“No, Mr. Gullick . . . just, thank you!”
Every person in the room smiled, especially Keith Gullick, teeth showing through his trimmed beard of still deep brown hair; ‘grey isn’t a Gullick color’ as he was fond of saying. “Then please go down the hall to the right, we’ll be sending the rest of your class after you and Valentine is already waiting, so be prepared to celebrate—congratulations.”
The redheaded girl barely kept from skipping as she darted out of the room, her heavy thick-lensed glasses threatening to slip from her face. A few of the teachers behind the evaluation board’s table laughed into her wake, giving out the First in Class being the best moment of a thankless job.
Russell Quilt adjusted his own glasses on the bridge of his nose. They had a habit of sliding down for as long as he could remember and no matter how often he tightened them it never seemed enough. His brothers used to tease him it was because his nose got too tired from the weight, just like the rest of him.
Russell shrugged to himself, putting the memory behind him. He’d always been skinny and intellectual, even in the face of three All-State athletes sitting around the dinner table night after night growing up. Memories . . . if I’d been born an Ultra like these kids then I would be able to recall every time my brothers said it as well.
More often than not . . . Russell was glad he wasn’t.
So much pressure, so much hope on their shoulders . . . the things we do to them to test their personalities and psychological welfare . . . we’ve been lucky with Class 2009, none of them have cracked a bit yet. Russell didn’t need the Mancy to recall the small scandal during his own time as a Single, when three Ultras tried to run away in the first month. It was all anyone had been able to talk about.
He brought up Miranda’s student file on his laptop, entered her scores, and then opened the master database for her year and class, slotting her at first spot for both. Traditionally, Ultras always held top spot, often top five, and even top ten, no matter how gifted the year of Intras were. A few pierced the ceiling now, but as the year went on and Mancy gained importance over grades . . .
They’ll slide and keep sliding and keep trying and it won’t matter what they do. They’ll be so jealous . . . Bi is always worst but by Tri they’ll see the cost of being an Ultra, then they’ll make the choice: keep the jealousy or thank the Mancy it passed you by.
All of the runaways were returned quickly . . . but they were never quite the same and always watched extra . . . even that didn’t stop one of the boys, a pyromancer, from killing himself with the Mancy and burning down half the Park just before Final Exams. And that was talked about all into the next year . . . and the year after that . . . and the year after that . . .
Russell had been top of Intras for his four years and he’d never gotten higher than sixth; that was during Single December Evaluations, just like the one the teachers conducted now. This year’s top Intra was ranked fifth, on account of King Henry Price’s horrible grades. Enjoy it while you can, Russell had told her as a warning, with a pat on the back. He was sure she didn’t understand.
All the Intra grades were finished. Three hundred and seventy children came through the door, sat down, and answered questions; hearing their class and year numbers at the end of it. For Russell, as Head of Testing, Evaluations were the busiest time of year outside August break, where he tested many of the new recruits. His schedule was completely backwards to the rest of the faculty—who viewed Evaluations as a holiday. Audrey teased Russell something awful about how with her as a teacher and him in Testing, if they ever got married they’d never escape the place.
Marriage!
She used the word far too freely!
“Are we ready for our next?” Keith Gullick asked the assembled teachers.
Keith Gullick was universally respected by the faculty. He taught all four of the Elementalism classes—Basic, Intermediate, Advanced, Expert—to the Ultras and had done so for over a decade. His family lived at the Institution, all of his children going to school there from kindergarten on; his wife, Natalie, ran childcare for the rest of the teachers, and for the last four years he’d served as the Head of Elementalism on the Elemental Learning Council.
A leading contender to replace the Lady as Dean, Russell thought, and the only one to keep it away from Root unless C.D. steps to the plate.
There were nods down the line. Delores Dingle, Nevada Slaton, Jethro Smith, and Kumiko Ambrose. Fines Samson had a chair, but was absent, the oldest teacher in the school not bothering with something he considered a waste of time. There normally would have been yet another but Kumiko Ambrose served as both History and History of Elementalism. Russell sat at the very end, he didn’t bother to nod. I’m here to enter numbers, not ask questions. It was by design, Testing had to be neutral and friendly to the students, teachers on the other hand were the tough and hard ones.
Keith depressed a speaker button. “Send in the next.”
The boy entered a moment later, paused only for a second to take the teachers in, then continued, stopping next to a chair which had been left opposite the table. He placed his hand against the chair’s back and bowed slightly before sitting in it. He did not cross his legs but sat with perfect posture, his back straight, his chin up.
“Heinrich von Welf,” Keith greeted the boy.
Heinrich nodded to let it be known he acknowledged the words but, it not being a question, he said nothing. He was tall for his age, but skinny and slightly pale. Russell brought up his file. Not yet fifteen. His grades from each teacher were already listed, all ‘A’s’, even physical education, though it had no basis on rank. Perhaps the brightest student in the year and given the competition, that’s saying something.
“How do you feel Institution life has gone for you so far, Heinrich?” Keith asked with the smile he’d tested on thousands of children over the years—it proved to be both supportive and encouraging.
“Passable, sir,” Heinrich decided after some thought.
“Only passable?”
“I missed a number of questions on my tests I shouldn’t have. I believe the cause is the early hour we wake at, I’m not used to such time.”
“Complaining, Heinrich? That’s not like you.”
“Not complaining, merely pointing out a cause, sir. Now that I’ve acclimated to the schedule I believe my testing will be much improved.”
He reminds me of some polite, perfect robot at times.
Flipping through papers clipped to a board, a thick Gullick finger found Welf’s tests. “The lowest you scored was a ninety-one.”
“Nine points for improvement, sir.”
“We do appreciate your effort but don’t push yourself so hard you break,” Keith warned.
“I’m far from breaking, sir. I make sure to get sleep and to eat proper calories and vitamins.”
“Questions for the student?” Keith asked his fellows.
Delores asked an algebra problem, Nevada about the parts of a cell, Jethro for a meaning about a line of Julius Caesar, and Kumiko wanted the ten largest cities based on population estimates in 44AD. Heinrich answered them all, emotionless—outstanding as always. The teachers exchanged nods with each other.
Keith Gullick looked to Russell. “Head of Testing.”
Russell clicked back through his files. “Heinrich von Welf, you’ve been given a Class Rank of two and a Year Rank of two.”
Usually anything above tenth received exclamations of joy . . . here there was nothing. Heinrich’s fists bunched in his lap, his eyes glanced to the ground.
Keith frowned but continued with the form that had been designed over the years. “Do you have any questions, Mr. von Welf, as to why this is the placement you’re receiving?”
For a moment it seemed the boy would only nod his blond head and accept the ranking but just on the edge of the downward movement he paused. “Who was first?” he asked.
Keith continued his frown. “I’m not supposed to say . . .”
&
nbsp; “Please,” Heinrich begged, the word sharp.
A shrug from the other teachers broke the barrier and Keith finally gave in, “Miss Daniels.”
It was Heinrich’s turn to frown. “I’m rather sure I tested better than everyone.”
“In all but one test,” Russell confirmed.
The frown deepened, his voice disbelieving and almost disgusted, “What test? The Languages test on Dune?”
Jethro answered for them. “Don’t use that voice with Dune. No . . . it was the biggest one, and not mine: the Camping Test.”
“How . . .” the boy stopped, a shake in his head, but eventually curiosity won out over his manners, “How do you grade something so hectic?”
Jethro flipped a hand in the air. “Time lasted, choices made, crap like that, man. Don’t dwell on it, I’m not even on your side of the table and I’ll admit it’s one of the stupider things we do.”
Keith glared at him. “Shut up, Jethro.”
“Right, boss.”
Keith continued, pulling out another paper, “Mr. Samson is responsible for the final grades of the test. He thought you showed great leadership skills by managing to hold the class together. You did, however, lose the vote for leadership and then ran out on your own during the second attack the class faced. While you were one the later students caught, you weren’t above Miss Daniels. You weren’t even in the top five.”
“Only because the Foul Mouth cheated!” Heinrich yelled, almost rising to his feet.
“Mr. Price did not cheat,” Keith corrected softly.
“He tricked the class into voting against me,” Heinrich said, turning his head away, “then he found some way through the forest in the dark . . . he must have cheated somehow . . . else, why will no one tell me how he did it?”
“Because you aren’t a teacher and don’t deserve an explanation for all of our reasoning. You placed second in your year, do try to be happy about it.”
“I won’t let this happen again,” Heinrich whispered, tombstone eyes dark. Necromancers always dwell on the negatives.
“There is another evaluation in March. Keep up the same excellent work you’ve supplied this time and, with no surprises, I’m sure you’ll end up in first,” Keith mollified, then motioned to the door, “Please go, out to the right.”
There were sighs from the table when the door shut behind the boy.
“He’s right, he should have been first,” Delores said, picking at her eagle brooch pin, “He’s the most driven student I’ve seen in almost twenty years.”
“Miranda only tested a few points behind him,” Kumiko disagreed, “and performed far beyond him in the Camping Scenario.”
“Did she though?” Delores countered, “von Welf had a point about Price’s gaming of the scenario. Without the outside help he received, the children with him would have never lasted as long as they did.”
“But he did coerce the outside help, not receive it like a gift,” Kumiko reminded, waving a hand like it held a peace offering, “and he lasted as long as he did, no matter how horrible he is at math or geography, neither of us can take that from him.”
*
Second. No von Welf had ever finished second on the first evaluation. Not even Heinrich’s uncle Wolfgang, and he was a Beasttalker, not even in the First Tier of Elementalism like most von Welfs.
Second. How would he explain it to Mother? Father might understand, he’d gone through the Institution with Mordecai Root and had scored second in everything once Root’s genius asserted itself, but . . . a Daniels isn’t a Root. Miranda might have come from a family of mancers but only one going back three generations. Her grandfather had basically bought his mancer bride to bring the skill into the family . . . they hardly counted. Mother would say they didn’t count . . .
Second. Heinrich put one foot in front of the other, barely paying any attention to the hallway. It was bright, like all of the Administration office floors. Like a hospital, Heinrich thought. He’d never enjoyed hospitals. His first accidental discharge had taken place in one. I remember how happy Mother and Father were to see me talking to the cancer boy’s ghost that day . . .
Second. Miranda didn’t deserve first. If it had been Valentine he thought he could have accepted it. Valentine was an amazing girl . . . quick and kind and . . . she would be fitting of first because she would have earned it with her strength in the Mancy. Miranda . . . earned it through test scores and one stupid mistake . . .
Price. Heinrich loathed every word that echoed from the little Foul Mouth. Crass, low-born, rolling around and rejoicing in his status, trying to pull everyone else into the mud. And he gets us there far too often. How many times had Heinrich cursed the boy out in an outburst he couldn’t control?
Mother would understand second place before she would understand my reactions to Price . . .
The hallway ended and two girls waited for him, the only ones in a room filled with couches. Again like a hospital waiting room. Heinrich repressed a shudder. I’ll never forget the cancer boy’s sad voice . . . like . . . he’d surrendered. Miranda looked up at him, big eyes made all the bigger by glasses. Next to her, Valentine smiled his way and waved, her free hand patting the seat open on her other side.
Heinrich’s heart did backflips.
Second, he thought. Second best. Von Welfs were never second best. They led, they pulled those around them up, and they protected those weaker than themselves. They served, as was their birthright. They showed the world the ultimate example of family, class, and Elementalism. Beaten by a Daniels . . . never again . . . never again, Price.
“Miranda got first!” Valentine shouted, the ginger girl on her arm blushing to orange. “I got third!”
An example, serving, leading. Heinrich put the past in the past and drew a smile across his face. If von Welfs could do anything, they could fake being happy. “I heard. Congratulations.”
“Where did you come in?” Valentine asked him, so excited she bounced on the couch, one leg trapped under her like a lever.
The expression on his face weakened but through effort he held it together. “Second,” he said.
*
As Asa Kayode exited, an edge of alertness filled the room. Every teacher knew that only one of Class ‘09’s High Five remained and not a one of them was sure about how he would react. Would it be a King Henry disinterested, a King Henry ready for war, or the King Henry whose warped intelligence drove so many of them up the wall day-in and day-out?
“Everyone hold on to your vagina,” Jethro Smith called out through a smirk, “especially you, Quilt.”
Russell smirked himself. “My vagina is just fine, Jet, he likes me.”
Keith seemed to think this over. “Maybe you should lead the meeting.”
“No!” Delores objected, “We aren’t changing the entire process for one boy, no matter how much of a hassle he might be.”
“He’s gotten better, month by month,” Kumiko pointed out, “the more we focus on the Mancy the more he seems interested.”
“I’ve noticed the same,” Keith agreed, as Elementalism teacher his class was the most in-depth for that interest.
Nevada and Delores sulked. “I haven’t,” Nevada said. “Not an improvement at all,” Delores confirmed.
Keith let his own grin show from under his brown beard. “I doubt he’ll ever be a math-lete or win a science fair, but Kumiko’s correct, as long as we keep it on the Mancy and not school, he shouldn’t be too much trouble. Russell, I do want some talking from you during this one, however; as you said, he likes you.”
“He likes me too!” Jethro complained. “We curse together and everything.”
The Gullick Glare shot at the young teacher, especially over his always present leather jacket. “Maybe it’s better if you hold your mouth along with your vagina, Mr. Smith.” The button on the speaker-phone was pressed. “Send the next in.”
As always, Russell was surprised by how small King Henry really was. He had such a personality th
at it grew when you were away from him into something larger-than-life, but in reality here was the fourteen-year-old kid who was just starting to grow past five-feet-tall, and despite the added pounds the cafeteria meals had put on his frame, still looked perpetually skinny, nothing but bones, muscle, and skin.
His facial expression was combative at the moment, one of the only emotions he seemed to wear, though smug and anger could come to play as well, and impressed if you really worked at it. Never fear, never love, and especially nothing vulnerable. A little kid with a real age only apparent in his eyes, knowing eyes, eyes that . . . took no bullshit.
He wore his colors awkwardly, his brown coat open, his white undershirt untucked, and his hands balled up in his pant pockets. At a school nicknamed the Asylum, famous for its odd characters, he was perhaps the oddest of them all. If he hadn’t passed the Artificer test, he might have been more trouble than he was worth.
“Quilt in the house!” he greeted them all, chin jutting at Russell.
“How are you, K.H.?” Russell asked, after Keith’s motion to go ahead.
“Got no class today on account of this shit, so I’m pretty damn happy, Testing man.” King Henry didn’t sit in the chair as it was, but flipped it around and sat straddling its back, chin resting on the uppermost edge. “How ‘bout we get this finished so I can move on to the rest of my free Saturday?”
Keith pulled out the correct paper from his folder just as Russell did the same on his computer. King Henry’s file was . . . a mess, Russell supposed. He’d rarely seen grades like it. The worst was the obvious intelligence inside the boy’s mind—he’d earned seven different ‘A’s’ in four different classes, he was in the top two as far as Fines Samson was concerned for Survival and Defense, and had improved considerably over his first month. Only . . . there were ‘F’s’ as well, along with a number of ‘D’s’, and ‘C’s’ were most common. If the boy cared, he could do well, if he didn’t care . . . he didn’t care.
“You’ve been at the Institution for four months, Mr. Price—“
“Time out!” King Henry shouted, ‘T’ing his hands. “None of that shit. King Henry, please. My dad wasn’t even Mr. Price, fuck knows I’m not.”
King Henry Short Pack One (The King Henry Tapes) Page 3