Once In a Blue Moon (5 page)

•   •   •

H
awk and Fisher were heading unhurriedly down the long, curving corridor that led to the Alchemist’s laboratory, when there was a sudden and very loud explosion. The floor shook ever so lightly beneath their feet, and the door to the laboratory was blown clean off its hinges, flying across the corridor to slam up against the far wall, while black smoke billowed out through the open doorway. Followed by howls, screams, and quite a lot of really bad language. The Alchemist didn’t take failure well. The black smoke smelled really bad, and dark cinders bobbed and floated on the air. Hawk breathed in a lungful of the smoke before he could stop himself, and for a moment wee-winged bright pink fairies went flying round and round his head, singing in high-pitched voices a very suggestive song about someone called Singapore Nell. Hawk shook his head firmly, and the pink fairies disappeared, one by one. The last one winked, and blew him a kiss.

The fairies might actually have been there, temporarily. The Alchemist could do amazing things with unstable compounds.

“I see our Alchemist is still hard at work,” Fisher said solemnly, batting at the black smoke with one hand as it curled slowly on the air, before being quickly sucked out the open corridor window. The Tree could look after itself, though the Alchemist tried its patience more than most. “Is he still trying to turn lead into gold? I keep telling him, if gold becomes as common as lead, it won’t be worth anymore than lead; but he won’t listen to me. I think it’s all about the thrill of the chase, myself.”

“A surprisingly good cook, though,” said Hawk. “I suppose all that messing about with potions gives you a feeling for combining the right ingredients . . . Is he still banned from the Tree’s kitchens?”

“Damn right he is,” said Fisher. “That macaroni pie of his had me trapped in the jakes for hours.”

“It was very tasty,” said Hawk.

“Strangely, that didn’t make me feel any better,” said Fisher.

“It cured your hiccups.”

“Only because I was scared to.”

Hawk sniffed deeply at the last evaporating swirls of black smoke. “I smell . . . brimstone, mandrake, and . . . is that cardamom? That mean anything to you?”

“It means we’re going to have to have another hard word with him,” said Fisher. “I don’t mind him blowing his lab up, because the Tree always absorbs the damage, and clears up after him, and the Alchemist always bounces back . . . but it does take a lot out of the students.”

“He doesn’t blow things up nearly as much as he used to,” said Hawk. “And it does do wonders for the students’ reflexes. They can duck and cover and jump out a window faster than anyone else in the Academy.”

“But when he does go wrong, it all goes very wrong,” Fisher said sternly. “And parents really don’t take kindly to having their loved ones sent home in a closed casket because we couldn’t find all the pieces.”

“You’re exaggerating now,” said Hawk.

“Only just!”

“All right, all right. We’ll pop in just long enough to put the hard word on him. But only because I hate having to write letters of apology to students’ next of kin.”

•   •   •

T
he Alchemist wasn’t in any mood to be lectured. So Hawk knocked him down and sat on him, while Fisher lectured him very sternly until he agreed that they were right and he was wrong, and would they please let him up now as he still had some fires to put out.

•   •   •

H
awk and Fisher walked on through the long, curving wooden corridors, going up and down stairs as the mood took them, peering into any room that attracted their attention, and even a few that were trying really hard not to. All the Tree’s ceilings were marvellously smooth and polished, even though no one ever polished or waxed them. The Tree looked after itself. Whoever originally carved out the interior of the Millennium Oak had done an excellent job. Current scientific theory was that the Tree allowed it to happen, and probably even cooperated in the process, on the grounds that it was hard to conceive of anyone powerful enough to enforce their will upon the Millennium Oak. Various sorcerers had tried, in very small ways, because some sorcerers just couldn’t resist a challenge, and usually ended up with headaches that lasted for days. One had been heard to wail plaintively,
Dammit, the Tree’s realer than we are!
Before someone led him away for a nice lie-down with a damp cloth over his eyes. The latest thinking was that the Tree had allowed its hollowing-out because it was lonely and wanted to be occupied, for the company. A theory that was really disturbing only if you thought about it too much, so most people tried very hard not to.

Many people had lived inside the Millennium Oak, and used it for many purposes, down through the years. The Tree didn’t discriminate. The original Hawk and Fisher found the Tree deserted and abandoned, and just moved in. The Tree must have approved of them, because nobody stays for long inside the Tree if it doesn’t approve of them. They either depart at great speed, or they don’t leave at all and no one ever sees them again. The one thing that everyone agrees on is that the Tree is quite definitely awake and aware, in its own ancient woody way. A few deeply mystical types have claimed to be able to talk with the Tree, but only after ingesting truly heroic portions of the local mushrooms.

The original Hawk and Fisher founded their Hero Academy with a cellar full of treasure they’d brought with them from the Forest Kingdom. Presumably stolen. There was still more than enough left to keep the Academy going, even after all these years, added to by very generous donations from grateful alumni. Presumably tribute. The original Hawk always said it was vital that the students got everything they needed to help them develop their various talents, irregardless of their previous backgrounds. The original Fisher said he only said that so he could use the word
irregardless
.

The warrior students looked down on the magic students, who looked down on the alchemy students, who looked down on the political students, who looked down on everyone else. All the Hawks and Fishers encouraged healthy rivalry, whilst at the same time coming down hard on anyone who descended into bullying. Which very thought was enough to add a certain preoccupation to their step as they approached a particular sword-practice hall. They’d been hearing reports about the secondary Bladesmaster, Anton la Vern, for some time. And not the kind of reports you wanted to hear about a man entrusted with the teaching of impressionable young souls. Hawk and Fisher had listened carefully, watched even more carefully, given Anton la Vern a lot of room and as much benefit of the doubt as they reasonably could . . . because he was a Bladesmaster, after all. Supposedly unbeatable with a sword in his hand. Such people were rare, and even harder to acquire as tutors of the Hero Academy. They brought prestige to the Academy, and helped attract the very best kind of student.

And la Vern was a good tutor—everybody said so—turning out many great young swordsmen and -women. But there comes a point when you just have to stop making excuses for someone. Because, as Hawk quite rightly pointed out, the only thing lower than a bully was a worm’s belly.

They stopped in the open doorway of the training hall and watched silently as dozens of grimly determined students went head-to-head with steel in their hands. The air was full of the clash of blade on blade, heavy breathing and harsh grunting, and the stamp of booted feet on the wooden floor. No practice blades here, and no protective armour. Real danger, and the occasional spurt of blood, speeded up the learning process wonderfully, and helped weed out those students who weren’t really committed, or suited, to the warrior’s way. It did help that there was always a medical sorcerer at hand to heal wounds, stick severed fingers back on, and deal with everything short of mortal wounds or the more severe forms of decapitation.

Hawk and Fisher watched from the doorway, so still and silent that no one even noticed they were there. And all too soon they saw what they were looking for. La Vern moved back and forth across the hall, watching all the fighters closely, dropping a word of commendation here, a sharp reprimand there, but always moving on, looking for something in particular . . . the one thing he really couldn’t stand. He watched two young men duel each other up and down the hall, lunging and parrying, leaping back and forth and attacking each other with dizzying speed. And then la Vern moved in and stopped the fight, and called for everyone else to stop. The hall fell suddenly still and silent. Dozens of young men and women stepped away from each other and lowered their swords, sweating hard and breathing heavily, to watch Anton la Vern shout and sneer at the better of the two swordsmen before him, mocking and humiliating him in front of everyone. Doing his best to destroy the young man’s confidence and break his spirit—because that was the one thing Anton la Vern couldn’t bear. That someone in his class might become as good as he was. La Vern had to be the best, whatever the cost. He quickly worked himself into a spiteful fury, shouting at the white-faced student before him so loudly he didn’t even hear Hawk and Fisher enter the practice hall.

He realised something was wrong only when he looked around and found no one was listening to him anymore. No one was even looking at him. Every student in the hall was looking past him, and when he turned to find out why, his face went suddenly pale, as he saw Hawk and Fisher heading straight for him. He didn’t need to ask why; he saw the answer in their faces. Knew from the way they looked at him that he hadn’t covered his tracks as well as he’d thought he had. For a long moment he couldn’t find anything to say. He could have defended himself, could have sought to justify his behaviour . . . but he had only to look in their eyes to see there was no point. So he just drew himself up, looked them both square in the face, and silently defied them. Hawk and Fisher crashed to a halt before him, and something in the way they looked and something in the way they held themselves had the watching students decide this was a good time to start backing away. Because whatever was about to happen, they really didn’t want to be a part of it.

“Anton,” said Hawk, “I didn’t want to believe it. I had no idea you were so . . . insecure.”

“I had no idea you were such a small-minded, mean-spirited little prick,” said Fisher.

“You’ll have to go, Anton,” said Hawk.

“I’m not going anywhere,” said la Vern. His voice was flat and firm, his gaze unwavering. “I’m not going, because you can’t make me. I’m a Bladesmaster. You know what that means. Unbeatable with a sword in my hand. I’m a master of steel, while you’re just two burned-out mercenaries hiding behind the reputation of someone else’s names.”

Hawk kicked him really hard in the groin. Anton made a low, shocked noise, and then his eyes squeezed shut. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He tried to suck in a new breath, and found he couldn’t. He dropped to his knees. One hand scrabbled numbly for the sword at his side. Fisher leaned over and rabbit-punched him with vicious force on the back of his exposed neck, and Anton la Vern crumpled unconscious to the floor.

“Unbeatable, yes. But only with a sword actually in your hand,” said Hawk. “You really think you’re the first Bladesmaster I’ve had to deal with?” He gestured to the two nearest students. “Pick that piece of crap up and haul him out of here. Hand him over to security, and tell them to take away his sword, strap him onto a mule facing backwards, and then send him on his way.”

The students moved quickly forward, and gathered up the unconscious Bladesmaster. One of them looked uncertainly at Hawk.

“What if he comes back?”

“If he’s dumb enough to show his face here again, we’ll let the sorcery students practice on him,” said Fisher. “There’s a reason we keep that big lily pond of frogs down on the basement level.”

Hawk and Fisher wandered on through the gleaming wooden corridors, not headed anywhere in particular, thinking their own individual thoughts. Hawk had approved la Vern’s position as tutor, and he hated to be wrong about people. Fisher was thinking about what was for dinner. She’d never been much of a one for self-recrimination. People passed them by in the corridors, nearly always with a nod and a smile. The current Hawk and Fisher were popular, respected heads of the Hero Academy, though they would both have been surprised to hear it. They liked to think of themselves as cool and distant governors.

“How long have we been here?” Fisher said finally.

“Longer than I ever expected,” said Hawk. “What’s the matter? You getting tired of all this?”

“You know I’m not,” said Fisher. “I like it here—doing good work, changing the world for the better, one hero at a time.”

“It was either this or retire and run a tavern somewhere,” said Hawk. “And that always seemed far too much like hard work to me. This . . . suits me better.”

They paused by a large open window to watch a line of rather nervous-looking students file uncertainly out along a broad branch of the Tree. They took their time getting into position, checked that they were an arm’s length apart, and then looked glumly down at the long drop below. A gusting wind tousled their hair and plucked at their clothes with a rough hand. To a man and a woman, the students all looked like they’d much rather be somewhere else. Anywhere else. A few were quietly praying, a few were quietly whimpering, and several had their eyes squeezed firmly shut. Their tutor, the Witch in Residence, Lily Peck, walked along the branch behind them and briskly pushed them off, one by one. They plummeted swiftly out of sight, leaving only their screams behind.

“It’s the only way to teach them to fly,” said Hawk. “Ask them to jump, and they’d still be there at dinnertime.”

Fisher sniffed. “If we really wanted to motivate them, we should take away the safety nets.”

•   •   •

T
hey moved on. Some time later, they paused before a very firmly closed, locked, and bolted door. Various sounds of an extreme nature drifted past the heavy wooden door, which bore the sign
Exams Under Way.