What a fun time I’ve had in Yellowstone! Ah, it always refreshes me to visit our first national park and get away from classes. But you don’t want to hear about bison, bears, and geysers. So then! On to the story!
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Martin recognized the professor of the class he and his tent mates were assigned to learn from. Charles Collen usually taught at one of Nacre’s academies as a teacher of protocol. He was a timid little man with a head of white hair. His large eyeglasses enlarged his eyes so he always looked wide-eyed. He wore a dull dark robe that reminded everyone of his scholarly background.
“A new student?” he asked as Martin walked in. “How nice. Once class has started, I would like you to introduce yourself to the class and a bit about yourself.”
Great. Another chance for people to gawk at him.
Thanks to Var, they were about a half hour early. Slowly the other students arrived. Martin was surprised at first when the first married man and his wife entered, but then he rationed that it was only wise to also instruct the wives. Their husbands might be a prince, which would make them princesses. Martin wondered how many wives were excited about the prospect and how many were terrified. By the time class started, there were only about thirty students present.
“Good afternoon,” Collen said in a monotone voice. “Before we start the lesson, we have the last listed man.” Taking the cue Martin stood and did as asked. Giving his name and fake profession, which everyone started buzzing afterwards, he ended his introduction to them by mentioning that he played the flute. There were several chuckles from the class.
“Now, now,” Collen said, getting the attention back to him. “There is nothing wrong with playing the flute. It’s nice to have a musical talent.”
“But a flute?” one man laughed. “Doesn’t sound very princely to me.”
Martin sat down, groaning softly to himself. Was this how people would treat him after revealing himself?
“Neither does your manure mucking job,” Collen pointed out, earning a laugh from the class. “Our prince could be any of you, so don’t dismiss someone merely because they don’t have ‘princely’ attributes. Now, today we’ll discuss the proper forms of address for…” He stopped mid-sentence, squinting his eyes as he looked at the back of the tent.
“Yes?” he asked. Martin turned around, a bit surprised to see Sona had entered the tent.
“Excuse me, Professor,” she said, smiling. “But I’m here to introduce myself to your class.”
Collen frowned and gestured her to the front of the class. Sona saw him watching and gave him a quick smile before joining the professor at the front.
“No doubt most of you saw me arrive this morning,” she started, “but I did not introduce myself at the time. My name is Sona Merette. I’m the researcher responsible for the list all of you are on.”
The tent buzzed with excitement. Martin wasn’t happy to see Var stare hungrily at the pretty spy. He suddenly wanted to be present when Var tried to flirt with her, imagining how she would quickly stomp on his advances. At least, Martin hoped that was how it would go.
“I will be questioning you about your pasts,” Sona went on to say. “There is a schedule set up for which you will sign for which time you would meet with me. Wives,” she added, nodding to the women in the class, “you are invited to attend with your husbands.” Suddenly she smiled, her eyes twinkling. “And for you single men. I have no interest about how brave, well-versed, hard working, rich, poor, heroic, handsome, or clever you may seem to think you are. I am not here to court you. I am here to delve into your pasts and find out who among you is the real prince. I am not looking for a husband.” She caught Martin’s eye and smirked. “Besides, I prefer men of my own… profession.”
Martin resisted the urge to cough out his embarrassment. This was the first of her serious hints to him. And in front of everyone! It was only thanks to his training that kept him from blushing. Too much.
“Also,” she went on, the smirk still lingering on her lips, “the queen has set up a schedule to have a meeting with each one of you. She wishes to get to know all of you individually.” She held up two papers. “These are the times to meet with her Majesty and myself. Please sign up on a time slot.” She handed the papers to the closest man. “I will wait for everyone to sign before leaving for the next class. Thank you.”
Smiling again, she nodded her thanks to the professor and went to the back of the tent to wait for the lists to arrive back at her. Martin refused to watch her, but instead kept his eyes on his fellow classmates, noting which ones did watch the researcher. He shook his head when he realized what he was doing. He didn’t know if he would be allowed to court her. Why should he be concerned if other men found her attractive? Even as he thought it, he caught Var steal a glance to the back, a smile tugging at his mouth. Oh, yes, Martin couldn’t wait for Sona to take him down a notch.
The lists quickly reached them. Martin was a bit surprised to see more names than those in the class on it already. Sona must have already visited another class. Var passed the list to him after carefully picking his own slot. Martin was quick to see the glassmith’s name on the last slot for the day to visit Sona. He made note of it to be around when the appointment came. Finding a time for the next day on both lists, he signed his name and passed the list over to Jordan.
“As I was saying,” Collen said at the front, as Sona gathered her lists and left quietly. “Today we’re going to learn the different forms of address for various nobles.”
Launching into the lecture, his monotone voice soon drifted over the heads of bored men and women. Martin leaned back in his chair as the professor drawled on, having learned this long before. He glanced around the tent again, noticing others like him, such as Calvin, who had very little interest in the lecture. There were a few, like Jordan, who sat at attention, jotting down as much as they could. But most of the class watched the professor, jotting down some things.
This is going to be a trial, Martin thought with a sigh. Maybe he wasn’t going to learn anything. He had already learned this through his training.
By mid afternoon, he was proven wrong. Apparently Collen only had them for a couple hours each day. Once the professor dismissed the class, he was surprised to see the mixed looks of excitement and dread among his classmates.
“What’s our next class?” he asked Jordan as they moved with the class to the mansion.
“Fencing,” Jordan sighed, looking glum. “Apparently the queen thought it would be wise if we know how.”
“It makes sense,” Calvin muttered, joining them. “It’s a nobleman’s sport.” He made a face. “Many of us are fairly bruised after the class. I’m not meant for sword work. I’m a merchant; haggling is more of my style.”
Var, who was walking in front of them, turned around and smirked at them. “Of course, Master Merchant. You’d rather cheat people than draw blood.” Calvin paled and said nothing. Martin glanced briefly at the merchant, surprised he hadn’t said anything back. Calvin was known among the merchant world to have a harsh tongue. Still smirking, the Glassmith turned around and kept walking forward, whistling.
“Pay no attention to Var,” Jordan said as an aside to Martin. “He’s just gloating. He’s one of the best fencers in our class.”
“One of?” Calvin snorted. “He is the best.” Suddenly the merchant grinned wickedly. “Perhaps our Ghost can top him. From what I hear, you Ghosts are really good at nearly every weapon.”
Martin burst out laughing. “No, those rumors are wrong,” he said, as he regained his composure. He had listened to enough of Fred’s rants about his Ghosts to know that the elite fighters did not all know how to use every weapon. “Besides, you are right. Fencing is a nobleman’s sport. And I’d rather have my enemy as far from me as possible. Give me a good bow and arrow and I’ll hit nearly any target you point out.”
Jordan and Calvin both sighed. “Well,” the merchant grumbled, “maybe our teacher will have something for Var to do to keep him from beating us up.”
Martin frowned. Was Var really that good? Why would a Glassmith need to know fencing? Come to think of it, Var was also very bored during the class, as if he had already known what was being taught. It didn’t add up. How would a village Glassmith know about noble life? He made note to himself to ask Sona next time he saw her to give him some back ground information about the man.
They didn’t enter the mansion, but rather headed for the parade ground. The class before them moved gingerly away from the grounds, rubbing arms, legs, and back. Martin watched them, getting a bit nervous. Suit had taught him some basic fencing, just in case he ever needed to impersonate a nobleman, but knowing the queen as he did, he didn’t think she would accept his sub average skills.
A tall man was standing in the center of a ring, waiting for them to arrive. The men gathered around the ring, but did not enter, as their wives took their places around the outside of the yard. Martin’s attention was on the tall man, trying to remember where he had seen him before. He knew they had met somewhere, but he couldn’t figure out where or when.
“Well,” the man said, noticing him among the students. “Another one. Don’t tell me. You’re Ghost Eight-One, right?” There was a slight narrowing of his eyes as the man took a good look at him. “Tell me, Ghost, which unit are you from?”
Martin paused, suddenly recognizing the man. He was Eric Fall, one of the weapons masters who taught the Ghosts. He had spent half a summer with Fred at one of the training sessions for Ghosts. Fall had been there and hadn’t paid much attention to the fourteen year old that Chief had brought with him.
“There are no units,” Martin replied, again thankful for his friendship with Fred. “They’re called teams. Once my name was on the list, Fred pulled me out of Coronal Hillard’s team.” Martin hoped that the man hadn’t taught anyone on Hillard’s team.
Fall folded his arms. “I didn’t teach Hillard’s team. Well, we’ll see how well Master Walters taught you fencing.” He turned around to pick up the sword he had outside the ring when he noticed someone coming down from the mansion.
“Lord Gerlend,” Fall said, bowing as the feather dressed lord approached. “What brings you down to the lists?”
Gerlend gave his wide smile. “I have another student for you. Her Majesty thought it might be wise to train him as well.” Stepping to the side, he revealed Thomas. Martin chuckled softly to himself. His messy friend did not look thrilled.
“Lord Thomas,” Fall said in surprise, bowing lower. “I had heard that you arrived this morning.” Martin was surprised that Fall recognized his friend.
“It’s Duke Dawson now,” Gerlend corrected, grinning. “Recently returned from his schooling at Suit’s Academy for Gifted Nobles.” Fall raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing. Martin was familiar with the school the feathered lord mentioned. Thomas was told to use the name in case someone recognized him as the youngest Dawson and asked where he had been. Anyone who actually knew Suit would immediately know that Thomas had in reality been working as a spy.
“However,” Gerlend went on, oblivious to the lie he had just told, “the academy did not teach him fencing. Queen Abigail thought it might be wise for him to learn.”
“Why not?” Fall sighed, motioning for the duke to join them. “The more the merrier.” Thomas sighed and walked around the ring to join the rest of them. Gerlend, pleased with himself, went back to the mansion. Seemingly by chance, Thomas managed to position himself next to Martin.
“So,” Martin said, only half listening as Fall started his class. “Where’s your servant?”
“Luke is busy with other servants,” Thomas sighed. “He’s probably enjoying himself, though.” The messy duke looked around, noticing the stares at him. “I hate this.”
“Don’t worry yourself,” Martin assured him. “You’ll have a prince to outshine you.”
Thomas gave him a flat stare. “When?”
Martin had no answer.
*************
As usual, Var proved to be the best fencer in the class. Even the Ghost was a disappointment. But then again, Fall had his doubts that the young man was a Ghost. He had trained nearly every Ghost on active duty, even Coronal Hillard’s team. And he knew Ghost Eighty-One personally. The young man was a fake. But it made Fall wonder just who he was to think he could pull off being a Ghost.
The class went as he expected. Most of the men had no experience with any weapon; Calvin the merchant held his saber like it was a snake ready to bite him. He used to have high hopes for Jordan, but the farmer’s strength was just that. Strength and no agility. Then there were… them.
Only three men in the class he would consider good fencers. Thomas was one. He was a bit surprise to hear that the runway noble had been under Suit’s command, but reasoned there must have been a good reason for it. The pretend Ghost, though not even the best he had ever seen, did have some training. And then there was Var.
The Glassmith was a surprise when he first taught this class a week before. The way he moved, how he handled the saber, the precision of his actions. This man obviously trained under someone for a long time and had achieved near mastery of the art. Not for the first time, Fall wondered where Var had learned such advanced swordplay.
Before the dinner bell rang, the entire class was sore and sour. He grinned wickedly as he anticipated that many of these men would be moving slowly the next morning. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he caught the duke and fake Ghost step aside and started talking. Fall frowned. So the imposter was friends with a duke?
I have to get to the bottom of this, he thought, purposefully walking over to the two young men. They stopped their conversation as he approached.
“You’re not a Ghost,” Fall stated. The best way to deal with an imposter, in his opinion, was to get the truth out in the open. “I’ve trained Ghosts for years and I’ve never seen a Ghost who did as bad as you did today. And I know Ghost Eighty-One. So unless you’ve found a way to reverse age and changed your appearance, you’re not him.” The two men exchanged glances, neither one too surprised by his declaration. Apparently the duke was aware of the imposter. “Who are you really?”
“I didn’t expect that you recognized me,” the imposter said, not at all shocked that his cover had been blown. “It was about five years ago when Fred introduced us.”
Fall raised an eyebrow. “You know Fred then? Describe him.”
The imposter shrugged. “He’s a taller man with a strong build. Blondish hair, blue eyes, and he’s currently walking with a limp. A souvenir from the battle at Fort Bree when Terk invaded Aeterna.”
So the imposter did know Fred, or at least what he looked like. “You said we met five years ago.”
“Yes,” the man answered. “You were training Ghosts up near Seals Port.” He lifted a corner of his mouth in a smile. “As I said, I really didn’t expect you to remember me. I’m the little spy-in-training that was following Fred around for half that summer.”
Fall frowned, trying to remember that summer. Nothing exciting happened that summer, the training had gone on as usual. Then Fred showed up, a teenager always in his shadow… Fall examined the imposter again, remembering the common face and dark hair.
“I think I remember now,” he said slowly. “Fred said something about Suit wanting to name you his apprentice…”
The man grinned. “I was his apprentice.”
“It’s true,” Duke Thomas cut in, clearly amused by the conversation. “Martin was his apprentice until, what? Half a year ago?”
Martin nodded. “Then he named me the Alex.”
Fall froze. “The Alex?” he asked, not sure if he heard right. He took another long look at the spy. He picked out little details he had missed. The aura of awareness, the way he would move with purpose, his plain appearance. No doubt he also carried move knives than he had limbs.
“How did you end up as a Ghost?” he asked, still a bit stunned that the spying legend was standing next to him.
The Alex rolled his eyes. “As much as I’d like to deny it, I really am on the list of princes. Of course, once I was on that list, Suit couldn’t send me out on dangerous missions, so he sent me to Evan’s Stand.”
“Where he had the unpleasant experience of getting blockaded in,” Thomas added cheerfully, much to the annoyance of the Alex, judging from the glare he shot at the noble.
“Yes,” he said, taking the story back. “I couldn’t reveal to them that I was the Alex when I started helping them in their defenses, so I told them I was Ghost Eighty-One. Fred didn’t mind.”
“And now he’s here among the possible princes,” Thomas interrupted again, his grin widening. “But the queen rather not let these others know that they’re up against the Alex, so she let Martin keep going with the story of his Ghostly past.”
“Thanks, Thomas,” Martin said dryly. “I appreciate your comments.”
The duke laughed. “Anytime, my friend.”
“Wait a minute,” Fall said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Let me get this straight. You’re actually the Alex, but in course of your work, you told people you were Ghost Eighty-One, and the name’s stuck ever since?”
“He’s good at summoning things up, isn’t he?” Thomas asked.
Martin rolled his eyes. “Yes, that summons it up. If you want, the queen could tell you if we’re lying or not.”
Fell held his hands up, submitting to the truth. “No need. The tale is too strange to be a lie. Not to mention, you’re friends with Thomas, who’s been working with Suit.” He held up a hand when the duke opened his mouth. “Don’t tell me why you were there.” He knew what Suit’s academy meant. “I don’t want to know.”
“He’s taking this all rather well,” Thomas noted. “Most people don’t like to learn they’ve been dealing with spies.”
Martin shrugged. “It’s a part of our profession.”
“About that,” Fall said, suddenly realizing something. “Several of your classmates were surprised to see how bad you are at fencing. I told them that not all Ghosts are good at every weapon. That seem to mollify them for now, but I think you should take more effort in your fencing.”
The Alex rolled his eyes. “I’m better with short blades.”
“I have no doubt about that,” Fall quickly assured him. “But to be on the safe side, I’d like to give you some private lessons to get your skill up to an un-embarrassing level.” He bowed briefly to the duke. “I’d also like to teach you. Although you are better than your friend, you could still to with a bit more practice.”
The two young men looked at each other, their expressions one of not great excitement.
“Alright,” Martin sighed. “We’ll have private lessons.”
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I wrote about half of this while on vacation this week. Once it gets dark in Yellowstone, there’s not much less to do other than read books, study, or write. Until next week! Enjoy the journey!
