ARC III

CHAPTER SIX

DISCLAIMER: Not Mine.

Myles knocked at Mr Bude's door, and waited for the 'Enter', before slipping it open, and closing it behind him.

Mr Bude sat at his desk, focusing upon the quill that scratched it's way across the parchment in front of him.

Myles waited, while line after careful line wrote itself across the parchment. He knew better, now, than to interrupt his mentor while he was focused upon something. Finally, the quill came to rest in the inkwell, and Mr Bude turned to face him.

'Ah, Myles, is it lunchtime already?' His gaze fell upon the sachet on Myles shoulder. 'No?'

Myles shook his head. 'No Sir. Not for another half an hour. It will be the cook who brings your lunch today, as I need to deliver our mail to the mail coach before it leaves. Are there any letters you wish taken, Sir?

Mr Bude looked around the room absently. 'No... no, I don't believe there are. Well, thank you for letting me know.
Myles frowned. 'Pardon my impertinence Sir, but is your letter to the pope still not ready?'
Mr Bude frowned. 'Letter to the...?'
'The one regarding the human familiar at the academy. The heretic.'
As Mr Bude's eyes lightened in recognition, he sat back.
'Yes, I wrote a letter...' He nodded to his bin, and Myles could see the corner of a sheet of parchment poking out.
'But... it's not needed. The familiar is no threat to us, and we don't need to do anything about it.'
Myles frowned. The speech had sounded somewhat flat.
'But... his power? His heretical speech?'
Mr Bude shrugged. 'He's not a threat. There's no need for the letter.'
Myles frowned. 'What's changed, Sir? You were rather... vocal... about the danger he represented after you met him.'
Mr Bude nodded.
Myles waited, but Mr Bude didn't elaborate, just sitting there, oddly placid.

'Why don't you think he's a threat, Sir?
Mr Bude shrugged. 'He told me.'
'You spoke to him? When?'
'A week ago.'

Myles raised an eyebrow. Mr Bude stared back impassively.
Myles winced. This was like pulling teeth. He kept questioning.

'In the middle of the night.'

Myles asked again.
'I was. He woke me up.'

'In my bedroom.'

'He told me he's not a threat. He told me I don't need to do anything.'

'Yes, of course I believed him.'

'Because he doesn't lie.'

'I know he doesn't lie, because he told me he doesn't lie.'

Myles stared at Mr Bude, feeling sick. Mindbending was possible, of course, though highly illegal. But to do so against a mage like Mr Bude, who's skill and paranoia made him ultra aware of such attempts...
And to affect his mind with enough subtlety that no one had noticed for a week...
He thought of continuing his questioning. Challenging Mr Bude... but he'd read about these cases. The magic couldn't be overcome by logical or emotional pleas. Only by undoing the magic that had been cast upon him. And without knowing the exact spell...

Myles paused and thought, while Mr Bude looked on, with just the hint of impatience. His eyes caught on the parchment sticking out of the bin.

He bowed. 'I'm sorry for questioning you so much on this Sir. I'll empty your bin for you before I go. Do you mind?

'Yes, yes, help yourself.'
Now the topic had moved away from the heretical familiar, Mr Bude seemed more alive somehow.
Myles collected the bin, then paused once more, at the door.

'Sir - There is one more matter I need to concern you with. There is a letter I need to write. Do you mind if I borrow some parchment?
Mr Bude frowned.
'Myles...'
'It is quite important, Sir', Myles interrupted.
Mr Bude nodded, still frowning.
'Parchment isn't cheap... if the letter is important enough for parchment, you may have the cost deducted from your salary. I value your aid, but don't stretch my generosity.'

Myles was almost glad to see him revert to type. He bowed, and collected the bin, before bowing again. 'Yes, Sir. Please deduct the sheet from my wages. This matter is of some importance.'

Myles left the room, closing the door behind him.

His philosophy assignment already seemed like it had happened a month ago. The day's lecture on the Aeneid, morning tutoring session on Barthes' The Death of The Author paper, and afternoon tutoring session preparing them for the upcoming assignment on Realism vs Liberalism in international relations had put it quite out of his head.

And now, with the assignment out of the way, Louise had finally unlocked his computer and phone again. She was allowing him a few blissful hours of escapism before he had to start prepping for his next assignments.

And speaking of escapism...

The victory bell chimed as the German's HQ collapsed. Brent fell backwards into his chair, giving a sigh of relief. That had been harder than usual. He stared blankly at the screen, wondering if he should have another few games of this, or switch to that tank game and grind his Japanese heavies a little more. The Japanese heavies in the higher tiers were supposed to be formidable, but to get them you had to grind through what were arguably the worst tanks in the game. Large, thinly armored, under-powered, and with weak guns.
Brent sighed. When did games stop being fun? And why did he keep playing anyway?

He was just about to close the game when there was the chime of a new message.
'Hi Uber. I'm co-leader of Squad7. Your last battle was against one of our better players, and I just finished watching the replay. Your play was impressive. Congratulations...'

Brent lent forward, intrigued. Most of the messages he got these days accused him of hacking somehow.

'... I couldn't help but notice you aren't currently affiliated with any clan. Would you be interested in joining ours?

We are a professional clan, and will be competing in the bi-annual tournament next month. I realize this isn't far away, but after watching your replay, I think you would need very little training to fit in. The prize is divided equally between clan members, and first prize will work out to $2,000 per person.'

Brent frowned. He really didn't have time for tournaments. It was the main reason he hadn't already joined a clan. Anything that ate into his already precious studying time wasn't really viable, especially with the extra time he had to put into Halkeginia now.

Still... $2,000 was a lot of money for a student...

It was 4:30 am.

Brent knew it was 4:30 am, because the number kept blinking on his phone as he tried to stop it ringing. By bashing it against the wall.

The 'Refuse Call' button wasn't working, you see...

Caller ID: Mistress Louise. Because who else would it be?
He scowled. He'd have to delete the contact later. Or at least rename it...

He finally got the device to shut up, dropped it, and rolled over. Two hours till he had to get up...

'Hello?'

He muttered a small curse under his breath. It was his phone. On speaker mode.

'It's all dark. Hello? The princess is here...'

Brent gritted his teeth. Resisted the urge to start swearing at the girl.
'She's only a girl, she's only a girl, she's only a girl...'
The mantra helped, a little.

'Why. Are. You. Ringing. Me?'

'Princess Henrietta. She's here. In my room. She needs to speak with you. me. us.'

Brent felt some of his ire fade. The Princess...

Henrietta seemed somewhat startled when the soldier manikin spawned within Louise's room, but held her composure.

[Yes?]

Louise winced, thanking the founder Brent was writing his replies, rather than speaking them. He seemed somewhat more polite when writing, for some reason.

The princess appeared not to notice his curtness. 'My apologies for calling you here so late in the evening, but I have a matter that needs discretion. Even from my own court.'

[Late in the evening? It's 4.30 am. I have to get up in 2 hours.]

The Princess and Louise glanced at each other. It wasn't even midnight yet...

[I assume this is important?]

Louise scowled and glared at him, before her eyes went blank.

Back in Brent's bedroom, his phone chimed, and he read the text she'd sent.
Being a well bought up lady, she wasn't accustomed to swearing, but even in Brent's half-asleep state, Louise's mixture of threats, insults and begging penetrated.

Be polite to the future ruler of the kingdom. Right.

The princess, apparently tired of waiting for a response, continued, somewhat hesitatingly.

'Have you heard of the civil war in Albion?'

Brent shrugged, eyes bleary, and turned on his mike. Brents voice was a bit croaky, from being woken up. 'Ma'am... Princess, I don't even know where Albion is.'

Louise sighed in a combination of disbelief and relief, while the princess also sighed - but did a better job of keeping her frustrations hidden. 'Well - perhaps I'll have the scholars give you some background information on where you've found yourself. But for now...'

And she outlined the situation in Albion. The rebellion against the monarchy, Tristain's strong ties with such, the difficulties a conventional force would have in assisting either side...

'... It flies? What the f...'
Fortunately, Louise was able to mute him before he finished...

Brent's phone chimed again, but he didn't bother checking this time, guessing correctly what Louise had sent.

The princess continued explaining. Then, finally, told them what she wanted done.

'So - infiltrate Albion, help crush the rebellion? In a way that won't have Louise and I declared heretics, and Tristain excommunicated by the church?'

The princess hesitated, then nodded. 'There are already a lot of ugly rumors about where your powers have come from... You have the power to defeat whole armies at once, it's true - but if the church decides you're a demon, not even your powers could save Tristain from being the target of a crusade.'

Brent's muttered 'Sounds like a challenge' wasn't picked up by the princess, thankfully. Louise apparently had better hearing though, and he received a third chime from his phone.

AUTHORS NOTES:

This marks the end of the current arc. The next few updates will be going back, revising chapters 2 to 6 in this arc, adding some new material, and restructuring the chapters. 1,000 words average is a bit low for a chapter...

The interplay between Louise and Brent felt... flat... to me. I feel there are some good moments in there, but they're too far apart. Most of it is just Bent being a dick because he's stressed. Hopefully with the new material I'm planning to add (training segments), I can flesh this out a little more.

It's likely to be quite a while before I even start on the next arc. With his powers, Brent is ridiculously overpowered for the traditional adventure story. The obvious thing to do is put him in a position where his powers are limited or useless - such as having him attempting to retake Albion not by destroying armies or fighting dragons, but by intrigue and political maneuvering. Not my forte, and it's going to take a lot of time to research and think it through.

My computer stopped playing games shortly after I put up the previous chapter (Chapter 5). Everything else runs fine, it's just games. I know it's just a coincidence, but it's still a bit creepy.

I could probably fix it, but I'm taking it as a sign, and leaving it as it is. Writing that arc really highlighted just now much I need to stay away from them while studying, and uni starts in 2 weeks.