by Brian Keller
That day, at lunch, Rukle voiced an interesting thought, “Why don’t we just load one of those crossbow bolts with poison and then go shoot someone important with it? Then the guard, and perhaps even the army will start going after these people for us?” Cooper shook his head, “Won’t work. They’ll just think it’s us.” Birt managed to speak as he chewed on his food, “You’ve got that right! Did you hear about the news this morning? Lord General Arkady had burst into the storefront and on into the Copyist’s Room with a platoon of infantry. They knocked over some podium desks and stools as they stormed about the room.” As Cooper heard it described, Master Worthan calmly remained seated at his table as he had inquired ‘how the Scribes might be of some assistance to the army’. Birt, as usual, seemed to have many of the details, though he hadn’t been there to witness the event. As Birt described it, Master Worthan had announced, “Children, look here. This is Lord General Hennit Arkady. He is the highest general in the land and the leader of all of the Prince’s armies. There is no higher military authority in the province. It is certainly a proud day for us that he had seen fit to grace us with a personal visit.” The Lord General didn’t reply for over a minute. Instead he studied the room. When the Lord General did reply, his voice completely filled the room, “Everyone seems to agree that this shop fills some integral role in Guild operations. Perhaps I’ll need to return with a few engineers, and masons.” He indicated the back wall, “This wall lays directly against the wall surrounding the university, does it not?” Master Worthan allowed himself a wry smile as he replied in a clear voice, “We like to think of it as the university’s way of supporting our efforts, my Lord General.” As Birt described it next, the temperature in the room became frigid, adding, “A few of the students even claimed they could see their breath in the air.” The Lord General walked over to Master Worthan and towered over him, which was not a difficult task considering the old man was still seated. The commander of the all the Prince’s armies growled, “I am empowered by His Royal Highness to direct you to cease and desist in all Guild-related activities… forthwith.” Master Worthan appeared completely unflustered; in fact several students said he even appeared amused as he replied, “May the children return to their studies then?” As Birt was relaying the tale Cooper was thinking, “Well, that explains my sudden and welcome return to anonymity.”
With so much to discuss, they hadn’t even finished half their meal and Kolrem hadn’t even gone back for seconds yet when Miss Camilla entered and made an announcement. Aden, looking very uncomfortable, was standing beside her as she spoke, “Everyone! Give me your attention. I promise I will be done speaking in less than a minute. Anyone leaving the Guild house, for any reason, is recommended to stop in the Scribe’s storefront and sign for two vials of antidote. Use them only if you are poisoned. I cannot speak for what their effects might be on someone that hasn’t been poisoned. They might actually kill you. The green one is for drinking. The red one is for pouring on the wound. Remember, “Red goes on red” and you should be fine. Instructors taking students out of the building will have antidote supplies of their own. Students shouldn’t need to pick up extra. If you have signed for any vials, give them back when you return. We don’t have enough to go around yet. That is all.” Miss Camilla did not wait to see if there were any questions, she simply turned and left the room. Aden watched her leave. He seemed even more uneasy as she walked away, but he recovered quickly and got in line to get his lunch. When he joined his friends at a table Kolrem asked, “So that was the antidotes you were talking about yesterday?” Cooper almost interrupted but stopped himself as he thought, “Was that only yesterday?!?” Aden was replying, “Yes. We’re pretty sure that they’ll work, but they hadn’t been tested on humans yet.” Cooper looked at Kolrem, “I guess it might’ve been better had we not killed them all…?” Aden sputtered, “Killed who “all”?” Kolrem answered quickly, “We, Cooper and I, didn’t kill all of them. The Assassins with us did. We killed the guys that were doing the poisonings. Or at least some of the guys doing the poisoning. We can’t be sure how many are actually involved.” Aden was nodding, “It might’ve been helpful to have some disposable test subjects. Then we might have a better idea of how big the vials really needed to be…” Cooper hadn’t realized how cavalier Aden had become regarding human life. Cooper had always considered Aden to be squeamish. Perhaps he had misjudged him.
After lunch, Cooper and Kolrem walked very slowly to the Smithy. It seemed that the closer they got, the slower their pace. Neither one looked forward to two more hours of heating and twisting the metal ingots. Once they’d started, today was more difficult than yesterday. Dailen appeared to be just as fatigued, but his eyes gleamed with a steady light. He seemed to marvel at the sight of the heated metals as they were twisted and hammered to form a single mass. They’d been told that by working two hours a day they’d be able to blend enough metal to make a blade in ten days; within a month’s time, each of them should be working on shaping a blade of their own. At the end of two weeks it started feeling easier, but it was still miserable. By the end of the month, twirling a sword in Combat Class still made them feel sore in the shoulders, but their grip was solid and unaffected.
In Scenarios class, Kolrem was next to draw a dagger card. The scene was a formal dinner. Cooper adopted his Salder Varen persona, complete with a decorative sword prop. Kolrem was supposed to be one of the dinner guests but after the appetizer he’d made an excuse to leave the table. As the main course was being served, Kolrem entered the room wearing a server’s waistcoat and carrying a covered tray. Once the cover was removed, Cooper couldn’t help chuckling when he saw the main course… kebabs. Obviously, Kolrem had spent his time away from the table in the “kitchen” convincing the staff to become either unwilling or unknowing accomplices. As Kolrem was serving the mark, Cooper couldn’t resist “clumsily” knocking over a plant stand. By the time Cooper had righted the stand, Kolrem was grinning at him as he exited the room. The mark sat open-mouthed with a skewer thrust through his collar. Whether by luck or by design, neither Cooper nor Kolrem drew the dagger card again during the remainder of the day.
Master Brais announced that they would not be leaving the Guild House tonight. Nor would his class leave the Guild House for the next week. As the students groaned and grumbled, Master Brais’ voice drowned them out, “There are soldiers at every corner surrounding the Guild. We have never been so invaded yet protected in all our history.” Rukle muttered, “Somehow I don’t think they’re here for our protection.” Master Brais awarded Rukle with a disapproving look, “This class is for teaching more than just stealthy movement.” The class was down to fourteen students now and he brought the entire class onto The Trap. Master Brais then announced, “All right. Hand to hand for thirty minutes, or until the Trap is empty. No Talent usage. Once you’re knocked down, get down and wait until we start again.” As the boys climbed up onto the Trap, Master Brais was still speaking, “If all goes well tonight and the rest of the week, we’ll begin including practice weapons as well.” Cooper was younger and smaller than most of his classmates but the practicing he’d done on the Trap more than made up for his disadvantages. He wasn’t often the last student standing, but he was never the first to fall. Conversely, Birt wasn’t always the first one down, but he was usually in the first half of the class to dismount. Rukle, for once, finally appeared to be fully enjoying himself, alternating between being aggressive and evasive. Kolrem tried using his strength to his advantage, but against students who were the same size and older, Kolrem’s usual advantage was neutralized. Still, it was common for Kolrem to remain in play until roughly half of the students were knocked off the netting. Evan simply watched from a nearby platform as he sat dangling his legs off the edge.
Cooper’s classes kept him busy enough that he had little time to consider the clues they’d extracted from the mercenary who’d killed Habbon, but at night, when Cooper was back in the sleeping bay, he had plenty of time to
think. In fact, the only things that usually interrupted his thoughts were sleep or his roommates. Thankfully Marna had long ago given up trying to get him to come along on her nightly gambling outings. It was surprising to him that there were still any students willing to join her, considering how common it was for Marna to come back richer than she’d left. Last year, Treanna had been an almost constant companion of Marna’s. Not for the gambling, simply for the socializing. Over the last year, Trea had excused herself from attending with increasing frequency. Her studies had begun demanding more and more of her time and Mister Ysel and Miss Eiler had recently begun sending her out with merchant caravans so she could gain some first-hand experience with other cities and other cultures. Cooper worried about her when she was away but realized that she was always accompanied by other Guild members, or at least by merchants in the Guild’s employ. As her voyages became more commonplace, Trea had even begun investing in some cargo of her own and often returned with exotic items. Aden had begun asking Trea to look for certain ingredients and would often give her a shopping list of items that were native to wherever she was setting off next. Whenever Trea was home, she seemed to find reasons to be near Cooper after classes were done for the day. Cooper greatly enjoyed her company but if he admitted it to himself, he sometimes felt a little relieved when it was time for her to leave for some new locale. He liked to use his time in the evenings to reflect and sort through the events of each day. Trea had been home now for over a week. She had told him about her travels to the edge of the Broken Lands where the tribes would sometimes join together to form a market, surrounded by the tents of hundreds of families. They were actually a form of festival and fighting was forbidden within the confines of the tent city. These events were usually held during the equinoxes and solstices. Trea had been describing the exciting differences in their cultures, mannerisms and clothing. Cooper enjoyed listening and learning, and he was particularly interested in the tribes of the Broken Lands. Those were Utsef’s people. Learning about them felt like a way of keeping in touch with the teacher that he had come to think of as a friend.
Trea watched Cooper closely as she described how a few of the younger men had offered to take her on a tour of the area. Cooper seemed oblivious to the fact that Trea was attempting to make him feel jealous. She challenged him about it, “You don’t care that other young men are interested in me?!” Cooper shrugged, “I would be surprised if there weren’t men interested in you. You’re asking if I care about that?” Cooper paused then continued, “I care about you, but I don’t care about that.” Trea couldn’t decide whether to feel flattered, insulted, or both. She decided on both and kissed Cooper’s cheek before fixing him with a glare and storming off in a huff. This, of course, left Cooper thoroughly confused. He decided it would probably be best if he just went to sleep. As he’d done every night since gaining the information, Cooper tried mentally retracing the steps of his life, searching for any recollection of a thin, grey man. As he was starting to drift off, Trea poked her head back into his stall and said, “You know, Cooper. I can always count on you to make me feel completely flustered.” Her words echoed in his head, “Count on… You can count on…”, then it struck him; like a flash of blinding light. Cooper sat bolt upright, shouting, “The thin grey man!” Trea’s expression registered both shock and confusion. She spoke, even as Cooper’s next exclamation overlapped her reply, “Well, that certainly isn’t the respon-..” Cooper was almost shouting, “The Dregs! Egil’s House! The thin, grey man talking with Egil’s House Father! The night I learned where Egil lived! Gotta be the same guy!” Cooper was pulling on his boots in a rush. “I need to find Felis! But I don’t know where-! Maybe Camilla will know!” He hopped up and cradled Trea’s face between his palms. Her cheeks were warm. He planted a quick, firm kiss on her lips and left her speechless as he ran towards the door, “Thanks, Trea! You helped!”
As Cooper ran through the halls, he was connecting his mental leaps. The thin, grey man was talking to Egil’s House Father. The House Father was assuring the thin, grey man that he could be counted on for something. Then, in the following weeks, it was discovered that Egil had a group going out into town and extorting, beating, and killing townspeople while framing the Guild for it. Additionally, Egil was discovered with an immense supply of poison and a showed a willingness to use it. There’s also a thin, grey man hiring mercenaries from the Dregs to kill Guild members using crossbow bolts loaded with poison from the same source... It has to be connected!
Within a few minutes he was beating on Miss Camilla’s door. When she answered he released all his information in a verbal flood. It took a third repetition before she was able to follow his story. Even then it was difficult because Cooper kept interrupting himself by repeatedly stating that she needed to help him find Felis. By the time Cooper was able to make himself understood, each of them felt completely exasperated.
Less than thirty minutes later, they were standing in front of Felis. By that time, Cooper was in much better control and was able to tell his story in a sensible fashion. Once Cooper got it all out, Felis simply asked, “Is that it? You’ve arrived here half out of breath, hammering on my door, to tell me this?” Cooper was dumbfounded. When he finally managed to find his tongue he replied, “This isn’t exciting to you?! There’s a coordinated plot against the Guild and you have nothing else to say about it?” Felis shrugged, “There’s a plot against the Guild. We already knew that. What did you think the crossbowmen were doing? The fact that the thin man might be connected to the activities of those renegade Dregs boys doesn’t really have any bearing that I can see, except now we know there’s potentially a common thread. But does knowing that change anything? Unless we know the identity of the thin man, I can’t see that it does.” Cooper was scratching his head; there was still something else… He knew there was a reason to be excited about it, but couldn’t explain what it was. He felt like he wanted to stomp, and rant, and break something, but none of that would help him remember why the knowledge felt so significant to him. As Cooper turned away he almost felt ashamed, “There must be more to it. I just can’t remember it all yet.” Felis replied, “It’ll come to you. Probably when you least expect it. Usually happens for me when I’m on the privy.” Miss Camilla gently pushed Felis back inside his room. As he shut his door, she looked sympathetically at Cooper, “Get some sleep, Cooper. You’ve kept yourself at a constant fast pace since your arrival here in the Guild. Do you need something to help you sleep?” Cooper couldn’t stop his bitter reply before it escaped, “No, I need something to help me remember. Got anything like that?” He took a breath and apologized, “I’m sorry, Miss. You’re right. I am tired. Thanks for trying to help. Sorry I dragged you out for this. Felis is right, but I also know that there’s more to it.” Miss Camilla put a hand on his shoulder for a few steps as they walked. As they were parting ways, Cooper took on a sheepish grin, “Maybe I should just go sit on the privy.” He chuckled at his attempt at a joke and Miss Camilla rolled her eyes, “Go to sleep, Cooper.”
Chapter 36
The following morning, in Anatomy Class, Miss Camilla was still on the topic of blood, but now she was explaining that blood vessels were linked to almost everything in the body. Any body part that had an interrupted, obstructed, or stagnant blood flow eventually died. The survival of the person depended on which body part was lost. A person could survive without an arm or a leg, provided they didn’t die from an infection associated with either the death or the removal of the limb, but a deep enough stab to the chest almost always ended with death. Either a major blood vessel got cut, or the heart damaged or the lungs filled with blood. She used bruising as a way to explain stagnant or trapped blood. She told them that a bruise only happened when smaller, or even tiny blood vessels got torn or broken allowing blood to leak out and become trapped. If this trapped blood was close enough to the surface, it would become visible as a bruise until the body somehow managed to either dilute it or reabsorb it. If larger bl
ood vessels became damaged then there would be too much blood lost and trapped. This is often what happened when someone took a blade to the chest. Larger volumes of blood leaked out and became trapped. If this happened inside the lungs, then it could cause a person to die. It could create a condition that was almost like drowning. Miss Camilla further informed the class that both the Guild and the university had been trying, though not cooperatively, to devise a physical method of treating a wound to the lungs. She told them, “While we have had some success with dressings of honey and plaster, or using a poultice coated in resin, so far the best successes have been from the efforts of skilled Healers applying their Talents.” She added, “Even with our best, combined efforts, the survival rate is still rather low. The sooner the treatments can be applied, the better the victim’s chances for recovery. Still, a severe enough wound, due to either precise placement or simply a catastrophic amount of damage, a healer could be standing right beside the victim and still not be able to prevent the death.” Miss Camilla paused to see if there were any questions. This was a sign that she felt she had exhausted the topic and was preparing to move on. The class was silent and she then told them, “We know where organs are located in the body, and how they are connected; but we don’t understand much about how things work. For instance, we know that air enters the lungs in much the same way as a smith works a bellows. We also know that many hundreds of blood vessels go to the lungs as well. Some believe that air somehow cleans the blood. That might explain how airborne poisons kill, and why a person dies if held under water, choked, or smothered, since those acts or processes would stop the air from purifying the blood. I disagree with certain aspects, but I believe this theory explains things better than most of the others. If it were absolutely and completely true, then smoke would have the same effect. Perhaps it comes down to the degree of exposure since a person exposed to enough smoke will eventually lose consciousness and die. But that doesn’t explain how a tiny amount of poison might have the same effect. What does seem apparent is that clean air provides something that the blood needs, but I can’t prove it and I certainly can’t explain what it is. There are plenty of other theories as well, but this is a practical anatomy class. We aren’t entertaining theories here. We have other classes for that.” She paused to make sure everyone was still paying attention, then she continued, “Continuing with practical applications, a wound to the lungs is likely to result in froth, or tiny bubbles, in the bright, red blood that may come from the wound. It’s likely the only location in the body that, when wounded, displays this appearance. Conversely, blood coming from the upper, right quadrant of the abdomen that appears almost black in color indicates a wound that has hit the liver. This almost always results in a painful and protracted death. If your target displays such a wound and a merciful death is your desired, then another strike is needed. Conversely, if interrogation is your goal, you’d better hurry.” During the two hour class, Cooper filled several pages with diagrams and hastily scribbled notes.
