synonyms

She had a (double-half-)brother named Agarma. He had told her ‘better him than you’ at Quincy’s funeral. He was in charge of Northpoint, or something. She expected it wasn’t as vaguely defined as she thought, but she didn’t care enough to ask.

Oh thank Shiron he had another person in the room with him, she wouldn’t have to deal with him on his own. Oh, no, it’s a statue, convincingly dressed as a woman, with painted stone skin. Damn those mammaries are too big. Dammit that wouldn’t be a statue, then, there’s no way he’d put something so gauche in his study. Heh, her right arm is in oh this was the woman at the funeral.

“You can’t set buildings on fire, Samantha.”

“Is that your wife?” The statue remained stonefaced.

“You’re a princess, you have an example to set. You’re lucky no one was hurt.”

“Because I mean, great pull, Agarma. She’s picturesque. Solid. Elegant.” The statue was staring straight ahead, but Samantha was pretty sure it was struggling not to smile. He was right, of course, but that wasn’t enough of a reason to listen.

Agarma had always been messy when they’d lived together at Blisbane castle. This room was deceptively clean, as it was large enough to diffuse the mess aro

“I pray you’re doing okay, now?”

She ignored. “I have to assume she’s got a brain as big as, well,” gesture, “if you’re allowing her to stand next to you.” A glass cup on his desk, filled with water. It was ill-formed. The lip w

He stared at Samantha, and Samantha’s eyes became locked with his. He side-eyed the statue, who was definitely stifling her mouth, and who side-eyed him back. He looked back to Samantha. “Conflagrate.” he said.

“What?” said Samantha.

“Conflagragate. Holocaust. Phlogistate. Pyrize.”

“Those aren’t real.”

“Their roots are.”

“I’m going to open a dictionary, and if those words aren’t in there, you owe me a trip back home.” This was a stupid suggestion, as she knew he was one of the primary contributors to the dictionaries Northpoint published.

“Samantha, for one, you’re only going to find two of them in there. For another, you set four houses on fire, this was the alternative to execution.”

“John worked for Anisa after he burned houses down.”

“Who’s John.”

“Former Vanguardist. Helped some of my experiments. He lost his body stomach down, once.”

“No he didn’t.”

“I swear he did.”

“Well then, he’s probably a god, and Anisa was wise enough to make an exception for him.”

“No there was some wizard guy who made it grow back.”

“No there wasn’t.”

“The point is,” said Samantha, “actually I forget, wait no it was that setting houses on fire means you work for Anisa, also death isn’t that bad.”

Samantha only caught the statue nodding after Agarma swung his head. Which part was she agreeing with? “Do you have anything you want to say, Claire?”

She stared at him.

“You may speak,” he said.

“Firstly—” she said.

“And stop looking for my permission,” he said.

“So you are married, right,” said Samantha.

“No,” said Agarma. “Stop asking.”

“Is she like your bodyguard, then? With that awesome metal arm?” (And indeed, her right arm was metal, from the shoulder down, a crumpled tin(?) with no seams.)

“No, she is my aide,” said Agarma. “And that’s a cast.”

“What does she aide,” said Samantha.

“You set four houses on fire,” said Agarma.

“No, no, I set one house on fire. The wind set house two on fire, and then houses three and four were barely touched.”

“And you did it to get a job with Anisa.”

“No, I tried hanging myself, but I didn’t know how knots work, and I was playing with my tinderbox in my pocket, so I jump off Lionel’s bed, the rope snaps, I’m smacking rocks in my pocket together, and it must be oily or something since my pants set on fire, so I tear them off and throw them at the fireplace, but it just lands on the wood pile next to it, and I’m thinking, why is Lionel storing a wood pile inside. Maybe it was a cry for help but also it was an accident.” And again, they all stared.

“How does one accidentally light a fire in their pocket?” asked Claire.

“Don’t… don’t bother, Claire. You know, Samantha, when I heard you set Lionel’s house ablaze, my first thought was, ‘oh god, she blew herself up’.”

“Why would you think that.”

He seemingly considered engaging that question, then decided against it. “Then, when I learned you were alive, I thought, ‘oh god, Anisa is going to execute her’.”

He waited for her to produce a remark. Her eyes had wandered.

Ink. He had a damn ink vat next to his desk. Or, well, a bottled vat, made of glass. Cauldron? “Would you call that a cauldron?”

“Glass carboy. So the dean and I talk, and we—”

“Did you say you thought Anisa would execute me?”

Frown. “I thought it a possibility. Didn’t you?”

Blink.

“Didn’t you just… Claire, didn’t she just…?”

“No, sir, she said ‘death isn’t that bad’, which carries the implication that she wouldn’t care if Anisa were to execute her, but it doesn’t imply that she thought that that would happen.” She smiled at Samantha, seemingly without malice…

“But she said she was trying to hang herself,” said Agarma, completely disengaged from Samantha’s eyes, now looking to his aide. “So, she fails, sets the house on fire—”

“Accidentally,” said Samantha.

“—and apparently, her first thought is, ‘this one man, who’s probably a god, got a job with Anisa by doing this, so now I’m going to work for Anisa.’ Whereas if her mind was in the place of seeking work with Anisa, she’d just set a building on fire without hanging herself. Or just ask.”

“You make a compelling case, sir, my belief in her story is beggared.”

“Well, to be fair,” said Samantha’s mouth, feeling left out, “women are stupid and emotional, and often don’t think things through.”

Agarma slammed a pen on his desk, cacophonously. “So I say to the dean, ’Callister, Samantha is a brilliant girl, she just needs to learn some foundations and get away from Felkner for a while. She never had a chance in Blisbane, Penbarrow or Felkner. So we petitioned Anisa and father to send you here, instead of executing you.”

What kind of pen was that? It was black, must’ve had some ink reservoir inside. Metal?

He had some large, metal stamp on his desk, facing out. It was one of those old runes, jera or wynn or something. The one that looked like a ‘P’. She had no idea what that could

“Agarma could do with some thanks, Samsara,” said Claire. Now Agarma averted his eyes.

“Oh. Ah,” said Samantha. She was aware of her body, again, rather than the room, with its stiff legs and ever-rumbling stomach. “Yes. Thank you, Garmie, for looking out for my life, more than I was.” She had fingers and toes and a tongue and a heartbeat. “It’s, uh, good to know I have people, family, watching out for me. Thanks.” She did a tiny curtsy, deep enough that it wouldn’t be seen as sarcastic. She was relieved that she believed herself.

He didn’t exactly smile, but he looked back at her, and seemed satisfied. “Good to hear. Shall we go to lunch?”

“I kinda want to look around this office some more, actually, you have some cool stuff here.”

“12:54,” said Claire, looking at the watch on her sinister, untinned hand.

“Aren’t clocks amazing?” said Samantha.

“Yes,” said Claire, flatly.

“You can look around later, Samantha, we’ll be late.”

They were 2 minutes early, and according to the 3 empty chairs around their table, 3 others would be late.

They sat in ‘Lab Zero’, the lunchroom, but it was actually three rooms, and they were in one of the smaller, side ones for private events. Two wooden tables were pushed together. Claire sat to Samantha’s immediate left, and Agarma across from Claire.

“One of them,” Agarma gestured to his left, across from Samantha, “is for Vincent, the man who’s to show you how things work around here. Apparently, his math lesson ran late. That one,” he gestured to the head of the table, to his right and rotated 90 degrees, “was for Dean Callister, who had a serious spell malfunction earlier, and had to attend to it immediately. And that one,” he gestured to the far end of the table, to Samantha’s right and 90 degrees, “I forget. Claire, who was that for?”

“Roe Strongmane, sir. The driver.”

“Right. Strongmane. Strongmane?”

“Strong,” started Samantha, mouth full of spaghetti, “as in ‘strang’, as in tight, and ‘mane’, as in—”

“No, Samantha, I mean, what kind of name is that? Strongmane.”

“She probably picked it herself.” Chew, chew, swallow. Ah, food. “You show up at the guild, we let you pick an ‘Adventurer Name’. Ticks Anisa off — harder to track people — but it’s good for morale. Lotta people there are wanting to start a new life. Or maybe her grampa had huge sideburns. Where is she?”

“We’re still early,” said Claire, glancing at her wristwatch. “It’s 12:58.”

“You know, we have a lot more than clocks here, Samantha,” said Agarma.

“If you had stuff that was going to impress me, you should’ve sent it back to Felkner,” said Samantha.

“Well, that’s part of why you’re here now, no? To learn what to bring back?” said Agarma.

“Bar bar bar I had a life back there which I plan to get back to post-haste,” said Samantha.

“59,” said Claire, to no one except her watch.

“If by haste, you mean two years, sure,” said Agarma.

“Sorry I’m late,” said some guy with thin black hair, glasses, large ears.

“Two years, Garmie?” said Samantha.

“Don’t call me that. No, no, Callister, you’re early, so great to see you.”

“Dean I want to leave and this whole situation is stupid,” said Samantha.

He paused midseating. “Has Vincent already given you the, ‘you’re here now, so you may as well take advantage of it’?”

“Who? Oh. No.”

He sat. “I’ll spare you that, then, because doubtless it’s coming. I’ve heard about you, Samantha. Your experiments, your industriousness. How you tried redirecting magic into crops using mirrors to make them grow quicker. How you learned to interpret laws to better manage your Vanguardists.”

She was flattered, and a bit vindicated, both on behalf of the title of ‘princess’ she so valued — princesses should have notoriety — and on behalf of herself, getting some recognition. Blind Quincy. Stupid blind Quincy.

“Yeah,” she said. “Gotta show up the dad.” Agarma frowned.

Callister smacked his lips. “Uncouth to put down your father, girl,” he said.

“Yeah,” she said.

He waited 2 seconds, long enough for her to feel shame at acting unprincessly, but not long enough for her mouth to speak again. “But regardless, your sister and brother got their start here, and your father did not. Your sister rules a city, your brother effectively rules an academy. Though you may discover new insights through stumbling about, thousands of others have stumbled about in the same way that you have, and have never gotten anywhere. It’s better to rely on random chance when you’re where no one’s been. You’ll be surrounded by people who think similarly. They may not respect you, but they’ll respect the title of princess, which you are very much capable of growing into. We have a lot of tasty food up here. You’ll see a lot of magic you wouldn’t otherwise. You’ll learn how to be independent and take revenge, if that so entices you. I have several more reasons, but I don’t have the time to list everything. I gave Hector a written list, which he should give Vincent, who should give it to you. Do you have any questions?”

No. “Okay.” That wasn’t really a valid response, but he seemed to take it as one. Anything previously in her head had fallen out, as Callister had somehow hollowed it and filled it with his own complete structure, but which had yet to latch onto anything pre-existing. Like placing a sapling in a hole before its roots can grow. But, Shiron, despite her stupor, she didn’t like being told what to do, even if it was perfectly reasonable and benevolent.

Agarma was smiling wide.

The following discussion was hollow. Samantha was occasionally assailed by bouts of guilt, requiring her to acknowledge that indeed, she was thankful for the opportunity, she was glad she was not currently headless, and her actions in her half-brother Lionel’s house were poorly thought out and she would strive to avoid such incidents in the future.

She didn’t particularly believe anything she said, not for lack of trying. Dean Callister’s monologue had seemingly tricked her energy stores into thinking they were empty. Easier to agree and placate, she could think later.

They discussed many subjects briefly. Callister enjoyed playing the fortepiano. In the… 7? 7. 7? 7±2? Years since she’d lived with Agarma, he’d apparently taken up the violoncello. She wasn’t one for music, but she’d sometimes listened to Joan play her harp.

Callister said Vincent was taking an intro to music class, while glaring at a still-empty chair. Samantha said Roe something something music and also looked at an empty chair. Claire suggested they wrap up. Samantha said she was good, which was too vague for anyone to commit to a new course of action.

The school was large. Per Callister, there was a portion which was always hot (whatever that meant), a portion for paper manufacture, a portion for metalworking, a museum, libraries and libraries… She verbally questioned how much of it was Nikolai North, how much was Quietdei Holstram, and how much was built later.

“You have a good understanding of our history,” said Callister.

“I read a plaque,” she said. Well, half a plaque.

“I don’t believe we have any plaques mentioning Holstram,” said Callister, to which Agarma inexplicably clattered his fork into his spaghetti bowl.

“I thought the Holstram involvement was common knowledge,” she said. “Is he still around? It scares me, being near a god. Capricious busybodies, I think.” This was self-evidently not polite meal conversation and she was again reminded of what she’d said to Hector, but, well… No, no ‘but well’. “Sorry. Impolite.”

Claire turned, weirdly emphatic. “You absolutely do not need to worry about Holstram,” she said, which just further disconcerted Samantha. This line also appeared to frustrate Agarma, but he had the countenance of someone who was always vaguely frustrated.

“‘God’ is just a label,” said Callister, to which Agarma pushed his chair back and stood up. Callister’s expression seemed to lightly chide this.

“Hey G— Agarma, I like Holstram,” said Samantha. “God of what, knowledge? Learning? That’s cool.” She preferred Shiron, with her bloody crow feathers and passion, but eh, learning is good. Great, even.

“Computational complexity,” said Agarma, exasperated, which meant absolutely nothing to Samantha, but presumably didn’t justify his sudden discourtesy.

“Yes, and he of course deserves the utmost respect,” said Callister, weirdly. Cheeky? It was flippant. “But, we become so limited if we view anything in life as beyond reproach. Wouldn’t you say, Samantha?”

“I’mma be honest I don’t really know what’s happening at this point and I kinda want to lie down, but this h—”

“Sorry I’m late,” said Vincent, and Claire looked at her watch and quietly mouthed something up to Agarma, who didn’t seem to hear.

“Where the hell have you been?” said Agarma, spinning to face him.

“Redrafting the notes for my next topology lecture,” he said, smiling, innocently.

“You’re not a student?” asked Samantha.

“Redrafting for an hour and twenty minutes,” said Claire.

“I am. And a teacher. You must be the princess. Welcome!” He bowed. He was short, wore blue, and had a thin, red piece of fabric dangling down from his neck.

“The princess, and the prince, whom you blew off for an hour and twenty minutes,” said Agarma, still standing.

Callister seemed amused and satiated. May have been from the meal.

“Yes, well, I was engrossed, and lost track of time,” said Vincent. “I meant no offense, but thought it in the best interest of the school that I do everything I can to ensure my students have the highest quality education. Which required not breaking concentration, and, well, here I am, in the future! If you think my actions wrong, Prince Agarma, please inform me, and I shall update my axioms posthaste.” He again bowed.

“Uh. Yeah. Don’t blow off royalty,” said Agarma, and he pulled Vincent’s chair out, then sat back down.

“I see you’ve already had appetizers,” he said, gesturing to the empty dishes. No one corrected him, though Claire appeared on the verge.

“I was about to fall asleep,” said Samantha. She made eye contact with Agarma, who also looked exhausted. Why the hell was he so tired?

Niceties were probably exchanged after that point, but Samantha, and seemingly Agarma, had properly checked out. Claire and Callister kept Vincent occupied with discussions of “vector spaces” (from Callister) and “baizure curves” (from Claire) and bar bar bar abstract nonsense bar bar bar…