The Miscreant (20 page)

He slipped the former ink bottle into the inside pocket of his overcoat, checked the street and plaza outside, and slipped back out of the window. Garran had just reached the water closet’s window when a voice accosted him from below.

“You there, what the blazes are you doing out on the ledge?”

Garran carefully turned his head and glanced down. Given the man’s ridiculous hat and draping sash, he was a professor of some kind.

Garran snatched a kerchief from his pocket and began scrubbing the glass. “I got in a spot of trouble, sir, and my prefect set me to cleaning the windows.”

“I can’t believe he meant for you to scurry about on the ledge like a pigeon. Get inside before you make a mess of the plaza! I like to take my lunch here, and I don’t care to have it spoiled by your corpse or haunted by your ghost.”

“Yes, sir!”

The young sneak crawled back through the window, straightened his garb, and returned to the waiting room. Vivian looked up from the papers she was studying when Garran returned.

“That certainly took some time. Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, it kinda turned into a whole other thing. I wouldn’t go in there for a while.”

“I see. I was afraid I had hurt your feelings and you needed time for a good cry. Boys’ emotions are so fragile so soon after reaching puberty.”

“I’ll have you know I was quite the early bloomer in that and many other regards.”

Vivian flashed him a condescending smile. “I’m sure you were.”

Garran’s eyes flicked to the necklace dangling from her neck as she leaned over the papers on her desk. “That’s a nice necklace. Where did you get it?”

Vivian’s hand flashed to her throat. “My mother gave it to me on my last birthday. It’s a family heirloom of sorts.”

Garran smirked. “Is that right?”

“I see we already have a visitor.”

Garran turned toward the voice. The man was in his fifties and wore the uniform of a dean. The emblem sewn in gold thread at each end of his sash marked him as the dean of the School of Diplomacy.

Vivian smiled at his approach. “This is Garran Holt. He got in a fight with another boy during dorm inspections.”

“Where is the other one?”

“He is in the infirmary.”

“Ah, quite a tussle then.”

Vivian handed him a stack of papers and a brown folder. “Here are the correspondences that came in last night and Mr. Holt’s file.”

“Excellent. Give me ten minutes then send in Mr. Holt.”

The dean disappeared into his office, and Garran waited patiently until Vivian told him to go inside. Being familiar with the room’s layout already, Garran went straight to one of the chairs near the dean’s desk and sat down. The dean glanced over the top of the folder he was reading when Garran entered.

“Garran Holt…that is an unfortunate name.”

“I think it’s spelled differently, sir.”

“Yet appropriate on the surface of things. You have been here barely twelve hours and you have already accumulated a week’s worth of demerits and put one student in the infirmary.”

“There were special circumstances, sir.”

“I highly doubt that. I consider myself a good judge of character, and I think this kind of behavior is far from unique.”

Garran squirmed a bit in his chair. “Have you spoken with Cyril Godfrey?”

“No, but I doubt anything he has to say would provide more than specific details to things I already presume. I have been in this business longer than you have been alive. You are not going to surprise nor impress me.”

“Don’t be too sure about that,” Garran muttered under his breath.

The dean dropped Garran’s file on his desk. “Let me introduce myself. My name is Philip Kelsey. I am a retired field agent and dean of the School of Diplomacy. I have seen and done things you can scarcely dream of. If you could, nightmares would plague your sleep like crotch lice at a Sornese whorehouse. I decide the curriculum, the punishments, and who fails or graduates. I am the very last person you wish to test, because it is a test you will most assuredly fail. You had best get in line, or I will be on you like…”

“Sornese crotch lice?”

Dean Kelsey’s face was devoid of emotion. “If you were half as clever as you think you are, you might actually make a decent agent. As it is, I doubt you will last a single semester.”

Garran shrugged and grunted. “I don’t know; there seem to be some people who are very invested in my education.”

“Yes, Agent Ward’s sponsorship. You might think having him in your corner makes you immune to failure, but I decide who graduates this academy regardless of his prestigious position. In these halls I am a god, and I will smite you with my righteous fury if you displease me.”

“I’m not a religious man, but that statement strikes me as a bit sacrilegious.”

Color rushed to Philip’s face, but he maintained a neutral tone. “You will report to Groundskeeper Kent every day after classes for the next month for extra duty in addition to your dorm’s hall maintenance for failing inspection. Now, get out of my office.”

Garran returned to his dorm and found it empty. He assumed everyone must be at breakfast, something that had completely slipped his mind. Garran lay out on his bunk, opened the university rule book, and began to read, taking an occasional sip of his pilfered alcohol. It carried a strong taste of residual ink, but it was not too bad and did the job.

It was not long before his housemates began shuffling back into the dorm. They cast him some harsh glares and whispered conspiratorially amongst themselves.

“Holy crap,” someone called out, “is Holt actually reading, or did someone get him a picture rule book?”

Garran ignored the jokester and ensuing laughter at his expense. Having little interest in memorizing the hundreds of rules and policies, Garran flipped through his manual and picked out things of importance.

“Holt!” Garran looked over the top of his book and saw Martin standing in the doorway. “Come with me.”

Garran closed his book with a sigh, tossed it onto the small nightstand next to his bed, and followed the prefect.

“Where are we going?”

“Dean Kelsey said you are to report to the groundskeeper for punishment.”

“He said after class!”

“Since there are no classes, that means you start after breakfast and will continue until supper. After supper, you will join your dormmates for hall detail.”

“How am I supposed to get any studying done if all my waking hours are spent working?”

“I know this is going to be a struggle for you to understand and probably impossible for you to comply with, but it is fairly simple. Stop acting like a jackass!”

The two of them crossed the open school grounds and took a path that cut through one of the university’s many parks. The path led to a clearing where a small cabin stood surrounded by several sheds, two of which were larger than the home was.

“Toby!” Martin called out as they approached.

A deep, reverberating voice came from one of the larger buildings. “Who dares enter the dragon’s lair?”

“What the hell was that?” Garran asked.

“That was Toby.”

“Is he a giant?”

“No, he’s a lunatic.” The prefect led Garran toward the door. “You two should get along great.”

“You’re handing me over to a madman?”

“Toby used to be a professor, but a tile slid off one of the roofs and hit him on the head, and he hasn’t been right since. The school put him ‘in charge’ of the grounds, but it’s mostly an honorary position to make him feel needed and to keep him out of trouble. There is an entire maintenance crew doing most of the real work.”

Martin opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit barn. Garran poked his head through and tried to peer into the shadowy recesses and corners before entering. It was a skill he had learned after about the third time Dwight floored him with a hurled beer bottle when he ignored his chores and came home late. The number of people trying to kill him of late did not help to reduce his paranoia. Crates were stacked on the floor, and shelves full of tools, tiles, and various objects filled the barn-like structure. Along one wall, racks held pipes that must have been fifteen feet long and four inches in diameter. 

The dreadful voice echoed out of one of the pipes. “You dare to enter the home of Toby the Terrible? Now you shall die!”

“Toby, stop screwing around,” Martin ordered. “I have someone for you.”

Garran spotted movement at the far end of the pipes as Toby threaded his way through pallets of grass seed and fertilizer and emerged from the dark interior. Toby was a big man who looked to be near forty and smelled as if he had not showered in months and was not scheduled to do so for at least a few more weeks. His russet hair and beard stuck out wildly and contained enough dirt and seed to support a small garden. It made Garran homesick for a moment.

“Have ya brought me another troublemaker?”

“Toby, this is Garran. He’ll be helping you out for the next month and probably however long he manages to stay at the university before he gets himself thrown out.”

“Oh, he sounds like a bad one. I like putting the bad ones to work.”

“I know you do.” The prefect turned to Garran. “Do what Toby tells you, or there are far worse details to put you on. He’s all yours, Toby.”

Garran watched Martin leave before turning back to his new supervisor. “That’s a neat trick with the pipes.”

Toby flashed a deranged smile. “Was ya scared?”

“I thought maybe you were a giant.”

“Giant Toby, wouldn’t that be neat?”

“Um, sure. What are those pipes used for?”

“Oh, them’s for things like irrigation and gutter drains. I heard some ships use pipes so crews can talk between decks. You want to give it a try? Come on! Just hold on until I get set.” Toby scurried back behind the pipes and called out, “Go ahead!”

Garran put his mouth up to a pipe’s opening but hesitated when he heard a huffing sound coming from the far end. A putrid stench struck him in the face with the force of a swung fist. Garran reeled back, coughing and gagging.

Toby burst out from around the pipes pumping a blacksmith’s bellows like an accordion. “I farted in the pipe and blowed it in your face!” he crowed and danced a jig while laughing uproariously.

Garran, bent double and bracing his hands on his knees, joined in Toby’s maniacal laughter. “Martin was right, Toby, you are a lunatic, and we are certainly going to get along great. So, what’s on the agenda?”

Toby jammed a finger up his nose and examined his findings before wiping it on his filthy shirt. “Huh?”

“What are we doing today?”

“Oh, we gotta plant some flowers for Miss Marla Kelsey.”

“Miss Kelsey—the dean’s wife?”

Toby bobbed his head up and down. “She’s real nice. Loves to bring me cookies and cake while I’m working.”

“It sounds delightful. What do you want me to do?”

“Grab a couple of those bags and toss them in the wheelbarrow.”

Garran found the wheelbarrow near one wall and loaded it with the fertilizer. Toby added a pair of pruning shears and a small spade and slung a hoe over one shoulder. Garran trailed behind Toby, pushing the wheelbarrow laden with a hundred pounds of steer manure across the grounds. His arms ached, and he was sweating profusely by the time they reached the dean’s manor.

White stucco sheathed the two-story manor, and iron-gray slate tiles capped its gabled roof. The university grounds were immaculate, but the lawns and gardens surrounding Dean Kelsey’s home achieved a level nearing perfection. Every plant, flower, and shrub created a sense of perfect symmetry of form, contour, and color. The grass was dense and cut to a height that did not vary, and not a single weed marred its pristine blanket.

Toby led his new helper to a patch of rosebushes. Garran could detect their heady scent long before he knelt in the island of mulch in which they resided. A few blades of grass had invaded the island and flaunted their green shoots. Toby directed Garran to pluck out the grass, ensuring to pull the root with it lest it return, while he used the clippers to tame the wilder, thorny branches seeking to extend their influence beyond the gardener’s strictly imposed boundaries.

Not until the flowerbed was completely clear of all invaders did Toby instruct him to lay a fresh covering of manure. Two hours into their work, a matronly woman appeared bearing a tray of drinks and cookies. She was well vested in her fifties, but she still held the vestiges of her once youthful beauty.

“I brought you boys some lemonade and cookies,” she said.

“Thank you, Miss Kelsey,” Toby returned and took the glass in one hand and three treats with the other.

“You are quite welcome. It is the least I can do for the wonderful work you perform.” She turned to Garran. “You must be Toby’s new helper. Garran Holt is it?”

Garran picked up the glass from the tray but stayed his hand as he reached for a cookie. “Yes, ma’am, how did you know my name?”

“Philip mentioned you when he came home this morning to pick up something he had forgotten. You left quite an impression on him.”