The Miscreant

by Brock Deskins

  “Agent Law, it is an honor to meet you. I’m Martin Van Ophoven. I was told to expect you and a new student.” Martin looked Garran up and down and appeared thoroughly unimpressed. “I presume this is he?”

  Garran, who was still bent over and trying to catch his breath, raised a hand and waved. “I am he, or possibly she if there is any permanent damage.”

  “What’s wrong with him?” Martin asked.

  “He didn’t like his going away present. Holt, this is your prefect. He’s going to get you enrolled and show you the ropes. I’ll see you next week for our private session.”

  Victor got back into the coach, and Martin led Garran up the stairs toward the administration building’s front doors.

  Garran cast a glance back at the departing carriage. “Did that sound ominous to you?”

  “Almost anyone training in the diplomatic corps would be honored to have a private tutor like Agent Law, but yes, it did. So what is your deal?”

  “Huh, oh, if you’re asking if I’m a fancy boy, no, but thanks for the offer.”

  “I wasn’t asking…why would you think I was…?” Martin took a deep breath. “Why would someone like Agent Law offer private lessons to someone like you? Why is Agent Ward sponsoring you for the diplomatic corps?”

  “What do you mean someone like me?”

  “You’re obviously not the kind of person who would attend the university, much less qualify for the diplomatic corps. Where are you from? Somewhere rural and humble I imagine. You are obviously not from the city nor are you a member of the gentry.”

  “Why do you say that? My clothes are new and stylish. I even bathed this week…give or take a few days.”

  “It’s several days not in your favor, and you wear your clothes about as well as a corpse ready for burial.”

  “Yeah, the tailor insisted I get the perfunctory stick up my ass but, ignorant in the ways of the big city, I told him it wasn’t necessary. Perhaps I can borrow one of yours. I bet you have a closet full of them. I bet the stick up your ass has a stick up its ass, and that stick has a stick up its ass and so on and so forth until it reduces to a toothpick with a splinter up its ass.”

  “Get your crass comments out now while you can. Once you enroll, offending a prefect or member of the faculty is a punishable offense. I cannot recall anyone ever having been forced to attend, so I must presume at some level you want to be here. If you make too much of a nuisance of yourself, you will be expelled regardless of your sponsor.”

  “I guess it’s a good thing I don’t have much to pack. I have a spectacular talent for being offensive.”

  “Your words.” Martin cast Garran a sidelong glance. “It is rare for someone with your lineage to attend the university. What exactly is it you expect to achieve here?”

  “I’m going to be the greatest field agent who ever lived.”

  “You certainly seem to have the ego for it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It wasn’t a compliment.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Part 2

  The Student

  CHAPTER 1

  Martin got Garran enrolled, issued him his uniforms, and assigned him to a dormitory. The dorm was a barracks layout with a dozen first-year students per room, ten rooms in all. His particular dorm was Hayworth House, named after a notable field agent, as were the others. The prefect attached a small placard to the foot of Garran’s bed and showed him the trunk and wardrobe where he could store his possessions.

  “Amongst your textbooks is a manual outlining the university’s rules of conduct,” Martin said. “I strongly suggest you read it and memorize them word for word.”

  “I’ll get right on it.”

  “You had better. Classes start in two days. You have thirty minutes from wake-up to perform your ablutions and have your area ready for inspection. If you fail inspection, your entire house receives demerits.”

  “Is a demerit like a dinarin?” Garran asked. “Because I’m shit broke. Lost it all in some poorly placed betting with what turned out to be an organized crime syndicate. Have you ever met Edmund Coulain? I don’t recommend it.”

  “A demerit is a marker on a scoresheet. Score too many demerits and you and your fellow dormmates receive punishment in accordance with the violation. It is all in the rules of conduct. Read it, learn it, live it. Got it?”

  “What was that second one again?”

  Martin turned to the other first-year students who were watching the discourse between Garran and the prefect. “Enjoy your new dormmate, gentlemen, and make sure he learns the ropes before he sinks your ship.”

  Garran saw all eyes turn toward him after Martin left the room, and none looked friendly. Garran returned their looks with a broad smile splitting his face and waved. “Hi! Anyone have a stick I can borrow?”

  No one made much attempt to engage Garran in conversation or get to know him while he stored his few personal belongings. He was getting quite adept at holding people at bay with simple facial expressions. Still slightly hungover and groggy from his whirlwind of drinking, gambling, philandering, and laudanum-imbibing the previous day, Garran decided to go to bed early. His bunk was simple, but it was a significant improvement over his work camp cot. Sleep came swiftly and pulled him deep within its soft embrace.

  ***

  A loud clanging woke Garran from his slumber. A pale light crept through the dorm window heralding the new day. He pulled the covers from his face and found the source of all the noise. Martin stood in the doorway with a brass handbell waving it around as if a swarm of bees were attacking him.

  “Stand to for inspection!”

  “Get your ass out of bed, Holt!” one of his housemates shouted.

  Garran rolled out of bed, stood, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Why didn’t you wake me up earlier?”

  “We goddam tried!”

  “Oh, sorry, I was pretty out of it last night.”

  “Inspections are done at the position of attention!” Martin shouted. “Attention means you do not move or speak!”

  Martin marched down the aisle with military precise facing movements, stopping before each student and inspecting their person and living area. The prefect reached Garran, executed a left face, and began his inspection.

  “Unmade bed, five demerits. Out of uniform, five demerits.” A quiet groan sounded from several of his dormmates with each check mark. “Slovenly appearance and poor hygiene, five demerits each.” Martin glanced down to inspect Garran’s shoes and frowned. “Is that an erection?”

  “It is. You interrupted a rather pleasant dream, so if you could hurry it up so I can take care of this I would appreciate it.”

  Martin made yet another note in his journal. “I’m docking you another five demerits.”

  “What?” Garran exclaimed. “You can’t punish me for having a boner! It’s a natural bodily function.”

  “So is pissing, but if you did it during my inspection I would certainly dock you for it.”

  “Then you had really better hurry.”

  “You had best learn some self-control…of all your baser functions.”

  “This is a load of crap. There is no rule saying anything about having an erection!”

  “Really, you’ve read the rule book already?”

  “Well, no, but it’s common goddam sense.”

  “For once, you are correct. There is no rule specifically governing…” the prefect made a circling motion with his quill, “…that.”

  “Ha, dock blocked!”

  “However, the rules regarding rudeness toward a prefect are quite clear, and I consider pointing rude. Five demerits.”

  Garran grumbled, “I got your five demerits right here.”

  “If by demerits you are referring to inches, I assume you must be rounding up.”

  “Hey!”

  Martin looked in his journal, although it was not necessary, and did a quick tally. “This dorm has the greatest number of demerits for the day,
so you will all be on hall maintenance tonight. I suggest you work on your problem areas.”

  Garran could feel his classmates’ eyes on him as they cast baleful glares. “Hey, look, it’s gone. Someone call Martin back and see if we can recover those points.”

  One of the students crossed the floor and stood toe to toe with him. “Your name is Garran, right?”

  “Yes?” Garran answered, drawing out the word.

  “How incredibly appropriate. Your parents must have had some kind of premonition about you when they chose your name.”

  “What’s wrong with my name?” Garran looked past the boy and read his name off the placard at the end of his bunk. “Aniston? It’s like your parents wanted you to grow up to be a pretentious prick.”

  Aniston smiled. “A garen is a bottom-feeding fish that prefers to inhabit waters near sewer runoffs. It literally subsists by eating our shit.”

  Garran grinned wide enough to show his teeth. “Actually, my mother is a seer, and I inherited some of her powers.” He closed his eyes and touched his fingertips to his temples. “I’m getting a vision now. I see you, but you are in a great deal of pain. Something about that big beak of a nose…”

  Garran opened his eyes, whipped his head forward, and head-butted Aniston. Aniston fell to the floor, clamped his hands over his profusely bleeding proboscis, and wailed uncontrollably.

  “Come on, stop crying, I’m starting to feel embarrassed for you,” Garran said while several of Aniston’s friends gathered around him. “Gods, I’ve punched girls who didn’t cry that hard.”

  One student looked up from where he was kneeling next to Aniston. “What the hell is wrong with you? You beat up girls too? What kind of man are you?”

  “A poor one apparently. I only won two out of the three fights I’ve had with women. Where I come from, girls learn how to give a punch as good as they can take it.” Garran looked to the ceiling and reminisced. “Oh, Karla, you have the body of a lumberjack but the soft lips and hands of an angel.”

  Martin appeared in the doorway and shouted, “Holt, to the dean’s office, now!”

  “Aw crap!”

  ***

  Martin deposited Garran outside of the dean’s office, reported Garran’s infraction to the secretary, and left to attend to his other duties. Garran failed to notice his departure, as his attention was fully occupied by the most beautiful woman he had ever seen who was sitting at the desk next to the office door. Her skin was flawless, and her hair shone like spun gold. She was just past her mid-twenties and had shed the last vestiges of girlhood. This was a real woman, a true lady, and her bearing suggested she knew precisely how to wield her gods-given power.

  Garran strode up to the desk and propped one cheek on its surface. “Hi there, my name’s Garran.”

  The secretary looked up with a sympathetic frown. “I’m so sorry.”

  Garran’s smile slid from his face and he cleared his throat. “I think it’s spelled differently.”

  “If only we could see our words as well as hear them it might actually matter.”

  “You are as clever as you are beautiful. I find that incredibly sexy.”

  “Do you?” Her perfectly rose-painted lips arched into a warm smile. “My name is Vivian. Martin wasn’t very happy with you, Garran.”

  “Well, some guy tried to muscle me. I had to put him in his place.”

  Vivian practically flowed from her chair and stood close to Garran. “That sounds so brutal.”

  Garran shrugged. “Sometimes a man has to fight for what’s his. Sometimes it’s his honor or dignity. Sometimes it’s a woman.”

  Vivian leaned closer, her glittering blue eyes captivating Garran with their hypnotic spell. “You sound like someone who knows how to take what he wants.”

  “By any means necessary,” Garran said, matching her low, soft tone. “I’m going to be an agent, you know. Maybe the best one who ever lived.”

  “Oh, that sounds so dangerously exciting. I hope you don’t get in too much trouble with the dean.”

  “I’m not too worried about it. I have some very powerful friends.”

  Vivian groaned softly. “Maybe he’ll just paddle you. I love a good paddling.”

  Garran quirked his lips and narrowed his eyes. “Giving or receiving?”

  Vivian pursed her lips and whispered, “Both.”

  A shudder ran through Garran’s body, and his legs turned to jelly. He barely caught himself from slipping off the edge of the desk and falling onto the floor.

  He swallowed the expanding lump in his throat and tried to ignore the one forming in his trousers. “Classes don’t start for another two days. Maybe you and I could spend the day exploring the city…and our nights exploring each other.”

  Garran failed to stifle the small whimper that escaped his mouth when Vivian stroked the left side of his jaw. “That sounds like a lot of fun, but there is just one little problem.”

  “W-what’s that?”

  The seductive woman stood straight, pressed the tips of two fingers against Garran’s forehead, and pushed him away. “I don’t waste my time with little boys who lack the intelligence and maturity to not get into a schoolyard tussle. Go sit your butt in the corner, wait for the dean, and don’t ever presume to speak to me again.”

  Garran’s jaw raced his ego to the floor. It was a tie. Vivian smoothed the back of her dress with her hands before returning to her seat behind her desk. Garran lifted his chin with great effort but left his ego lying on the floor.

  “Is there a privy near here?” Garran followed her finger to a door partway down the hall. “Thank you, I need to go work off another five demerits.”

  Vivian looked up with an expression of pity. “Only five? You poor thing.”

  Garran retreated down the hall and darted into the water closet. He knew a good soldier never left a man on the battlefield, but his ego lay in a trampled ruin and was beyond saving. He was certain that this was the most humiliating experience of his life, but as memories began flowing in, he adjusted its rank to third, possibly a tie for fourth. It certainly earned a permanent place in his top ten.

  Refocusing on his baser needs, he looked at the fancy, padded privy built into the far wall. A window stood partly open above it to allow in the much-needed fresh air. Forgetting his immediate needs, Garran climbed atop the privy bench and leaned out of the window. He found a narrow ledge running all along the side of the building and wrapping around the corner.

  Garran stepped out onto the ledge and hugged the wall as he shuffled along the narrow expanse until he reached the dean’s office window. It took only a moment to trip the latch and clamber inside. The office reminded him of Gregor’s, only a little larger. It even had a stocked liquor cabinet in the same corner, only this one was unlocked.

  He helped himself to a bottle of whatever looked the most expensive and sipped it while he explored the office. Taking a seat at the large desk, Garran pawed through the drawers in search of anything useful. It took only a minute to find something. In the top center drawer was a slender, padded box and a receipt for a very expensive necklace, certainly the very necklace he saw ringing Vivian’s gorgeous neck. Buying a gift for your secretary to show appreciation for her work was not necessarily incriminating, but the fact that the box was in his desk indicated that the dean likely put it on her himself. Such an action hinted at it being a far more intimate gift.

  In another small, padded box rested a silver pin in the shape of a watching eye impaled on a sword inside of a triangle. Garran had seen the same symbol several times in the Ministry of Diplomacy. It was carved into reliefs and emblazoned on banners decorating the halls. He even spotted it hidden within paintings in Victor’s office. It was obvious that it was an important symbol within the ministry. If the simple passage chit he had borrowed from Cyril granted him such authority, then this could certainly open some doors in the future, so he took the pin from the box and slipped it into his pocket.

  Garran expected the d
ean to show at any moment, so he could not dally any longer, but neither could he leave without taking a good portion of this excellent vintage with him. He rummaged through a cabinet in hopes of finding a bottle he might use, but the only thing that presented itself was a large bottle of ink. With no other viable option, Garran emptied the ink into a potted plant near the window, used a bit of alcohol to wash out most of the residue, and filled it with the fine whiskey. He then filled the original bottle back up, thus accomplishing two important tasks at once, and returned it to its place.

  He slipped the former ink bottle into the inside pocket of his overcoat, checked the street and plaza outside, and slipped back out of the window. Garran had just reached the water closet’s window when a voice accosted him from below.

  “You there, what the blazes are you doing out on the ledge?”

  Garran carefully turned his head and glanced down. Given the man’s ridiculous hat and draping sash, he was a professor of some kind.

  Garran snatched a kerchief from his pocket and began scrubbing the glass. “I got in a spot of trouble, sir, and my prefect set me to cleaning the windows.”

  “I can’t believe he meant for you to scurry about on the ledge like a pigeon. Get inside before you make a mess of the plaza! I like to take my lunch here, and I don’t care to have it spoiled by your corpse or haunted by your ghost.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  The young sneak crawled back through the window, straightened his garb, and returned to the waiting room. Vivian looked up from the papers she was studying when Garran returned.

  “That certainly took some time. Is everything all right?”

  “Yeah, it kinda turned into a whole other thing. I wouldn’t go in there for a while.”

  “I see. I was afraid I had hurt your feelings and you needed time for a good cry. Boys’ emotions are so fragile so soon after reaching puberty.”

  “I’ll have you know I was quite the early bloomer in that and many other regards.”

  Vivian flashed him a condescending smile. “I’m sure you were.”