The Academy [BOOK ONE COMPLETE]

Firgl wagged his finger at us when we stepped out from between the shelves. “You, of all people, should know better.”

“I wasn’t the one who let Grit start shouting,” Minnelil said.

“Feh! Come on look at this. Something brand new, arrived from Tenorsbridge in the morning shipment.”

We leaned closer to the big leaflet Grit had open before her on the table. Small balls of light floated above us, lighting up the immediate area enough to make reading easy.

“It talks about the Conspice!” Grit said, white finger poised on the page. “This is a journal cataloguing magical curiosities and the best guesses on what they do. The Conspice is in the latest number!”

“What? What does it say?” I said, letting go of Minnelil’s hand to move closer to the table. I hadn’t even realized I was still holding on, but maybe Grit had been distracted enough that she hadn’t either. Would it have mattered if she had? I focused on the drawing of the Conspice to distract myself from the spiral.

“The Conspice. Named based on the lost writings of Grimnark the Dark that described a similar tool.”

I scoffed. “How can they be named based on lost—“

“Shh,” Minnelil said. “Let her continue.”

“The artifact was found on the tombs north of Tenorsbridge. They mean north of the Academy, but everything is about the city, isn’t it?” Grit rolled her eyes, but then focused back on the writing. “Theorized to be hewn from something larger. Perhaps the bone of a giant.” She flipped forward a page. “Then there’s a lot of fighting about which part it could be. Tenorsbridge wizards seem to favor finger, with the Academy experts being adamant it’s from a skull. Ooh, they even cite Falar!”

“Focus, Grit,” I said. “Aren’t giants a myth, or more like a bedtime story?”

“Many things are a myth,” Firgl said. His voice was so low it felt like it came from inside my chest. “Until proven otherwise. Read on.”

Grit shivered before continuing. Maybe his voice had a similar effect on her. “The runes have been archived, but some were designated dangerous, so they aren’t shared freely. Wizard Falar is quoted as saying Tenorsbridge wizards are soft-minded fools and should be stomped flat by the march of progress, before being drowned out by the laughter of wizard Bronte Jextor. The people writing this journal are really having fun with it, aren’t they?”

“It is frustrating, yes,” Firgl said, picking the leaflet from Grit’s hands with two fingers. “Let me see.” He pushed small spectacles down from his temple to his nose, and grabbed a ball of light, bringing it closer to the page.

“So that was what they were doing in Tenorsbridge,” I said, pacing around Firgl’s desk. “Getting the thing appraised or something?”

“Some sort of device for inspecting the Null directly? It says research was interrupted by the artifact being stolen,” Firgl read, squinting at the writing. “The College wishes to continue their studies and there’s a lot of thinly-veiled comments about the Academy snatching the artifact away themselves the moment the brilliant minds of Tenorsbridge had unlocked its mysteries. Wizard Falar has sent in a rebuke, but it’s going to be published separately. They write it would have been longer than the rest of the journal and only suitable to be read by adults of at least thirty years of age anyway.” Firgl tapped a claw on his tusk, frowning. “Have to make sure I get a copy of that for the faculty archives.”

“That’s it?” I asked. “What about the giants?”

Firgl shrugged. His shoulders were large enough I could have sat on one of them. Huh.

Minnelil hopped to sit on the table, dangling her legs down. “The giants have been extinct for aeons, or so they say. No one knows what happens beyond the mountain range, so in principle some could still live there. The largest of them were as big as the mountains themselves. It’s said that they died when large slabs of ambronite shifted in the world’s crust.”

“I have books about that somewhere,” Firgl said, looking thoughtfully up at the window on the ceiling. Motes of dust floated down to his face. “Even the best theories are wholly unproven, though. Still, nasty business. Wouldn’t want my legs to age hundreds of times faster than my head.”

“You’re all pulling my leg, right?”

Firgl shook his head. “I would never do that.”

“Yeah, they would come right off if he did,” Grit said. “But it’s true. He’s a serious man.”

“Someone has to be,” Firgl grumbled, frowning deeply.

Minnelil sighed. “And yet you always gleefully participate when someone sets you up for a joke. Nevertheless, giants were real, as long as we know. I don’t know why this Conspice would be part of one or what it would mean. You two could try asking Falar about it again?”

“We could!” Grit said, mouth opening into a grin.

“I guess,” I said. “I mean, it makes sense. We did go through all the business on the mountain.”

“Can we loan the thing?” Grit said, pulling on the journal still gripped in Firgl’s hand. “We can use it as an excuse to go talk to him.”

“As long as you bring it back,” Firgl said, letting go. Grit stumbled back a step. “I still need to catalogue it properly. I’m not hopeful there’s anything truly new in it, but I’m not here to do things by half-measure.”

“Sure, sure,” Grit said, eyes gleaming and glued on the journal.

I let out a breath. “Whatever.” A thought struck me and I turned to Firgl, sneaking a glance at Minnelil. “Do you have books on Bronte Jextor? Do those really exist?”

“Of course, I do,” he said. “The most interesting one is the one with two hundred pages of nothing but insults. One of the most popular books of the library, actually.”

“Did Falar write it?” I asked.

“How did you guess?”

“I didn’t even get to pick up any books,” I said.

“You got to mess around with Minnelil, though,” Grit said.

“We didn’t… well, not much anyway,” I said. I grinned like an idiot, because trying to play dumb would have been even dumber. Grit had caught it probably before I had myself. I flushed, thinking about Minnelil’s slender arms around my chest, her breath warm at my ear.

Grit chuckled. “It’s fun. Makes things a bit livelier.”

“You already had Fek in the dorm.”

“Good point, but you know what I mean. None of us mingle that much with the other students so we miss out on the gossip and stuff.”

“Why not, though? Some people would mingle with all of you at the same time, if you let them. I heard the stories about the parties Frederik throws.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Grit said. “Someone on the council actually suggested that once. Fek didn’t understand what they meant and said yes for all of us and Minnelil and I had to talk our way out of it.”

“Whoa. They wanted Fek in on it as well?”

Grit pushed her hands into her pockets, leaving only her face to shine bright white against the black. “Well, he does have a lot of energy?”

“I guess,” I said.

“Anyway, focus Lina!” she said. “We’re going to see Falar!”

“You focus, Grit,” I said, walking down the stairs. Why had they placed the library in the most remote corner? It made no sense. Did Firgl never leave and only made skeletons run around bringing him food and books? I hadn’t seen him in any of the dining halls, so maybe that actually was true.

“Watch your feet,” Hector said, snapping me out of my thoughts. He was pushing snow off the concrete platform with his broom. It made the soles of my feet buzz, the magic twisting as the broom scraped the ice off and sparks of lightning struck out from the bristles. “Someone iced the platform again. Normally I’d make the skeletons chisel the ice off, but seems we can’t spare any, at the moment.”

“Ugh, this is probably the dumbest challenge,” Grit said. “I heard Fek managed to trip fourteen skeletons, two zombies, and a Chancellor.”

“That boy has a knack for chaos,” Hector said, swiping once more with the broom. A huge chunk of ice peeled off, shooting off from the platform to be grasped by the wind, lightning playing between the shards. “Told him off for that one.”

I shivered at the burst of magic. “There are so many, though?” I said, gesturing down at the massed skeletons standing down below. “Are they all being sent shopping?”

“Seems like it,” Hector said. “There, that should do it. Mind your steps. The stairs might have ice on them too.”

“How will you manage?” I asked. He was a lone guy, and the school was huge. Even without considering half of the doors lead to other buildings, taking care of the snow that piled everywhere would run him ragged.

Hector fumbled about in the pocket of his overalls and pulled out a cigarette. “I don’t want to complain. There might be rough times ahead for everyone. The weather is acting up and all the skeletons are being sent away, but I can only try to keep things running.” He lit the cigarette with a match, holding both inside his cupped hands. “Storms blow over. That’s what they do,” he said, puffing out a cloud of smoke.

“But what if it’s not a storm?” I muttered.