by A. L. Knorr
I exchanged a cocked eyebrow with Harriet. What music had to do with fire magi, I couldn’t guess. Although I’d never been a gamer, if I had been, quest games would be more my style than combat games. The combat exercises Professor Knight and Basil had taken me through were enjoyable enough. I hoped that meant this would be fun.
“The entirety of the fire-gym has been converted to the setting of our game. If you were to see it right now, it would look pretty odd, but when you put the VR visor on, everything makes sense. You’ll be interacting with the game mostly digitally, but there will be a few features you’ll have to interact with physically. It may not always be obvious, but that is part of the charm of the game. We think, anyway.”
We listened quietly, absorbing Guzelköy’s description. The game-maker went momentarily blank, fumbled at a pocket, and retrieved a crumpled piece of notepaper. He studied it for a second, then looked up, enlightened once again.
“The VR equipment, meaning the visor you’ll be required to wear, is robust but sensitive enough that you should be careful. If you have fire or heat in your hands, please don’t touch it. Wait until your hands are cool. We have spare visors, but each one is valuable and we don’t want to break them. You’ll also have high-tech dots fixed to your hands, but those are specially made to withstand high temperatures.”
The Firethorne kids whispered and stirred. Their expressions had taken on a veiled excitement. I doubted any of them had been exposed to such state-of-the-art equipment, if the bus they’d arrived in and the uniforms they’d been wearing were any clue.
“The objective of the game is to complete the quest as quickly as possible, but how you tackle each challenge will be graded. A time bonus can be awarded for efficiency in dealing with problems, while penalty minutes can be tacked on to your finishing time for blunders or incomplete tasks.”
Guzelköy looked back at Davazlar, who shrugged.
“I believe that is all. And now for the drawing of our first competitors.” Guzelköy beckoned to Davazlar, who produced a jar containing folded bits of paper.
He held it up for Guzelköy to pluck from. Guzelköy gave us a sheepish smile.
“Our selection system is not as sophisticated as our algorithm,” he joked.
No one laughed, we were too busy holding our breath.
A folded paper was plucked, and Guzelköy drew it open and read the name. He looked up. “Saxony Cagney, you’ll be the first player.”
There were a few sighs from the group, whether they were in disappointment or relief, I couldn’t tell. I nodded and smiled as my pulse picked up the pace.
“Meet me in the fire-gym’s lobby just before eleven. That’ll give you enough time to digest your breakfast.”
“Okay,” I replied. “Thanks Mr. Guzelköy.”
He nodded and scanned the room. “Any questions?”
“How will the next one be determined?” asked Liu, shooting a hand into the air. “Will you draw that one from a jar too?”
“No. Saxony will choose a Firethorne competitor, and that competitor will choose an Arcturus student. And so on until the challenge has been completed.”
All glanced my way.
“And what about who we’re pitched up against?” Harriet asked.
“Our algorithm has already determined that, but once again it will be revealed at the end. Anything else?”
When no one else spoke, he dismissed us with a final instruction. “Please wait in your respective lounges, the next competitor to go will be fetched from there.”
We waited for the Firethorne students to file out, since it was their turn to get their food first. I watched Eira as she left but she kept her eyes down and trailed out ahead of the rest of her team, who were talking quietly among themselves. To an outsider, it looked as though she wasn’t really friends with her own schoolmates, but maybe she was just very shy. Her behavior fit the bill for that, too.
Following Tomio and Peter as we filed out of our row, we trailed through the halls toward the cafeteria. The Firethorne group lined up at the food station where a sweating Mr. Hoedemaker stood ready to serve.
We gave a collective inhale as the scent of something baked and buttery reached to our noses.
“What is that glorious smell?” Tomio breathed. “Pancakes? Oh man, it’s like Victoria Falls in my mouth. Wish we could have gone before them this time.”
I agreed but my response trailed away. Eira had been the first to get served. She’d already set her tray at the team’s usual table and was heading for the coffee machine next to the drinks fridges. Deciding there wouldn’t be a better time, I headed over to the hot drinks counter.
I came to stand beside her, making a show of trying to decide between the flavored coffees, none of which I actually liked. Fake hazelnut flavoring in my coffee? Ick.
Eira noticed me at her elbow but didn’t speak. She looked up, tucked a lock of hair behind one ear, and reached for a cup from the stack. She mused over the coffee flavors and picked a cappuccino, but she didn’t put it in the machine, she studied the label instead.
“The other one is better, in my opinion.” I gestured to the other cappuccino option. “That one is Spanish. The Italian one is nicer.”
“Is it bitter?” she asked, her voice timid and soft.
I smiled, pleasantly surprised that she’d even spoken with me. “No. The Italian is very smooth.”
She nodded, now studying the stainless-steel jugs sitting beside the coffee machine. “I see skim, one percent, and two percent. There was cream here yesterday.”
“Ah, the English don’t really do cream, but there’s probably some in the fridge. Dr. Price likes cream, so she brings her own. She won’t mind. Shall I take a look for you?”
She looked at me, blue eyes wide. “Would you mind? I can’t stand regular milk.”
“Sure.” I left the coffee counter, passing the Arcturus team, who were now being served by Mr. Hoedemaker. Tomio glanced up with an inquiring look as I walked by. I winked at him. So far, so good.
Going to the fridge that held the dairy products, I rooted through the containers and found no regular cream, but I did find a carton of whipping cream. I checked the date, hoping it would make Eira happy. With a wave to Lars on my way out, I took the carton over to the coffee machine where Eira had chosen an Americano instead of a cappuccino. When she saw the carton, she lit up.
“Whipping cream?”
I handed it to her. “Sorry, it’s all there was.”
“No that’s perfect. The fattier the better. I like to eat keto as much as I can, though it’s almost impossible with all this Dutch food.”
I didn’t really care about her diet, but it was an opening, so I pounced. “What’s keto?”
Opening the carton with deft fingers, she added a generous dollop of whipped cream to her coffee. She plucked a spoon from the jar and stirred. “You’ve never heard of the ketogenic diet? It’s amazing. It’s helped my mum lose a bunch of weight. It trains your body to burn fat instead of—”
“Eira!” Someone screeched, clearly incensed.
She jumped at the sound of her name, sloshing coffee over her thumb.
We looked over to see Babs charging toward us, glowering. I half expected to see steam come out of her ears.
Eira visibly cowed then moved away from me without saying anything more. She headed for the Firethorne table where her team was watching.
Babs glared at me, putting her fists on her hips. “What were you talking about?”
Anger flared and my fire rumbled, heating me several degrees. “Nothing. It was just two coffee lovers chatting about our favorite drink. Why? Is there a problem?”
Babs raised a finger, not quite pointing in my face, but too close for comfort. I bristled.
“I’ve got my eye on you,” she sneered. Gone was the Marilyn Monroe voice. She sounded like a chronic smoker, a furious one.
She swung her finger around at the Arcturus team, who were watching from near our table. Tomio, Harriet and Peter hadn
’t even sat down yet, and held their trays in a big-eyed tableau of surprise.
“I’m watching all of you. You leave my students alone. I’ll not have you fishing for information, or intimidating them, or using any of that insidious neurolinguistic programming on my team.”
I exchanged a baffled look with Tomio. What was she talking about?
My tone walked the line between respectful and sarcastic. “It was an innocent conversation, Ms. Chaplin. Relax. It’s not like we were about to sign a blood pact.”
It was the wrong thing to say, but I knew that when I’d conjured the words and said them anyway.
Her face turned red. “You will not speak to me in such a way. You are my inferior in every way, and when I am headmaster of this school, the first thing I’ll do is teach you some respect.”
“If you become headmaster of this school, the first thing I’ll do is drop out,” I shot back.
“Saxony!” Dr. Price stood just inside the entrance to the cafeteria. I hadn’t noticed her come in. “That’s enough.”
Trying to hide the fact that I was so angry I was shaking, I walked past Babs and headed for the stack of trays. My cheeks were burning. Mr. Hoedemaker had been watching the exchange with interest. I set a tray on the rails, took a plate, and slid over to the food.
“Hello, Lars.”
“Pannenkoek?” He asked, buttery spatula poised to serve.
“You bet,” I said, forcing a smile even as my heart still thundered. “Load me up.”
By the time I faced the tables with my tray, Babs was seated with her students, her back to me. Either she was going to wait until I had moved away from the food to get some, or she’d already eaten.
Dr. Price gave me a warning look as we crossed paths, me en route to our table and her en route to the food.
I set my tray beside Harriet’s and sat down. Picking up my fork, I cut off a piece of the pancake, which did look and smell amazing. If I’d had more presence of mind I would have congratulated Lars on his baking.
My first forkful paused on the way to my mouth as I realized the team’s eyes were on me.
“What?”
“That was so immature,” whispered Peter through a huge grin, “and bloody brilliant.”
My teammates expressions told me they agreed.
I flushed and took a bite but didn’t smile.
Cecily studied my face for a moment before leaning over to whisper: “What are you thinking?”
I chewed and swallowed, glancing over at Babs, who was speaking sternly at Eira.
“I’m thinking that only extremely untrustworthy people are that paranoid.”
Nineteen
Save the Music
At eleven, I met Guzelköy in the lobby of the fire-gym. He was waiting with the VR visor in one hand, and a small square of paper with four glittery, circular stickers.
“Put this on before we go in, Ms. Cagney.” He handed the visor to me.
Taking the expensive piece of equipment carefully, I fitted it over my head and pressed the button. It gave a little vibration as it conformed to my bone structure.
“Have you used the VR before?” Guzelköy asked, as he fixed two of the high-tech stickers to each of my hands, one at the base of my wrist on the inside and the other matching its position on the outside.
“Yes, most of last semester in fact. I used it multiple times a week.” I grinned. “Why, will that give me an advantage?”
“That depends. What were you using it for?”
“Combat training.”
“Ah. Well, there won’t be any of that in Save the Music,” he said, then seemed to rethink his statement. “Not much anyway. Ready?”
I nodded.
He opened the door and my vision turned a shadowy dark green. Guzelköy became just a dark silhouette.
“Put a hand on my shoulder if you need to,” the game-maker said.
“I’m ok.” Following Guzelköy’s dark form out onto the fire-gym’s huge floor, I could barely make out any details. The observation pods were dark shadows near the ceiling.
“Stand here.” Guzelköy stopped and turned, putting his hands on my upper arms to guide me to the precise spot. “Davazlar will begin the game in a few seconds. I’m just here to escort you safely to your starting block. I’ll leave you now. All good?”
“All good.”
“Bonne chance, Ms. Cagney.” The sound of Guzelköy’s foot falls receded.
A few moments later, the scene of a clearing in a jungle opened before me.
A bright, sunny sky arched overhead. Hard, penetrating daylight illuminated thick foliage. Vines looped and drooped through the canopy. Impossibly bright butterflies flitted from fantasy foxglove blossoms as long as my arm to bobbing daisy heads and butter yellow coneflowers. Whistles and caws of jungle birds and the buzz of insects provided a rich soundscape.
Before me, sitting chest-deep in ferns was a little boy with messy black hair. His posture was stooped and little neck bent as he looked into his lap at something I couldn’t see. He sniffed and rubbed his nose. He hadn’t noticed me.
“Hi, there.” I took a step toward him, parting the ferns with my legs.
The child looked up, startled, then scrambled to his feet. He had something in his hand but put it behind his back before I could make out what it was.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” I took another step.
Now that most of his body was out of the ferns, I could see his details. He was naked except for a loincloth. Skinny, dirty, maybe six years old. He looked up at me with eyes a little too big for his face. They were the color of cinnamon bark.
“Can you help me?” he asked, still keeping his hands behind him and staring at me fearfully. His wide eyes gave a computer-generated glimmer of unshed tears.
“I think I’m supposed to.” I took another step. “I’m Saxony.”
“I like your name,” he said. “Saxony.”
“Thank you. Do you have a name?”
The child—in a move so realistic it made my heart turn over—rubbed a hand under his nose and sniffed again. The other hand remained behind his back. “Everyone has a name. Mine is Kanvar.”
“Nice to meet you. What have you got behind your back, Kanvar?”
The boy reluctantly brought it forward, revealing a stick with five shallow, unfinished holes bored into its side. “It’s my toy, but I broke it.”
I reached for it, but Kanvar pulled it back, squinting at me with mistrust. “I’ll only let you play with it if you agree to help me fix it. When it’s fixed, it makes music.”
I was at a loss to see how this stick would ever make music. The holes weren’t deep enough or large enough to make the stick a flute or even one of those cheap wooden recorders, but this was a game, so… “Okay, how do we fix it?”
He pointed a grubby finger at the half-finished holes. “Things go here. I’ve lost them.”
“Where did you lose them?”
“In there.” He turned and pointed.
Like lights coming up in a Broadway play, the face of a temple ruin emerged from the undergrowth. Crumbling stone steps, broken pillars, the roots of massive trees entangled the old bones of the building, well along in the process of swallowing it completely.
Beneath a pillar that had fallen to rest on the side of its still-standing neighbor was a dark, triangular hole. The only visible way in.
I walked forward for a better look. The VR background swung around along with my vision, pixilating a little before resolving into perfect smooth detail again. I headed for the entrance, then paused, looking back at the kid.
“Are you coming?”
A frightened gleam passed over one of those big brown eyes and he winced. “Kanvar is afraid of the dark.”
I smiled. Not just because he’d referred to himself in the third person, but because his phobia reminded me of Gage. My heart gave an ache of longing. I wished that he would be waiting for me when I got out of this game.
Kanvar gave a
nother of his patented sniffs. “Be careful in there.”
“Thanks, little buddy.” I ducked to pass through the small opening.
Inside, was a circular, dome-shaped room. The ceiling was cracked in places, broken up by plant-life and time. Tree roots protruded, winding their way around the stones and choking the windows. The distant call of birds came in from outside. Shafts of light penetrated here and there, lighting what was obviously the first challenge of the quest.
Angular blocks of stone sat throughout the room, the tallest of which came up to my waist. I counted twelve all together, positioned around the perimeter like the numbers of a crooked clock. The top of each block came to a sharp angle, but each angle was unique. Each block had been draped with a piece of canvas. The canvas didn’t touch the floor, only covered the top half of the block. The base of each block was a perfect circle. What looked like purple felt had been stuck to each bottom. They were like modern chess pieces, but too similar to function properly for a game, plus there weren’t enough for a game of chess, and no checkerboard pattern on the floor.
The floor was perfectly smooth and shone like a brand new, stainless-steel countertop. It didn’t go with the temple ruin atmosphere at all, it was too modern, almost space-age.
As I looked down, my own reflection looked up at me. When I reached the center of the room, I rotated in a slow circle, studying the set up and trying to figure out what the task was.
An electronic sound drew my attention to the wall, where between the trunks of two gnarled roots was a recessed shelf. Coming closer, I saw that a small box sat in the shelf, but when I reached out to take it, another electronic sound told me that I didn’t have the right to take the box. At least, not yet.
Just above the cubby was a curious round button or panel. It was the size of the face of a large wristwatch, and it had concentric circles leading to a central point. It looked like a bullseye with a strange shimmery quality.
Continuing my turn about, I noticed another strange feature directly across from the box in the wall. Outside the ring of blocks with canvas coverings was something I recognized easily. It was a spindle for quenching or pitch.
