by Guy Antibes
“I am Norna Hawkal,” the girl said holding out her hand.
Sam took it. “Sam Smith from Toraltia,”
“I thought you looked a bit different. You sure have been around the world.”
“I came from Baskin. It was a long voyage, and sometimes there wasn’t a lot to do,” he said.
“Why Tolloy University?” she asked.
“I had some troubles and had to leave Toraltia. My Vaarekian teacher was from Tolloy, and she suggested that I come here.”
“I’m not sure your timing is very good. Polistia is unstable.” She looked around to see if anyone was listening.
“Trakata certainly is,” Sam said. “The port of Pundia is a mess.”
“I heard,” Norna said.
Their conversation lapsed into silence when the two instructors walked up to them.
“One more sparring match each with Professor Drak. I want to observe your work without having to dodge your attacks. You,” he turned to Sam, “will use a practice blade when you spar with Professor Drak.”
“Ladies first,” Grott said.
“Practice blades?” Norna asked.
Grott shrugged. “No.”
Sam watched along with the rest of the students. Norna’s style didn’t change. She was fast, but Drak used an overpowering style that wasn’t like Grott’s so that she couldn’t use her speed to advantage. Drak finally knocked the sword out of her hand. Grott never tried.
“Which style, Smith?” Grott asked.
“Baskin brawling,” Sam said.
Grott nodded, smiling. “I thought you might. I’ll be interested in seeing what you can do.”
Drak tried to use the first style Grott had shown when he fought the girl. Sam had to concentrate to match Drak’s speed, but then his advisor switched to the heavy style he had used on the girl the second time. Sam had fought many constables who used much the same technique, and with the strength Sam had gained on the voyage, he reverted to the Lashak style, which allowed his speed to open up Drak to many touches. Sam finally chose a particularly major mistake to lay the flat of his practice sword on Drak’s neck.
He strongly suspected that Drak hadn’t been trying his hardest. The bout was too easy for Sam.
Grott clapped and encouraged the students to do the same.
“Did you see him switch styles in response to Professor Drak’s attacks? That comes with practice and with application.” Grott looked at Sam. “You’ve fought for real before.”
Sam nodded. “I have.”
“Something for the rest of you to think about. Go to the registrar and tell them what Level you are, and we will see if your schedules will allow you a place in my classes. Level Fours start first thing in the morning before regular classes start.”
“The girl and Smith stay behind, if you please,” Grott said. He looked at Norna. “Your name?” She gave it to him. “A Trakatan, eh?”
“I am,” she said looking at Sam with a half-grin.
Drak stood behind the pair while Grott narrowed his eyes.
“Observations?”
Sam nodded to Norna. “You were playing with us.”
Grott and Drak laughed. “Of course. Did you think you would come in here and defeat the master and his friend?”
“No, but I was embarrassed,” Norna said, turning back to look at Drak. “I thought he would be using a more sophisticated style.”
“So you could use your speed to cut him to ribbons? Hardly a tactic to use in the dueling circle, Hawkal.” Grott turned to Sam. “And you?”
Sam shrugged. “I’ve been beaten regularly by more experienced men. I’m used to it. I just do my best to react to what I’m given.”
Grott snapped his fingers. “Something that you will learn, Hawkal. Sam is a practical swordsman. He has the instincts to adapt if something isn’t working, and then he reaches into his bag of tricks and uses another style. Few eighteen-year-olds have that ability.”
“Sixteen, barely.” Sam had meant to say nearly, but he let his mistake slide.
“Really?” Grott said. “There you go, Hawkal.”
“Am I banished to Level Two?” she asked. “I can’t compete with an adaptable Toraltian.” She looked at Sam with anger.
“Heaven’s no! You are here to learn. That is why you will be attending my class. If you didn’t have anything to learn, I would find you an agent to seek bookings in dueling circles.”
“Both of you easily set yourselves apart from the others. Something to feel good about, but when you practice with other Level Ones, the feeling won’t last for long.”
Sam knew all about that. He expected he’d be a Two or a Three had he not taken the voyage. He was more than satisfied with his performance.
Grott dismissed them, giving them notes to take to the registrar. Evidently, Level One students got special advantages with their class scheduling. Sam didn’t know how he could change his own, but he was sure his situation wasn’t the first.
Drak caught up with him as he walked toward the administration building where Professor Drak had his office.
“I hadn’t expected potential from a Toraltian,” he said.
Sam didn’t think the man knew he had insulted all Toraltians, but he ignored the implication. “I had a lot of practice and tutoring from many good swordsmen, and I usually practiced with people better than I.”
“I could see. You are better than mediocre in any population of swordsmen. Lots of potential, Grott said. I could hardly believe it when you changed styles. Few of his students ever learn to do that because most students in Vaarek use the same style. They wouldn’t think to learn different techniques.”
“I ran into that at the Baskin Constabulary. My fellow apprentices all wanted to duel, and I learned to be more natural—”
“Baskin brawl?” Drak even smiled.
Sam shrugged. “I don’t know what it is, if the style is anything. It is entirely reactionary. I used it all the time on the constables I sparred with. I had to, or I’d be pummeled in no time. I was routinely beaten and bruised as it was.”
Drak nodded. “Good. Don’t be surprised if Professor Grott has you teaching it to his other Level Ones, but it isn’t suitable for the dueling ring. It is too undisciplined. You’ll find out.”
“It isn’t a style; it is an attitude,” Sam said. “So is the Lashak style. That one even has its own philosophy of forms.”
“I can see why Grott didn’t have you use that sword. I left so many opportunities for you, had you taken advantage of them, I could have been killed.”
Sam smiled. “I know. We both left a lot of openings on the floor of the practice hall.”
“I thought so,” Drak said. “Let’s work out your classes, so you can attend Professor Grott’s Level One class.”
~
Although Sam moved into his room, Professor Plunk let him keep a room in the house, so Sam took only what he needed, plus the sculpture by Tru. At least his brother had given him a small one that didn’t take up much space.
Drak had given Sam permission to use the athlete’s commissary. Sam didn’t realize that he needed approval, but Drak said the food was more plentiful and much better than what they served in the central commissary, but for a variety of Vaarekian cuisine, he suggested the main cafeteria needed sampling.
Everyone seemed older than Sam, and he had to admit that intimidated him a bit. He sat down for his first meal, lunch. Norna Hawkal sat down across from him.
“A little perk for being shown up by Professor Grott,” she said. She ate in silence for a bit before lifting her head. “I wanted to apologize to you for what I said during the sorting. I was angry, and actually, I was impressed by an adaptable Toraltian, but didn’t say it the right way.”
“I’m sorry I called Trakata a mess.”
She smiled. “Actually you called Pundia a mess, and that is well-known. I am surprised you made it out of the port.”
“It was one of the places where I got to practice my swordsma
nship,” Sam said. “How are you settling in at the university, being a foreigner like me?”
“I was hauled away by Vaarekian spooks who scared me to death. I thought I was going to be executed for being a Trakatan,” she said.
Sam actually felt relieved. “It happened to me, as well. I had no idea where I was in the city when they pushed me out the door. I’m glad to know I wasn’t singled out.”
“But you were singled out,” Norna said.
“I mean I wasn’t the only one. One could guess they do the same for all foreigners.”
Norna shrugged. “What are you going to study?”
“History and Mechanical Science,” Sam said. “I am lodging with a professor who teaches pollen, so I’ll get some tutoring from him.”
“Can’t learn too much about that. My First is in Pollen Science and my Second is in Agriculture. I’m a bit of a farm girl. I am in my second year, but this year I finally got the nerve to try out for the dueling team.”
“I guess I’m more of a city boy. My father is a blacksmith.”
“How did a blacksmith’s son get all the way from Toraltia to Vaarek?”
Sam took a sip of water. “I was an apprentice constable in Baskin, Toraltia’s capital, and ran afoul of some nobles, so I found myself banished. I had a Vaarekian language tutor who had some items to deliver in Tolloy, so, without having anything better to do, here I am. I’ve learned a lot on my travels.”
“That isn’t my story at all. The University of Tolloy has the best agriculture department on Polistia. My father insisted I attend. I like playing with pollen better.”
“So, where did you pick up swordsmanship?”
“Three brothers. They love to duel, and I’m a bit of a tomboy, so I eagerly participate.” She smiled ruefully. “Honestly, after being so easily handled by Professors Drak and Grott, I am questioning my decision to join the dueling team.”
“Can your brothers beat the professors?”
Norna snorted. “Of course not! The professors are both experts.”
“Then what is there to be ashamed of? They are going to teach you to be like them. I wouldn’t question your decision. Just do your best.”
“Is that what you are going to do?” Norna said, putting a forkful of food in her mouth.
“Sure, but I don’t have any desire to be on a dueling team. I just want to become better.”
“I think Professor Grott will have other ideas. That’s why we are eating with the athletes because that’s what we are, like it or not.”
Sam chuckled to himself. He had never thought of himself as an athlete, but here he sat. He guessed he would learn to like it as long as it didn’t pull him from gaining an advanced education. Graduates of the University of Baskin seemed to have more polish, and that included, oddly enough, Dickey Nail. Sam thought of Hander Pot, the noble that ran Red Marine Shipping in Baskin. He had gone to the university and had plenty of polish. Sam thought it might not be a bad thing for a blacksmith’s son to get some.
Chapter Four
~
P rofessor Drak didn’t make Sam wait. “Come in, Sam,” he said. “We will have to move a few classes around to open up a time for your dueling class.”
“What about my ‘mediocre’ swordsmanship rating?” Sam asked.
Drak made a dismissive face. “Don’t worry about that.” He examined a few printed pages and referred to a third. “Are you a good student?”
“Better than mediocre,” Sam said.
“Our beloved dictator has requested the university to create an accelerated program which would lead to a faster degree to get his prospective officers into the field more quickly. No breaks, so the coursework will be harder. Would you like to try?”
Sam thought for a bit. “Will I get indoctrinated?”
“A little in some of the history classes, but not so much in Mechanical Sciences. I believe Pollen Sciences have changed their curriculum the most to accommodate the government.”
“What do you teach, Professor Drak? Has there been much manipulation of your area?”
“Manipulation is a forbidden word, Smith. I teach literature, Vaarekian Literature, and I don’t recommend it since you are from a different culture. Our artistic literature is built on nuances and allusions that you might not pick up. You don’t seem the type anyway.”
Sam didn’t know what the ‘type’ was, but he felt that Drak would deal with him more honestly, knowing they were both sword enthusiasts.
The office lapsed into silence while Drak worked on coming up with a new schedule for Sam. “There,” he finally said, signing two schedules. “Most of your classes have been changed. I’m glad Grott decided to slot the new members before the term started rather than after. Students have to make a substantial investment in books and materials, and it changes from class to class. You won’t have to worry about that, since we had made the changes before you started. You are now embarking on a two-year program, rather than the four to six-year program we generally teach. There will be no Midwinter or Midsummer breaks for you.”
That was fine with Sam, since he had no family to drag down his studies.
“If you are doing well with your dueling, you can take up post-graduation studies to stay on the team,” Drak said. “Now it is time for you to go.”
Sam didn’t mind being kicked out of Drak’s office. He was eager to show his new program to Professor Plunk to see what kind of mess Drak had talked him into.
He had to wait an hour for Plantian to return from counseling his own set of students.
“So?” the professor asked.
“I’m in an accelerated program. It fit into my dueling schedule better.”
“Dueling? What Level?”
“One,” Sam said.
Professor Plunk held out his hand for Sam’s schedule. He read it over a couple of times as they moved into the sitting room. “Challenging,” he said. “I think you are smart enough and active enough to pursue this program. The problem with it is, if you are waiting to figure out where you want to settle, you will graduate earlier and be forced to make a decision sooner than you might have to otherwise.”
Sam had thought of that on the way from Professor Drak’s office. “There are post-graduate classes if I’m undecided.” Sam didn’t mention that the political situation might make all decisions moot.
Plantian looked at the schedule again and pointed to various classes with his finger, muttering something to himself. “I have a select group of friends at the university. I think they can help with some of these classes. I see that Drak has inserted himself into one of your required courses for your first term.”
“He has?”
“He has. History of Vaarekian Literature. It is a rigorous course, much more than the title indicates. It is part of your First, you know.”
Drak had misled Sam, it seemed. He wondered what other surprises his advisor had in store during his time at the university.
“Most of your classes are post-graduate level after an accelerated introduction. You weren’t intending on courting a girl or taking up a non-scholastic hobby?”
“Dueling,” Sam said. “It is the only way I can use the commissary close to my dorm.”
“Drak’s doing, I’m sure. He and Grott are single-minded on their dueling teams.” Plantian tossed the schedule on the table. “Books will be very expensive for these courses, since they are so comprehensive.”
“I can afford it. I have tomorrow off, don’t I?”
The professor nodded. “Other than buying robes and caps? Plan on doing anything special?”
“Filling up my bank account. I have a letter of credit to open.”
“Two. Antina Mulch sent one to me with her cargo. I will go with you, and we can get them both put into your account, but I don’t see a reason why we can’t do that right now. The most solid bank in Tolloy is around the corner.”
“Antina doesn’t owe me anything.”
“Yes, she does. You brought her your bro
ther, who is contributing as much to her income as she is, and you provided her with some excitement that she otherwise wouldn’t get to experience, and you are to be the recipient of twenty-five percent of the profits from the goods sold at the Grand Market.” Plantian raised his finger. “You must accept, or I will cast you out of my house.”
Sam was going to contradict him, but he would have to accept what she sent him. Sam wouldn’t have another chance at accumulating resources until he used his last letter of credit, which he wanted to save to use wherever he ended up settling down.
“Can we go now?”
Plantian nodded. “Emmy needs some more scraps, anyway,” the professor said. “I like your dog. She was one of Banna’s right?”
Sam smiled. “She was. We co-owned Emmy on the voyage.”
“With all of her hard-headedness and hard-heartedness, those three Great Sanchians somehow wheedled their way into her heart.”
Sam put himself in the same category as the dogs, which in an odd way, made him feel better. He had done nothing intentional to wheedle his way into Banna’s heart, but it had happened nevertheless.
They walked down a long street and turned the corner to a wide thoroughfare with commercial buildings lining both sides.
The professor stopped at the Bank of Zogaz. “Here it is. The safest place to bank in Tolloy at the present time.”
“Are you worried someone might impound a Vaarekian bank’s deposits?”
Plantian made sure no one was in hearing distance. “Quite right. It will happen, maybe not today or next year, but it will happen.”
“Very well,” Sam said.
He took a deep breath and walked up the steps and into a different world. Gone were the cold stone walls and floors. The inside was lined with polished wood, which reminded him of Toraltia, along with carpeted floors woven in a very colorful pattern.
