Fence: Disarmed
Page 1
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Text and Illustration copyright: © 2021 BOOM! Studios
Fence™ and © C.S. Pacat and Johanna The Mad. All rights reserved.
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Cover design by Ching N. Chan. Cover illustration by Johanna The Mad.
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First Edition: May 2021
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Brennan, Sarah Rees, author. | Pacat, C. S. Fence. | Johanna the Mad, illustrator.
Title: Disarmed: an original novel / by Sarah Rees Brennan; based on the Fence comics created by C.S. Pacat and Johanna the Mad.
Description: First edition. | New York: Little, Brown and Company, 2021. | Series: Fence; [2] | Audience: Ages 14 & up. | Summary: “The boys of Kings Row are off to a training camp in France! The team will have to face superior fencers, ex-boyfriends, expulsion, and even Nicholas’s golden boy and secret half-brother, the infamous Jesse Coste”—Provided by publisher.
Identifiers: LCCN 2020048438 | ISBN 9780316429870 (paperback) | ISBN 9780316429894 (ebook) | ISBN 9780316429863 (ebook other)
Subjects: CYAC: Interpersonal relations—Fiction. | Fencing—Fiction. | Brothers—Fiction. | Boarding schools—Fiction. | Schools—Fiction. | Gays—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.B751645 Dis 2021 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020048438
ISBNs: 978-0-316-42987-0 (pbk.), 978-0-316-42989-4 (ebook)
E3-20210403-JV-NF-ORI
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
1 Nicholas
2 Harvard
3 Aiden
4 Seiji
5 Nicholas
6 Aiden
7 Harvard
8 Seiji
9 Nicholas
10 Harvard
11 Aiden
12 Nicholas
13 Harvard
14 Seiji
15 Nicholas
16 Aiden
17 Seiji
18 Nicholas
19 Harvard
20 Seiji
21 Aiden
22 Nicholas
23 Seiji
24 Aiden
25 Harvard
26 Nicholas
27 Aiden
28 Seiji
29 Harvard
30 Seiji
31 Nicholas
32 Harvard
33 Aiden
34 Seiji
35 Nicholas
36 Harvard
37 Aiden
38 Nicholas
39 Seiji
40 Harvard
41 Seiji
42 Aiden
43 Nicholas
Acknowledgments
Discover More
About the Author
This book is dedicated with deep gratitude to a trinity: Olga Velma, coach of the Pembroke Fencing Club; Paul Quigley of captainly wisdom; and James Stratford, Trinity fencer. Their kind, wise answers to my increasingly bizarre questions brought Camp Menton to life.
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1 NICHOLAS
The salle at Kings Row was the most luxurious and gorgeous place Nicholas Cox had ever fenced in. He’d first learned to fence back in the city, in Coach Joe’s scruffy gym. He’d trained there so much and so hard that whenever he picked up a mask and an épée, some part of Nicholas always expected to walk out onto a wooden floor so old it was gray and worn white in patches, with a shredded rubber mat to mark their field of play, the piste. Coach Joe said fencing clubs with grounded pistes were only for millionaires.
Here in the salle at Nicholas’s new school, they had grounded pistes. The floorboards were glossy—but never slippery—and even and gleamed like gold. The sections of the two-meter-wide strip that was their piste were marked clearly with light gauge metal. The differences didn’t end there. At Coach Joe’s, there had been no historical swords fixed to the wall, no twirly wedding-cake twists at the corners of the ceiling, no triangular window with gold leaves swaying on the other side of the glass.
But, worst of all, Nicholas had not had a partner at Coach Joe’s.
Nicholas and Seiji stood facing each other, in en garde position.
“Allez,” commanded Seiji, who insisted on acting as referee during their practice bouts. His eyes were steady through the mesh of his mask. The long, light lines of their foils were poised.
Nicholas attacked. Seiji parried. Nicholas barely managed to parry Seiji’s riposte in turn and swung into another attack as quickly as he could. Nicholas’s speed was his advantage; he didn’t have Seiji’s skill, polished into glass over years of expert training. Every time one of his rough lunges made Seiji retreat, or even hesitate, Nicholas’s blood thrilled.
Seiji’s next riposte landed.
Just then, the double doors of their salle were flung open, and Eugene rushed in. Eugene Labao was a big guy, but he walked softly.
Right now, he wasn’t talking softly.
“Bros!” he yelled. “Big news.”
Nicholas turned his head. Seiji made a small impatient sound from within his mask.
“More proof of your total inability to focus, Nicholas?” he asked.
“I’m focused,” Nicholas promised, and lunged.
Parry, riposte, engagement, change of engagement, steps, and swords. Like a dance Nicholas could win, and he wanted to.
“Seriously, guys, I know you’re doing your thing, but this is important,” Eugene said.
“Halt!” said Seiji in a ringing tone.
He took off his mask and fixed Nicholas with the steel-cold stare that had made another student cry in class last week. Nicholas grinned over at him. Seiji used that stare on him at least once during every practice bout.
Seiji gestured with impatience. Even when he wasn’t holding a foil, Seiji seemed ready to parry the world’s attacks until it admitted defeat and surrendered.
“What is your news, Eugene?” he asked.
Eugene raised a well-shaped eyebrow, a slightly sardonic expression on his face. “It’s not my news, bro. It’s Coach’s news. She says it’s big, and we need to report to her office immediately.”
Coach’s office was one of Nicholas’s favorite rooms in Kings Row. It was small and cozy, and she had cool posters of sabers on the walls. When Nicholas once asked where she’d gotten the posters and if he could get some with épées, Coach Williams made a sour face and told hi
m not to talk to her about épées.
She wasn’t making a face now, though. Her dark eyes were sparkling. She was a vision of joyful impatience, tap-dancing her fingers on her desk as they took their seats.
As soon as they were settled, Coach Williams burst out with “Have you heard about Camp Menton?”
Nicholas looked around the room for a clue. Their team captain, Harvard Lee, was already sitting in front of Coach’s desk, and Assistant Coach Lewis was in the corner with her notebook. Assistant Coach Lewis always took very meticulous notes.
The last member of their team, Aiden Kane, wasn’t here. Now that Nicholas thought about it, Aiden hadn’t been around much lately.
Harvard gave Nicholas a reassuring smile. Their captain was like that, always ready to carry the whole team on his capable shoulders. He never made Nicholas feel stupid for the gaps in his fencing knowledge. He’d drill with any of them whenever they asked.
Harvard seemed as though he was about to fill Nicholas in when Eugene spoke up: “I’ve read about Camp Menton! It’s a totally famous European fencing camp, on these amazing training grounds in France. A bunch of their fencers went on to represent France and Germany and England in the Olympics.”
Eugene and Nicholas had both started reading up about fencing so they would be more informed. Nicholas wished he’d gotten to the book Eugene had.
“Yes, everyone knows that.” Seiji spoke flatly.
Eugene looked slightly offended, so Nicholas defended their teammate. “Like you know so much about French fencing.”
“I know a great deal about French fencing,” Seiji claimed.
“Really, how?” Nicholas demanded.
Seiji raised his eyebrows in the way that made him look extra imperious. “I lived in France for a year?”
“Oh yeah,” said Nicholas. “Forgot that.”
It was weird, sometimes, remembering how different from Nicholas’s life Seiji’s had been. Spending a year in France sounded as fabulous and distant to Nicholas as spending a year on the moon. France and everything about it had always seemed like a symbol of ultimate luxury. Nicholas only had a passport because one of his mom’s boyfriends made a promise that he’d take them to Paris. His mom had believed him, because Nicholas’s mom always believed the boyfriends, but she was also always fooled. That boyfriend never even took them to the arcade.
Since Nicholas had fallen in love with fencing, France seemed even more special. The salle was called that because of the French term for weapons room—salle d’armes. And épée, the foil they fenced with every day, was the French word for sword. But Seiji Katayama, US Olympic prospect and fencing prodigy, knew all that. Seiji knew everything. For him, seeing Nicholas and Eugene memorizing this stuff must have been faintly puzzling. Fish didn’t try to learn about water.
No wonder Seiji and Nicholas hadn’t gotten along the first time they’d met. Or the second. Seiji had kicked Nicholas’s ass on the piste, then been standoffish, which Nicholas now knew was simply Seiji’s way. At the time, Nicholas had been infuriated. But he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the way Seiji fenced.
Seiji, and wanting to prove he could be as good as Seiji someday, was part of what inspired Nicholas to try for a place on the Kings Row team.
Seiji and Nicholas, in a world that made sense, would have stayed as distant from each other as the sun and the moon. In this world, though, they had both come to Kings Row, and they’d been assigned to each other as roommates. It hadn’t been easy at first, but who wanted easy? Fencing wasn’t easy. Winning gold was never easy.
Not that Nicholas had ever won gold. But he would. And being friends with Seiji was like winning gold.
Harvard nodded approval at Eugene, who glowed. Coach Williams swept on excitedly.
“Exactly, Eugene. Camp Menton is a highly prestigious training camp. It’s different from any other. It’s the breeding ground for champions. The camp used to be restricted to EU fencers only. A few years ago, they allowed some other international teams to participate, but Camp Menton has never been open to US fencers.” She paused for thrilling effect. “Until now.
“This is the first year a few select American high school teams have been invited,” she continued. “Kings Row, along with several of our rivals for state. Please tell me you can all come. This could be what gives us the edge we need to win.”
Harvard was the one who spoke up. Their captain was the best fencer aside from Seiji, and he was great at dealing with people, which was… not one of Seiji’s strengths. Nicholas knew everyone at Camp Menton would like Harvard. Their captain was the coolest.
“Coach,” Harvard said in a low, thoughtful tone, “there’s the issue of cost.”
Their coach’s face fell, as though she’d been so excited that she hadn’t even considered this.
Oh. Yeah, that made sense.
“Other state teams are attending?” Seiji asked in a sharp voice. “Which ones? Exton?”
“MLC and Exton,” Coach admitted. “Of course, it’s not mandatory to attend Camp Menton! None of you should feel you have to go. It’s an honor to be invited. I only wanted to tell you guys about… the honor.”
She didn’t sound convinced, though, and Nicholas didn’t find her convincing. Kings Row had never won state. Nicholas had really been hoping this would be the year—showing everyone that he really did deserve that scholarship.
And if Nicholas’s father found out, he might be proud.
“I don’t need to train at Camp Menton,” Seiji said sharply. “I can train here.”
Eugene sighed. “Yeah, I guess we can train here. Still, it would be amazing to go.”
“If you want to go, then go,” snapped Seiji, as if the solution was obvious.
There was a silence. Eugene stared at the floor with sudden fixed concentration.
“Be serious, Seiji,” said Nicholas, because he deeply enjoyed offending always-serious Seiji when he said that. “It costs millions of dollars to go to France.”
Seiji’s eyebrows judged Nicholas. “Thousands at the most.”
Nicholas shrugged. “Same thing.”
“Mathematically speaking,” said Seiji, “no.”
“Practically speaking, Seiji,” Nicholas riposted, “yeah. Doesn’t really matter how much it is if you don’t have anything.”
Seiji paused, brows now drawn together in a vehement black V, as though he were solving a complex calculus problem.
Eugene’s head hung low with embarrassment. Harvard laid a hand on his shoulder. Eugene didn’t have as much money as the other kids at Kings Row, but he still seemed pretty rich to Nicholas; Eugene said it was all relative. As the resident scholarship kid, it was obvious to Nicholas that fancy European trips were out of the question. Nicholas didn’t understand what was so embarrassing about that.
It felt like they were disappointing Coach, though.
“Sorry, Coach,” Nicholas added.
“No, Nicholas,” said Coach. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
“Seiji and I were having a practice bout,” Nicholas offered. “We’ll get back to it.”
“You do that,” said Coach, and when everyone got up, she held up a hand. “Hang back, Captain, would you? I want a word.”
Harvard sat back down, but the rest filed out of the coach’s office, in lower spirits than before. There’d been other guys who’d tried out for the fencing team, good guys and good fencers like Kally and Tanner, who could’ve afforded a trip to France easily, but they hadn’t made the cut.
“Do you want to go to Camp Menton?” Seiji demanded abruptly.
“Sure.” Nicholas tried to smile. “Same way I’d like to fly around in a private jet or have superpowers. Have I told you what my superhero name would be? I’ve figured out a cool one.”
“No, Nicholas,” said Seiji. “For the last time, I don’t want to hear your superhero name. Do some drills. I have to go make a call. I mean, take a call.”
“From who?” Nicholas yelled after him.<
br />
The call had to be from Seiji’s dad. Nobody else ever called Seiji. Even though Nicholas thought Seiji was very cool, he was pretty sure he was Seiji’s only friend. Seiji seemed to generally dislike people and didn’t even talk to his former fencing partner.
Seiji’s dad had started calling more over the last few weeks. Nicholas didn’t listen in, but he could hear from the other side of the shower curtain Seiji’d hung up in their room that the calls seemed oddly brief and businesslike. But it must be nice to have your dad call you. Nicholas’s dad didn’t even know who he was.
Nicholas glanced over at Eugene, but he was already slinking toward the gym, obviously crushed that he couldn’t go to Camp Menton. When upset, Eugene liked to lift his feelings away. Nicholas headed out. It was almost sunset, and when he could, he liked to be outside for the magic hour.
Nicholas had been at Kings Row for weeks now, longer than he and his mom had lived in some of their apartments before getting evicted. He’d never, for any length of time, lived anywhere like this. He’d never even dreamed of a place like this.
When the sun set on the sprawling buildings, the mullioned windows shone as brilliantly as gold, and the redbrick glowed crimson. Nicholas could go outside and sit in the open on the lawn, like he was doing today, or wait under the shadow of the trees, and just marvel that this school was his.
He didn’t need Camp Menton. He had this.
He loved Kings Row. He loved fencing. He loved—
Just then, his reverie was interrupted by Seiji marching toward him.
“I thought you would return to the salle and practice your footwork!” said Seiji sternly. “Come back with me at once.”
Nicholas stretched as he scrambled up from the grass. “Don’t know why we’re suddenly in a hurry, but okay.”
“There’s no time to be lost!”
Sometimes, Nicholas saw what people meant when they said Seiji was “very, very, very intense.” Mostly, though, he thought people were being ridiculous.
Seiji accelerated, dodging and weaving around the throng of Kings Row students who just hung out in their free hours. Nicholas tried to catch up and almost slammed right into Aiden, the last member of the Kings Row team, who was leaving a dorm room that wasn’t his.