§199 Horsing Around (Patreon)

Taylor didn’t look at his guests. He walked past them, said, “In my office,” and expected them to follow. Which they did. He took the chair behind his desk and watched them file in. Evelyn Hawkins, matriarch of the Hawkins family and all their various enterprises, tried to hide her nervousness, but it was difficult to act confident in the presence of someone who could flatten buildings while horsing around.

Her lawyer looked even more shaken than she did.

Johnny Thompson had a wide smile and eyes that drank in everything. Stately poplars, turning green with the season. Tristan tossing his mane in the unlocked paddock. Cadmius looming in his Coach X mask next to stern Meltissa. The shelf of divine figures in Taylor’s office. Maps rolled up in labeled tubes and stacked neatly in a bin, each one describing a place Taylor had been or was planning to go.

Stories swam across JT’s face in schools. He had more ideas than he had sense, gods bless him.

“You may speak first,” Elisaweta told them.

The Hawkins lawyer answered. “My client has corrected the public record. She will agree to suspend Mr. Thompson from the paper for a period of six months. In return, you agree not to sue Best Interesting News or associated parties for past articles. My client will replace the paper’s editor with someone more hands-on.”

“Your actions cost Dux Twilight considerable time, embarrassment, and legal bills. Your fictions had tangible consequences. Police took him in for questioning. He missed important school functions. He incurred extensive legal bills. His business counterparties are treating him with contempt. A retraction and a temporary suspension are not nearly enough.”

“What do you want, Elle?”

Elle handed the Hawkins lawyer a summary of Taylor's legal bills. “My client wants you to pay his legal fees, which are considerable. He should not be out of pocket because your wretched paper couldn’t stick to the facts. As for the author of those stories,” Elle turned her hard eyes on JT, “he is never to write another news story. Mr. Thompson is finished as a reporter.”

The dreamy look on JT’s face was overcome with shock. “Granny! You can’t!”

“Granny” Hawkins took the summary in hand and found the bottom line. She half-closed her eyes and wavered like someone about to be sick. Taylor had intentionally run up enough legal fees to consume all the profits from all the Hawkins' businesses for a year. The lady pitied her grandson, but she pitied her business interests more. “I warned you this could happen, Johnny, but you never learn. And here we are. Do you think I can afford to keep a reporter who costs me a fortune like this?“

“But writing is the only thing I’m good at. And who is going to fill your paper if I’m not there?”

“Reporting is not that hard. We’ll find someone.”

“Then what about me?”

“Count yourself lucky to be alive,” Taylor told JT. “I wonder, did you ever consider this person you write about? The one who kills elves in cold blood and nails little girls into coffins alive? Did you ever stop to think what that person could do to you? Let me tell you how that goes.

"One night, you leave the Inkwell at your usual time, but you never reach home. At first, no one worries. You aren't exactly known for being dependable, so everyone assumes you're on an extended bender or shacked up with a new woman somewhere. A few days go by, and people start to worry. They visit the wardens and the clinics. They talk to everyone you know. Nobody has seen you. Your family hires investigators, but no matter how hard they search, they never find a trace of you. You become a family legend. Remember Johnny Thompson? They'll say. Barely. It's been so long since he left. What do you think became of him?

“Then one day, a long time from now and far away from here, a hunter stumbles upon a monster den filled with human remains. They're all mixed together in a jumble. They've been scavenged down to white bone. The thickest ones are broken open to suck out the marrow. Just another monster den. The hunter checks the local area to find out if anyone is missing. Maybe they identify some of the remains. But it never occurs to them to look at missing people from faraway Celosia. The identity of Johnny Thompson is never matched against his crumbling skull.”

JT sweated through his collar, eyes drowning in a potent mixture of dread and imagination.

“You are alive today because I am not the person you write about.”

“You can’t tell me not to write! That’s mine! That belongs to me! It’s the one thing I have that I don’t owe to anybody else. And you want me to stop? I might as well be dead.”

Hawkins turned white and hid her face in her hand, unwilling to see what came next, too invested to turn away. Powerful magicians had a reputation for taking people at their word when it best suited them, and an invitation to disappear her troublesome grandson might be too enticing to resist. But Dux Twilight was not the person Johnny had written about. He was, all things considered, a great deal kinder than JT deserved.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t write. I said you couldn’t be a reporter. You can keep doing what you’re doing. Just change all the names and call it what it is: fiction.”

“But fiction is a waste of talent. Everyone says so.” One glance at the Hawkins matriarch told Taylor where he got that idea from. She looked ready to lock him in the print shop and leave him to hard labor for the rest of his life. JT crumpled under the family matriarch’s scathing gaze. He looked so pitiful.

Taylor sighed and muttered. “I can’t believe I’m going to do this.”

“Do what?” Asked Evelyn. Her calculating look was back, rising to the suggestion of hope, willing to take full advantage of changing circumstances.

“Help you save your terrible paper.”

Elle frowned at him. “Are you going to invest in their paper? That's a commitment they don't deserve."

“No.” Taylor shivered with distaste. New responsibilities were the last thing he needed, and he had no desire to get into the business. His life was complicated enough.

“Instead of writing short articles full of lies, you should write longer articles that are even more full of lies. All the sensational, absurd, bonkers things you can think of, eight to ten thousand words beginning to end. Just don't call it news.”

“That’s too large for the paper,” warned Hawkins. She hated the idea, like someone had served her a reviled dish and made it even worse by serving it cold.

“You don’t publish it all at once. You print it in installments, two or three thousand words at a time. Once people read the first part, they’ll have to buy the next issue, or they won’t know how the story ends.”

JT was more receptive to the idea, but cautious. “What would I write about?”

“Write what you’ve been writing. You can keep the same routine you have now, talk to all the same people, and use all those events and personalities for your stories. You can build a parallel Celosia for your readers, one where the bank is secretly in charge of under-city crime, undead ministers make laws in their own interests, and dark lords lurk behind the guises of mild-mannered citizens. As long as you call it fiction, you're fine.”

“A heroic squad of wardens faces off against the forces of evil in the city,” JT said dreamily, “one gruesome crime at a time. They get help from unorthodox sources, delve into the secret corners of the city, high and low.”

“Preposterous,” spat Hawkins.

“We know people like his writing,” argued Taylor, “and since the stories are short, he can try out different characters until he finds some that stick. And in a year or two, you can republish the best ones as a book. You can print a new volume every year and make a profit by selling the same stories all over again. If it gets popular enough, you could even commission a play. Maybe the play is profitable, or maybe it isn’t, but either way it’s advertising.”

Whatever Evelyn Hawkins' failures were as a grandmother, she had an instinct for business. Her disgust faded, replaced by skeptical curiosity. “What’s your end in this? What do you want?”

Taylor shrugged. “I want to see what JT writes when he’s allowed to do his utmost.” He leveled a look at the author and projected a slice of dark lord energy at him. “No real names, JT. Especially not mine. I’d hate for you to go missing before I have a chance to read your new stories."

It took most of the evening to finish the contract and arrange a payment schedule. They signed the papers in the presence of a public recorder and offered a copy to Chowgami. JT watched in wonder as the contract transubstantiated to the realm of the gods.

The next morning, Taylor went to President Harrington’s office an hour and a half before the day's games were to begin. He didn’t go alone. Saria went along, in her school uniform and gold-tinted glasses, and “Coach X” was in his mask and too-small shirt. Meltissa came too, as the legal leash on the monster. They brought one of Elisaweta’s associates, the same young man who had shown up at the clubhouse earlier in the year. They found most of the club waiting for them.

“Any news here?” Taylor asked.

“Nothing.” Lindastra gazed up as if she were about to fight the entire administration building.  “You didn’t send any spirits to spy on them?”

“Tanya wanted to, but campus buildings have defenses. Getting caught breaking and entering would only give Harrington leverage.”

“True.”

They gazed at the top floor as a group. Harrington was probably looking down at them with that gloating face of his.

Rahel showed up a minute later, looked them over once, and said, “Let’s get this over with. Just Taylor, Coach X, Lindastra, the lawyer, and me. Everyone else, wait here."

When they reached the top floor, they found the secretary’s desk was vacant. Harrington’s door stood open, so Taylor and his group walked right in to find the president behind his desk with a lawyer and two college magicians with him: Sage Felix and the Vawdrey woman. The lawyer was one of the campus's own rather than a hired gun. There was nowhere to sit, which left Uroda Codex on its feet.

Typical.

“I only need to speak to Mr. Twilight. Why are the rest of you here?”

“You want to remove us from the All-Academy competition. That affects all of us,” said Taylor. "The whole club wanted to come, but I talked them out of it. You get this whole group, or you don't get a meeting."

Harrington weighed the cost of arguing that point. The All-Academy's signature event, Capture the Flag, would start soon. Whatever was going on, Harrington wanted the current issue settled by then.

“Actually, I want to keep you in the games,” he said, surprising everyone, "even though your victories have upset the delicate balance between humans and arcaics."

"Just so we're clear, you mean the system whereby arcaics can never surpass humans. Right?"

He paused for a heartbeat. "Yes. That system. There are many powerful forces that will not abide a mostly arcaic team sweeping the competition the way Uroda Codex has been. Just last night, there was a brawl at an after-hours establishment not far from campus. Questions will be asked. Your club could be investigated for cheating. At this late hour, your certificate could be delayed indefinitely."

Taylor had thought he could be calm, but now that the moment had arrived, calm was hard to find. "And none of this has anything to do with Moyalwande's offer in exchange for pulling us out of the tournament."

"None whatsoever," Harrington said flatly. "But there is a way to avoid messy investigations, let Uroda Codex take the victory it deserves, and dispense with all the hurt feelings."

The principal fell silent.

"Am I supposed to guess?"

"That would be too much to hope for. We reframe your club as an experiment in new magical training techniques. The competition is proof that your method works. Now that you have proven your training regimen, the Celestial College would like to adopt the techniques as its own. You will receive your certificate on time. All of your club members keep their places in the class rankings."

"You mean the rankings they already earned."

Harrington ignored the comment. "And you, young man, will be awarded a certification as a fully-fledged Magician, with an emphasis in spellwork."

It sounded good, actually. Hand over his method so it could be taught to more students, and his team got to compete. Other than his desire to keep the mirrors to himself, Taylor couldn't immediately see anything wrong with it. And that made him suspicious. By now, he knew Harrington too well to assume there wasn't something unsavory lurking beneath the words.

Rahel figured it out first. "Who will benefit from this new system?"

"The empire will benefit," Harrington said. 

"She means, who will the students be?" Taylor knew the answer before he asked.

Enburh Vawdrey spoke up from her position on the couch. "Only those who can be trusted. Those who have been blessed by the goddess Knexenk. We can't put this knowledge into hands that might turn against the empire."

"R-ri-ight." Rahel drew the word out into three syllables. "Because arcaics have never paid for their place in the empire. We never fought for it. We never bled for it, or gave up our own homelands on command."

"We saved your people," hissed Vawdrey. "You should be grateful."

"That debt's been paid, a hundred times over. Arcaics have more than earned their place."

Harrington held up a hand. "This doesn't involve you, Professor Rahel. The mirrors belong to Taylor, and only he knows how to make them. Yes," he said in response to the group stares, "I know about the mirrors. Or did you think thirty students could keep a secret that big?

"You will hand over the mirrors and the process to make them to the college. Your method will live on in the bodies and minds of the empire's most gifted students."

Lindastra's arms crossed and flexed, wishing for a weapon. Cadmius fumed. Meltissa's look could have melted stone. Rahel's disgust poured from her. The three college magicians were wary of the hostile room, but Harrington was calm.

Harrington was calm because no matter what Taylor decided, he would win. The cold sensation in Taylor's body deepened, like it was reaching for the marrow in his bones.

"If I agree, then you win a major breakthrough in magical training. If I don't, you put the team on academic review, we can't compete, and you collect whatever Moyalwande has offered you. Either way, you win."

"I've been at this a long time," said the president with a trace of pride. "Unfortunately, I can't give you all day to stew in your defeat. I require your answer now."

"Have you forgotten we have a contract? You are not to impair the club's academic standing due to external concerns. This conversation violates our terms."

"I'm sure it does. But what of it? You have performed as promised. I have what I wanted. You can try to sue me, but what court will take the case? There is nothing here for you to win."

"But you want to make a new deal, and you think I'll trust your word."

"I think you have little choice."

"Fair warning, Principal Harrington: this is a very bad idea. Breaking a contract blessed by Chowgami has consequences."

"I'll risk it."

Cadmius grunted. Taylor could feel the smile behind his mask.  "Should I tell him?"

"Don't bother. He made his choice. Let him enjoy the consequences."

Harrington turned his palms up, looked to the sky as if waiting for punishment from above, and smirked when nothing happened. "I think I'll be fine. What about you, young man? What is your decision?"

"I refuse."

"Then I hereby serve notice that you and seven of the competitors from Uroda Codex are under academic review, on suspicion of cheating. The princesses will be held blameless, of course, unless they interfere with the investigation. Then the school will be forced to consider them co-conspirators. Sign here to acknowledge you have been notified."

Harrington pushed a piece of paper at him.

"Don't sign anything," Elle reminded him.

"I wasn't going to." Taylor let it sit there, at the edge of the president's desk, untouched. "I'm not signing anything from your hand. Not after last time. We're leaving."

"Be sure to give your team the bad news!" Harrington called after them. "Or don't, and we'll kick them out of the arena! Either way works for me!"

Taylor felt like he was gliding over the floors and down the staircase. Notifications kept rolling in, and he kept ignoring them. It wasn't wise to read while traversing stairs. Also, he was angry. Deeply, personally angry. Scum like Harrington thought that anything they could get away with was acceptable. The man was in charge of an educational institution, but had no problem stomping on good students when their excellence was inconvenient.

He wondered what Harrington would look like as a statue.

When they left the building, the club was waiting for them. Uroda Codex gathered around, eager to get the news. Taylor let Rahel explain the situation, because he was too busy reading notices in his class.

[Celosia Academy Counterparty: Burton & Leestock Beverages]

[Celosia Academy Counterparty: Byron's Magical Supply]

[Celosia Academy Counterparty: Castor Transportation]

[Celosia Academy Counterparty: Celestial College]

[Celosia Academy Counterparty: Clingvine Agricultural]

[Celosia Academy Counterparty: Clovis Coverus Cartage]

[Celosia Academy Counterparty: Congruent Construction]

Taylor had to scroll up to make sense of the counterparty entries.

Quest: [Broken Promise] Divine Contract counterparty [Celosia Academy] has intentionally violated the terms of your agreement. You may impose the title [Faithless] on [Celosia Academy]. Additionally, 204 [Celosia Academy Counterparties] will be notified that [Celosia Academy] has acquired [Faithless]

Impose penalties on [Celosia Academy]?

It looked like half the city's human-owned businesses were on that list, plus the church, the governor, and a textbook publisher in Moyalwande. 

Taylor led his group away from the administration building and surrounded them with a privacy barrier. Then, he made his interface visible and showed his quest log to the club.

"So, we have a recourse. Does anyone object to my accepting this?"

"Here we go again," said Saria.

"Mon!" exclaimed the disc-kin. "Never mess with the Dark Lord!"

"That's going to hurt," said Coach X.

"Let it hurt," grunted Majida. "He's punishing us for being too good."

Lindastra nodded along and looked ready to punch the president in the face.

"Wait!" shouted Mariella.

Taylor glared at her. "You've got to be kidding me."

"We need to talk about this," said Mariella. "Please."