The Black Fortress

by E. G. Foley

  CHAPTER 32

  The Making of a Gentleman

  For three weeks, Jake applied himself diligently to becoming a better boy.

  It was grueling. Harder, maybe, than living in the rookery. Because back then, at least he’d had the freedom to do whatever he pleased. All he’d had to worry about—besides food—was staying a step ahead of the adults who would’ve liked to control him.

  But now, each day, he squashed his own stubbornness and willingly submitted himself to Derek and Henry and Helena’s just authority.

  Anything was better than turning evil.

  So, he often thought, this is discipline.

  He began by holding himself strictly to the schedule the warrior and the scholar had designed for him. That in itself was rough. Wake at six. Promptly make his bed. Splash his face and dress for the morning’s exercise. Run three miles, alone, thinking, Derek timing him.

  Then a bit of sparring against the master Guardian, learning more fighting techniques, a bit of footwork—even learning from the hardened soldier how to better use his trusty blade, Risker.

  It was the least he could do, considering the Norse god Odin himself had given it to him as a gift.

  This was followed by as many push-ups as he could do on the shady terrace, sit-ups, and other painful things all meant to make him stronger.

  Dash upstairs, clean himself from head to toe, and make himself presentable for the day. The gentlemanly clothes that a young lord had to learn to wear were stiff and well cut. Crisp linen shirts and a starched cravat that felt like a dog collar, but he was getting used to it. Waistcoats with neat, tidy buttons, tailored trousers and matching daytime coat, fine leather dress shoes.

  No food was given to him until he passed inspection, then he ate sitting ramrod straight at the table.

  Miss Helena watched over his table manners like a hawk. He learned how to manage a soft-boiled egg in a dainty eggcup, how and when to use a fish fork, how to sip his morning tea without slurping.

  Next: read the front page of the London Times. Reflect on what a daft world it was. Return to his chamber. Brush his teeth.

  Then arrive promptly in the library on the ground floor of the castle as the grandfather clock bonged nine times.

  At precisely nine a.m., plop down onto a hard wooden chair—no, hold on; a proper English gentleman never plopped.

  The new Jake whisked his coattails out behind him and sat down correctly, then cracked open the books without complaint. Then it was Henry’s turn to have at him with the lessons, filling up his brain.

  Monsieur DuVal was a much stricter tutor than Constanzio the ghost, to be sure, and, as a result, Jake actually started learning. Took an interest. Asked questions, wrote down notes.

  Every now and then, he glanced up from under his forelock and noticed Henry studying him as though shocked by his transformation in progress.

  Back and forth, Jake marched through his castle from one duty to the next without so much as a grumble, but each time he passed through the great hall, he took a long, searing look at the portrait of his parents above the fireplace.

  As autumn settled in, they remained his inspiration for enduring all this discomfort.

  He just knew they were coming back. They had to. Now that he knew there was a very good chance that they were still alive, he refused to believe otherwise.

  One day, they would all be a family again, and when that day came, he intended to be ready.

  That was why he worked so hard for once in his life. He did not want them returning from twelve years of captivity in the Black Fortress to find their only son had grown up into a wild, unlettered heathen.

  He wanted with all his heart to make them proud of him when they finally saw each other again for the first time—the first time he could remember, anyway.

  The last time he’d seen them, he had been that little bald baby sitting on his mother’s lap in that family portrait above the mantel. But nowadays he could look in the mirror and see that he resembled his father Jacob in that painting more and more every day.

  Onward.

  Continuing the rounds of each day: Jake’s study time with Henry went along relentlessly till noon. Then he hurried over to Bradford Park, where he joined Archie in his lab for science class.

  There was none of their usual joking around here. Archie had Jake scoop amoebas out of the pond and study them under the microscope, sketching what he saw.

  He had him carefully weighing out tiny amounts of powdered chemicals and burning various combinations of them in test tubes, explaining how they interacted when heat was added.

  These concoctions usually stank to high heaven, but Jake managed not to burn down the lab. Professor Archie wanted him to dissect a frog, as well, but Isabelle ran in and forbade it with exclamations of shocked horror.

  She grabbed the frog and bolted out of the lab with the creature, tossing it into the pond. The boys just looked at each other and decided to pass on that experiment.

  Three times a week, she became his teacher as well—his equestrian instructor. A gentleman had to know how to ride a horse. So Jake would change into his riding breeches and boots, his tidy jacket and hunt cap, mount up on various horses from the Bradfords’ stable, and take a riding lesson from the empath.

  It was a great advantage, learning how to communicate with horses from someone who could actually talk to animals. True, Isabelle had been glum and out of sorts and, well, just not herself ever since they’d left Merlin Hall, but during their riding lessons, she turned all business.

  “Easy, coz, you’re pulling too hard on his mouth. Don’t kick; just press his side with your leg. That’ll help him understand which way you want to go.”

  Jake quickly learned to post at the trot, holding the riding crop in his pinky finger just so, though Isabelle was very strict about never actually using it. Only the smallest of taps was permissible.

  “Anyone who’d whip a horse does not deserve to get anywhere near one,” she’d declare.

  After his riding lesson was over, his duties included cooling the horse down and caring for the animal afterward. Give him fresh water. Remove the tack. Brush him down. Check his hooves. Give him an apple or a carrot for his reward.

  Isabelle watched Jake pumping water from the well for his horse one day. “A good horseman always puts his animal before himself. That’s a lesson that goes back all the way to the medieval knights…”

  Sometimes they went on trail rides through the stained-glass October woods, soaking in the beauty of the changing leaves with the breeze rustling through them, and the gathering chill in the air.

  Other times, Derek joined them on his big black steed. Whenever they approached the outer boundary of the cousins’ adjacent estates, Jake could feel some peculiar form of energy in the air.

  “What is that? Do you hear that sort of hum?” he asked Isabelle one day when they rode to the edge of the property.

  He could almost believe it was just his imagination, but the horse heard it too; he could tell by the way the gray’s ears swiveled about nervously at the sound.

  “That is the magical perimeter Aunt Ramona established around our two estates,” Isabelle replied.

  “Protective spells,” Derek added, riding with them that day. “Animals can usually sense it.”

  “Oh.”

  On the days when Jake did not have a riding lesson, he had to contend with the most challenging part of his studies: the elocution lessons he received from Henry.

  Despite having been born in the forests of eastern France in the foothills of the Alps, where his kindred pack still ruled, the wolf shapeshifter spoke better English than Jake did.

  “You must learn how to speak like a gentleman, my lord. But only half of that involves refining your accent. The other half is what you actually say.”

  That was what made it so difficult.

  Learning to bite his tongue. Curb his sarcasm.

  As a pickpocket who had owed allegiance to no one, Jake had
had the luxury of snapping out with any rude comment that popped into his head, but a future peer of the realm had a duty to set a good example.

  Words could wound others worse than any sword, especially when uttered not by witches but those with real power in the world.

  Truly strong men, however, Henry taught him, followed the principle of noblesse oblige, which meant deliberately choosing to be kind, patient, and merciful to those of lesser standing in society. They saved their harsh, mean warrior side only for their enemies. Their equals.

  The best example of that that Jake knew was the Gryphon, of course. He was gentle with all the kids and little Teddy, but when he went on the attack against a foe, he was savage.

  Come to think of it, so was Henry, Jake thought. The unassuming tutor who could turn himself at will into a ferocious wolf.

  All of Henry’s lessons about life—never mind history and English—also helped Jake start to understand Archie better.

  He was finally beginning to perceive how his famously chivalrous cousin viewed the world.

  He had thought Arch had simply been born that way—polite, extra nice to everyone—but as three weeks of this discipline began to reveal, molding and sculpting him, Jake saw that true English gentlemen were not born; they were made.

  He pondered this continuously as the days rolled by. But he couldn’t help wondering what Dani would think of this new Jake.

  True to her word as always, she wrote him letters every few days.

  Gladwin delivered them, and it was always good to see her, too, and to hear the news from Merlin Hall.

  Jake practiced his handwriting by writing back to Dani once a week.

  That must’ve shocked her, he thought with a smile as he penned a dutiful response about what he had been doing and how Teddy was faring without her.

  They both missed the carrot-head terribly. Teddy had been sad. There was no denying it. Little whines had escaped his snout now and then as he lay unhappily on the couch. But somehow he seemed to understand that none of them had a choice about what was going on.

  At least the wee terrier had Red to keep him company when Jake was too preoccupied to play with either of them in his determined effort to change his wild ways.

  It was tiring, but he was prepared to do whatever it took not to become the “greatest leader the Dark Druids had ever had.”

  He shuddered at the thought.

  The prophecy gave him nightmares sometimes. Blimey, it even drove him right into the village church nearby on Sunday mornings.

  He wasn’t taking any chances. Sermons could be boring, but it was better than letting himself grow up to destroy the world.

  In any case, for a few hours each evening, Jake was finally at his leisure.

  He could just imagine how shocked Dani must be when she read in his letters how he chose to use his free time, getting the castle ready for his parents’ return. Maddox probably didn’t even believe it.

  Each evening, he marshaled up the staff of family servants—those loyal but unfortunate souls who had once been turned into frogs by Fionnula Coralbroom.

  Then he and half a dozen servants would attack a new room in Griffon Castle. Sometimes two, if they could manage it.

  They’d clean the room from top to bottom, slowly getting their home ready, wing by wing, for the return of the famed Lightriders, Lord and Lady Griffon.

  Jake knew he was getting his hopes up higher and higher, and it scared him to do so, more than walking on a tightrope over a canyon.

  Perhaps he was setting himself up for crushing heartbreak. But he dared to lay hold of a different kind of courage than he usually displayed. The courage to have faith that, yes, the parents he’d loved and missed all his life without even knowing them were still alive and would be coming home someday.

  Maybe even soon.

  CHAPTER 33

  Lightrider-in-Training

  For three weeks, Finnderool had kept his students so busy that Dani had hardly had time to miss Jake.

  Or his cousins. Or Red.

  Well, except at suppertime, when only Nixie and Maddox were there. Neither of them were great talkers.

  They just sat there and chewed, sunk in their own thoughts, one missing Archie, the other possibly missing Isabelle—or not. It was always hard to tell what Maddox was thinking.

  Most of all, truth be told, Dani missed her dog. Her heart ached terribly without Teddy there by her side every day, or curled up in the bed beside her feet at night, but at least she knew he was in good hands.

  Ah well, she had her new Lightrider friends to keep her company. There were eight kids of various magical breeds and races in her group, along with the crop of brand-new Guardians they were training with.

  They all stuck together, because, to Dani’s surprise, kids from the other programs were often rude to the young Lightriders out of jealousy.

  In any case, the first two weeks of classes had been all about the overview: Lightriding 101. Some of the history, what qualities made a good Lightrider, a look ahead at some of the skills they’d have to learn.

  By the middle of the first week, they had received all their textbooks and what would soon prove to be their daily routine.

  First thing in the morning, Finnderool had them out on the Guardians’ beginner-level obstacle course. Whew, it’s not easy! she wrote to Jake.

  Girls and boys alike had to run over tires, climb rope ladders, haul themselves over high beams, jump down on the other side, and keep running. There was sprinting, relay races, and long, grueling hikes on occasion.

  She heard that, in the summer, there would even be swimming lessons from the naiads. They’d also be learning basic self-defense skills, but Dani had to laugh at that. She was well ahead in that department, at least, after growing up with five big brothers in a rookery full of fighting Irish.

  Archery was new, though, and Dani found it fun. Of course, Master Wood Elf put them all to shame with his skill with a bow and arrow.

  Finnderool could literally hit targets while blindfolded. It was amazing, but this was the favored weapon of his people and he’d begun learning it, he told them, when he was three.

  In any case, after the day’s physical training regimen, the students had just enough time to scramble back to their rooms, wash up, gulp down a quick breakfast, and then don their uniforms, before grabbing their books and dashing off to class.

  Dani always felt proud to put on her uniform. Given all of their physical activity, the girls’ sturdy, dark-colored dresses were a little shorter than was usually acceptable, at about knee-length in front, though they hung a little longer in the back. She liked how the puffy skirts swung. They were two-toned, with a band of rust brown beneath the waist, the rest navy blue down to the hem.

  The dress came with a fluffy dark blue petticoat for added modesty, but their legs were covered with rust-colored tights, anyway, and sturdy brown boots that laced up to their shins.

  The upper half of the uniform dress had a dark blue bodice with short puff sleeves and a neat, buckled waist, with two brown belts that held hooks for hanging gadgets and storing supplies. Out on a mission, after all, a Lightrider must be ready for anything.

  But the uniform was not all business.

  The Elders had at least tried to give the girls’ version of it a feminine touch. A wide column of small, cream-colored ruffles adorned the center of the dress, from the waist up to the throat.

  The high neck of the dress was then encircled by a smart, rust-colored ribbon with a buckle in the front. Dani thought all the girls looked very smart.

  The boys wore similar colors, but for them, it was dark blue breeches with a rust-brown stripe down the side, and short jackets to match.

  Their shirts were white, but they wore rust-colored neckerchiefs and wool caps. Their belts and knee boots were of brown leather, as well.

  All eight of them revered having been selected. Dani’s hands still trembled when she stood before the mirror in her tiny room and finished off h
er outfit by tying the white sash with silver thread around her waist.

  Sometimes it all seemed like a dream. But the insistent ticking of the clock reminded her that it was indeed real, and Master Finnderool did not like to be kept waiting.

  Once again, she grabbed her books and went barreling off to the classroom wing of Merlin Hall for her lessons.

  There was so much to learn—much more than just how to travel through the Grid. The students had to tackle a wide array of subjects, in fact, like the history of the Order, and a great deal of maths—especially geometry—as well as extensive geography lessons with maps, calculating distances and miles between vortexes in the Grid.

  The wood elf also had them memorizing capitals of countries and provinces, and learning the weather and topography of various regions.

  Twice a week they had etiquette lessons, too, since they would be escorting fancy diplomats to various places around the globe.

  Dani was grateful for the many hours she had already spent learning the basics from Miss Helena. Finnderool explained that they had to know how to behave around VIPs of all sorts of Magick-folk without embarrassing the Order or, worse, blundering somehow and accidentally causing an incident between magical species.

  The Djin, for example, could take offense at trifles, Finnderool warned, and nobody wanted to see a djinni angry. The pixies were notorious tricksters (as Dani well knew), the shapeshifters clannish, the giants a bit slow, but it was important not to let on that you noticed.

  The Greenfolk like Dr. Plantagenet considered impatience the worst possible form of rudeness and took their own sweet time about everything, just like trees growing. They were adamant, too, about doing nothing out of season.

  The wood elves, of course, had no flaws whatsoever, according to their teacher. But the kids eventually realized he was only jesting.

  Believe it or not, Dani had written to Jake, Finnderool actually does have a sense of humor in there somewhere.

  Before any mission, the wood elf had further explained, it would be their responsibility to research any particular local customs, laws, and protocols that had to be followed. They were the ones—not just the Guardians—who had to keep their VIPs out of trouble.