Chương 15: 15 Loop 0, Part 15

"Laz!" Finn's voice hit me from behind, sharp enough to cut through my mental fog. He was running up the stairs after me, taking them two at a time, one hand on the rail. At the same moment, from the other side, Sara was cutting a straight line across the yard toward me, her pace controlled and direct in that awful Sara way that meant she'd already decided where this was going.

I picked up my pace, hoping to be the first one to the gate, but Finn reached the top stair just as Sara stepped into the walkway from the side path. Together they blocked the exit. That felt unfair. One concerned friend was already a problem. An uninvited third party was a coordinated assault.

"Move," I said, but Finn didn't move. He planted himself in the middle of the walkway, chest rising hard from the climb, his hands lifted like he expected me to try pushing past him. Sara stayed a few feet to his right, close enough to cut off the gap, arms folded tight across her chest and eyes still fixed past my shoulder toward the platform.

"What the fuck was that?" Finn said. He was breathing hard from the stairs. His hair was still damp at the temples after a second exertion in so many hours. That was not a good sign. Finn cared about two things in life: people being alive, and looking moderately presentable while doing it.

"A tournament match?" I said.

"I know they're confusing. It was loud. There was a lot of marble involved. People throwing things at each other. But there's a program, if you need help."

"Don't do that," Finn said. His face tightened before the words were fully out, like he'd already seen the joke coming and hated me for reaching for it anyway. Behind him, a few students slowed near the stairwell, pretending to look down into the arena while absolutely listening.

"Do what?"

"That," Finn pointed at my face, which felt a little unnecessary.

"The thing where you pretend not to understand the obvious because the obvious is inconvenient for you."

"I like this, Sara. He's getting better at recognizing my tells." I looked at her like she was in on the joke, but Sara's eyes were on the arena floor behind us. Not on Holt, per se, but in that direction.

"You hit him while he was down. You didn't need to do that."

"He hadn't yielded yet. He was still in bounds." Sara finally looked at me. Her arms stayed folded, but her fingers pressed hard into the cloth of her sleeves.

"All you had to do was pick up his wand and you win the match."

"That would've required more work." Finn stepped closer to me, almost accusingly. His hand came up, then dropped again, like he wanted to grab my shoulder and thought better of it at the last second.

"You destroyed his arm, Laz. I saw—""No, I know you saw. That's the problem." Finn stopped moving. For a second, the hard look on his face cracked into something worse than anger, and his voice dropped.

"You knew what that first hit would do to him. And then you called the ball back for an even worse hit. What if you caused brain damage? Magic can't make that go away."

"I was just being efficient."

"You didn't need to throw it again."

"He was still on the platform. If I hadn't ended the match, we'd all still be dealing with him, accusing me of being an asshole."

"Well, that's just it. You're being one." Sara crossed her arms tighter, her shoulders squared toward me now instead of the arena.

"The first throw dislocated his elbow. He would've yielded, but you didn't even give him half a second. The dude is in immense pain. If you'd just been patient, you would've won."

"Well, I didn't have time to be patient."

"And you didn't need to aim at his head."

"I wasn't aiming for his head." Finn blinked. Sara didn't, though. She just stared at me with that awful stillness of hers, the kind that made excuses feel stupid before they even finished forming.

"You know you were," Finn said.

"What happened to 'You Never Miss'?"

"Maybe he moved his head in the way, okay?"

"He was on one knee with his hand glued to the fucking floor, dude."

"Limited mobility doesn't eliminate personal responsibility."

"It's not funny, man. I'm worried about you. You're acting weird today, even for you." The words hung there longer than I liked. Finn's hands had curled at his sides, and he looked less angry now, which made everything worse. Sara's expression shifted too, barely, but enough that I wanted to look anywhere else than at them.

"I wasn't aware we'd appointed a humor examiner."

"I'm being serious, Laz. You're not yourself today."

"I noticed. It's been very hard on the—" Sara slapped me. Her hand came fast enough that I didn't have time to react. The sound cracked, sharp and small, and Finn froze with his mouth half open. It wasn't hard enough to hurt, but it was hard enough to make the next joke die in my mouth. My head turned with it more from surprise than force, and when I looked back, Sara looked just as shocked as I felt. Her hand stayed lifted for a second before she lowered it, fingers curling once against her palm.

Then [Wideview] caught movement at the Crucible's faculty entrance, and every other thought fell out of my head.

"Hold on. What… what's going on?" I immediately turned around and rushed for the railing. The Prime Minister had entered the Crucible. I saw it before anyone else did. Which annoyed me. Someday I'd stop using that spell, but then I'd actually have to look at things and, well, then I'd have to expend effort and yeah, yeah, yeah. Not worth it.

"This isn't over," Finn said, as he perched next to me. The political guests in the upper stands had all looked his way in unison a couple of seconds after me, their attention snapping toward him like dogs catching a scent. Deputy Headmaster Bain, who had been making his way toward me with murder in his eyes, stopped mid-step. He abruptly turned around. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. I should have been relieved. Bain had been less than a minute from reaching me.

But instead, the skin on the back of my neck prickled. The Prime Minister's entourage came through the faculty entrance in a wedge, a few moments after him. There were six people in total, all in formal government robes. I didn't recognize the Prime Minister by face, but I could immediately tell it was him. His chin was lifted high, his shoulders locked back, each step landing heel-first. Every political type who'd ever visited my uncle carried themselves the same way.

Convinced authority was a substance you could wear like cologne, and that everyone around you should be able to smell it at all times. Bain intercepted them before they made it ten steps past the entrance. I watched him fall into lockstep beside the Prime Minister's head aide. He gestured toward the Headmaster's viewing platform with the practiced urgency of a man who had been expecting this visit and knew all he could gain from it. I wasn't surprised. Of course Bain was ready for this "sudden appearance".

[Subtitle] caught his words, the pale text floating at the edge of my vision instead of next to him.

"The Headmaster is in the rear corridor dealing with a personal matter. I can bring him to you directly." But the aide shook his head. Instead, two of the other officials broke off from the group and moved toward the corridor. The rest continued toward the dueling platform, and Bain followed. My uncle appeared from the rear corridor, the lackeys following behind. With how quickly he appeared, he must have been on his way back.

He walked without hurry, his clock talisman catching the light at his hip, his expression one I'd learned to fear more than any spell. The one he wore when things were already worse than anyone else realized. The confrontation happened right there in front of two thousand people. Technically, the tournament was still in session, and arena staff were there mid-repair on the platform after my duel. They froze, uncertain what to do.

The Prime Minister's people formed a half-circle around my uncle, as if to intimidate him. I laughed at the sight. The Crucible went quiet. So quiet I almost didn't need [Subtitle].

"Headmaster Yarrow."

"Prime Minister," Neither of them needed to shout for everyone in the crucible to hear. The silence went on a breath too long. The minister's title sitting in the air between them as if it meant something. But that was the problem. It didn't mean anything to my uncle.

"One of my operatives has been missing since late yesterday evening," Creed said.

"Theodore Vex. You've seen him."

"I have."

"Recently?"

"Yes," my uncle said. Creed's mouth tightened.

"Then we can dispense with the part where you pretend not to know why I'm here." Corwen squinted at him.

"Can we?" Creed's eyes narrowed.

"Vex entered your Archives yesterday. I know this for certain."

"Yes, he entered the restricted levels of the Academy Archives without authorization. Is there a problem?"

"Yes, where is he?"

"There were consequences." The minister raised a quick eyebrow.

"Consequences?"

"I asked him to leave. It took some convincing but records show he left at 1: 30 in the morning." The body stood again in my head. That damn hand, raised. I shut my eyes, but [Wideview] kept the world open anyway.

"He left," Creed repeated.

"Yes, at 1: 30."

"And after that?" Corwen's hand rested near his talisman, his fingers loose against the casing, drumming a beat that only he could hear.

"And after that," Corwen said, "your operative ceased to be under my supervision." Creed stepped closer. He was attempting to be intimidating, but it didn't work. Not on my uncle. Corwen had survived war, politics, and worst of all, me. And one man taking a dramatic step forward was never going to do a thing to him. But everyone around them stepped back a little.

"Careful, Corwen. Everyone here is under your supervision." The accusation landed with weight. But my uncle's expression didn't change.

"Careful? I generally am, Fallon." This battle of the italics was starting to bore me, but I tried my best to keep listening, well, reading.

"Well, this time you weren't careful enough. Vex was here under my authority. He had every right to be there."

"Ministerial authority does not open sealed parts of this Academy."

"It does when national security is involved."

"Then you abused your authority by not having it cleared with me first."

"Perhaps that is the real question between us, Headmaster," Creed said.

"Whether you understand where your authority ends, and mine begins." Corwen's voice softened.

"No." He shook his head.

"Fallon. The question is whether you still know the difference between authority and appetite." Creed flexed his jaw, shifting his gaze to the arena. And when he spoke again, his voice had changed. He was quieter. Angrier. Colder.

"Where is the Tuffet boy?" The question cut sideways. For half a second, maybe less, my uncle glanced toward the crucible training yard where Kalin was warming up for his match. And then his eyes came back. But the half-second was enough. Creed had seen it. Bain stepped forward.

"Prime Minister, Mr. Tuffet is entered in the tournament under disciplinary supervision. I can lead him to you, if you wish." Creed thought for a moment, clearly pretending to choose his words carefully.

"A foreign student attacks my grandson in the dining hall with shadow constructs. Real battle magic. Multiple students are injured. Ancient Therumian property is damaged. And your solution is to put him in front of the visiting public as entertainment?" Creed gave Corwen an incredulous look.

"He's still enrolled here," Bain said.

"The tournament is part of his discipline."

"He attacked my grandson. This isn't discipline."

"He only attacked in self-defense," Corwen said.

"My grandson was disciplined."

"I'm not quite sure you understand the meaning of the word discipline," Corwen interjected.

"Your grandson has repeatedly been exempted from detention, suspension, and other forms of discipline without ministerial review." He paused, but before Creed could get in a word, he continued.

"Neither Bain nor myself have ever been able to appropriately administer discipline toward him. You took him out of my reach, Fallon, and then came here angry when somebody finally reacted to his abuse." I sighed. This was why I hated politics. If you failed in one avenue, strike in another, eventually you'll find a weakness and take public approval with it. And now, Creed had picked the one credible accusation in the pile and planned to stand on it until everyone else forgot the rest.

Sure, Kalin had lost control and people had gotten hurt. But none of that changed what Davos had done first. Or the fact that he had never been fucking disciplined. The whole school hated Davos. And yet nobody did a thing. Even my uncle.

"That order was issued to prevent political retaliation against my family," Creed said.

"No. It was issued to prevent consequences for his actions, after he was almost expelled last year." Bain's eyes flicked to Corwen. But Creed spoke again.

"Do not dress negligence as compassion."

"I am not."

"Then have Tuffet detained before he hurts someone else. I want to see some punishment."

"No." The word was quiet. It stopped the Crucible anyway. Creed stared at him.

"Say that again."

"No." I gazed at my uncle, being petulant.

"Fine. Have it your way, Yarrow." He turned to his aides.

"Take Mr. Yarrow into custody. He is relieved of his duties. And the Tuffet boy, too." For a second, nobody moved. Maybe the watching crowd had cowed the lackeys. But no, a few seconds later, they moved. They had hesitated just long enough to prove they knew what they were doing was wrong. Several went immediately to the Headmaster, while the other half went for the boy. Every eye in the Crucible followed them.

Kalin stood at the edge of the arena with his shoulders held high, his hands white-knuckled around an object at his side. Even with [Wideview], I couldn't make out quite what it was. His face was locked into a grimace. He was breathing shallowly. And then, in the silence, his voice broke out.