Instruction Day
He’d been right to wear his uniform since everyone else did the same. Fencing whites were promptly provided to all the students attending Maestro Alvarez’s lesson, and they were already changing in the designated room when he and Ali arrived. It wasn’t because he was shy that he waited for the others to change before following their example. It was better if the Golden Circle – and others – didn’t gawk at him like he was from outer space. Some hid it better, like Anton, but people like Vivien, who considered him an alien, seemed plentiful at the academy. More than once, Lawrence caught one or two of them staring openly.
Ali had offered his help but gave up easily. Lawrence hadn’t refused him that strongly, but when he turned to see what Ali was looking at over his head, since he was sitting on one of the long benches in the changing room, he noticed Bastien. However, the Sun King wasn’t looking at him and Ali, seemingly too taken with his conversation with Felix. Strangely enough, Ali seemed to ignore his twin, and Felix did the same. Watching them act like strangers to each other gave Lawrence a mental itch he couldn’t shake off.
In the end, he had remained last. Bastien ignored him just like the day before, but this time, Lawrence no longer held it against him. If the Golden Circle was meant to keep their leader away from danger – or temptation – they might as well have the means to make things difficult for Bastien. It was, supposedly, one thing for Bastien to be intimate with a member of the ruling class, and a completely different one to become involved with an outsider.
He’d been assigned a full set of fencing clothes, which had to mean that they had made those to order, the same as his uniform. No one at Veridien seemed to be his size.
The jacket’s padding was stiff, so he worked a bit to adjust it over his chest. Yes, his fencing whites were definitely new, just as the glove, which he slid over his hand. It didn’t fit perfectly, and the seams might rub against his wrist during training, but seeing how accommodating the academy was to his needs, he couldn’t – wouldn’t – complain.
Fastening the breeches at the knees, the way Ali had explained it to him, was easy. Like any other new clothes, they felt unfamiliar, but at least he looked like the others now that he was in full gear.
Not exactly. As the students left the changing room one by one, Lawrence noticed them holding their masks under one arm. So his should be—
He saw it at the end of the bench, lying there as if it had been placed in that spot on purpose. Since no other mask seemed to be in sight, that must have been left behind for him. But by whom?
Maestro Alvarez was a stickler for punctuality. That meant he couldn’t afford to dally, so Lawrence took the mask. It felt different than his new clothes. The padding was supple to the touch, so it had been worn before. Lawrence made a move to place it over his head, and then his eyes caught something.
Just above the brow padding, a piece of cloth had been stitched into the fabric. An able hand – not a machine – had made sure only one person would wear the mask in question.
Lukas von Keller. Lawrence stared at the object in his hand. Someone was playing a nasty trick on him, it seemed. Had Bastien left the mask behind for him to find it? No, the joke would be too crude, too soulless. Ali, perhaps? Lawrence didn’t want to dismiss him as a potential spy yet. However, Ali had been with him all the time before leaving the changing room where they’d arrived together.
Anton. Or his dog, Abelard. It looked like the kind of trick they’d pull on the new arrival. They were warning him to stay away from Bastien – maybe. Lawrence wanted to cover all angles before drawing a conclusion.
A darker option was: insist on getting close to our king, and you’ll meet the same fate as the previous owner of this mask.
Or maybe he was just reading too much into it. Maybe masks weren’t so easy to make, and that was the only spare available.
Lawrence looked at the elegant stitching for a moment longer. Then he put the mask on. People who believed in the memory of objects and other things just as nonsensical might say that touching something that belonged to Lukas would somehow put him, the investigator of his death, in touch with the victim’s spirit.
It fit him better than he thought. Yes, it did flatten his hair, but he didn’t mind that. He wasn’t a slave to the importance of looks, though appearance seemed to be everything at Veridien. The padding set well against his brow and cheeks. The world looked different through the steel grid, partially obscured. The sound of his own breathing came out muffled, leaving warmth on his face before slipping away through the metal lattice now covering his face. When he moved his head, the mask resisted lightly, reminding him of its weight.
“What did you see before you fell, Lukas?”
Even his voice seemed to come from farther away with the mask set firmly against his ears.
Well, that medium crap was just that. His soft-spoken words didn’t serve as an incantation for Lukas’s spirit. The objects the victim had owned didn’t serve as conduits, nor could they act as messengers to tell him things he didn’t know.
Only that they could. Lawrence stopped, the pressure of not being late for his first fencing lesson slipping from his mind. If the prestige rules that governed Veridien were strongly enforced, as he suspected, Lukas’s room had to have remained unoccupied. After all, Lawrence was the only new transfer, and no one had hurried to offer him the late student’s room.
And the rooms had objects in them. Surely, the family must have taken most of them, but what if Lukas hid things? Everyone did. Despite the rigorous discipline at Veridien, there wasn’t one student Lawrence had met so far who didn’t appear keen on protecting his secrets.
He needed to see Lukas’s quarters. Since rooms could only be locked from the inside, it should be easy to gain access. The more difficult part would be to do that undetected.
Later, he decided. Now was the time for getting bullied during his first-ever fencing lesson.
***
Lawrence was aware of the many pairs of eyes set on him as he walked into the training hall. It looked like a huge barn to him, a sturdier version of one, but still, nothing fancy. Large doors, as high as the ceiling, were wide open, letting in the daylight. The usual din of students milling about died off as he moved among them, the mask still covering his face.
“Mr. Garth,” a voice admonished him right away, making him move his head in its direction.
Through the metal grid, he stared at a man in his fifties, wearing fencing whites like everyone else, holding his mask under his arm. His grey hair was neatly pulled back into a ponytail, and his dark eyes drilled through Lawrence, though they couldn’t see his face.
If Lawrence had ever imagined what a fencing instructor should look like, he would’ve summoned a face and a stature like Maestro Alvarez’s in his mind. Even in the bulky clothes meant for fencing, he looked like he was made out of nothing but corded muscles. His posture was flawless, a testament to a life spent under the rigors of a discipline that demanded focus and steady training.
His handsome face reminded Lawrence vaguely of someone, but he didn’t have the time to go through his memories to find a match.
“Mask off,” Maestro Alvarez ordered. The words, musical in pronunciation, but polished to a gleam, reminded Lawrence that the fencing instructor hadn’t been born in the language he used to address the tardy student. They carried authority without resorting to useless emotions such as anger.
He obeyed the direct order. The instructor nodded briefly in approval.
“You look strong. It will not help you today.”
That much he knew. Ali must’ve already told the maestro that the new transfer was also new to the discipline. He straightened his stance and waited.
Maestro Alvarez stared at him, the corners of his mouth twitching. “What are you doing, Mr. Garth?”
“Awaiting orders, sir.”
He could’ve done without the snickering behind him, erupting from various places. But the fencing instructor didn’t appear to share their amusement after hearing Lawrence’s stiff reply.
“This is not the army. Onto the piste, please.” Alvarez gestured for Lawrence to follow. “Mask. Herr Klein – a foil for Mr. Garth.”
Lawrence looked down the fencing lane. It wasn’t like him to feel intimidated by new situations, but pointy, sharp objects tended to make him nervous. Supposedly, the foils they used for training here came with blunt points, but he still needed to be careful about other things.
Such as the way the others gathered round, curious and eager to see him making a complete fool of himself.
“One foot forward, one foot behind,” Alvarez began his instruction. “Fencing starts from the ground, Mr. Garth, not from the hand. Control is essential in this discipline. Given your background, I assume and expect that you understand the basics without having them explained to you twice.”
In another man’s mouth, such words would have sounded as if they were meant to humiliate the new student, but Lawrence discovered quickly that Veridien’s impeccable fencing instructor used only words that could be taken at face value. There was no malice in his voice as he issued the instructions.
With the mask on, Lawrence’s interaction with the world turned dulled and limited. Still, through the lattice, he could spot Bastien at the end of the piste, watching him. The uncrowned king of the academy was flanked by Felix and Vivien. Anton was nowhere in sight, or at least not somewhere Lawrence could spot him.
Abelard moved without hurry as he brought Lawrence a foil. Since he didn’t wear his mask, his sneer was visible. “Careful. Equipment around here is more delicate than it seems.”
Lawrence nodded and took the foil. The blade moved, a slight vibration responding to his flick of the wrist.
“En garde,” Maestro Alvarez said. “Now extend your arm. Steady. Remember. Control is everything.”
Control was, indeed, something Lawrence didn’t need to learn or be taught, for that matter. Yet, knowing that Bastien was watching him made his wrist lose some of its steadiness, even as he followed Alvarez’s instructions to the letter. He missed once, twice.
“I am forcing myself to be not too fast for your sake, Mr. Garth,” the instructor scolded him. “Again.”
Feelings were fool’s gold, after all. Lawrence focused on his breathing, tuning out the world outside. And this time, when he moved, he touched the maestro’s shoulder with the tip of his foil.
“Good. I will leave you in the care of your fellow students. Pairs,” Alvarez ordered.
Why wasn’t he surprised to find himself face-to-face with Anton? Even with the fencing mask on, Lawrence recognized him. It was in his gait, in the way he held himself. His Dark Eminence was a good fit for his nickname, but Lawrence doubted there was even one pious bone in Anton’s body. But, after all, l'Éminence rouge had been the opposite of pious, as well, regardless of the kind of cloth he wore.
Tensing his arm in expectation of a direct attack wouldn’t take him far, but Lawrence discovered that his instincts were well at home. Protective instincts.
However, it looked like there was nothing for him to worry about. Anton didn’t lunge at him with a flurry of attacks. Instead, he advanced only enough to goad Lawrence into trying to reach him, redrawing his own steps with practiced elegance.
“Relax your shoulder,” Anton said from behind his mask.
Lawrence knew that he should, but the old adage about not letting your guard down in the presence of dangerous people rang truer than ever.
Anton took advantage of his lack of focus and tapped the guard of his foil with the blade. “So much to learn,” came the sarcastic remark.
That was no secret. Still, Lawrence set his jaw hard. Without looking, he felt Bastien’s eyes on him. Wasn’t it silly to believe he was the center of the Sun King’s attention when Bastien could very well be engaged in a fencing match of his own?
Alvarez appeared to be a just man, but he couldn’t watch everyone. Also, Lawrence couldn’t allow himself to consider Anton’s show of virtuosity a display of bullying.
“Feet,” Abelard’s whisper came from his left, only to be followed by a kick to Lawrence’s ankle.
He grunted.
“The maestro is a stickler for the classical form,” Abelard advised in his slithering voice. “Have you forgotten your instruction so quickly, Larry boy?”
Ali had also called him that, but it hadn’t sounded so grating in his mouth.
“Abe,” Anton warned.
Lawrence didn’t have to look to know that Abelard had stepped aside, quick to follow his master’s orders.
The same dance continued. Lawrence felt sweat gathering on his upper lip. It was maddening to have his target move out of the way at such precise moments. Anton was toying with him. Even if he wasn’t destroying Lawrence on the piste, his methods were crueler. He made the lightest effort, while Lawrence had to fight himself not to lose control with each push and pull.
Anton surprised him by advancing quickly. Their guards touched, and now that they were so close, Lawrence could see his fellow student’s intelligent eyes studying him like he was a mouse in a trap.
“You’re being watched,” Anton whispered, quickly disengaging.
Before Lawrence had the time to react, the tip of Anton’s foil touched his chest.
“Point,” Abelard shouted, way too cheerful for a training hall dedicated to fencing.
Anton took off his mask and walked away. “Consider yourself educated, Garth,” he said.
Had Anton tried to warn him about something right now? It seemed unlikely, but it had sounded like that. However, Lawrence was still interested in revealing the person who had tried to rattle him by leaving Lukas’s mask behind.
“Is this part of my education, too?” he asked, taking off his mask and holding it at an angle so Anton could spot the name stitched on the inside if he wanted.
Anton’s eyes flitted to the mask. His face, however, remained unmoved. Only his pupils widened, a sign that told Lawrence he was either a great actor or he had nothing to do with that nasty prank.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Anton said in a breezy voice and changed pairs, followed by Abelard, who didn’t forget to sneer one last time at Lawrence for good measure.
Lawrence looked around, as if to see who would pair with him next. But his gesture – showing the inside of the mask to Anton – shouldn’t have escaped the one person behind leaving Lukas’s mask for Lawrence to have it.
The other students seemed unenthusiastic about pairing with him. They were giving him a wide berth, ignoring him on purpose, now that Anton’s public display had designated Lawrence’s place on the totem pole. Not one of them stared in his direction.
That meant the perpetrator was at large.
“Will you allow me to educate you, as well, knight-errant?”
Bastien’s warm voice pulled him out of his observations. Lawrence hesitated but then reconsidered. His ludicrous attraction toward the main suspect was already getting in the way as it was.
“Was this really the only mask the academy could spare for me?” he asked. Even if Bastien wasn’t behind it, the culprit might show interest. Lawrence didn’t want to give up on the idea of seeing his ‘watcher’ come out of the woodwork if provoked enough.
Bastien grabbed the mask from his hand and stared at the stitched name. His lower lip trembled, and he thumbed the stitching, as if he could erase it if he insisted hard enough. His eyes shot up to Lawrence’s face, and then he grabbed Lawrence’s arm hard. For all his affable appearance, his grip was steel-like.
“How do you have this?” Bastien asked.
Anger was a good look on the Sun King, truer, maybe, to his nature than the show he regularly put on.
“It was left for me in the changing room,” Lawrence said calmly, without shaking Bastien off, no matter how easy it would be for him to do so.
“By who?” Bastien sounded deadly.
“If I knew, I wouldn’t ask you.”
Bastien’s lips twitched. “You didn’t ask,” he said.
He was right. Lawrence nodded and searched Bastien’s face for any signs that his fury was a learned act. “Then I am asking you now. Who did this?”
Bastien let go of his arm, pushed the mask against Lawrence’s chest, and walked away without a look back. Alvarez called out for him, but he ignored his fencing instructor.
Now, everyone looked at Lawrence. If he had nurtured any hope that he wouldn’t quickly turn into the academy’s black sheep, those hopes were shattered now. Lawrence had changed his mind. He wanted the attention. This way, the person spying on him would soon make a mistake, becoming reckless, even though he might believe himself concealed by the student body collectively sneering at the new transfer.
The Golden Circle, in particular, looked at him like he’d just sprouted a pair of horns out of his head. Norris began walking toward him with murder written all over his handsome face. Something was telling him Norris wouldn’t go easy on him the way Anton did.
Loyalty was revered at Veridien, regardless of whether the person receiving it was on the side of good or not.
“En garde,” Norris warned him, putting his mask on.
***
Good thing foils couldn’t truly hurt someone. Still, Lawrence felt as if he’d received a beating after having to go against Norris for what seemed like an infinite stretch of time. He’d welcomed the exercise, especially since people like Norris, who preferred to express themselves in a physical way, needed his revenge against the stranger who dared to hurt his beloved king. In the end, Maestro Alvarez had to order Norris to step down. It looked like some military discipline wasn’t so bad to have, after all, but Lawrence kept such thoughts to himself.
More than Norris’s revenge, the moment of desperation and grief he’d gleaned on Bastien’s face before his hasty departure truly hurt him. It was absurd, and he’d acted based on his training and purpose here, but a part of him wished he could take it back.
But what if Bastien was simply good at playing the grieving boyfriend?
He didn’t hurry on his way back. Like when he changed into his fencing whites, he preferred to be alone in the changing room when he changed back into the academy uniform. Supposedly, they had showers close by, seeing what sticklers for neatness the academy appeared to be in all its facets.
However, it appeared that the students had no qualms with leaving at least some of their gear hanging on coat hooks lining the hallway leading from the fencing hall back to the changing room. Lawrence had missed it earlier, since he’d had the mask on. Bastien’s glove hung underneath his name, flanked by Felix’s mask, and, curiously enough, Ali’s, as well. He stopped and observed the plaques. There wasn’t one with his name on it, of course.
But one name had to have the place underneath it left bare. Lawrence glanced behind him. Maestro Alvarez’s voice carried over, instructing the next class.
Observance always paid off. Lawrence moved quickly, since the last thing he wanted was to be caught snooping around.
There it was. Lukas von Keller, the name forever imprinted on the metal sheet. Empty, as expected. To its right, Abelard’s plaque followed, and next Anton’s. Lawrence looked above and nodded to himself.
The plaques were grouped by the location of the students’ quarters.
North Tower, he read and quickly moved away. At least he knew where to look next.
TBC
Thank you for reading!
@Derek - there is a bit of falling, yes :) Ali is a declared aesthete - he won't mind, he-he... keep your list of suspects open.
@Geoffrey Fox - I am working hard, yes! I don't think anything else I've written until now demanded so much research!
@DavidB - adorable, indeed :) Bastien did well to warn Lawrence... by now you know what happened in 'arms'!
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