Sporemageddon

Cordyceps Forty-Three

The last Language class of the day ended with the ringing of the Academy’s bell, and I let out a long sigh as I leaned back into my seat. The sheet in front of me was nearly complete, but nearly wasn’t entirely.

It was only a couple of months into the school year and already the homework was starting to pile up. I glanced at the others in the class, and it was easy to tell at a glance that I was ahead of most of them. Less work for me tonight, but less wasn’t none.

At least it was a Friday. I could put off doing the work for a little bit, though it would be better for me to take care of everything in one go.

“Hey, Gunther, you going to sit there all day?” Montgomery asked.

“I’m thinking about it,” I said. Still, I got up and started to pack my things away while the boy waited for me. “Early supper?” I asked.

“Sure,” he said. “After we put things in the dorm though, I don’t want to carry our stuff into the cafeteria.”

“Yeah, that’s not a bad idea,” I said. There were a million reasons why kids would pick on each other at the Academy. Bringing your stuff into the lunch room was just one of them. Montgomery and I slipped out of the class, some of the last ones out since I’d held us up.

“Feels weird,” he said.

“What does?”

“We were all kind of together, you know? The first years. Then Milo left and now everything’s different.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I said. It had only been a week since Milo’s birthday party, and the rumours and news about it were still on every lip. Four members of the nobility dead in the same evening. Just one dying on Milo’s birthday would have been enough to set tongues wagging, but so many?

No one thought it was a coincidence. And no one knew what had happened or how.

I’d been keeping up with the news, and the stories that had gone mainstream so far were terribly and wildly inaccurate. No two papers agreed on the causes, but it was easy to see where their biases were. The more new-rich influenced papers called it a series of tragedies. Baron Erspell had died of old age, Baron Milo had passed from the shock and stress of the incident, and the Count’s carriage going over a cliff and killing both himself and his wife was an unforeseen accident, likely caused--they suggested--by a lack of regulations with regards to goblin work.

The newspapers owned by the nobility suggested that Erspell and Milo were both either poisoned or killed by some vile, treacherous magic, and that the same had been used on the Count’s drivers to drag them off a cliff.

That was disturbingly close to the truth, though when the boys in my class spoke of what they’d overheard from their parents, it became increasingly clear that they all suspected that someone within the ranks of the new rich was responsible for the murder of so many nobles.

Lines were being drawn and tensions were escalating.

There would probably be a lot of problems in the near future as the noble and the new rich factions slipped apart even more, but this one incident wasn’t the root cause of it all. It was just a big step forward towards something nasty.

There were too many pieces on the board with too much history that I didn’t know for me to even begin to guess at how it would all go down.

I knew that no matter what, it would be the people at the bottom that would hurt the most from everything.

Mortimer and I got to the dorms, and after he dumped his things in his room--which from a glance, was a mess--he joined me in mine, mostly so that he could get his fingers bitten by Sir Nibbles some more.

Once my stuff was tucked away in its place and Mortimer was nursing a couple of small nibblemarks, we headed back out and towards the cafeteria. “I wish I had a panbadger,” Mortimer said.

“Because you want to be bitten?” I asked.

“No, not that. They bond for life, you know?”

“I’ve heard as much, yeah,” I said.

He nodded. “Plus, they grow big enough that you can ride them. Though I guess they’re slower than a horse.”

I stopped mid-step. “They grow how big?” I asked.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Well, they never stop growing, do they?” he asked. “Didn’t you ever hear stories of adventurers and explorers who have panbadger companions? It’s why they’re so popular. An ancient panbadger is like, one of the only things a dragon fears. At least, that’s what they say.”

That... would be a problem.

A future problem, at least. Right now, Sir Nibbles was only about the size of a housecat. Maybe a large housecat? He had grown a fair bit though in the last few months, but I thought he was just going from a teenaged panbadger to an adult.

If he continued at that rate, how big would he be in a year? The size of a smaller dog? Then a medium dog the year after?

No, there had to be decreasing returns with time. He only ate so much, so unless there was some weird magic involved, he couldn’t grow that quickly.

“Ah, shit,” I muttered.

Mortimer’s eyebrows shot up. “What is it?”

“Nothing. I’m just... in so much trouble.”

Mortimer had a good laugh at my expense while I tried to figure out what I’d do with a Sir Nibbles that was large enough to ride . I’d have to change his name from Sir Nibbles to Sir Chew Your Head Off.

We came around the back of the main school building, then stopped suddenly.

Across from us was a familiar face, staring back at me with wide, fearful eyes. Harbin took a small step back, then spun around and ran off so hard he kicked up some of the grass in his wake.

“What did you do to him?” Montgomery said.

“Nothing,” I lied.

The boy looked at me. “No, really,” he said.

I laughed. “We just had a frank and honest conversation about... being civil towards each other,” I said.

“Man, I would have paid to see that.”

The Troll boy had been more than a little nervous around me lately. He sat as far from me as he could get and generally kept his mouth shut around me. That timidity was turning some of his friends against him. He’d gone from the charismatically brutish leader of his own little group to an outcast of sorts.

I suspected that in the long run, this might have been for the best. His attitude would only get him so far before he ran into someone who wouldn’t take his shit.

Well, someone other than me. I figured that I’d proven the point I wanted to make already.

We stepped into the cafeteria, which was predictably crowded. A few students had been pulled out of the Academy over the last week, and rumour had it that a few of the important families had gone on vacation, but for the most part they were a slim minority. The cafeteria still felt packed.

Once I got my tray full of food, Montgomery and I found a seat at the first-year table and got down to the business of eating and chatting and basically enjoying the fact that it was a Friday.

I wasn’t expecting it when someone stepped up to the table before me. "Are you Gunther Killua?”

I looked up and found a seventh-year student looking down at me. “Maybe?” I said.

He sniffed, then tossed an envelope onto the table before me. “This came into the main office. The secretary told me to deliver it.”

“Oh, thanks,” I said as I took the letter. It had an address on the front that led to the noble quarter. An address I recognized.

“Who’s that from?” Montgomery asked.

“My uncle,” I said. “Must be important. Give me a bit?” I took a last spoonful for the trip, then climbed off the bench and headed out. It didn’t take long to find a washroom to read the letter from, a convenient spot to dispose of it, too.

I popped the letter open.

Hello, my favourite nephew,

I heard that you’ve been doing well, and that gladdens my heart. I know that the situation in the city is scary, but you don’t have anything to worry about, just keep your head focused on your schoolwork for now, and everything will work itself out.

Remember what I always say, work well done pays best! So you buckle down and keep it up.

Your aunt sends her regards as well. She’s been heading to town a lot lately, mostly to that nice tea house not too far from the Academy. Maybe you’ll run into her if you go over on a Sunday, but she’s always there with her gossipy friends, so maybe you’ll want to avoid that!

Stay sharp, my dear boy, and remember, now is a time for study and self-growth. I’m sure you’ll grow up to be a sharp young man.

Take care,

Your loving Uncle

I crumpled up the letter, then leaned into the side of the stall I was in. The work never ended, but sometimes it did let off a little. It seemed that I had a bit of a break in my near future. Which meant more time to improve myself for the next step, whatever that might be.

***

‎