by Kirk Zurosky
“Welcome, Master of Masters,” one of the black dogs growled in perfect English, and they both drew back on their haunches. “You may pass, and our canine sister too. But the vampire assassin may not enter.”
“Ah yes,” Hedley said. “I nearly forgot.” From a pouch, he took out another gold pin, this one in the shape of a shield, and pinned it on my cloak next to the book-shaped one.
“Welcome, Sirius Sinister, Instructor in Immortal Self-Defense,” the other black dog yelped. “You may pass, and may you avoid the belly of the beast.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I will certainly try to not end up like the last instructor.”
“A dragon is the least of your worries, Sirius Sinister,” the first dog barked, as the two guardians settled back on their books. “Beasts come in many different forms.”
“Right,” I said, looking to Hedley. “Cheery chaps. Shall I meet my fellow instructors now?”
Hedley was staring bemusedly at the dogs. “Interesting,” he said to himself.
“Yeah, I kind of figured my fellow instructors would be,” I said.
“Indeed,” Hedley replied, patting the dogs on their heads.
He reached forward and pulled at the great round door, which opened with a shrill creak from its hinges. We walked into a room and traversed the hard stone of the hallway to a rug so thick and plush it felt like I was walking on the cushiony fallen needles of an ancient primordial forest. Wood beams braced a multicolored stone ceiling that tilted up at odd angles, giving it the appearance of a prism. Long tapestries adorned the walls, each showing a different creature of the immortal races. A warm fire roared in the hearth of a fireplace that took up much of one wall. Seated at a simple round wooden table, sipping from large wine goblets, were the instructors of the College of Immortals. And all the eyes in the room were trained on yours truly, which, having been to Hell and back (twice), did not remotely unnerve me.
“Hello, everyone,” I said, meeting each gaze in turn. Garlic yelped a greeting as well, and was equally stared at by the academics.
Hedley quickly jumped in to save the day and eliminate the awkward silence now pervading the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Sirius Sinister, our new instructor in immortal self-defense, replacing dear Richard Puttsworth, who, God rest his merry soul, met that most unfortunate end at the hands of a dragon while playing a bit of golf on the Old Course at Saint Andrews.”
“Guess that will teach ’em to let the scaly bloke play through next time,” said a leprechaun seated in a high wooden chair with his feet propped up in the remnants of his dinner. He preceded to burst into laughter at his own joke, ignoring the angry glare of a rather plain-looking faerie in a simple black dress with a high collar buttoned up to her neck, dabbing at her eye with a kerchief.
“Patrick, my good man,” said a balding troll with a long black beard, seated next to the faerie. “Was that really necessary? You know that the Professor here gets very upset when you talk like that about Richard.”
“Aye,” Patrick said. “You are right, Arthur. My apologies, dear Professor.”
“Thank you, Patrick, for your sentiment,” the Professor sniffed. Her voice was trembling with emotion, but at least the tears had stopped flowing. I noticed everyone in the room was relieved she had stopped crying—except for Patrick. He had a noticeably evil glint in his eye as he stared creepily at the Professor.
“Was a dear shame about ole Richard,” he said, pausing for dramatic effect. “Got nibbled using his niblick!” And he burst into laughter once again, this time falling off the chair and onto the floor, rolling from side to side as he clutched his belly. The Professor began crying again, and the balding troll handed her his kerchief, which she blew into so loudly her nose honked rather unattractively, which in turn awoke a female brownie seated across from her, who jumped up and promptly dumped her tiny teacup into the lap of the werewolf sitting next to her. He made a strange shrill sound that could not possibly have come out of a male werewolf, but did. One of his flailing arms knocked the brownie over, sending her sliding down the table to crash face-first into the dinner plates of a grotesque-looking goblin and a stunningly beautiful lady elf, who had not stopped eating at my entrance or during the antics that had transpired since.
Hedley put his head into his hands and turned to me. “I assure you, Sirius, that all my staff are experts in the subjects they teach. You will have to forgive Patrick. He and Richard were really good friends, and this is his odd way of dealing with grief.”
“And whiskey helps too!” Patrick shouted from the floor. “Don’t forget the whiskey!”
“And whiskey,” Hedley echoed. “Now then, some formal introductions are in order.” He pointed to the leprechaun. “Patrick O’Clery is our instructor in economics and world trade.”
Patrick reached into his pocket and took a long pull from a fancy silver flask, then belched so loudly that a small green cloud came from his mouth. “Sinister,” he said with a nod. “I can’t say it is nice to meet you.” He rolled to his feet and left the lounge.
Hedley let him go with nary a word. “The Professor here teaches world history, focusing on the history of science through the ages.”
The faerie was easily the most plain-looking of her kind that I had ever seen. Typically faerie women are as breathtakingly exotic as the Thief in the mountains, but the Professor was nothing but vanilla. Vanilla in a black dress that was better suited for a corpse twice her size. She wore her mop of black tresses tied in a loose bun on top of her head with strands shooting out of it in every direction, giving the impression she was wearing a toy poodle on her head—and an ill-groomed one at that. She extended her hand limply, and I took it in my own, shaking it politely. “Professor,” I said with a smile that was not returned. Her skin was not soft or rough, and her touch not warm or cold. The Professor was simply boredom personified.
The balding troll with the beard had stood up and extended a hand to me. “Arthur von Doyle,” he said, “engineering, architecture, and all similarly related studies.”
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” I said. He looked nothing like Oliver, who was tall, dark, muscular, and ruggedly handsome. Arthur was white, short, and wide, resembling a pale, blobby toad with a black beard and big expressionless eyes. By now the werewolf, brownie, goblin, and elf had come around from the other side of the table at Hedley’s request. The werewolf was muttering apology after apology to the brownie for knocking her over, and he looked like he was about to cry. The brownie did not seem bothered in the least.
The werewolf did cry when he saw the tea stain on his crisp white lab coat, and stepped in front of the others. “I am Hopkins Scott, instructor in the physical sciences,” he said, extending a hand. He was smaller than Harvis and Angus, and every other werewolf I had met in my lifetime. I decided Hopkins was the runt of his particular litter, and that even Cornelia could make quick work of him in a fight. Perhaps it was all the time he spent in the laboratory?
“Nice to meet you, Hopkins,” I said. He leaned in and sniffed the air around me, finally staring down at Garlic. “Odd, I smell my kind on you,” he said. “But I know you are pure vampire, and the canine one is vampire too. What is this mystery? Would you consent to a blood test? Or an experiment or two?”
“My daughters are half vampire and half werewolf,” I said. “That is what you probably picked up on. I just hugged one of them a few hours ago.” There was a strange look in Hopkins’s eyes as if he was still contemplating testing my blood.
“Oh yes, quite,” Hopkins said, standing off to the side. “That must be what it is.”
Hopkins ushered the brownie forward, pulling random pieces of food off her golden hat as he did so. “Sirius, let me introduce you to our instructor in mathematics, Miss Sop.” Miss Sop merely waved, pulling her hat even farther down over her mousy brown hair. She was three feet tall at best, with long brown wings that e
xtended from her back. My previous experience with winged beauties in the form of Knowledge and Wisdom had surely spoiled me for all such creatures. But Miss Sop seemed very nice all the same.
“Why do I have to wait for all these cretins before you introduce me, Hedley?” the goblin spouted angrily. “Don’t you know who I am? I have things to do, people to see, classes to teach to these young immortal imbeciles.”
Apparently, the goblin’s personality matched his looks. He had a cruel face with a nose that looked like it had been punched one too many times, and with his attitude, that was certainly a possibility. His teeth were black and jagged, and his skin was the color of iron. I could practically smell his fetid breath from where I stood. His wrinkled shirt was covered in the stains of his last several meals, and it was stuffed down into breeches that failed to contain his overflowing belly. He sure needed a class in manners and, judging by the amount of hair coming out of his nose and ears, also a good pair of tweezers.
Hedley was not amused. “Sirius, this is Templeton Braddock.”
“World cultures,” Braddock said.
“You don’t say,” I replied. “You teach culture?”
“Yeah, I have forgotten more things in this amazing brain of mine than most people could ever hope to learn,” he said proudly, picking his nose and examining the results for all posterity.
“All right then, a goblin that is cultured—”
“Easy now, blood boy,” he sneered. “From what I have heard, you have almost been dead so often that it is just a matter of time before you are quite dead, and are replaced. Teaching immortals how to protect themselves—oh, that is so glamorous!”
All the while this had been going on, my eyes had been trained on the beautiful elf to the goblin’s side. In fact, it was all that had kept me from depositing my fist firmly into the face of the pompous buffoon. Well, that and the sheer multitude of pustules that dotted his face. But the elf was as gorgeous as he was hideous. Long flowing blonde hair, big blue eyes so soft and full of that come hither look, and a lean, athletic, tan body honed no doubt from years of forestry that gave me wood. I had a thing for elves, especially elf twins. Did she have a sister? I wondered what she taught, and turned to Hedley to finish the introductions, but Braddock took over.
“Meet Breeze, our instructor in world languages. She is also is my wife.” He leered. “So hands off, got it?” She nodded at me slightly, whispering something softly to me in a language I did not understand. He smacked her on the rear end with one grimy paw. “Let’s go, my little gâteau,” he said. “I got a lesson to prepare, and you need to help me with my piles treatments.” She followed him obediently, and they headed for the door. My eyes followed her frame and met a coy glance from Breeze as she turned and winked at me. The rest of the faculty followed them out, leaving just me, Hedley, and Garlic in the room.
“Ah, here it is,” Hedley said, placing on the table a strange clock that had an unusual amount of gears poking out of it. The face was made of pure gold and had numerals embossed on it that glinted like diamonds, and hands of spun glass, whirring around at breakneck speed. “Miss Sop is always putting things away in here. Likes order, she says, likes things to be in their proper place, she says. I say leave my things alone!”
“Well, it looks like you need to get your clock fixed, Hedley,” I replied, still fascinated by his strange timekeeping device.
“Why?” he shrugged. “It is not broken. Oh right, somehow I forgot to mention one thing to you about the College of Immortals. When you are within these hallowed halls, time stands fairly still compared to the outside world.”
“Like the Chamber of the Master of Masters in the Laurentian?”
“Yes, quite!” Hedley replied.
“Well, I get why the chamber in Florence had that feature,” I said. “I sure needed a lot of study time with Knowledge to make me the ultimate Renaissance man. So what time is it in the outside world?”
“It’s October 1, 1714,” Hedley replied. “Oh, that reminds me, I think your Maria should be along pretty soon now. Oh, look at the time—don’t you have a class to teach?”
I rushed out of the faculty lounge, still not having the remotest clue of what I was going to teach the students, but excited that I would soon be seeing Maria. A stroke of luck had me passing the college armory, and the snapping turtle guardian statue seeing my pin, let me pass. If I was going to teach immortal defense, I at least was going to look the part. Quickly, I armed myself to the teeth, adding a pistol to each hip, a throwing dagger in each boot, and a broadsword sheathed in a beautiful black dragon leather scabbard, which fit perfectly across my back. On my way out, I recognized some small, round thunder crash bombs and grabbed them as well. As long as I didn’t drop them, they might make an impressive lecture subject.
Time was short, and I ducked out of the armory with Garlic running along beside me and every now and again looking to me for assurance that we were headed in the right direction. The pin on my cloak glowed brighter and brighter, and I knew my classroom was not far-off. I wished with all my heart that I had Knowledge here to help me teach, and perhaps go over a few theories in the bedroom afterward. But as I walked up to a classroom brimming with young, immortal enthusiasm and the stink of pheromones, I was completely unprepared, and the only knowledge that was going to help me was my own.
I entered the classroom to a din of noise. From the center lectern, seats circled around on several raised levels, giving me the impression of the great Colosseum in Rome, except in this case the young lions and lionesses were in the stands. The Colosseum had claimed many a well-armed combatant. But here in my classroom, I had no manuscripts, no lab coat, no lesson plan, or even a book to defend myself. It was me versus them. And they were hungry for my brain, well, actually hungry for what knowledge my brain contained. Most of them anyway. I spotted Martin’s sneering face in the front row, his female companions by his side. He winked and gave me a thumbs-down. To his right sat the flirtatious faeries from earlier who crossed and uncrossed their legs, giving me a view of what they were willing to do to pass my class.
I took the broadsword from my back and unsheathed it in one quick motion, its fine silver blade catching the light from outside and sparkling mysteriously. It was light in my hand and reminded me of the lost Blade of Truth. The class instantly grew silent. I resheathed the sword and placed it on the lectern. It was not the Blade of Truth, but it sure had acted as the blade of silence.
“Now how does one teach immortal defense?” I said to myself, and perhaps a little louder than I had intended, for there was a flurry of movement from the students and one hundred notebooks rippled open, and the soft scratch of quill on paper filled the room. I was relieved to see my werepires were not in this class, and remembered that Hedley had promised me that I would not have them as students—something about maintaining the sanctity of the grading process without raising the evil specter of nepotism.
But seeing Martin’s leer was bad enough. Perhaps for the first lesson of the class, I would punch him in the face and then spout eloquently about not leering at persons physically your superior. But I never followed that rule myself, so at the very least I was going to be true to my experiences. Then it hit me! That was it! My experiences were what made me qualified to teach these young immortal pups to survive and grow to be proper members of immortal society.
“I am going to talk about very specific things to avoid in this great world of ours as the class goes on,” I said to my students. “Like don’t insult a male faerie in public after you have had way too much wine.” The girl faeries nodded knowingly and smiled. “Or that the deadliest part of a chimera is its snake head of a tail.” More writing. “But today I am going to talk about the single biggest danger to each and every one of you as you go out into the world to make your fortune. Would anyone like to wager a guess as to what that is?”
“Goblins,” a male goblin called out
from the back row.
“No, not even close,” I said. “Another guess?”
“Hellhounds!” said a young, perky elf. “It has to be hellhounds. My dear Uncle Greenie almost lost his head in such an attack.”
“Nope, not hellhounds,” I said. “They usually just stay in the Underworld, aside from one little skirmish at Immortal Divorce Court.”
“What is Immortal Divorce Court?” There was a collective shudder from those who knew what happened at that accursed place. I could not blame them for that.
“Immortal Divorce Court,” I said, staring right into Martin’s smiling face. “Bad things happen there. But that is a subject for another day, and truly a place that you want to avoid if ever possible. Was your Uncle Greenie at the IDC that day? I seem to remember an elvish chap trying to flee as the hellhounds closed in.”
“He said he was just visiting Immortal Divorce Court,” the elf said.
“Indeed,” I said. I could not blame Uncle Greenie for spinning that yarn. “But no one just visits Immortal Divorce Court.”
“You have seen a hellhound?” another student asked.
“Oh yes,” I said. “And Cerberus himself.” Garlic barked in acknowledgement of this fact, then rolled into a ball next to the lectern, and settled in for a nap.
“Right, like you have been to the Underworld.” Martin said, looking to the students for support.
