Wings on my Back

by Alex Sapegin

  He came upon the little taiga mountain lake he had noticed earlier. Dragon Air would like to welcome you to your destination. We hope you enjoyed your flight, and we wish you a pleasant molt. This eventful day was coming to an end.

  He then molted and destroyed all traces of his presence at the lake. The blood from his violent rubbing against the rocks was collected into tubes he had taken with him. More valuable than gold, it would definitely come in handy. He collected his scales and buried them in a deep hole. They might also come in handy sometime. The scales, too, could fetch a nice price. Let’s just say he had put a little something in the bank for a rainy day. He had made a little campfire, too, which he covered with sand.

  The way back went quicker, and by the end of the second day he was back in the room of Grom Veselchak’s tavern.

  His conversation with Count Soto near the School gates the morning of the third day didn’t bring anything good. Michael gave him what for, then later regretted his own harsh words. He called him an irresponsible good-for-nothing, full of deceit, and tom-foolery. “Say it... Don’t spray it,” Andy thought. But at the end of the conversation, the count repeated his request. “At least Timur will know how not to act! I hope you’ll explain to him what areas are off limits?” he added finally. Rigaud would certainly teach him bad behavior. He was just too clean, as it was. And he avoided girls. Not right.

  The first day of class started with the students being divided into groups. No matter how Andy finessed it, Timur and the baronesses were always in a different group. To make matters worse, the Rauu were included in his. Sad. He immediately wanted to complain about evolution and natural selection for not giving him eyes in the back of his head. Andy couldn’t detect any certain system for forming the groups or tell what principle guided the formation of their international mish-mash. Must have been the gods.

  From the very first day, the Icicles consciously failed to notice him acting as if he were invisible. He was already dead to them. It didn’t matter that a dead man was walking, breathing, and farting along with the rest. He had been sentenced, and that sentence was not subject to appeal. It was just a matter of time until this sentence would be fulfilled. Let him sweat until then anticipating the challenge. The rest of the group members naturally noticed the Rauu’s very deliberate cold shoulder towards Andy. A chasm immediately formed between them. Everyone knew how a conflict with the long-eared ones might end. No one wanted to get on their bad side. Andy’s only consolation in this most undesirable situation was Rigaud’s faithful friendship and Timur’s silent support from another group.

  Things didn’t work out with Irma. Yes, they had had a few dates under the light of the night-time sisters and a couple of rendezvous in bed. Andy was no longer completely inexperienced, and she was not a chaste girl herself. She knew very well where guys’ “brains” were located and took every advantage. The frightful scars on his sides and back didn’t bother Irma a bit. They only added to his charm in her eyes. But somewhere deep down, Irma was harboring carefully hidden pity for him. Andy didn’t make any big plans knowing it wouldn’t last and hoping he could do better. But her sudden breakup still came as an unpleasant surprise. She was a predator in the guise of an attractive rural baroness. She found herself some prey. A golden boy came into her world—Count Alan Barenboro, heir to Duke Ruma, a Tantre V.I.P. No one had cancelled the ban on titles at the School, but everyone still knew who’s who. The count laid eyes on Irma, who was blossoming like a rose, and she chose the pike over the perch. “We’ll still be friends.” Andy couldn’t offer Irma anything but the cliché phrase. His girlfriend had begun to seem weighed down by their relationship; he had no land or title; neither one believed in living happily ever after in a hut, rich in love. Irma gladly took her chance when she saw it. She and Andy had one last wild night. Barenboro didn’t have a clue, and Irma finagled the transition so smoothly. Once she moved on to him, she focused all her attention. Acting with the force of a tank and the precision of an asphalt laying machine, Irma methodically made him toe the line. You never would have recognized her as a lady from a backwoods provincial nook. In no time she had rebuffed all her competitors and firmly established her place at the count’s side. His other admirers could only eat her dust. There’s only one word for such women—witches. As Marika had recently whispered to him, Irma and the count would soon tie the knot. Blitzkrieg. The enemy had surrendered under no uncertain terms. The heavy artillery, the count’s father, who arrived urgently in Orten, turned out to be powerless against her as well. The girl turned out to be in the family way, which was confirmed by the consilium of Life mages, who indicated the count as a future father. The count had to save face. There was no hiding the liaison—too many people knew about it already. The whole School, in fact. But the count’s father couldn’t allow them to bear a bastard before a legitimate heir. Irma had thought of everything. It would have been much simpler if the girl had been some peasant, not a titled noble. They would have just made her disappear, pregnant or not. The laws of the kingdom strictly punished fornicators, and the family was the face of the kingdom. The One God himself had entrusted them with guarding law and order.

  “Your head’s empty, and you can’t think with your butt!” the irate Duke Ruma yelled at his son with an angry furrowed brow. His heir, who was a count, after all, lowered his gaze sorrowfully. “That’s okay—the girl has enough brains for the two of you. What can we do now but wish the young people well?”

  As much as Andy hated to admit it, he knew his quick breakup was for the best. The time he used to spend with Irma would now go to finding a fencing tutor. Later on, after he had found Berg the half-orc and been accepted into his school, he would train with him every evening. And he still worked in the archives which ate up his weekends….

  And the truth was that he was somehow not satisfied in his relationship with… a human girl. Human?! Andy was horrified at the fact that he had begun to decisively separate himself from the human world. It was possible that Irma had realized this through her woman’s intuition and had hurried to remedy the situation, but the fact was still a fact. Andy had begun more clearly and more often to feel like a dragon in human guise. In order to not lose his original human self completely, he had run to the other extreme in his dating life.

  Karegar had mentioned that many ancient manuscripts dating back to before the imperial era, those that hadn’t fallen into the hands of the Woodies, had been saved in Kion, and after the School was founded in Orten, they had been brought here and stored in the archives. How he knew all this, Daddy preferred not to say. There might be documents here on building gates to other worlds, even the slightest clue as to where to continue his search. Even before he got accepted to the Orten School of Magic, Andy knew that working with the archives would be one of the main focuses of his study.

  In their study group, competition between students on who could better master a given academic subject was always on and was supported by the professors. They even competed to see who could master the practical application of general spells. One fine sunny morning, master grall Migroi announced that from now on, everybody should take part in the contests, not just those who wish to. A carrot was hung before their noses—an internship in the Royal residence, paid by the government. Lailat’s enticing lights would light the way for the winners, one in each group. There were twenty groups of freshmen. Scores would be totaled every week. Those in last place would get a kick in the form of a week of archives analysis duty under master grall Grey. Andy had to invest a small amount of acting skills in order to gain access to the archived data. Rigaud, who thought he knew his friend’s true capabilities, was given clear instructions. He was told specifically not to interfere and not to act surprised at the upcoming performance. When he asked “What the heck?”, Andy simply answered “There’s something I have to do!” Rigaud shrugged and reserved a place for himself in the front row. The Rauu, the only ones who could judge the huge difference between Andy’s behavior during
the conflict they had had on the square and the skills Andy now demonstrated to master grall Migroi, due to their conscientious objection to his presence, failed to notice his performance. Andy played the role of the simple-minded northern oaf, and played it well. As a result, a week later, the “simpleton” got to meet the main archivist, master grall Grey.

  Master grall Grey, a slim, shabby little man with a long crooked nose and fine, thinning brown hair most called to mind a ruffled, ragged crow. He looked at his candidates for the archive analysis duty, rubbed his hands together in satisfaction, and grinned slyly.

  “Well now, my pupils. Do you think this is some kind of resort?” the master said in a creaky voice, and chuckled nastily. Master Grey, don’t worry. We know it’s not a resort. If it were, they never would have let you work here. You look like a villain from a children’s fairy tale. Long nose, psychotic twinkle in your eyes and a smile that reveals missing teeth which reminds me of the Grinch song—how does it go again? Termites in your smile? I wouldn’t be surprised.

  “After staying with me for a week, your productivity will immediately increase as a result. It seems very few students have any desire to work in the chilly basement archives these days. What a shame. Ha.”

  Andy stayed with him a lot longer than a week. There was no order whatsoever to the stacks of literature in the lowest basement level. It was even hard to tell whether it was supposed to be an archive or a warehouse full of garbage. There were no catalogs or descriptions of books and manuscripts. The elder scrolls were simply piled in a heap. That kind of treatment of primary sources irked him. What happened in closed storage rooms? In storage rooms only accessible to Rector Etran and the School council?

  Once Andy resolved to sort the dusty parchments in a small storage room by himself, he unexpectedly got carried away with the work. All the literature was divided by subject, author, and title. Using his experience with card catalogs on Earth, in his school library in Russia, he created a catalog and an inventory here, put a control card on every book, numbered the scrolls, and provided comments. His work in the archives ate up all his free time. He came directly from his fencing lessons with Berg the half-orc, legs trembling with exhaustion, and headed towards the dimly lit basement, where he would keep busy until late into the evening. Rigaud and Timur only marveled at his tenacity. Every time they suggested doing something fun, he politely refused. Rigaud still managed to teach Timur a thing or two—the bad influence Count Soto had feared. They had been seen at the bars having more than their share of ale and hitting on women. After some experience with drunken female students, women stopped looking so perfectly divine in his eyes. He had seen another side of them. They told him he was stubborn as a dragon. They didn’t even know how close they were to the truth. Meanwhile, it was a shame that Andy couldn’t find an answer to his problem of how to get from the land of Dragons back to good old Earth. But hope lives on.

  When master grall Grey saw the bookworm’s work in the archives after two months, his longest-lasting archivist, he was beside himself with elation. He almost danced a jig. He slapped Andy on the shoulder in friendly admiration and approval, ordered him to leave the storage room before the next day, and went to report to the School council. Rector Etran was interested in hearing what he had to say, and then expressed a desire to see for herself the innovations the master had introduced into the archives and the library. With no point in delay, the rector showed up for an inspection the very next day.

  Upon seeing the rector, Andy jumped up from the steps and patted the dust from his rear end, then quickly bowed low. Rector Etran gave no sign that she recognized the bold-faced boy from the balustrade. She simply nodded politely.

  “My assistant. He followed orders as I enacted my reorganization plans,” master grall Grey introduced Andy to the rector. Of course you won’t tell her the truth, that you just saw the results yesterday, that it’s all me! You only deigned to show up here four short times in two months. What arrogance.

  The rector casually looked Andy up and down and headed towards the library entrance. The fawning master Grey helpfully opened the door before her.

  “Stay here,” master grall Grey ordered Andy and pointed to the stone bench near the path. Andy snorted and went over to the spot. Go on master, flaunt it. Maybe you’ll get a couple of coins for bread and butter from the big boss.

  Thirty minutes later, the library doors flung open to reveal an imperturbable Rector Etran and an ecstatic master Grey. He was shining like the sun. Apparently, the boss’ generosity had turned out to be a lot wider than a couple of coins. The gap-toothed smile on his face simply wouldn’t go away, no matter how he tried to tone it down. The rector turned to the master:

  “Would you allow me a moment with your assistant?” she inquired politely.

  “Of course, of course. I’ll not be needing him anymore today. I can do the rest myself.” The smile faded like a rainbow from the sky. He couldn’t refuse the rector’s request. Etran subtly indicated to Grey that his presence was no longer necessary, and the master immediately retreated behind the great oak door to the building. No point in annoying the boss now; she might change her mind about being so generous.

  “Shall we take a stroll?” the rector said across from Andy. Andy didn’t even bat an eye.

  “Sure, we can take a stroll. Sitting on stone benches aggravates my hemorrhoids.” Andy grabbed his bag from under the bench and moved along the path lined by yellow bricks, alongside the rector. He saw no point in being sugary-sweetly polite. The rector knew him well already, and he wasn’t the kind to sharply change his behavior depending on the situation.

  The rector smiled with the corners of her mouth and continued stepping along the path at a reserved pace. Her eyes were calm and thoughtful; her hands folded behind her back.

  “What, stone benches aren’t quite like rectors’ chairs, Kerrovitarr with no title?” She certainly had a sharp memory. She nodded slightly towards the library behind them. “Is that your work?”

  “I only helped.”

  “You shouldn’t cover for Master Grey. In ten years as the main archivist, he’s done absolutely nothing, and now a flood of progress. Don’t you find, young man, that’s a bit far fetched?” The rector stopped and faced Andy. A malicious fire burned in Etran’s eyes. “All Grey could imagine was making bookworms move scrolls from one pile to another. Then an obscure bookworm appears and systematically plays the fool for two months, and disappears into the dusty basements, where he just happens to turn the archives of store room number three into a neatly cataloged system. No one has ever yet thought of such methods for introducing order! Are you finished pretending to be dull?”

  Here’s the point. Not even a point, a SUPER-POINT. Here, have a simple little library. Let it burn to the ground, for all I care. The malicious fire in Etran’s eyes turned into a steel resolve. What could Andy say? Before visiting the library and archives, the rector had probably asked master Valett to survey the situation and give a brief report. The punishing mages had started to worry and noticed a certain freshman and his restructuring work in the library. The new decisions made in the library, the new order and organization didn’t at all correspond to the dim-witted bookworm who was made to work there for being in last place in his studies. This was supposed to be a punishment. But Andy had outdone himself. He was so clever, he became the victim of his own schemes. Valett’s report with notes in the margin was probably laying on the rector’s desk and had caught her attention. If Andy had been better at reconnaissance work, he never would have went about it like this. He would have spaced out his visits to the basements and not have created catalogs. Now, of course, it was too late to change anything. If he had only known better! No point in shaking his fists at himself.

  “Yes, I did it.” He didn’t beat around the bush. “Do you like it? Master grall Grey loves it…,”

  “We’re not talking about him, we’re talking about you,” the rector interrupted him, turned away from Andy and stepp
ed onto a side path. Andy had no choice but to follow her. “The School council has an offer for you. Would you like to know about it?”

  Andy said nothing.

  The path led the strolling, sedately conversing pair to some fountains surrounded by dozens of bookworms. They skirted the fountains and went into the park, walking just as sedately. The sight was head-turning— not every day Rector Etran was seen out for a stroll in the park, especially in the company of a student.

  “Well? Are you going to answer me?” Etran asked. “Cat got your tongue?”

  “Uh, no, not a cat. I was just being quiet, you know, for the sake of the conversation.”

  “That’s an interesting way to keep a conversation going. I’ll have to add it to my repertoire.”

  Andy stopped near a statue of a nude which reminded him of the great statue known as “Aphrodite Kallipygos.” The rector automatically stopped too.

  “My father used to say,” Andy began, “that there are people with whom having a conversation is pleasant, and people with whom it’s pleasant to stay silent on certain topics. Our conversation seems to be of the latter category. What was that offer from the School council for me? Or is it from you personally? I doubt the School council’s met about this, and calling it their wouldn’t be exactly accurate, would it? Don’t you find that’s a bit far fetched?” The rector let out a puff of air like a chuckle. Surprise and respect.

  “I’m glad to know I was right about you. I don’t care what you were looking for in the archives of the lowest basement level. Nope, not interested. You were messing around with master Migroi for two months for a reason, that much is clear. But I’m willing to let it be. I need an archivist for the closed storage rooms. I can find no other worthy candidates, for a variety of reasons. If you agree, we’ll make up an official employment contract.”