The Miscreant (19 page)

Gregor said, “I would not have brought him in and placed him in your care if I did not have the highest expectations of him, Victor. His work camp commander says he killed nearly two dozen men with a hatchet or something.”

Victor looked down at Garran. “Is that right? Impressive.”

Garran slunk just a bit in his chair. “It was a reaping blade, actually.”

Victor’s discomforting smile returned. “You and I are going to have some real fun together over the next few years.”

“Why, are you planning to grow breasts?”

Victor laughed again and slapped his shoulder. “Damn, Gregor, not only did you find yourself another transcended, he’s as big a prick as I am!”

“I think you two will get along splendidly if you don’t kill each other first. Take Mr. Holt to the university and get him situated. I’ll leave it to you to work out his additional training schedule.”

“Come on, boy; let’s get you settled into your new home.”

“Victor,” Gregor said as they were about to leave, and pointed to the bowl of fruit. “Take that out with you, and have Eunice throw it away.”

Garran frowned and followed Victor out of the office. He looked for Cyril on their way out of the building but did not see him. It surprised him to discover that it bothered him a little not getting to say goodbye and to thank him for his help. He pushed it to the back of his mind and followed Victor to a waiting coach parked in front of the building.

“Is that yours?” Garran asked, admiring the splendid vehicle. “I’ve never ridden in a coach.”

“Nothing but the best when you’re an agent.” Victor turned the lapel of his coat out to display a silver pin bearing a sword upthrust through a watching eye. “There’s a lot of perks when you earn one of these.”

“Does it get you laid?”

A grin spread across Victor’s stubbled face. “You better believe it.”

Garran could not keep from staring out of the coach and watching the multitudes of people and the extraordinary buildings, fountains, and plazas. Just riding in the coach drew many looks his way, particularly those of the women they passed, and he liked that very much.

“Victor, can I ask you about being transcended?”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m here for.”

“When did you find out?”

“I was around fourteen. My father was beating the crap out of me during one of his frequent drunken rages. I was sure he was going to kill me this time, and I just sort of snapped. I ended up beating him so bad he staggers when he walks even when he isn’t drunk.”

“Do you ever see him anymore?”

“I went and saw him after I earned my pin. He always said I wouldn’t amount to anything, and I wanted to rub it in his face.”

Garran nodded his understanding. “What did he say when you showed him?”

Victor tilted his head to the side, opened his mouth in a lopsided rictus, and drooled down his chin. “Dar muh urg maaaa!”

The agent laughed uproariously while slapping his knee and stomping his foot. Garran covered his face with one hand and chortled along with him.

“I passed out when I came out of my…episode. Is that normal? Will that always happen?”

“Hopefully not. All power comes at a price and the greater the power, the greater the cost. When we go into one of our, let’s call them fits, everything inside us speeds up. That little bit of fighting you did took its toll on your body, as if you’d been at it for hours. You probably burned through two or three days of food in that one little episode. You went until you couldn’t go anymore. It’s my job to teach you how to control when you enter a transcended state and how to come out of one before you just burn yourself out like you did at the work camp.”

“Has it ever happened that a person can’t learn to control it?”

Victor shrugged. “It’s possible. It’s certainly happened before. Have you heard of a Hillman rager?”

“Cyril mentioned them. He said that’s why we exist, to counter them during the Hillman War.”

“Could be. When a Hillman goes into an enraged state, there’s no turning it off. He goes until he drops from exhaustion or, more likely, finally bleeds out. A few transcended have been like that. We almost all discover our ability during some traumatic incident, you with the raiders and me with my father. Some men never learn to control it. It just comes on when they are sufficiently enraged or terrified, and they go until they pass out or someone kills them. Most of them because no one worked with them to hone their ability, but some just couldn’t learn to.”

“What if I can’t learn to control it?”

“Then Gregor will likely find you a nice, safe, boring desk job where there won’t be anything to set you off.”

Garran looked out of the coach’s open window. “I think I’d rather be dead.”

Victor slapped his knee. “You got a good attitude!”

Garran looked at him to see if Victor was being sarcastic, but the agent seemed to have meant what he said every bit as much as he had. He returned to watching the buildings roll past. Crowded streets soon gave way to less congested roads intersecting plazas with lush grass, fragrant flowers, and manicured hedges.

The coach passed through the gates of a wrought-iron and brick wall and made its way up a wooded lane. The trees opened up to reveal more manicured lawns and red brick buildings. The central building was large, imposing, and sported a tall clock tower and numerous gables and minarets. Throngs of people, mostly around his age or a few years older, occupied benches, sat on the grass, or purposefully made their way across the grounds. They all wore a uniform of dark blue trousers and a long coat with tails, a brown vest, and a white shirt with a red, blue, and gold striped cravat.

What disturbed Garran more than the uniforms was the insufferable ratio of women to men. The few girls he saw wore a similar uniform but with ankle-length dresses instead of long coats and were all surrounded by no less than half a dozen male students. There was one universal truth; everything and everyone reeked of wealth and privilege regardless of their gender. Even if his humble background did not set him apart from the general populace, his abrasive personality certainly would. Garran mentally shrugged it off. He could not change the former, and he certainly would not change the latter.

“Gregor says he doesn’t want you telling anyone about being transcended.”

“Why not?”

“It could complicate things and cause distractions. It could also put you in danger. Not everyone is thrilled with our existence, particularly when we’re trained agents. It upsets the balance.”

“Damn, I guess I’ll have to rely on my wit and charm.”

“Yeah, good luck with that.”

The carriage clattered to a stop near the base of the wide stairs leading up to the big, central building. Dozens of faces watched the coach arrive and waited to see who was inside. Victor drew several interested looks when he exited, but Garran’s emergence received the welcoming looks of a fart in church.

“This is going to be fun,” Garran muttered.

“Don’t count on it.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I gathered that.” Garran sought out a familiar face but found none. “Where’s Cyril? I had hoped to see him again before he left.”

“He had to get several things in order before he returned to the camp. Don’t look so glum. He didn’t forget you and asked me to give you something.”

Garran felt some of the pressure of being in a strange place surrounded by strangers lift from his shoulders. “What?”

Victor smiled and punched Garran in the groin. “This.”

Garran doubled over with a gasping groan but managed to keep his legs under him.

“I gotta hand it to you; you know how to leave an impression on people.” The agent glanced at a young man descending the steps and making his way toward them. “Ah, good, here comes your prefect.”

A young man of perhaps twenty years descended the stairs. He had brown hair and wore the same school uniform as several other students Garran saw, with the exception of a long, black sash draped over his shoulders and hanging down his front with three red stripes at the ends.

“Agent Law, it is an honor to meet you. I’m Martin Van Ophoven. I was told to expect you and a new student.” Martin looked Garran up and down and appeared thoroughly unimpressed. “I presume this is he?”

Garran, who was still bent over and trying to catch his breath, raised a hand and waved. “I am he, or possibly she if there is any permanent damage.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Martin asked.

“He didn’t like his going away present. Holt, this is your prefect. He’s going to get you enrolled and show you the ropes. I’ll see you next week for our private session.”

Victor got back into the coach, and Martin led Garran up the stairs toward the administration building’s front doors.

Garran cast a glance back at the departing carriage. “Did that sound ominous to you?”

“Almost anyone training in the diplomatic corps would be honored to have a private tutor like Agent Law, but yes, it did. So what is your deal?”

“Huh, oh, if you’re asking if I’m a fancy boy, no, but thanks for the offer.”

“I wasn’t asking…why would you think I was…?” Martin took a deep breath. “Why would someone like Agent Law offer private lessons to someone like you? Why is Agent Ward sponsoring you for the diplomatic corps?”

“What do you mean someone like me?”

“You’re obviously not the kind of person who would attend the university, much less qualify for the diplomatic corps. Where are you from? Somewhere rural and humble I imagine. You are obviously not from the city nor are you a member of the gentry.”

“Why do you say that? My clothes are new and stylish. I even bathed this week…give or take a few days.”

“It’s several days not in your favor, and you wear your clothes about as well as a corpse ready for burial.”

“Yeah, the tailor insisted I get the perfunctory stick up my ass but, ignorant in the ways of the big city, I told him it wasn’t necessary. Perhaps I can borrow one of yours. I bet you have a closet full of them. I bet the stick up your ass has a stick up its ass, and that stick has a stick up its ass and so on and so forth until it reduces to a toothpick with a splinter up its ass.”

“Get your crass comments out now while you can. Once you enroll, offending a prefect or member of the faculty is a punishable offense. I cannot recall anyone ever having been forced to attend, so I must presume at some level you want to be here. If you make too much of a nuisance of yourself, you will be expelled regardless of your sponsor.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I don’t have much to pack. I have a spectacular talent for being offensive.”

“Your words.” Martin cast Garran a sidelong glance. “It is rare for someone with your lineage to attend the university. What exactly is it you expect to achieve here?”

“I’m going to be the greatest field agent who ever lived.”

“You certainly seem to have the ego for it.”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“Are you sure?”

Part 2

The Student

CHAPTER 1

Martin got Garran enrolled, issued him his uniforms, and assigned him to a dormitory. The dorm was a barracks layout with a dozen first-year students per room, ten rooms in all. His particular dorm was Hayworth House, named after a notable field agent, as were the others. The prefect attached a small placard to the foot of Garran’s bed and showed him the trunk and wardrobe where he could store his possessions.

“Amongst your textbooks is a manual outlining the university’s rules of conduct,” Martin said. “I strongly suggest you read it and memorize them word for word.”

“I’ll get right on it.”

“You had better. Classes start in two days. You have thirty minutes from wake-up to perform your ablutions and have your area ready for inspection. If you fail inspection, your entire house receives demerits.”

“Is a demerit like a dinarin?” Garran asked. “Because I’m shit broke. Lost it all in some poorly placed betting with what turned out to be an organized crime syndicate. Have you ever met Edmund Coulain? I don’t recommend it.”

“A demerit is a marker on a scoresheet. Score too many demerits and you and your fellow dormmates receive punishment in accordance with the violation. It is all in the rules of conduct. Read it, learn it, live it. Got it?”

“What was that second one again?”

Martin turned to the other first-year students who were watching the discourse between Garran and the prefect. “Enjoy your new dormmate, gentlemen, and make sure he learns the ropes before he sinks your ship.”

Garran saw all eyes turn toward him after Martin left the room, and none looked friendly. Garran returned their looks with a broad smile splitting his face and waved. “Hi! Anyone have a stick I can borrow?”

No one made much attempt to engage Garran in conversation or get to know him while he stored his few personal belongings. He was getting quite adept at holding people at bay with simple facial expressions. Still slightly hungover and groggy from his whirlwind of drinking, gambling, philandering, and laudanum-imbibing the previous day, Garran decided to go to bed early. His bunk was simple, but it was a significant improvement over his work camp cot. Sleep came swiftly and pulled him deep within its soft embrace.

***

A loud clanging woke Garran from his slumber. A pale light crept through the dorm window heralding the new day. He pulled the covers from his face and found the source of all the noise. Martin stood in the doorway with a brass handbell waving it around as if a swarm of bees were attacking him.

“Stand to for inspection!”

“Get your ass out of bed, Holt!” one of his housemates shouted.

Garran rolled out of bed, stood, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Why didn’t you wake me up earlier?”

“We goddam tried!”

“Oh, sorry, I was pretty out of it last night.”

“Inspections are done at the position of attention!” Martin shouted. “Attention means you do not move or speak!”

Martin marched down the aisle with military precise facing movements, stopping before each student and inspecting their person and living area. The prefect reached Garran, executed a left face, and began his inspection.

“Unmade bed, five demerits. Out of uniform, five demerits.” A quiet groan sounded from several of his dormmates with each check mark. “Slovenly appearance and poor hygiene, five demerits each.” Martin glanced down to inspect Garran’s shoes and frowned. “Is that an erection?”

“It is. You interrupted a rather pleasant dream, so if you could hurry it up so I can take care of this I would appreciate it.”

Martin made yet another note in his journal. “I’m docking you another five demerits.”

“What?” Garran exclaimed. “You can’t punish me for having a boner! It’s a natural bodily function.”

“So is pissing, but if you did it during my inspection I would certainly dock you for it.”

“Then you had really better hurry.”

“You had best learn some self-control…of all your baser functions.”

“This is a load of crap. There is no rule saying anything about having an erection!”

“Really, you’ve read the rule book already?”

“Well, no, but it’s common goddam sense.”

“For once, you are correct. There is no rule specifically governing…” the prefect made a circling motion with his quill, “…that.”

“Ha, dock blocked!”

“However, the rules regarding rudeness toward a prefect are quite clear, and I consider pointing rude. Five demerits.”

Garran grumbled, “I got your five demerits right here.”

“If by demerits you are referring to inches, I assume you must be rounding up.”

“Hey!”

Martin looked in his journal, although it was not necessary, and did a quick tally. “This dorm has the greatest number of demerits for the day, so you will all be on hall maintenance tonight. I suggest you work on your problem areas.”

Garran could feel his classmates’ eyes on him as they cast baleful glares. “Hey, look, it’s gone. Someone call Martin back and see if we can recover those points.”

One of the students crossed the floor and stood toe to toe with him. “Your name is Garran, right?”

“Yes?” Garran answered, drawing out the word.

“How incredibly appropriate. Your parents must have had some kind of premonition about you when they chose your name.”

“What’s wrong with my name?” Garran looked past the boy and read his name off the placard at the end of his bunk. “Aniston? It’s like your parents wanted you to grow up to be a pretentious prick.”

Aniston smiled. “A garen is a bottom-feeding fish that prefers to inhabit waters near sewer runoffs. It literally subsists by eating our shit.” 

Garran grinned wide enough to show his teeth. “Actually, my mother is a seer, and I inherited some of her powers.” He closed his eyes and touched his fingertips to his temples. “I’m getting a vision now. I see you, but you are in a great deal of pain. Something about that big beak of a nose…”

Garran opened his eyes, whipped his head forward, and head-butted Aniston. Aniston fell to the floor, clamped his hands over his profusely bleeding proboscis, and wailed uncontrollably.

“Come on, stop crying, I’m starting to feel embarrassed for you,” Garran said while several of Aniston’s friends gathered around him. “Gods, I’ve punched girls who didn’t cry that hard.”

One student looked up from where he was kneeling next to Aniston. “What the hell is wrong with you? You beat up girls too? What kind of man are you?”

“A poor one apparently. I only won two out of the three fights I’ve had with women. Where I come from, girls learn how to give a punch as good as they can take it.” Garran looked to the ceiling and reminisced. “Oh, Karla, you have the body of a lumberjack but the soft lips and hands of an angel.”

Martin appeared in the doorway and shouted, “Holt, to the dean’s office, now!”

“Aw crap!”

***

Martin deposited Garran outside of the dean’s office, reported Garran’s infraction to the secretary, and left to attend to his other duties. Garran failed to notice his departure, as his attention was fully occupied by the most beautiful woman he had ever seen who was sitting at the desk next to the office door. Her skin was flawless, and her hair shone like spun gold. She was just past her mid-twenties and had shed the last vestiges of girlhood. This was a real woman, a true lady, and her bearing suggested she knew precisely how to wield her gods-given power.

Garran strode up to the desk and propped one cheek on its surface. “Hi there, my name’s Garran.”

The secretary looked up with a sympathetic frown. “I’m so sorry.”

Garran’s smile slid from his face and he cleared his throat. “I think it’s spelled differently.”

“If only we could see our words as well as hear them it might actually matter.”

“You are as clever as you are beautiful. I find that incredibly sexy.”

“Do you?” Her perfectly rose-painted lips arched into a warm smile. “My name is Vivian. Martin wasn’t very happy with you, Garran.”

“Well, some guy tried to muscle me. I had to put him in his place.”

Vivian practically flowed from her chair and stood close to Garran. “That sounds so brutal.”

Garran shrugged. “Sometimes a man has to fight for what’s his. Sometimes it’s his honor or dignity. Sometimes it’s a woman.”

Vivian leaned closer, her glittering blue eyes captivating Garran with their hypnotic spell. “You sound like someone who knows how to take what he wants.”

“By any means necessary,” Garran said, matching her low, soft tone. “I’m going to be an agent, you know. Maybe the best one who ever lived.”

“Oh, that sounds so dangerously exciting. I hope you don’t get in too much trouble with the dean.”

“I’m not too worried about it. I have some very powerful friends.”

Vivian groaned softly. “Maybe he’ll just paddle you. I love a good paddling.”

Garran quirked his lips and narrowed his eyes. “Giving or receiving?”

Vivian pursed her lips and whispered, “Both.”

A shudder ran through Garran’s body, and his legs turned to jelly. He barely caught himself from slipping off the edge of the desk and falling onto the floor.

He swallowed the expanding lump in his throat and tried to ignore the one forming in his trousers. “Classes don’t start for another two days. Maybe you and I could spend the day exploring the city…and our nights exploring each other.”

Garran failed to stifle the small whimper that escaped his mouth when Vivian stroked the left side of his jaw. “That sounds like a lot of fun, but there is just one little problem.”

“W-what’s that?”

The seductive woman stood straight, pressed the tips of two fingers against Garran’s forehead, and pushed him away. “I don’t waste my time with little boys who lack the intelligence and maturity to not get into a schoolyard tussle. Go sit your butt in the corner, wait for the dean, and don’t ever presume to speak to me again.”

Garran’s jaw raced his ego to the floor. It was a tie. Vivian smoothed the back of her dress with her hands before returning to her seat behind her desk. Garran lifted his chin with great effort but left his ego lying on the floor.

“Is there a privy near here?” Garran followed her finger to a door partway down the hall. “Thank you, I need to go work off another five demerits.”

Vivian looked up with an expression of pity. “Only five? You poor thing.”

Garran retreated down the hall and darted into the water closet. He knew a good soldier never left a man on the battlefield, but his ego lay in a trampled ruin and was beyond saving. He was certain that this was the most humiliating experience of his life, but as memories began flowing in, he adjusted its rank to third, possibly a tie for fourth. It certainly earned a permanent place in his top ten.

Refocusing on his baser needs, he looked at the fancy, padded privy built into the far wall. A window stood partly open above it to allow in the much-needed fresh air. Forgetting his immediate needs, Garran climbed atop the privy bench and leaned out of the window. He found a narrow ledge running all along the side of the building and wrapping around the corner.

Garran stepped out onto the ledge and hugged the wall as he shuffled along the narrow expanse until he reached the dean’s office window. It took only a moment to trip the latch and clamber inside. The office reminded him of Gregor’s, only a little larger. It even had a stocked liquor cabinet in the same corner, only this one was unlocked.

He helped himself to a bottle of whatever looked the most expensive and sipped it while he explored the office. Taking a seat at the large desk, Garran pawed through the drawers in search of anything useful. It took only a minute to find something. In the top center drawer was a slender, padded box and a receipt for a very expensive necklace, certainly the very necklace he saw ringing Vivian’s gorgeous neck. Buying a gift for your secretary to show appreciation for her work was not necessarily incriminating, but the fact that the box was in his desk indicated that the dean likely put it on her himself. Such an action hinted at it being a far more intimate gift.

In another small, padded box rested a silver pin in the shape of a watching eye impaled on a sword inside of a triangle. Garran had seen the same symbol several times in the Ministry of Diplomacy. It was carved into reliefs and emblazoned on banners decorating the halls. He even spotted it hidden within paintings in Victor’s office. It was obvious that it was an important symbol within the ministry. If the simple passage chit he had borrowed from Cyril granted him such authority, then this could certainly open some doors in the future, so he took the pin from the box and slipped it into his pocket.

Garran expected the dean to show at any moment, so he could not dally any longer, but neither could he leave without taking a good portion of this excellent vintage with him. He rummaged through a cabinet in hopes of finding a bottle he might use, but the only thing that presented itself was a large bottle of ink. With no other viable option, Garran emptied the ink into a potted plant near the window, used a bit of alcohol to wash out most of the residue, and filled it with the fine whiskey. He then filled the original bottle back up, thus accomplishing two important tasks at once, and returned it to its place.