Conquest of Avalon

Florette V: The Student

The first day of classes began with a memorial. Everyone was made to gather in the courtyard as one of the professors read out a dirge for the students who wouldn’t be able to attend this year.

Florette stood dutifully still as they read out the names, and the cause of their ‘departure’, which seemed to be Avalon’s euphemism of choice. Each of the departed had a portrait raised at the central fountain when it was their turn to be honored— a procession of largely similar-looking fresh-faced students, each with a grave expression on their face.

Do all the students get portraits taken when they start here?

The names were strangers all, even if their paintings looked young, and the lengthy dirge for each made it hard to keep them straight. The Avaline was archaic, and nearly impossible to understand, but when people spoke about the students, it was easier to parse the list.

Wentworth Wooly, age 19, missing and presumed dead after he failed to return from a hike when darkness fell; Ophelia Dartwick, 22, exposure; Gregory Grambol, 20, despair. It was hard not to let them all blend together.

We lost a lot more than six in the White Night, and some were even younger than that. The crowd seemed chastened, though, which made sense. These were their peers, their friends. Even if they hadn’t had personal relationships, it would still be people they’d seen every day here.

Some of them even went up to speak for their friends, which was a hundred times as affecting as anything the professors recited, for all that it was lacking in eloquence. Most were dressed in white, which from context seemed to be the color of mourning in Avalon, and made Florette feel all the more out of place in her brown and grey vest and trousers combination, which the Captain had given her as appropriate wear for classes.

A slight ringing sounded in her ears, faint behind the buzzing the crowd and the loud speaker for the dead, but not entirely possible to ignore, either.

The next two names were Edith Marbury and Edward Williams, which was a bit of a shock.

Captain Verrou had mentioned killing them as part of the Srin Savian ruse, but when she’d heard it, Florette had imagined cackling old nobles high up in their castles, thinking themselves untouchable and proven fatally wrong.

Not students here.

He didn’t just kill them to make Savian’s ‘death’ look convincing, he was clearing a spot for me here.

Better understanding her role in all this, Florette paid closer attention as the next name was read out. It was the least she owed.

“Fuck,” she muttered softly. I should have expected this. Perhaps she hadn’t wanted to think about it.

In front of the fountain, a starry-eyed portrait was placed to look out over the students. Round faced, with a mop of red-brown hair that nearly covered her eyes. Even after all this time, after all that happened, Florette recognized Cassia Arion immediately.

“At the age of eighteen, her academic journey with us had only just begun, but Cassia knew she wanted to see the world,” a grey-haired professor said, holding a white hat in front of his chest. “I had agreed to take her on my next expedition, but she found adventure before it began. Before she was ready…” The man inhaled sharply. “I hope, when those pirates were hanged, that they realized what they’d taken from us, what spark and passion they’d robbed the world of. I doubt it, but I can hope. All I can say is that I will do all that is within my power to ensure that her name is not forgotten, so that Avalon can forever mourn this promising young woman who was cruelly taken from us.”

Florette couldn’t hear the rest of his speech, because the ringing in her ears was too loud to focus on it. She simply endured the rest of it, and let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding when the professor stepped aside and the next speaker moved forward from the crowd.

Cassia had more students speak for her than any of the others, from a hook-nosed boy ranting about the glory of Avalon to a curly-haired girl in a red sweater quietly thanking Cassia for her optimism and inspiration. Even Prince Luce had an address, sent by letter, but by that point the pain in Florette’s ears was strong enough that she couldn’t parse a word of it.

Why did I think this was a good idea? How did it excite me? What was I thinking?

I don’t belong here.

And now it was too late to go back, lest she waste everything Captain Verrou and the Exiles had put into this mission. The only way out was to see it through to the end, and strike the strongest blow she could against Avalon from within.

Her first class was called Introduction to Thermodynamics, with Professor Douglas Thorburton. Getting the papers for it had left Florette’s head swimming, which was a bad sign for an introductory class, but much worse was hearing the other students complaining about how ‘boring’ the start of these ‘easy intro classes’ was, and a large murmur of agreement accompanying it as they filed into the lecture hall.

You have to remember that every student there was tutored for years, with the best that money can buy. You’re going to be catching up the entire way.

In theory, that was fine. Florette didn’t need to be the best scientist Avalon had ever seen, she just needed to learn enough to better target future strikes and robberies, and ideally position herself somewhere influential after graduation.

The latter requires a bit more than squeaking through, though.

Professor Thorburton was broad shouldered and barrel chested, looking more like a knight than a scholar, and his booming voice did little to dispel the impression. Nor did his opening demonstration, which involved setting a fire on the floor of the lecture hall and walking them through every step of what he called the ‘reaction’, from the life energy built up in the fuel through to orange flames and smoke.

More entertaining than Florette had expected, maybe, but the technical details were no less bewildering than she’d feared, and this was only the first day.

I might just need to read the books for this class front to back before the next one. Not a prospect she relished, but this was one of the core reasons she was here. Giving a half-hearted effort was not an option.

Next up was History, which at least had the chance of being slightly less bewildering. Florette had spent probably hundreds of hours reading at The First Post over the course of her life, and historical works had always been some of her favorites. Like Olwen’s Song, I, Julius, The Pauper and the Principle, the Fox Queen’s Memoires… Some of that was fiction, but Florette had also read her Corelle, she’d talked politics with the Fox-Empress to be, and made history herself countless times.

Also, and more importantly, there wouldn’t be any math.

It was a shame that it had basically no value to her infiltration mission aside from meeting a requirement to graduate from the College, but since it was required, attending it was still technically a productive use of time.

And less likely to make me want to tear my hair out. Not a guarantee, by any means. Florette knew better than to get her hopes up prematurely, but this was at least more promising than Thermodynamics, what had always promised to be a miserable slog.

The professor was the grey-haired man from the memorial, still wearing his fancy white hat, now with a white dinner jacket to match. Up close, he had the kind of clean cut presentation that made him look younger than his hair color implied, as did his insouciant stride. It was definitely a look, if you were into that sort of thing, though something about his smile put Florette off.

“Welcome, students. I expect most of you know who I am, but for anyone who’s dwelt under a rock, fear not. Excavation is my specialty.”

Prick, Florette thought, rapidly losing hope that this class would provide any relief. That feeling only worsened as she noticed most of the class chuckling at the joke, apparently impressed by whatever celebrity he commanded with them. The girl sitting next to her was rolling her eyes, though, immediately becoming Florette’s favorite person in the class.

“My name is Sir Thomas Alcock, and I do beg that you refrain from calling my ‘Alc-ie’, as my dear uncle is wont to do. I teach history, but, as we all must, I first investigate it through the most potent medium of archeology. As it happens, I just recently returned from my most recent expedition into the wild ruins of Refuge, remnant of an ancient, collapsed civilization.” His smile stretched wider as he pulled a large, narrow bundle of blue cloth up from behind his podium. “Your classmates and fellow Cambrians will soon have the opportunity to examine it in the Tancredi Museum, but I thought I’d give my students a little peek behind the curtain, if you will.”

Immediately, the room lit up in murmured conversation, largely incomprehensible to Florette between the language barrier and the still-persistent ringing sound echoing through her ears.

“Cease your boundless prattling, please. Technically I’m not supposed to show this to anyone until the exhibit officially opens.” With a flourish, he pulled the cloth away, revealing a narrow, pointed sword with an intricately designed guard around the hilt, fashioned in the shape of a flower. “Can anyone tell me what this is?”

“A sword?” one voice asked from the crowd, earning a small bit of laughter.

“While that is not incorrect, I was rather hoping for a more specific answer. What sort of sword?”

“A longsword.” Wrong.

“A broadsword?” Wrong.

“A dirk!” Even more wrong.

This was Avalon’s best and brightest? Any random knight from Guerron would have known in an instant.

“Wrong,” Florette couldn’t help but mutter at the next baffling suggestion, shaking her head. Honestly, a mace?

“What is it, then?” the girl whispered from the side, whom she now realized was the same red-sweatered one who’d given a eulogy for Cassia Arion that morning. Great.

That wasn’t for anyone to hear. “A florete,” Florette answered quietly. I’ve got one just like it stashed under the cobblestones down the street. That had seemed like the best balance between carrying suspicious weaponry and being totally unarmed if things really went sideways.

“Very good!” Sir Alcock cried out. “Could you please repeat that louder, for the rest of the class?”

Damn, I wasn’t trying to call attention to myself. Florette repeated her answer, louder, while trying to shrink down into her seat.

“How did you know, Miss…?”

“Srin Sabine,” she answered. “And it’s because of the pointed tip.The Arboreum doesn’t believe in edged weaponry because it can be turned against the verdure of the environment. Other places use foils, but the floral pattern cinches it. Either Refuge believed the same thing, which would make sense given their position, or they got their swords from somewhere that did.”

“An excellent answer, Miss Srin! This particular florete was nestled deep in the ruins of the old city. I barely made it inside alive, beset by the ashen husks left behind by the once-great civilization. Even once within the walls, the overgrown flora retained their hostile will, and harried me all the way to the old vault.” Hard to believe Eloise braved all of that just to grab a pot, but I guess they were desperate.

Alcock pulled a glove from beneath the podium and put it on before grabbing the sword by its hilt. “This one, based on the inscription, was a gift from Her Verdance around the turn of the last century. As best we can tell, Refuge was considered a holy kingdom to the peoples of the forest, and even the erstwhile empire at large.”

As best as you can tell? You people are the ones that poisoned it. But Florette nodded rather than voice that, trying to look unsuspicious. “That’s why the Fox-Queen called off her attack on the Grimoires taking refuge there. Her army didn’t have the will to risk it. She said in her memoires that waiting them out turned out better anyway, since it let her army harry them all the way to Lyrion under the cover of the forest.”

With a chuckle, Alcock returned the florete to its cloth cover. “I’ll have to remember you, Miss Srin. It’s not often that I find a first-year who’s already read the Fox-Queen’s memoires. I believe the last student to come so prepared was Prince Lucifer, in fact.” Shit, I’m not supposed to be calling attention to myself. Alcock pulled off his glove and tossed it to the side, turning towards the rest of the class. “Such is the Fox Queen’s account of things, but never forget that all sources are biased, each in their own distinct way. Even primary sources, as any reader of Olwen’s Song could tell you. Still, while I was there, I saw no evidence to contradict that narrative of the conflict, and ample discarded implements and buried camps in a line to Lyrion. Some day, when things are safer, I intend to take a full accounting of the path the army took.”

Working very hard to keep her mouth shut, Florette tried to marshall her composure amidst the incessant ringing in her ears. It didn’t help that a lot of the class was looking at her, now, probably wondering what business this ‘westerner’ had ingratiating herself with this apparently-famous professor.

“All that said,” Alcock continued. “I’m putting together an entire exhibit of ancient Imperial weaponry for the Tancredi, and, I assure you, this particular item is merely a taste of what is to come. The crown jewel, so to speak, will take a bit more doing to obtain, so I’m afraid I’ll be absent for the next few weeks of classes. Professor Sohn will be leading a study hall during the time slot for anyone who’d like to brush up, but I shall leave you the intervening time to complete your first assignment: a twenty page research paper on a historical topic of your choosing. We’ll narrow focus once I return, but I’d like to begin by sampling what interests you. And what better way to prove your dedication than an exhaustive report? The highest mark will be exempt from the final exam.

“You’re free to form groups as large as four — all worthy work in the real world depends on collaboration, and it’s a skill you would do well to practice — but individual submissions are permitted as well, since we all know that sometimes successful collaboration means doing all the work yourself, and in that case, I’d rather not credit the hangers-on.” He winked as another murmuring of amusement flowed through the classroom. “I leave you the remainder of this class period to form your teams and begin planning your projects. I’ll be at the front if anyone has any questions.”

Florette pressed her hands to ears, trying to deal with the high pitch tone, but to no avail.

“I know what you mean. I thought he was never going to stop talking. Find one lost underwater city, and all of Avalon will trip over themselves to fawn on you for the rest of your life.” The red sweater girl turned in her seat, facing Florette directly. “You said your name was Srin? I think I heard about your father. How is he holding up?”

“Not well,” she answered, since that was the story. “But thank you for asking.”

“Sorry. Verrou’s a nasty piece of work.” Up close, it was easier to see her vivid green eyes, surrounded by freckles. Her hair was pinned up, making her face easy to look at. “Almost as bad as the Headmaster. What were they thinking, making us do over an entire term? It’s even more absurd than having to do this stupid history class in the first place. If it weren’t for that idiocy, I’d be working at the Tower right now.”

“Ortus Tower?” Florette asked. The height of Avaline science and technology, it was apparently the premiere destination for graduates, at least according to Captain Verrou.

The girl blinked. “Uh… yeah. Is there another tower I could be talking about?”

Fuck, I’m sounding too foreign again. Florette shook her head, shrinking back into her seat.

“Listen, I’m just trying to get this last credit as quickly and smoothly as possible so I can take the job I was promised half a year ago. You seem to know your stuff. Want to team up? I figure we can get most of the research done with one trip to the Tancredi, then go 50-50 on the paper. Play it right and we’ll be done long before the deadline.”

Wait, really? Maybe this mission wasn’t doomed to be completely isolating after all. “Sure. What’s your name?”

“Rebecca Williams. Meet you at the museum Saturday morning?”

“Umm…” Florette blinked. “Yeah, sure. Sounds like a plan.”

“Great! I’m going to go now, then. Easier to get the prime spots in the workshop if you get there early. I’ll have some ideas Saturday, but be sure to bring some yourself. Until then!” Before Florette could really react, the girl was already sliding out of her seat and marching past the throngs of students waiting in line to talk to Sir Alcock.

After a moment, Florette left too. Not much more to be done, and even if she wanted to talk more with the professor, it didn’t seem likely he’d make it through the line before the class period ended.

Better to go outside and get some fresh air.

Herding dozens of students into a single room had a way of making the air stale and warm, and Florette had had quite enough of it huddling inside under the darkness.

Even with the fog still thick in the air, the improvement was instantaneous and enormous.

Still, the weight of everything pressed heavily on her shoulders. That was just one day, and doing this right meant getting through hundreds more. Maybe thousands.

She found herself wandering towards Ortus Tower, or, she supposed, just ‘The Tower’. It was remarkably close to the College, and the seaside, though the tall walls bordering its base obscured any view of the water.

The streets seemed largely deserted, not dissimilar to the Spirit Quartier in Guerron, though here the likely reason was that most people in Mourningside right now were either working or in class, and from experience, they’d be abuzz again once the hour for lunch arrived.

Fernan had always liked having the chance to be alone with his thoughts. Florette found the isolation kind of off-putting.

Much worse at the College though. At least mouthing off had earned her a partner for this project, even if Rebecca seemed eager to be done with all of it as soon as possible. Perhaps it wouldn’t be all bad, if—

“Florette, it’s you!” What?

She’d been made already? How? Had Prince Luce returned, even though he was supposed to be living in Fortescue now? Was—

Fuck! I really wish I’d kept my sword somewhere more accessible.

Eyes scanning rapidly to make sure no one was around to hear, Florette found the source of the voice, a lanky boy who looked maybe sixteen, and one she was positive she’d never seen before. “I come as an emissary of my ancestor, Queen Glaciel, here to repay you in her name for all that you have done.”