“Armifer Szabo.”
“Armifer Szabo, sir!” It takes all of Armifer’s self-control to contain his snort of derision. “Come with me,” Sir Eric says, beckoning with his milky white hands, “I shall fetch your housing papers.”
They make an odd pair, Sir Eric with his nose in the air like a self-proclaimed lord and a sulky Armifer with clenched fists. Even as they saunter back through the passageways, Armifer is counting down the seconds to his imminent expulsion.
***
Communal dinner? Armifer sucks his teeth in distaste as he enters the great hall. A buffet table sits on a central dais, surrounded by swarms of students. After most of the crowd has dispersed, he cautiously grabs a plate and plops a large portion of beef stew and mashed potatoes on the dish. He snatches a fork and then makes a beeline for an isolated corner, wanting to get away from the throng. He sits down, huddling close to himself, and eagerly digs in, practically inhaling huge mouthfuls.
“The food is good, isn’t it?” a voice says from behind him.
Armifer nearly chokes on his food. He turns to see a familiar cheeky grin. “What do you want?” he growls. “Nuntios,” he adds as an afterthought.
“Just wanted to welcome you properly.” The scraping of chairs adds a pointed undertone to his words. Soon, Armifer is surrounded by a gang of grinning boys. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat but doesn't say anything.
“You already know me,” Nuntios says with a wry grin. “This is Rick, Malone, Lukas, and Elias.”
Why are they all looking at me like that? Armifer wonders. He hopes they don’t notice how tense he is as he grips his fork. There is some chatter about school, homework, bad teachers, the usual. Armifer feels nauseated by the end of the meal and bolts for the door after returning his plate. Sitting with these people makes me feel like I’m at war with myself. He feels someone grip his arm as he exits the hall.
“If you need any help, just ask,” Nuntios says, regarding Armifer with brilliant cobalt-blue eyes. Armifer nods, and continues out. Something in Nuntios’s gaze bothers him. It stays with him, like an unscratchable itch, even as he falls asleep.
Armifer is tempted to skip breakfast the following morning. Only after listening to his grumbling stomach for some minutes does he begin to rise from his bed. He opens the wardrobe to examine his school uniform once more.
Chartreuse is still as horrible as it was yesterday. With a sigh of resignation, he buttons up the stiff, white collared shirt and slips on the neon blazer. He can hardly stand the sight of himself, but an effort needs to be made. At least here is better than home.
Armifer’s appetite still hasn't fully returned since last night, so he only eats a slice of dry toast. Other people pile their plates high with bacon and eggs, but Armifer’s stomach is roiling. He sits in a corner seat and nibbles on his toast. As he lifts his arm to take another bite, something crinkles in his pocket. He thrusts his hand in and pulls out a folded card-stock schedule. Sir Eric may be snotty, but he is good. He skims the paper, rolling his eyes. Math, science, history, the list goes on.
“Oh cool, we both have English first period.”
Nuntios. Armifer sees the smile before he turns his head.
“Mrs. Skimmer is so chill. She’ll totally be happy to catch you up. Mr. Lehner, on the other hand ….”
Armifer zones out, only half listening to Nuntios’s words, as the sea of chartreuse flows into the hallways of the lower classrooms. The English room is one of the worst. It has only two windows and is cold and drafty. In the winter, it would be miserable. Armifer slides into a seat near the back as the rest of the class files in. Strangely, Nuntios has disappeared. Funny, Armifer thinks, his chatter was almost starting to grow on me.
“Class, can we please settle down?” A tall, thin woman in a gray pencil skirt swishes into the room. Nuntios stealthily slips into the classroom behind her and slides into the seat by Armifer.
He always looks like he's up to something.
“Now, is everyone here?” The door clicks open as three girls rush in. “Ah, the late trio, I see.” The classroom erupts into sniggers.
This must be a regular thing.
“Shall we start? Please get out your books. We will be continuing with our previous lesson on verse and prose and—”
A shriek erupts from the center of the room. “My bag! It’s full of sugar!” One of the girls who just came in stands whining, her front covered with white granules, a newly candied English text in one hand.
“Amelia, when you come to class late, you do not come in and disrupt it,” Mrs. Skimmer remarks. “Clean up, please.” She snaps her fingers for emphasis and laughter ripples all around.
Armifer feels something drop into his hand underneath the table. It’s a lone sugar packet. He glances over at Nuntios. Nuntios’s face is expressionless, but his eyes are twinkling and, despite himself, Armifer can’t help but crack a smile.
The day continues as a dull blur of classes. Then lunchtime comes. Armifer pulls up a chair next to Nuntios, realizing that there is no escaping socializing. He nibbles on a small ham sandwich, trying to look somewhat interested in the conversation around him. Then he hears the scraping of dress shoes on a stone floor. He sees Sir Eric's grim face even before he turns around. Beside the teacher is an irate girl who seems vaguely familiar.
“That’s him! He’s the one who did it!”
Armifer now recognizes her as the girl from the sugar prank. Not her again.
“Ah, yes, I remember you,” Sir Eric says, a hungry look in his eyes, “you’re the miscreant who was late yesterday. Already causing trouble?”
Armifer stands, his mind a storm. Bastard, he muses, his thoughts going to Nuntios. I knew he was only pretending to be nice. I’ll be expelled anyway, so why does it matter? Why does it matter?
“Actually, sir, it was me.” Sir Eric whirls around to face Nuntios. Armifer would not have been more surprised if Nuntios had started singing Cantonese opera. “Guilty as charged.”
“Detention, Nuntios. I shall escort you to my office.”
As Nuntios walks out the double doors, he sends a half-smile Armifer’s way. Armifer is still in shock. Did he just take responsibility? Is that something people do? This is the question he turns over in his mind for the following hours.
Later that evening, Armifer grabs his jacket, resolved, and sets out to find Nuntios and ask him about the French homework.
15
communicating with the dead ruins your social life, part II
“Why on earth is Sir Eric dragging us here during free period?” Armifer asks Nuntios.
“Knowing Sir Eric, someone probably TP-ed his office again.” They guffaw at the thought. It had only been last week that Sir Eric had come in one fine Monday morning to be greeted by some new two-ply drapes that he had acquired overnight. Charming Ultra is very chic, n’est-ce pas? Of course, no one had been able to discover the culprits, but Nuntios and Armifer looked a bit tired that morning. Toilet paper has surprisingly good value.
As they enter the great hall, a throng of students is already present. The usual gang soon joins them. Rick, Malone, Lukas, and Elias are busy having a chortle of their own. Armifer isn’t one of the “Fab Five,” so he hangs back, taking in the scene around him. When he first came to this school, he never imagined staying so long. More importantly, he never imagined having someone to call a friend.
“Please! Quiet,” Sir Eric says as he steps onto the dais. This morning Sir Eric's face is not the color of pureed prune, so it is doubtful that sanitary tissue is the reason behind the summons.
“I’m glad you’ve all made it,” he says half-heartedly. He regains his composure and continues. “I would like to announce the upcoming alumni dinner.” Confused whispering flows through the halls. “We have invited several of our alums for a series of workshops and speeches for a week, culminating in a grand communal dinner at the end of the month.”
Armifer and Nuntios exchange looks. The buffet dinners ar
en’t exactly McDonald’s style. Grander? They conjure up images of caviar and sparkling elderberry juice.
“I expect you all to be on your best behavior. Several prominent educators will be in attendance.” With that, Sir Eric descends the dais and dismisses the crowd. Armifer can barely contain a derisive snort. As soon as he and Nuntios exit into the foyer, they double over.
“Seems Sir Eric needs to have a wider audience for ego stroking,” Nuntios jests, holding his sides.
“The bootlicking of the student body just isn’t enough,” Armifer says, nodding his head with mock sincerity. “I suppose this kind of event requires first-class entertainment.”
“Of course, my good Sir Armifer,” Nuntios replies with a knowing smile. They traipse off to class, fizzing with ideas of trickery. A performance Sir Eric shall have, Nuntios thinks, and I know exactly who to ask. Even as the thought forms in his mind, a gaggle of pale figures materializes around him, ready for his command.
***
The weeks pass in a blur, an endless flow of class work and preparation for the event. Subtlety is clearly not Sir Eric’s strong suit, Nuntios muses, noticing the multitude of flyers posted around the campus.
No pranks had occurred during these weeks, though. Not one missing textbook or duct-taped office. People still opened their lockers slowly, bracing themselves for the imminent shower of goop, slime, or munchies (it varied from day to day; diversity is always healthy). But none came.
The lack of mischief had put people more on edge. It had worked them up in anticipation of the return of the impishness. Even Sir Eric seemed more jittery than usual. So, on the Monday the workshops begin, Nuntios and Armifer are the only ones totally at ease, striding into the auditorium with confidence.
The auditorium, of course, isn’t actually an auditorium at all. It’s just the dining hall with the floors swept, newer chairs, and a projector. Sir Eric’s delusion of grandeur is only slightly evident.
The student body cavorts in, bouncing in the velveteen chairs and joking about the speakers. One speaker is completely bald and has a rather round head. Nuntios remarks that the speaker resembles an egg and Armifer chokes back a snort. Another looks as if he had just graduated, his greenness showing in the naïve grin on his face.
Many more could be described, but Sir Eric marches in at that very moment, strutting with his head held high, carrying a microphone aloft like a torch. “Quiet, everyone, please!” he cries, his strident voice ringing in the throng. "The disciplinary workshop is about to start."
Various teachers come around, forcing students into seats, admonishing the occasional talker, and surrounding rowdy students. Nuntios and Armifer are squashed into the middle of a row next to Lukas, Elias, Malone, and Rick.
Nuntios tries to wave a greeting, but they all just shift uncomfortably in their seats. After that business with the sugar packets, Nuntios and Armifer became inseparable. The guys thought Nuntios was just extending a shoulder, and that the matter would be over within a week, but they were wrong. Lukas especially developed an aversion to Armifer. Ever since, none of them have had a proper conversation with either of them.
All of this swirls about Armifer’s mind as the speaker begins his flat monotone. He inadvertently catches Elias’s eye. Elias gives him a piercing, yet lofty stare, as pointedly as he might give the finger. Armifer rolls his eyes and turns his attention to the speaker, who has just begun distributing pamphlets containing information on the importance of self-restraint.
Saying that the workshops were only slightly more boring than class would be the biggest understatement of the twenty-first century. Unless you were Sir Eric, of course, and actually enjoying the sessions that week. Either way, there is a big sigh of relief each day for the break during lunch. Rather than having a myriad of food choices, there were usually some cold cut sandwiches and bags of chips, but the promise of the special Friday night dinner was enough to keep the peace.
Nuntios and Armifer had been waiting for this week in the hope of wreaking havoc, but supervision had been too close. They had gone weeks with no screams of horror, no loud crashes. And now, their prize was being stolen. They fume in the back of the hall, plotting, but to no avail.
Even as the sessions end for the day, Armifer says to Nuntios resignedly, “It looks like our glorious prank week isn't turning out as we’d hoped.”
Nuntios looks at his new friend’s retreating form, wholeheartedly agreeing. But tonight will be a night to remember, make no doubt of that. Nuntios does feel bad about not telling Armifer his plan, but he doesn't know how his friend might react to Nuntios’s “abilities.” Whatever, I’m sure it will still work. Nuntios turns on his heel and walks the other way, running through the details of his glorious mega-prank one last time.
“It is my great honor to make a toast to the great legacy of our school, our glorious alums, and, of course, the student body,” Sir Eric says, addressing the assembly of students, alumni, and guests. There is scattered clapping from the students, but that is drowned out by the thunderous applause from the adults, most of whom are already quite drunk. Sir Eric certainly pulled out all the straws for this event. Everything, from the gilded candleholders to the polished silverware and intricate tablecloths represent the highest luxury, but not for long.
Now, Nuntios whispers, calling to his wraiths.
Dozens of spirits flit about the hall, ripping goblets out of people’s hands, tossing platters through the air. Sir Eric's glass appears to fall out of his hand of its own accord, spilling its contents all over him as it does so. The glass then appears to chase him about the dais, repeatedly smacking his back as Sir Eric cowers in fear.
The students erupt into deafening laughter, even Miss Amelia Evans, at the moment free of sugar or any other food items. Of course, that changes when she is lifted by an unseen force up onto the table and then dropped into a platter of mashed potatoes. Everyone turns to point and jeer at her newly acquired snowcap. Little “accidents” like these occur throughout the night, eliciting peals of laughter each time. No one laughs harder than Nuntios, however, as he watches his puppets dance.
“How did you do that?” Armifer asks as he and Nuntios stroll down the main hall, their blazers caked with powdered sugar. A whole pudding had suddenly gone flying and had rained the fine grains upon the students.
Nuntios gives him a winning smile. “Why do you think that I had anything to do with it?” he replies, coy.
“Come off it, I know only you could pull something like that off.”
“Whoever did it must have as great a sense of humor as I do.”
“Dude, just spill, I gotta try that sometime!” As they playfully argue, a ghostly mist engulfs the hallway.
“Okay,” Armifer says, his voice quavering, ever so slightly. “What did you do?”
Nuntios just grins. “Come, meet the friends who made this night possible.” All around them, ivory shadows begin to flicker beneath the wall sconces.
“Nuntios, are you crazy?”
“What? I've known them all term.” I knew he would react like this, Nuntios thinks
“Something’s not right, Nuntios.” Armifer’s voice falters. “We should … we should go.” His eyes glaze over, a black mist crossing his corneas. But when Nuntios leans forward to look closer, it is gone as soon as it came.
“The boy does not lie you know,” says a woman with a raspy voice. Nuntios shivers. He has not felt this chill since … the beginning. But even now, he feels icy fingers, creeping up his spine.
“How do you mean?” he asks defiantly, standing protectively in front of Armifer.
“You think the spirits are to be trifled with, little mahi?”
“Delusional, even for his kind,” croons another.
“But we have two prizes now, let us not tarry.”
“Very well.” The raspy-sounding woman turns to face Nuntios and Armifer again. “We summon forth your captor. Resistance is futile. Evomo does not take his dinner lightly.”
&n
bsp; Nuntios and Armifer exchange uneasy looks. Armifer is not even thinking about saying, “I told you so.” Nuntios stares at his shoes in shame. He had trusted the spirits after what happened at the beginning, and now Armifer would pay the price.
Nuntios cannot tell how long they have sat, with their backs pressed against the wall. His mouth has long since gone dry. He and Armifer have been watching helplessly as the shades began their chant. His eyes dart from side to side, searching for a means of escape. The woman notices and smiles cruelly.
“Let it be known, mahi, that the eidolons were the bringers of your undoing.”
Whatever they are summoning is almost here. An inky vortex grows above the chanters and a strange form begins to emerge—a mass of ebony feathers and talons. Then comes the screeching.
It is worse than you could possibly imagine; several dying goats would be melodious in comparison. The din only grows louder as the head emerges. Armifer covers his ears in pain as Nuntios looks up in horror.
It looks like a griffin, lacking any of its majesty. The entire creature is a deep onyx color. The black talons almost distract from the spiny feathers on the creature's back. Almost. The creature snarls, gnashing its serrated teeth. A dribble of spittle lands next to Armifer. In spite of himself, he dips his finger in the murky liquid. He immediately begins waving his finger about and wincing.
“Acid!” Nuntios’s stomach tightens. This is my fault. Armifer trusts me. He is not going to pay for my mistake. Nuntios steps forward and speaks in a voice that is not his own. “Kerykeion, I summon thee.”
An amber staff grows in Nuntios’s hand. Two serpents slither up the rod, meeting the pair of flapping wings at the top. Nuntios again speaks in his eerie voice, croaking as Armifer stares in amazement.
“Stand and fight, Evomo.”
That certainly gets the creature’s attention. Evomo lunges for Nuntios but his claws slice through the air. Nuntios is now on the other side of the hall, waving his staff encouragingly. Evomo is more than willing to take the bait and lurches forward again. This happens several times, with Evomo flailing about to catch the invisible Nuntios. Nuntios suddenly appears next to Armifer.
The Rise of the Fourteen Page 10