Conquest of Avalon

Florette X: The Blue Bandit

“I know that I said we’d be going over states of matter this week by looking at fluid dynamics, but given recent news in the war abroad, I thought it best to delve into its applications regarding densities, and how hydrogen gas keeps our dirigibles aloft in practice. If there’s time, I may even be able to talk about the promising new advances in mining that could make use of the inert, two-proton Helium as an alternative source of lift. Don’t worry, your assigned reading will apply to the lesson, so feel free to take out your books if you need the refresher.” The physics professor turned his back to the students, picking up a white stick of calcite and lifting it towards the green slate used for writing during lectures, inevitably in unreadably dense handwriting, stretched awkwardly by the need to write on a vertical surface.

Florette slumped down over her book, already open to the assigned chapters that she hadn’t had the time to read last night. The idea had been to do it in class—she was a pretty fast reader, even in Avaline these days—but the equations three paragraphs in had already stumped her, leaving the rest of it unintelligible.

As much of a strain as it was to stay awake, Florette needed these lectures, needed not only to pass but to thrive in this discipline, or all the work Captain Verrou had put into preparing her identity would be for nothing.

Her head started to nod forward, but Florette forced her eyes to stay open, squinting at the tiny numbers scrawled across the slate.

I should have stayed in last night. Should have been studying. Meeting with Christophe and his neighbors had seemed important at the time, but for all the passion and anger, they’d managed to talk for hours without actually resolving anything. Bouncing rapidly between delusional optimism and passive hopelessness was a great recipe to talk about the problem without making any real moves to address it. Moving forward, it would probably be better to leave the workers to Christophe and work the problem on her own, at least before things came to head.

At least Glaciel’s ring had helped heal some of their burns over time. Christophe was better at that sort of thing, but something about Glaciel’s essence specifically seemed to preserve the skin despite the minimal power, and Christophe refused to touch the severed appendage of his sacred ancestor and Queen. Aside from the ring’s reserves of power and the exhaustion from overusing it, it had cost Florette nothing to help.

If only the money were the same. She’d given five thousand mandala of Versham Paruna’s ten to Lord Monfroy to pay down a sliver of her debt and delay doing him the favor he wanted, but between Christophe’s room, food, and the families… she was already down to three thousand, with no prospects to improve it.

Part of what that meeting had been about, in a way, though it didn’t look like any solution was forthcoming. Close to a waste of time, and certainly not a valuable use of Florette’s, but it was hard to begrudge the workers their anxieties.

I still could have studied after that, though. I got so little sleep anyway, losing more couldn’t have made much difference. The idea had been that proper sleep—’proper’ here meaning around three hours—would serve her better than bleary-eyed studies she was liable to forget when the morning came anyway. Maybe that was even true, but it wasn’t doing Florette much good now.

“...thus, an inert gas nonetheless lighter than air can provide lift with minimal risk of a combustion reaction. He promises to provide a safer, more reliable dirigible fluid, so long as sufficient quantity can be obtained.”

Shit. Please don’t tell me I just slept through the whole lecture.

“Thank you, that’s all. For next week, read Kessler chapters eight and nine, and I recommend doing the even practice problems from 12 to 48. Until then.” Professor Landry dipped his head slightly as the class began to stream out the doors, most having already risen from their seats.

Shit, Florette thought once more, since the sentiment bore repeating.

“Professor Landy? Do you have a second?” Florette asked. “I wanted to talk about the exam I missed.” One of two across her different classes, thanks to all of them being scheduled during the same week, a startling act of cruelty. Professor Thorburton had let her make up for the exam she’d missed with a project assignment, which Rebecca had offered to help with. A lot of work, but recoverable. Hopefully Professor Landry would do the same.

“Do you? Why ever might that be?”

“I was hoping I could take a make-up exam, or do some other assignment for you. Is there any—?”

“For you?” he interrupted before she could even finish the request. “I want all of my students to succeed. Such is the mandate of an educator. But the fact is that not all of them will, least of all the truants who can’t even be bothered to show up for my examinations.”

“I’ve been to every lecture since!” Florette was well aware that most students didn’t, especially in this class, whose lectures tended to prove redundant next to the textbook they’d paid so much for. “I’m really trying, Professor Landry, and I’m sorry I missed it. I told you, I knew people in the fire, and spent all night… It won’t happen again, I promise.”

Landry smiled, an encouragingly sympathetic look crossing his eyes. “No. Take the zero and apply yourself.”

“But—”

“Listen, girl. I don’t care how big a fish your daddy was in whatever cultish swamp you call home. You’re at the center of the world now, and whatever paltry dala he could cobble together means nothing here. He can’t buy your way out of your problems anymore. He couldn’t even manage it with the pirate sitting in the middle of his keep. If you can’t hack it here, you’d best just scamper back to your little den, because, I assure you, you have things easy enough under me.”

Florette felt her fist curl with rage, trying to gird her reaction to something appropriate for Srin Sabine… someone who believed her father was dying, and had just been insulted right in front of her. If anything, she ought to be more furious than Florette.

She stared down the professor, growling as she raised her fist.

“Oh, do try it. Please. You’re not smart enough to take a hint, so I’d much rather have an expulsion resolve the matter permanently.”

Not turning around, Florette started walking back towards the door, not breaking the eyeline with Professor Landry until the hallway curved out of sight.

“Agh!” She slammed her fist against the wall, trying to regain her composure.

Why did everything have to fall apart so quickly? That damned fire had ruined everything, not in the least because whoever had started it had gotten away with it entirely. No, instead, the Blue Bandit had taken the blame, some masked ruffian working in concert with the dreaded Queen of Winter.

Florette still had the Cambrian article from the day after the fire, and every day for the week that had followed. Things had started more honest, with the more neutral 118 Men and Girls Die in Garment Factory Fire; Street Strewn with Bodies. Three days later, the death toll had risen to 151, and the locked doors and oil-soaked rags littering the building had vanished from the conversation in favor of that vile foreigner arsonist, the Blue Bandit. Worse, the investigators believed ‘she’ had help from inside, a saboteur worker serving as an excuse to suspend pay and thoroughly investigate each and every one. It was only a matter of time before the arrests began.

By now, the actualities had long slipped from the front page of any journal, but they were still milking fear of the Blue Bandit in the back pages. How did she enter our country? Why is our security so lax in war time? Could the Blue Bandit be linked to the sorceress, Camille Leclaire? How to keep your family safe from bandits. The Malin journals had hardly been any better, but somehow Florette had expected better in the capital, especially when it had been Avaline citizens that died.

It couldn’t be fear to criticize their own, since the same edition had included a cartoon depicting the Prince of Darkness as a whiny child in a restaurant, a dish labeled “Malin” upside-down on the floor while Charenton was speared on his fork as he greedily demanded more. Although, the art style of the cartoons had changed dramatically after that, implying that the artist had been replaced, so perhaps it hadn’t been too accepted after all.

And every hour with the solicitor costs me another two hundred mandala. As much as a hired hand would be better suited to defending everyone now, Florette had to use him incredibly sparingly lest she sink even deeper into debt.

At least no one had seen her face. Even at the meetings, Florette had been careful to wear a hood and kerchief, just in case someone thought they’d be better off selling her out. Too late to do that with Christophe, but he knew them all better, and so far it seemed to be alright. Everyone in the building had lied to the investigators about Christophe’s very existence, helping to conceal him from their search. It could have been worse.

That didn’t mean things were great.

“You alright?” Rebecca asked, startling Florette even though she ought to have expected her. They usually walked to Professor Alcock’s class together.

“Of course.” Florette smoothed her face, forcing a smile. “Shall we?”

“After you.” Rebecca waited for Florette to start moving, then fell into step beside her. “So, I know this is kinda last minute, but is there any chance you don’t have plans yet for Sauin?”

“What?”

“Sauin! You know, the—Oh, I guess you wouldn’t know. Sorry. It’s just a holiday to celebrate on the last day of the tenth month, like a last hurrah before the harvest season winds down. You dress up in a costume like a spirit or a wraith or something and pass around sweets and drinks. You’ll love it!”

I don’t know Rebecca, that sounds a lot like what I’m doing now, and it’s not exactly amazing. “It’s the thirty-first of the tenth?” Florette snorted. “That’s my anniversary.”

Rebecca stopped, a hollow look spreading across her face. “Anniversary with who?”

“Uh… the earth? I guess? I’ll be twenty-three.” Well, Sabine will. I’ll be 20.

“Oh, your birthday!” Immediately, her face lit up, and she began walking again. “I wish you’d told me sooner! Now we have to celebrate.” She let out a quick laugh. “Born on Sauin, huh? How spooky. Should I be worried?”

“It’s just another day, not unlike any other.”

“Except better. Not that today looks hard to beat. What happened in physics?”

“Like I said, nothing.”

“What was the lecture about?”

Since when did this become an interrogation? “How to lift dirigibles. You create a combustion reaction with the gas inside it.” Or something.

“Unless flinging the ship up into the air in a million tiny pieces counts as ‘lift’, I’m going to guess there’s a misunderstanding there. You know I’d be happy to tutor you.” She smiled, warm enough to melt stone. “In fact I’m free tonight. My roommate’s visiting her parents, so I’ve even got the whole apartment to myself.”

“Damn it! That sounds great, but I already have plans.” And I already got one extension from Lord Monfroy. I doubt I can show up tonight asking for another. “Another time? I really appreciate the help.”

“Of course! It’s my pleasure.” As they reached their usual seats, Rebecca set her bag down and pulled out Florette’s chair. “They do give gifts on birthdays where you’re from, right?”

Sometimes. Not as often for the annoying orphan. “Sure,” Florette said as she sat down.

Fortunately, before Rebecca could ask another question, the professor arrived.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t Professor Sohn, who’d been filling in for the past few weeks, but Professor Alcock himself. “I guess his latest pilfering expedition ended,” Florette muttered. “Now we get to hear how he saved the world by doing it.”

“You may recall my mentioning a new Tancredi exhibit featuring ancient Imperial weaponry some weeks ago. I’m pleased to inform you that the marquee item has just been set into place today. Before we begin with the lesson, I’d be happy to address any questions you might have about my expedition.”

And if it’s anything like last time, he’ll spend half the class time talking about himself.

“What’s the item?” one student asked when called on.

“It’s called Nuage Sombre in the native tongue, which translates roughly to ‘dark cloud’.” Wait, I know that name… And if Avalon had gotten its hands on the sword of the High Kings of Micheltaigne, practically their ancestral crown…

Suddenly it did not seem like such a mystery where the airships had been flying to.

Jauntily, Alcock continued to explain. “A venerable and ancient sword, infused with the power of the wind. It’s said that its strength can pierce through a blackened sky, and inspire hope in any subjects who see it wielded by their High King. I believe, as do most scholars, though there remains some dissension, that it gained its name after the Siege of Salhaute, during a war with the Rhanoir in the days before the Empire, roughly… year seven-hundred, age of darkness. According to Micheltaigne legends, High Queen Arèse directed her archers to blot out the sky with arrows and led a charge down the mountain to drive the weakened Rhanoir off. Of course, the pegasus has been an important symbol of royalty in Micheltaigne for as long as it’s been domesticated, and the High Queen would hardly have been without one, even if her first mount had perished earlier in the battle.”

“My mom said that all of Micheltaigne was burned to ash,” said an annoying boy named Prescott. As I feared. Prescott’s mother was a general, which explained him knowing sooner than the journals did, but that was about the worst of all possible options. “Was the sword damaged?”

“My expertise was called on in advance to ensure that culturally significant artifacts were not unduly harmed in the attack, and I’m pleased to say that all of my protection measures were successful. Once the Salhaute ruins were secured, I was able to retrieve Nuage Sombre with nary a scratch on it. Now we can be sure that it remains safe and accessible long into the future.”

“But you weren’t actually part of the fighting, right? Even though you’re a knight?” Olivia Esterton, thankfully, tended to sit far away, but she was loud enough that it made little difference. “You just swoop in afterwards to claim some share of the credit even though the real victory goes to the warriors who crushed the High Kingdom into submission. In a few months, they conquered two nations for Avalon while you combed through the aftermath. We’ll conquer the world and you’ll still be sniffing at the dirt.”

Wow, I did not expect her to stand up to him like that. For entirely the wrong reasons, maybe, but it wasn’t as if Thomas Alcock didn’t deserve to be deflated a bit.

“Cease your vain megalomania, Miss Esterton. I always welcome a spirited debate with my students, but as you’re questioning the very value of my profession, the entire discipline of archaeology, I will also remind you that the exit is just to your left, should you feel that your time is not spent here valuably.”

“It’s different for me. I’m not a knight in wartime, called upon to serve at our moment of achievement.”

“My work is about so much more than conquest, Miss Esterton. I’m rescuing and safeguarding our history. Do you know where the best preserved Imperial ruins lie? Not in Malin, the Fox-Queen’s crowning jewel, for all of it was dismantled stone by stone as her children bashed it back and forth between each other. They tore down their history for the convenience of the present, and now when one wishes to study their civilization, we must visit the far reaches of Hiverre and Sunderé, paying no thought to Malin. In ten thousand years people will only know of this war’s existence because it provides a story for the artifact they’re looking at, preserved and maintained that we might make history of our present, and preserve for future generations the most valuable thing of all: knowledge.”

And apparently it doesn’t count as preservation in the hands of the rightful owners, just yours.

Olivia didn’t have a rebuttal, remaining fuming in her seat.

“What are you planning next?” Prescott asked hesitantly, trying to get things back on track.

“Well, some time teaching you and consulting for the exhibit, of course. But when I depart, it shall be for that most precious treasure of all.” He smiled, somehow managing to look half-charming despite everything about who he was. “I’m getting married.”

Immediately, Florette heard a baffling chorus of gasps. These people are way too invested in the life of one thief. One girl even cried out “No!” just loud enough to hear.

“Yes, I’ve found love at last, with a devastatingly intelligent merchant’s daughter with a voice from the heavens. Now that my work in Micheltaigne is done, I’ll be traveling to Guerron to meet her family and wed.”

Guerron? That has to be a story. Maybe there was a way to get a letter to Fernan to warn him, though Florette wasn’t sure of what, exactly.

“Right, I think that’s enough of that for now. Glenn, if you would, please pass out the graded assignments. I’d like to single out the work of Miss Srin Sabine and her partner, Miss Rebecca Williams for insightful analysis, phrased artfully. I must confess that the historical social impact of weaponry is a personal interest of mine, but even putting that aside, your paper on the parallel development of cannonry with the unification and expansion of the Avaline nation state was absolutely top mark.”

Rebecca accepted the praise stoically, so Florette did her best to do the same. It wasn’t as if Alcock’s opinion mattered that much, anyway, but it was nice to have something go right for once. Shame it isn’t the one that matters, though.

Once class ended, Florette crossed over to the Bayview station and took the train towards the Redding District, a neighborhood full of dull red brick towers and strangely empty streets. A quick walk up the hill led her to Sunset Heights, where she’d gone to the museum with Rebecca.

Monfroy’s carriage was parked in front of the entrance, as he’d said it would be.

Florette flexed her fingers, readying herself to use Glaciel’s ring if it came to that, and knocked on the carriage door. A moment later, it opened, and she stepped inside.

“I appreciate your punctuality, Miss Sabine. So many with your youth are so… flighty. It makes it difficult to cultivate useful associates. I can hope that you’ll continue to prove… exemplary.”

Ugh… There was something wrong with this man, and ever since Jerome, Florette knew to trust her instincts. “You’re calling another favor, right? What can I do for you?” Hopefully nothing that takes too long. Last time had just meant grabbing a folder from under some floorboards in a rotting Bayview cottage and delivering it to an office in the marina, which had only taken a few hours and removed hundreds from her debt.

“I am indeed, Miss Sabine, and I’m prepared to reduce your debt by eighty thousand, nearly half of what you’ll owe once I take possession of Mahabali Hall. But I’m afraid it’s a time-sensitive matter, and sure to be a demanding task. Nonetheless, I would not ask if I didn’t think you could serve my purpose in attempting it.”

“What do you want?”

Monfroy smiled, waving his arm out towards the wall of the carriage and the museum beyond. “I’d like you to steal a sword for me.”