second floor, he moved on to O'Brien's classroom. The notice to meet Ilic in the library was still taped to the door. Errol extracted the device his grandfather had made. It looked like a D-Cell battery with a key protruding from the end. The teeth on the 'key' were cut deep, and large parts of the body appeared to be missing. A single button in the side of the cylinder was the only control.

  Errol inserted it in the lock and pushed the button. It rattled and buzzed, the teeth abusively knocking around the tumblers. Errol applied gentle pressure to try to turn it. The lock resisted for a moment, then popped, slipping past the upright when its tumblers had been set at the correct depths through random agitation. Errol released the button and kept turning. The lock rotated completely and the handle once again responded to his touch. Propping his foot in the door so it wouldn't close on him again, Errol stashed the lock scrubber. Slipping into the classroom, he hurried over to O'Brien's desk.

  He skidded to a horrified stop.

  Folded open on the desktop was the phero
mone synthesizer. It had been plugged in and the screen was awake. Several lines simply read "Precursor Depleted," followed by a chemical notation. The last row however, read "Output full." On the right side of the display read, "Reaction rate: 0% Optimal." Errol unplugged it, and the screen reverted to a blank gray. He coiled the power cord and tucked it inside the case. The case didn't want to close with the plug in the way, and Errol couldn't find where it was supposed to sit. He tucked the partly-open case in this breast pocket.