King Henry and the Three Little Trips (The King Henry Tapes)

by Richard Raley

  King Henry leaned back away from Max and Tatiana, towards Christmas’ class. “You little shits sure do spread rumors epically fast, don’t ya?”

  Ester Daniels stuck a tongue out at him.

  “You kick her ass regularly, right?” King Henry whispered to Christmas.

  “I’m first in the class, she’s second.”

  “Good.”

  “Zachery is third.”

  “Zachery is fire boy?”

  Christmas blushed a little bit. “Yes,” she admitted.

  “Stay away from pyromancers; they’re trouble for us geomancers.”

  Christmas rolled her bright, hazel eyes at him.

  King Henry pointed at his chest. “Experience. I know.”

  Max arrived to stick a long, flat hand in King Henry’s direction, who paused to shake the flipper. “What’re you doing with the Singles again? Not tired of them yet?”

  King Henry motioned at Max and Tatiana. “When I met them they were as scared and frightened as you are, now look at them . . . all grown up. Puts a sparkle in my eye, I might even tear up a little bit.”

  Christmas had nothing to say to either of the Quads, she only glared, lips pressed tight.

  King Henry turned to Tat and pointed. “Tat was my Winter War MVP . . . Max was okay.”

  “He was just tired from all the off-the-field larceny you had him committing,” Tat defended her man with a wink. “At least that’s his excuse for that year.”

  Max pointed at Christmas. “Ward can tell all of you about how awesome I was this year.”

  “He . . . he threw muddy water at us,” Christmas barely got out, “it was horrible.”

  Max gave a pretty boy smile, proud with himself. “On your side, sure. On my side it was awesome. Should have seen it, Your Majesty, I had the whole Single class zipping down the Mound like they were on a slip-n-slide.”

  King Henry gave Max and Tat a nod while giving Christmas an encouraging pat on the back. Max wasn’t a bully; he was just a careless braggart . . . so like every eighteen-year-old star athlete on the planet.

  “You aren’t leaving, are you?” Max asked as King Henry threw his backpack over his shoulder and stood up.

  “Enough food and reminiscing for me, Max, got to get to work.” King Henry picked up his fish taco bag with one hand and Mini’s steel cube with the other. “Two hours of pissed off is about the right level of pissed off you want with Plutarch, go any more and he gets whiny. Locks the door and sulks in front of his TV watching Matlock and shit.”

  “How long will you be here?” Tat asked, leaning into Max’s shoulder. “The whole class would like to see you. We’re just forward reconnaissance to see if the rumors were true.”

  “I’ll stop by for dinner tomorrow, what about that?”

  Max and Tat both grinned. “Sounds great,” Max said. “Tomorrow!”

  King Henry nodded at the pair until they took the hint and walked off to report to their Quad class on the second floor of the Cafeteria. Turning back to Christmas and those bright, hazel eyes, he knelt down next to her, putting Mini’s cube where she could see it. “Be polite.”

  Farewell, Curious Crystal.

  Christmas smiled a little. “Goodbye, Mini.”

  “Every Ultra Quad class beats every Ultra Single class, even mine,” King Henry reminded her.

  “Except for their class,” Christmas reminded him back.

  “Yeah, well . . . they cheated . . . a lot. Mostly my fault . . . student-advisor coming up with all the plans and ideas as it were instead of punishing them like I should have been. Regardless of that . . . Winter War ain’t shit even if they make it a big deal at the Asylum, kid. Real world out there and in the real world Christmas Ward will either be a Guild member or she’ll work for me when she graduates, Max and Tat barely have one brain between them.”

  “You . . . you want me to work for you?” Christmas whispered.

  King Henry shrugged any emotion she was emanating off his shoulders. “Assuming you want to. Assuming I’m alive. Assuming I haven’t married your sister and divorced her about twelve times. Yeah, look me up in seven years.”

  “I will.”

  King Henry gave the whole of the Cafeteria a predator’s grin as he stood up. Lot of eyes out in that sea of faces watching him. Fuck You: The Legend Returns, he thought. “Also, drop by Plutarch’s house on Sunday. I’ll make sure the door is unlocked. Who knows? Mini might be walking by then.”

  *

  “Go away, Junior! NCIS is on, it’s one of the ones with DiNozzo’s father in it, and I don’t want to have to listen to your shit right now!”

  As impossible as it seemed, Plutarch was even crankier and got crankier faster than King Henry remembered. Now, not even two hours of pissed off gets him whining in front of the TV. Should probably consider NCIS an improvement over Matlock though. Shit, might even get him to throw out the VHS and work a Netflix account one day. One-hundred and twelve seasons of Cheers, who could resist that shit?

  Plutarch pissed off or not, King Henry knocked again like he hadn’t heard him. “I brought a package of the Cafeteria’s chocolate chip cookies for you.”

  “Maudette ordered them to deliver three meals to my door every day, not just when I call for one,” Plutrach informed him through the locked door. “I have more food than I know what to do with frankly. Been thinking about getting a dog just so someone can eat it. Or a pig . . . pig is very friendly pet for a geomancer, you know . . . especially the ones bred for hunting truffles.”

  “Pappy, I’m a trained geomancer and if I want to open this door, I’ll open this fucking door,” King Henry reminded. “After that I’ll be really annoyed as I’ll have to hold back about twenty-five minutes of anima. Can’t say the twinge is as sharp a pain as it used to be; but really, it just gives me an excuse, don’t it? Just like you got your excuse right now. Maybe I might do something we both regret, show off what I can do with that twenty-five-minute-pool since you ain’t ever seen me at the top of my game, being as you never bothered to teach me how to do all this shit!”

  The door popped open, Plutarch glaring down at him. He was more hunched than when King Henry first met the old man, only a couple inches of difference between their eye-lines. Skin was still scarred up, dark old leather. What hair he had was white, most of it on his arms and face. Eyepatch in place over the empty socket; looked as absurd as always. Just more hunched, older . . . maybe ninety, King Henry wasn’t sure on the dates. Still taller than King Henry, still tougher than a ninety-year-old should ever look. Not quite Fines Samson deadly, but close enough.

  Except Plutarch had a cane now. Old-fashion single stick of wood, not the metal four-pronged tennis-ball version the Lady lugged about. Different version or not, the cane poked right into King Henry’s chest, same as the Lady’s had a habit of doing. “I never teach any student those skills, Junior. Council decided long ago you aren’t wise enough to use them correctly and judging by how you’re abusing it all, looks like they had good reason.”

  King Henry showed some teeth back. Almost six years since they’d first met one another and still it was like pulling teeth with Plutarch. They were just too different when it came to the Mancy. Hate to admit it, but I respect his opinion a whole lot more than I did at the start. He was a Price. When you were a Price, you fought with those who matter the most. Guess that means Ceinwyn matters whole bunches . . .

  .

  .

  .

  Shut the fuck up, subconscious, you ain’t even drunk this time!

  “Abusing them how? Staying alive with them?” King Henry said aloud.

  “Are you in danger at the moment?” Plutarch shot back. “Have you been in danger since you arrived at the school? Or drove up to the school? Before that?”

  King Henry couldn’t help but to let the sarcasm form an actual friendly smile. “Every teacher at this school did teach me to always be prepared . . . in my life you never know when you need anima, just safer to keep it with you.”r />
  “That should tell you something about your life decisions, Junior,” Plutarch pointed out.

  “Yes, yes, you wanted me to join the Guild and I didn’t. We’ve barely talked because of it and yet nothing has changed since I graduated and nothing is changing in the future. I ain’t joining the Guild. I’m independent; I’m kicking ass with my designs so much that the Guild’s finally started trying to copy me even.”

  Plutarch seemed sad over it instead of impressed. “And if you would have joined the Guild, given your skill and drive—which I admit you have, even if you don’t think I do—you would have learned the one-hundred artifact designs required to be named a Full Member in Artifice by now. Then, arriving at my door I could have greeted you as ‘Brother.’ But instead . . . you’re out there alone, Junior. You’re living a life where you’ve learned all those higher arts out of necessity and are so worried about what’s around the corner that you have to pool day after day, hour after hour, never with a break.”

  “Don’t even try, I know the teachers pool plenty,” King Henry accused, “Council members even more. You’re not worried about me, you’re just still pissed you don’t control everything I do. It’s still the same shit, Pappy!”

  “You’re half right. Part of it is that I know better than you whether you want to admit it or not, another is that I do worry about my ex-students. You most of all . . . cage fight to the death, what were you thinking risking yourself like that?” The cane thudded into King Henry’s chest extra hard. “You’re special damn it! You can’t do shit like that!”

  Well crap, he really does care about more than just being right. Still, King Henry kept firm. Repression being the most Price trait of all. “If your Council would handle that shit, I wouldn’t have had to. Same as your Guild with Anima Madness. Just like those higher arts, it’s all necessity with me, don’t shirk the shit just cuz it’s problematic.”

  The cane’s tip dropped down to clack against the wooden floorboards in a trio of stabs. Plutarch gave a long sigh, looking the oldest King Henry had ever seen him. “Come on inside, Junior. We’ll see what other excuses you come up with for the actions you take.”

  Plutarch hadn’t been lying about the food. The fridge was stuffed with half-eaten and even untouched meals. Only the coffee pot looked like it got any use in the entire kitchen and Plutarch had headed for it first and foremost. The big table was still there . . . everything was still there more or less. New TV by the recliner, a flat screen, with a DVD player hooked up to it. Guess that’s an improvement over Matlock too.

  King Henry studied the golem casings on the wall a whole lot more than he had as a student. He’d spurned that line of knowledge when he was at the Asylum, all high on the idea that he would be making artifacts and be leaving the fairy shit to other people. Now . . . well, both weren’t so far apart as you’d imagine. Maybe Paine’s even on to something and everything is more connected than we think it is. Learn how to make a Were Totem, learn how to make golem casings, do some insane shit with sacrificing Weres to mancers, maybe, just maybe you learn how to make a World-Breaker?

  Sure hope not.

  As long as Paine wanted the Jinshin Ken and couldn’t figure out where King Henry had it hidden, that was really the only reason King Henry managed any sleep at night. Has to keep me alive until he has his toy or until he makes one of his own. I’m on the clock, since I’m pretty sure Paine is getting closer to figuring it all out.

  Closer than King Henry was to figuring it all out.

  Got to steal away some of his lead, it’s the only way to do it. Through craft, or deception, or going straight thug.

  Which was why he was sitting down at the kitchen table trying—and failing—to not get too worked up over Plutarch’s usual grouchy ass. “What have your spies been reporting?” he said, trying to keep his voice neutral on the subject of being spied on. Not like Plutarch is the only one, especially once all those new cameras go up.

  “You parked your car in the garage, made the guard’s day over getting to see the great hero—”

  “Hero?” King Henry already interrupted. “That shit has got to stop.”

  Plutarch gave a grunt of agreement for once. “—then you slighted me by wasting all that time in the Cafeteria talking with the Ward girl. I don’t know if she’s as brilliant as you are, Junior, but she will be a much better student, I can already tell that.”

  “I invited her for breakfast Sunday.”

  Plutarch face couldn’t decide if it should scowl or be locked in horror.

  “She’s just curious. The Curious Crystal I hear.”

  A purse of the lips was the only comment on Christmas’ fairy title or the fact that King Henry knew it thanks to Mini. “You had a talk with the Lamont boy, who likes you more than you like him—”

  “All kiddies are little shits as far as I’m concerned.”

  “—then you finally came here looking for a fight with me like always.”

  “Looking for some wisdom actually,” King Henry corrected. “It’s just when you give me some wisdom and I don’t do exactly what you want with it, you get all cranky and whiny and start huffing about—”

  “I do not huff, Junior!” Plutarch huffed.

  King Henry put his hands up. “I was more worried about if we should be expecting the Lady to come in here and interrupt us actually.”

  “No . . . no, Maudette is very busy tonight.”

  King Henry raised an eyebrow. “Doing what?”

  Plutarch pursed his lips again, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he went about setting out cups and moving the coffee pot over to the table. He didn’t bother with any cream or sugar, they both drank it black as sin. Black as a Sawaephim’s skin . . .

  King Henry took a sip. It was deep and roasted and heaven in the form of liquid, forget that ambrosia shit the Greeks always went on about. “Good stuff. Never seem to get mine this thick tasting . . .”

  Plutarch put his cane on the table before carefully sliding into his seat across from King Henry. “It’s just the beans. I buy mine from one of Van Houten’s ex-students. Has a coffee plantation up in Oregon, only works in that location because he’s a floromancer.”

  “So the usual Asylum bullshit of who-you-know not what-you-can-do?”

  “Once again I would say it’s a bit more of both than you admit, Junior. Look at you, only reason you’re where you are is because that fool Dale girl backed you up on it all.”

  King Henry could have started the fight again, but this time he just nodded. “True enough, I suppose.”

  “She never did tell anyone why you both started fighting . . . tons of rumors about it, some of them outrageous frankly, but nothing solid,” Plutarch prodded.

  “I wanted her to train me in all those higher skills we were arguing about and she turned me down,” King Henry put the reason out on the table with the coffee, the cane, and his backpack. “I had a spare million to buy out her loan, so I used it.”

  “That’s all? Seems trifling to lose a mentor over that. Childish even.”

  “She put me on this path and she won’t give me the knowledge I need to walk it,” King Henry complained.

  “She’s not perfect,” Plutarch agreed with a hint of humor. “She made a mistake by not listening to me . . . many do.”

  “She wanted me to learn some of it, I know she did, that’s why she had me work for Annie the first time. Then she puts the brakes on . . . it was just too much jerking me around, couldn’t focus with her at my back.”

  “Annie . . . wait, you gave Baroness Boleyn a nickname?

  “Of course I did. Wait . . . never mind, why shouldn’t you know her too?”

  “I knew her quite well actually . . .”

  “Oh fuck me, please tell me you didn’t sleep with her back in the 50s or something,” King Henry pleaded. “I can’t live in a world where our dicks have been in the same vagina, even an immortal one.”

  Plutarch started laughing so hard he had to put his coffee cup
down. “Good Mancy, Junior! Of course not . . . I know you like women, but . . . you really do need more control in that area if you’re to survive being independent.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  “No . . . I fought against her. She was one of the most active Embassy agents during the Counter-Culture War. Fines’ team kept crossing paths with her and I was on the team . . . so . . . well, I suppose if you sink so low as to sleep with a vampire I can at least understand it being her.” Plutarch shook his head with more chuckling. “Really, Junior, how come you haven’t found yourself a nice hydromancer or necromancer girl yet? Playing with vampires and playing with fire . . . not to mention the story that came out in the middle of the Council about what you did with the escaped prisoner—”

  “I really didn’t fucking come here to talk about my sex life, Pappy.”

  “Right, how could I forget? You were whining about why the Dale girl didn’t just break the law to give you what you want again.”

  “Wasn’t just that . . . I told her all she had to do was answer one question and she couldn’t even do it.”

  Plutarch pursed his lips again, but kept silent as well, not asking the obvious follow up.

  King Henry went ahead and forced the issue, “I asked her what a Maximus is.”

  Not for the first time, King Henry thought about what a good poker player Plutarch must be. Maybe if he had the second eye it would be bugging out, but nothing, no tell at all. “Where did you hear that word?”

  “The Divine Inanina mentioned it in passing about me.”

  “Divine . . . there’s another word no mancer as young as you should know. Bad enough what Fines and Maudette did to the Reti girl and look where that ended up.”

  Yeah, exactly. Unless you’re in the clique, unless you give into the Council by working for them or were born into it like Welf, King Henry thought bitterly but left it unsaid. “I don’t expect you to tell me, Pappy. I’m over being told or taught or trying to get anyone to break the law for me.”

  “If you just gave it time, it would all happen naturally,” Plutarch pointed out to him. “Trust me on that at least . . . every year a new group of thirty-three-year-old ex-students comes here for their mandatory reunion and we clue them in a bit more about the Mancy’s abilities and about why they weren’t told before and why they shouldn’t take this knowledge as a license to overindulge.