The Academy: Making of a Ruler (The Eagle King's Academy Book 1)

by C. C. Monö

  CHAPTER 53

  He felt as if he’d just escaped the jaws of death. Professor Jackson was a terrifying man, especially when you had to stare him dead in the eye and lie.

  With an overwhelming sense of unease, Axel watched the professor march off behind a corner and disappear. What the hell was going on? The voice in the Chamber knew the truth behind Axel’s application, but Professor Jackson did not. This raised a number of questions. Who knew? How did they know, and what did they mean by “we will keep it a secret if you collaborate”? That was a threat, wasn’t it? And in what way did they, whoever they were, want to collaborate?

  He came no further in his pondering, as the door opened and Professor Evans peered out. She eyeballed him with unhidden distrust before glancing down the empty corridor.

  “What in the world are you doing, Mr Hallman?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Axel mumbled sheepishly. “Professor Jackson just left.”

  “Then why are you standing here like a buffoon? Come on.” She stepped aside, holding the door open for him. “You have work to do.”

  As much as it bothered him, Axel had little choice but to leave all worrying thoughts behind for the moment. He gave Professor Evans a nod and trudged back to his seat.

  When the last student returned from the Chamber, Professor Evans stood up.

  “All right, students. I presume you’ve all found the four words associated with the Academy. Please log on to Eagle Net and write down the words for me.”

  Eagle Net was the E.K.A. intranet, used by both teachers and students. Each teacher had their own Eagle Net page where instructions and assignments were given and collected. Axel entered his four words.

  “Well done,” Professor Evans commended after a while. “All of you found the correct words. Now I’m going to ask you a series of questions and I want you to write down your answers on your computers. Hmm, let’s see. First question: was the word ‘Leader’ found on a male or female mannequin?” The professor waited as the students typed in their answers. “Did the mannequin holding the word ‘Brussels’ wear a wristwatch?”

  One by one, Professor Evans went through her questions. What colour was the beggar’s trousers? How many “men” wore a hat? What kind of shop was furthest from the door? What serial number was written on the police officer’s baton? How many female mannequins were there? She continued for almost half an hour, until she raised her head and regarded her class.

  “How disappointing,” Professor Evans concluded after having gone through the results. She got to her feet. “Ms Izzati had sixty-two out of a hundred and Mr Reed had fifty-nine. The rest of you had below fifty.” She began to stroll down between the desks at a slow pace. “What do you think the purpose of this exercise was?”

  “To test our memories,” Aseem tried.

  “And what does that have to do with communication, Mr Kamala?”

  Aseem shrugged and Professor Evans turned to the others. “Anyone?” The students remained silent. “No? Why do we communicate?”

  “To achieve something,” Layla replied.

  Professor Evans lit up.

  “Exactly! For decision-makers, communication always serves a purpose. It can be anything from gaining followers or negotiating a deal. It’s all about communication, and, in order to be successful, you have to adapt your communication style to the people you speak with.”

  With eyes unseeing, Axel flipped his phone between his fingers. What was it that the voice from the Chamber had said? “If you talk me into doing what you want, you call it leadership. If I talk you into doing what I want, then you call it…”

  He looked up.

  “But isn’t that manipulation, ma’am?”

  Professor Evans stopped dead in her track. With her back against him, she stood motionless for a moment. Then, nudging the purple scarf around her neck, she began to turn.

  “What did you say?”

  CHAPTER 54

  “It’s an interesting perspective, Mr Hallman,” Professor Evans remarked, “yet I believe the definition of manipulation is something in line with; ‘controlling someone to your own advantage, often using unfair or dishonest means’.” She began to make her way back to her desk. “I’m not teaching you to be dishonest or unfair, but rather to analyse your target group and adjust your communication thereafter.”

  “But isn’t that a form of manipulation?” Axel argued.

  Professor Evans touched a spot behind her ear and gave it a light scratch.

  “Most definitely not. We all adapt our communication depending on our listener. You wouldn’t use the same words, rhythm and intonation when speaking to a two-year-old child as you do to an adult, would you? And if you met a tourist who barely spoke any English, would you speak to her as you speak to me?”

  “No.”

  “So you admit you make distinctions based on who you talk to?”

  “Yes.” By the way Professor Evans raised her chin, Axel assumed she thought he’d capitulated, but he wasn’t done yet. The voice in the Chamber had a point. “I guess it’s not manipulation if I’m trying to present my information in a clear manner, but if I try to make people think or behave against their will, then I’d say that’s manipulation.”

  A few quiet sighs and grunts made Axel glance over his shoulder. His eyes met Julie’s and she had an expression that seemed to say “why do you always have to question everything?”

  “I don’t think manipulation has to be a bad thing,” Cordelia stated. “Sometimes it might be necessary.”

  Axel couldn’t believe it.

  “You think manipulation is good?”

  “I think it might be necessary at times, yes.”

  “I agree,” said Edward. “As a business owner, I’ve realised that sometimes people need a little push or the world wouldn’t evolve.”

  “That’s not true,” Axel snorted. “Talk Thirteen is a voluntary network and we still have thousands and thousands of followers, all willing to put in an effort for the greater good. We didn’t need to manipulate anyone.”

  Edward shook his head.

  “You can’t compare a network with a company. In a network, people come and go as they please, and you don’t have to pay them a salary. But when you run a business, you depend on a certain number of individuals who cost you money.” He pulled up his shoulders and made a face. “If I can manipulate my staff to maximise their performance and boost the revenues, then that’s just part of the game.”

  “I thought great leaders didn’t need to manipulate people,” Axel said. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. Sometimes he grew so tired of these self-centred, egoistic numbskulls. They thought they were better than everyone else. Why? Because the Academy had chosen them as students?

  “Now, now, Mr Hallman,” Professor Evans hushed. “Let’s not turn to juvenile behaviour.”

  Before Axel could respond, Ava Taylor, a self-confident woman from New Zealand, raised her hand.

  “People don’t always know what they want, or what they need. In such cases, a decision-maker must show them what they want.” She reached back and adjusted the ponytail holding back her thick, dark hair. “Before I came here, I led a voluntary youth group that worked with the Office of Ethnic Communities, in New Zealand. We worked hard to get youngsters interested in leadership. At first, they weren’t interested. Only after our trainings did they realise how much they’d needed these leadership skills.”

  “If I may add to that, Ava,” said Aseem, looking like an ostentatious prick. “It can sometimes be the other way round; people think they know what they want but they don’t. My father is a rich and powerful film tycoon in India, known as Mr Bollywood. He says we would live on the streets in poverty, if he agreed to finance every manuscript presented to him.” Aseem laughed. “It’s not that people present bad scripts on purpose. They believe their manuscripts are good, but my father is a wise man and he’s been in the film industry his whole life. He knows what will sell and wh
at won’t.”

  Axel began tapping the heel of his foot against the floor.

  “Your point being?”

  “Sometimes, a leader will have to tell his followers that what they want isn’t good for them. It may, in fact, ruin them. In such situations, the leader is responsible to show his followers the right path.”

  There was a murmur of agreement among the other students. Axel knew the smartest thing would be to just shut up, but these people were so full of crap, he felt compelled to object.

  “But isn’t that kind of power dangerous? What happens if leaders are wrong? Hasn’t your father ever made a bad investment, for example?”

  “Of course not,” Aseem snarled. “He is Mr Bollywood!”

  Axel held back a desire to roll his eyes.

  “All I’m saying is, there’s a risk that a leader’s ability to manipulate people will do more harm than good. Too much power can…”

  Edward cut him off with a rumbling laugh.

  “We are leaders, Hallman. We decide what’s right or what’s wrong.”

  “I think you’re missing the point, Mr Hallman,” Professor Evans intervened. “This has nothing to do with power and we’re not out to make people act against their will. We’re trying to open their eyes. What I’m teaching you is not manipulation but the skill to make others see what you see, feel what you feel, and…”

  “…do what I want them to do,” Axel snarled.

  Professor Evans smiled.

  “I was going to say; ‘know what you know’. I’m trying to teach you how to give information in the best possible way. It will then be up to your followers to choose if they want to follow or not.”

  The professor checked at her watch.

  “Unfortunately, we’re out of time. We’ll continue with similar exercises all spring, so there will be plenty of time to practice. I’ll see you all on Monday at ten.”

  CHAPTER 55

  TWELVE YEARS EARLIER

  Sarah sat in the white gazebo, surrounded by the strong scent of sweet peas and roses. From here she could admire the lush fields beyond the garden as the sun set in the east. Nearby, one of the gardeners collected her tools and headed back to the gardeners’ shed behind the main building. It was called the gardeners’ shed but was in fact a two-storey house, far too big to be a shed.

  “It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it, Ms Wangai.”

  Sarah turned at the sudden voice and found a familiar figure rounding the gazebo in slow strides.

  “Oh, good evening Mr Garner. How are you?”

  The old gentleman raised his little hat and bowed.

  “Very well, thank you. And you?”

  “Now, Mr Garner. You don’t have to bow to me, you know that.”

  “I do, Ms Wangai, but I guess old habits die hard.” The old man stopped by the entrance to the gazebo. “May I?”

  “Of course.”

  Mr Garner entered and took a seat next to Sarah. For a while the two of them sat in silence, enjoying the view of the lush world beyond the wall.

  “The staff says you haven’t been at the restaurant for two weeks,” Mr Garner began, keeping his eyes on the horizon. “I hope you’re not dissatisfied with our service in any way.”

  Sarah gave him a tired glance.

  “Of course not, everything is fantastic. I’ve just chosen to eat in my apartment, that’s all.”

  “Ah. I see.” Mr Garner scratched the tip of his sharp nose. “The thing is,” he said, after a while, “I’ve been informed that you rarely order any food to your apartment.” He faced Sarah, his eyes searching her face for a reaction. “Please forgive me, Miss. I don’t want to pry but…is something wrong?”

  Sarah pulled her suit jacket closer around her, feeling a chill despite the warm evening.

  “I’m not sure how I feel about you studying my eating habits, Mr Garner. I can’t help but consider it a violation of my privacy.”

  Mr Garner bowed his head.

  “I understand, miss, but we don’t keep track of the students eating habits…well, unless we find that they’re gaining too much in weight.” He let out a quiet chuckle and began rotating his hat by the brim. “No, I’m here because the employees care for you. A few of the servants came to me, wondering if you were ill, and so I promised I’d talk to you. They meant no harm by it. Nor do I.”

  Sarah reached out and touched the old man’s arm.

  “You’re a kind man, Mr Garner, but please don’t worry. I’m fine.”

  He said nothing but she could tell that he didn’t believe her.

  “In that case I shall bother you no more.” He stood up, brushed off his trousers and gave her a bow.

  Yes, Sarah thought, as he stepped out on the stone path, old habits did die hard.

  “Do you ever have doubts about it all, Mr Garner?” she asked.

  The old man stopped.

  “Miss?”

  “Do you ever wonder if maybe the Academy has misunderstood the concept of leadership?”

  “That’s a foolish question to ask, Ms Wangai. The Academy is never wrong and you shouldn’t question your professors.” He wavered a bit, then glanced over his shoulder and leaned in. “It’s not my place to tell you what to think, miss, but perhaps…maybe you shouldn’t…”

  He shook his head and Sarah flashed him a strained smile.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t waste my time on irrelevant philosophical thoughts?” she asked. “You know; that’s exactly what Lorena keeps telling me.”

  Mr Garner nodded.

  “Well, Ms De Paz is a very clever woman,” he concluded.

  Then, with another bow, he left.

  CHAPTER 56

  PRESENT MOMENT

  Friday evening found Axel, Paul, and Thabo sitting in the famous Delirium Café, a busy-yet-cosy pub in the centre of town. Around them, people drank, talked and laughed, the noise drowning out the funky music that played in the background. It was the perfect refuge for three young men who were desperate to socialise with people their own age without having to worry about keeping up a regal appearance.

  “I told you, didn’t I?” Paul slurred and then laughed as two brunettes squeezed in behind him to order drinks. “This place’s a real ripper!” He raised his half-full beer mug in a cheer and emptied it. “Now if you’ll excuse me…” He slammed the mug onto the bar, winked at his friends and turned to the women behind him. “Good evening, ladies. Could you do me a favour and let me pay for those drinks of yours?”

  Axel sniggered. “What a Casanova.”

  “Yes, well, we have to be back by ten, right?” Thabo asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Good, then I’ll have another beer. But first I need to visit the men’s room.”

  While Thabo headed off for the restrooms, Axel turned his focus on his surroundings. Delirium Café was a beer-lover’s paradise. They had such a wide variety of the golden liquor that the beer list was thick as a brick. Not unlike one of Professor Jackson’s mind-numbing books, Axel thought with a grin and turned his barstool so he could take in the pleasant atmosphere of this crowded basement.

  The environment was lively and rowdy. A large group of drunken men, all with a military look to them, roared and laughed under the low ceiling as they crouched around wooden beer kegs, used as tables.

  Leaning against the counter, Axel beamed. It felt good to be around “normal” people for a change. For security reasons, the students had to return to the Academy before dark, unless given special permission from one of the professors. This time, Paul had approached Professor Plouffe, a man who, according to reputation, shared Paul’s taste for good beer and crowded pubs. Perhaps that’s why he’d been kind enough to let the three men enjoy a few hours in town.

  One of the drinking soldiers slapped his friend on the arm and pointed towards the stairs. Coming down the stairs was a beautiful blonde, radiating an air of elegance. Someone let out a flirtatious whistle, which the woman tactfully ignored.

  Without the slightest hesit
ation, she made her way towards the bar. Dressed in a grey business suit and a long black coat, she walked with confidence between staring men and jealous girlfriends, until she reached Thabo’s chair and took a seat.

  “Your fly’s open,” she said without giving Axel a second glance.

  “What?” Axel’s fingers flew down to his mid-region in search of the open zipper. “Ah,” he said a second later when he realised he’d been fooled. “Very funny, Nicole.”

  She gave the bartender a wave.

  “An Orval Trappist, please.” Turning to Axel, she flashed him one of her stunning, dimpled smiles. “You were sitting with your legs spread like a windmill; a posture Mr Bell would disapprove of.”

  Axel feigned annoyance and turned to face the bar.

  “I don’t want to ruin your smart remarks or your perfect entrance, but you’ve taken someone’s seat.”

  Nicole laughed as she paid for her ale.

  “I’m sure Thabo won’t mind,” she said, giving Axel a little wink.

  “Who said it was Thabo’s chair?”

  “Well, it’s not yours, is it? And I can see Paul flirting with that woman over there.” Nicole nodded to her right. Axel leaned over and saw Paul with a redhead a few chairs down the line. What had happened to the brunette? “That leaves Thabo, and, if I remember correctly, Orval Trappist is his favourite ale.”

  Axel shifted his gaze and took in Nicole’s perfect profile. God must have been in a spectacular mood the day he made her: funny and beautiful.

  He drew a deep breath, tasting the scent of her expensive perfume. Then, realising she was looking at him, turned his attention to his Coke in embarrassment.

  “I assume your presence isn’t a coincidence,” he said.

  “I’m afraid not.” She accepted the ale from the bartender and placed it on the counter untouched. “Professor Evans wants a word with you.”

  “What? Now?”

  “Yes. I’ve got Julien waiting for us outside.”

  “Piss off!”

  Both Nicole and Axel turned and saw Paul swaying on his feet as he blinkingly glowered up at a brute of a man. The fellow was at least a head taller, with a shaved scalp and dark tattoos stretching across his neck and muscular arms.