King Henry Short Pack One (The King Henry Tapes)

by Richard Raley

  The one before Maudette Lynch.

  Only three in a century and we count among them.

  His Uncle Wolfgang taught at the school as the Beasttalker teacher, his Aunt Beatrice was a key board member of the Rejuvenation Society, his mother did work for the Learning Council she never spoke of, while his father was CEO and founder of Welf Financial, an ever expanding enterprise since Heinrich’s grandfather died from an early heart-attack.

  Pyromancer . . . they always die young.

  His grandfather’s death had been one of Heinrich’s first experiences as a necromancer. The funeral and seeing the spirit float above the casket, still tethered to the body by fraying strings of necro-anima. The image had stuck with him as a young boy and he wondered on it often. Was that cloud of blackness his grandfather? Was death not as instantaneous as claimed? Could a strong enough necromancer grab at the strings and haul the spirit back into the body?

  Heinrich could have asked his mother. Moira von Welf was seen as a brilliant Bonegrinder, second only perhaps to Mordecai Root in skill with Constructs. Mother had been so happy about his accidental discharge with a cancer boy’s spirit but still he kept the vision of Grandfather to himself.

  Speaking of it would seem like a betrayal of trust.

  What will I do when I’m of age? Heinrich found himself wondering often. He could put on the façade of a perfect gentleman, yet he thought teaching as a prelude to joining the Learning Council was probably beyond him. Despite his love of numbers, Welf Financial held no interest for him and he doubted his father would give up even an inch of power in the company structure, even for his firstborn son. Being only Second Tier had left Frederick von Welf with a jealousy of his own wife and his own child he would never admit to, but it was present and it could be fierce.

  Which leaves Mother . . . It wasn’t right for a boy’s mother to cause him fear, yet Moira von Welf was a fearful woman. Strong and ambitious, she was powerful and hungry for more. She collected Constructs like a vampire collected shells. The worst of it all was that as much as Heinrich feared his mother, he was also fascinated by her, and drawn to her world. He grew up with Moira’s Constructs always at her side, jealously studying the fine marks of necro-anima over human flesh, at the artistry of giving a falsity of life to death, of commanding a tool that couldn’t bleed or feel or be stopped by anything short of a meat-grinder.

  Heinrich often imagined having a Construct at his side to smash the Foul Mouth’s head in and it made him worry about what kind of person such a fantasy made him.

  Mathematics, Languages, Science, History, and P.E. All five of the normal classes flew by for Ultra Class ’09. Since it was the first day of the year there was a syllabus from each class on what the students could expect. American History not only limited to the United States, Advanced Biology and Chemistry, Upper Level Algebra and the beginnings of Trigonometry, and . . . whatever Jethro Smith felt like reading each week.

  This was literally printed on the syllabus over and over: Whatever I feel like reading.

  Is it any wonder I hate the artistic among us?

  Heinrich felt the frustration of his teachers and even though he sympathized with them and tried to be attentive, he couldn’t keep his own attention from wandering any more than the other students in his class. Heinrich’s distraction came from his worry for Victoria and what the Foul Mouth was already planning in that deranged little mind of his, but for most it was the idea of new subjects in the Mancy.

  It was no fault of the teachers, but when one compared Algebra against the Mancy, Algebra lost, even to the students like Heinrich who enjoyed his numbers. The classes passed in a cloud, a cloud only pierced by one moment from Valentine Ward.

  Jethro Smith’s seating chart had them next to each other, one thing that would make the class bearable, Heinrich thought, even if the seating chart didn’t write out their names but the stupid nicknames Smith had baptized them with.

  Airhead. Ice Cube. Cockatoo. Shifty. Storm Clouds. Sunshine. Foul Mouth.

  And of course, Heinrich’s own: Von Von.

  He hated that name.

  It took his noble lineage and spit on it.

  He stiffened up at the sight of it, prepared to complain to Smith and the Learning Council itself if he had to, but then . . . he saw the name next to his: Boomworm.

  Valentine quickly noticed Heinrich’s distraction and instead of throwing it on the altar of teenage daydreaming, she asked him about it. “Are you okay, Heinrich?”

  And his heart tumbled over on itself in his chest as he tried to think up words that would please her. She was so very . . . alive, was Valentine Ward. The very opposite of his nature; the very opposite of death. A bright light raging against eternity for as long as it could last, that was Valentine Ward. Just the sight of her filled him with joy. She was perfect . . . her dark eyes, her teasing lips, the lovely waterfall of her blond hair, like sunlight itself. Such a mind and such strength in the Mancy!

  He fell in love with her in a day, when she stopped at his bedside to ask him if he was okay after Price’s sucker-punch and Heinrich’s subsequent trip to the Infirmary for a dab of Slush and a very large pain pill.

  “I’m . . .” he started before he stopped himself, unsure what to say to her now. Valentine shared Victoria’s fascination with the Foul Mouth, even if she was quicker to call him out on his antics and seemed more aware of how dangerous the attention could be to her. Heinrich gave a vaguer reply than the absolute truth, “I’m worried about Victoria.”

  Valentine’s dark eyes warmed in sympathy. “That’s very sweet of you, being a big brother like that.”

  “I look out for her . . . she cheers me up.”

  “And succeeds?” Valentine teased him. He wasn’t a fan of even friendly teasing but he would forgive her anything.

  “Mostly,” Heinrich admitted. “More than you do,” he tried to tease back.

  Valentine smiled. “I’d like to meet her then.”

  “At lunch maybe?”

  Valentine nodded. “It’s a date.”

  If only . . . Heinrich thought.

  *

  “Trigonometry? Are they out of their minds?” Jason complained as they stood in the line for their lunch trays.

  “It looks fun,” Heinrich whispered, still distracted. He had watched as Ultra Class ‘10—Victoria’s class—was ushered into the Cafeteria and shown how the lunch order system worked. Now they all sat at their reserved table, looking . . . young and amazed and a little scared. All save Victoria, who sat chatting with a pair of girls, both of them chatting back like they had known each other for years.

  Sometimes I think Mother cuckolded Father and the girl isn’t a Welf . . . what kind of Welf makes friends so easily?

  Heinrich was actually jealous.

  Of Victoria.

  I’m not supposed to be jealous; I’m supposed to protect her!

  “Do you remember how much of your tutoring it took for me to even get a ‘C’ in Geometry tests last year?”

  “We’ll do it again.”

  “I don’t want to drag you down, Heinrich.”

  “Nonsense . . . it helps me understand the process from the other side. My father would call it character building.”

  “I’ll owe you something back though.”

  “We’ll think of something.”

  They both picked up plates of hamburgers with a side of fries. Monday was always the worst day for meals as far as Heinrich was concerned. The necromancer in him favored pungent, fermented, and well-aged food. The Cafeteria ladies knew it and that’s why the condiment tables contained both vinegar for his fries and a small plastic cup of sautéed mushrooms which he added to his hamburger.

  Jason’s Mancy-driven dietary cravings were much simpler: he craved as many calories as he could stuff down his throat. This was why his plate had two hamburgers instead of one. In addition to that, whatever Heinrich didn’t eat would find its way over to Jason’s plate as well. Corpusmancers . . . I’ve bee
n around horses that eat less.

  They walked over to their new spot at the Ultra Bi table. It was yet another oddity to become acquainted with. Due to the two floored nature of the Cafeteria, the Ultra Bi table was given a prime spot in a corner, while the poor Ultra Singles were stared at and pestered from every angle. Heinrich again noticed Victoria, laughing with her new friends. There was no sign of the Foul Mouth, neither in line for food nor on the Cafeteria floor. Heinrich’s appetite soured at the expectation of whatever was coming.

  He picked at his fries, nibbled his hamburger. Next to him, Jason attacked his own food with gusto. Across from him, Hope and her two friends, Quinn and Jessica, sat down. Hope gave Heinrich a quick smile but said nothing to him. She was just there . . . like she always seemed to be, picking expertly through a plate of sushi.

  With the way his parents acted, especially his father, Heinrich wondered if he and Hope weren’t betrothed. Of course, it was a new century and even in the last one betrothal would be an oddity but . . . it was different in the world of the Mancy, where keeping bloodlines strong to assuage the pernicious gods of Favored Families and Unknown Rules was a necessity. Heinrich and Hope wouldn’t be forced to marry, but they had always been encouraged to be around each other.

  Part of Heinrich was in wonder of his luck. A girl like Hope Hunting driven into his path. Cryomancers and necromancers made for good matches, as Heinrich’s own parents showed. It was almost like . . . Hope had been made for him and Heinrich for her. Yet . . . he was a fifteen-year-old boy and his eyes wandered down the table to where Valentine Ward laughed at some joke Landry was telling.

  Part of Heinrich very much would have rather been with that group, especially with Valentine at his arm . . . and Landry was very likeable for a boy who said ‘dude’. Miranda could be engaging as well . . . Jason would fit in. They all would have fit together . . . if not for Price. Heinrich glanced over the table again, this time in alarm.

  Still no Foul Mouth.

  His eyes swung across the room to Victoria . . .

  And there he was sitting next to her.

  “Excuse me, everyone,” he said to the table more than to the people.

  He felt in a daze.

  He felt . . . clouded.

  As if he was angry.

  I am angry.

  If I had a Construct at my command I’d have it twist Price’s head right off his shoulders. Pop.

  It wasn’t a rational wish. It was even a psychotic wish. Yet it was a wish he very much wanted to be reality.

  Instead, he stalked across the Cafeteria, his food forgotten behind him. Jason forgotten behind him, still ravenously eating away. Hope forgotten behind him, still delicately eating her sushi. Valentine forgotten behind him, his promise to introduce her to his sister forgotten as well.

  He had eyes for only Victoria.

  Laughing, wonderful, so very innocent Victoria.

  Next to her the Foul Mouth, face cut in half by an animal’s canine grin. A hideous little gremlin of a boy; short, stocky, knuckles hard and scarred, his shoulders were almost wider than he was tall. Some dwarf-demon sent from Hell to torment me for every day of the rest of my life.

  Price turned like he knew Heinrich was approaching his back. The Foul Mouth was uncanny that way. The way he always knew; was always ready for whatever Heinrich was planning. It was almost impossible to surprise the boy, like he expected betrayal at every turn. The few times Heinrich had managed it had been most pleasing.

  Price’s grin found Heinrich’s face. If anything the line of lips extended, showing off his teeth yet more. He looked so pleased with himself.

  This ends now.

  Heinrich stopped next to his sister.

  She smiled at him, launching into a happy tale, “Heinrich! These are my new friends Genesis and Makayla. They’re both from First Generation families so I was telling them a bit about the Mancy and King Henry was . . . helping.”

  Heinrich did his best not to punch the Foul Mouth in the face. “How nice,” he gritted out.

  “Mostly I was just spicing up the flavor,” Price explained, like Heinrich wasn’t aware of exactly what Victoria’s euphemism had meant. “Now girls, if you ever want a big shot to tell you everything, you need to go to Heinrich here. First in the Year for 2009, Seventeenth Generation mancer, and he has a big dick too.”

  Victoria’s hand flew to her mouth while the two girls giggled around her. “I don’t want to hear that!”

  The Foul Mouth shrugged. “I’m honest to a fault. Ain’t I, Heinrich?”

  Heinrich would have pooled anima if it would have done him any good. Regrettably, necromancers lacked offensive capability outside of Constructs. It would, however, make me feel better. “Can I speak to you in private . . . King Henry?” he managed to ask.

  “Sure thing. If you ever need any questions answered that ain’t in the Old Mancy handbook, be sure to ask me, Vicky.” He nodded at the two other girls like he was a cowboy in a Western. “Ladies.”

  When they were out of eyeshot, Heinrich slammed Price against a wall, pressing a shoulder down to keep him there. He might not have been physical or martial but he did outweigh the Foul Mouth by a good forty pounds.

  If anything, Price seemed to enjoy the confrontation. “Looks like someone found a deep, exposed nerve, didn’t he?” he mocked.

  “Leave her alone,” Heinrich demanded. “We prank each other, we best each other, fine, but family is off limits.”

  “I seem to recall you asking me last year if my sister was a whore . . .”

  “That was Hope!”

  “You laughed.”

  “You said your sister liked sex too much to bother being paid for it!”

  “Well . . . JoJo is a slut but that’s neither here nor—“

  Heinrich pushed his shoulder in, making Price focus on breathing and not on technical definitions. “If you want to find me in a hallway and beat me bloody then do it, Price. Don’t fuck with my sister!”

  “You said the f-word! What a naughty Welf!”

  Price’s eyes said what his mouth wouldn’t: hit me, motherfucker, do it. I want you to do it.

  “Please don’t drag both of us down this path,” Heinrich pleaded.

  “I like your sister actually. She’s nicer than you are. Hasn’t made a single disparaging remark about me. She ain’t friends with a frozen twat. Ain’t high and mighty like she owns the school. You sure your momma didn’t fuck the pool boy or something?”

  It took everything in Heinrich’s power to not slug him. Price would proceed to beat him to a pulp, but the satisfaction would be worth it. “If you like her then don’t hurt her.”

  “I don’t plan on hurting her . . . I plan on making her feel good if anything. See, there’s this thing called ‘sex’ that all the grownups do. First you take your clothes off, then you start rubbing each other . . . or it could be the other way around—”

  Heinrich let go so quickly that Price fell on his bottom. “Last warning, Foul Mouth: don’t touch Victoria. Want to keep playing our game? Come at me. Come at Jason. Come at Hope even.”

  “I couldn’t cum at Hope with someone else’s dick!”

  “Leave. Victoria. Alone.”

  “Yeah, yeah, message heard. Guess I’ll just fuck one of her friends or something . . . maybe both, eh? Ever have a threesome, Welf? Maybe with a couple of the maids? Some whips and chains, master and servant shit?”

  Still disgusting, but at least he seems to understand my rules.

  *

  After lunch came the three Mancy classes everyone, including Heinrich, had been looking forward to.

  Heinrich’s day worsened.

  As always, Keith Gullick didn’t have his Elementalism classroom situated in rows of desks but in groups of four chairs surrounding a single large table. Group assignments . . . what better way to punish good students?

  Heinrich took his usual spot near the door—as top of the class it was only right—and was first through the entryway to ch
eck the list. His stomach churned anew. Gullick had put him in the same group as the Foul Mouth. Heinrich confronted his teacher about it at once. “I understand the practice of placing a good student in a group with three idiots, sir, but—“

  “Mr. Welf, I’m going to stop you there,” Mr. Gullick said, a glint in his usually friendly eyes, “and I’m going to assume that you only saw King Henry’s name and your mind stopped functioning.”

  Heinrich’s mind started functioning again. Gullick’s daughter was in the group with him. He had just called the teacher’s daughter an idiot to the man’s face. To be fair, she is a vapid socialite incapable of deeper thoughts beyond what new boy she’s planning to makeout with next Sunday. Still . . . not a good tactical position to get what he wanted. “I mean the Foul Mouth, of course, sir, not your daughter. Naomi is a very good student.” Twenty-fourth in the class . . .

  “The groups aren’t for the entire year, Heinrich, only the first month, and someone has to group up with him.”

  “What if I found someone to trade with me? I’m sure Pocket would be willing to.”

  “No, Heinrich, final answer.” Gullick put a hand on Heinrich’s shoulder in support. Even Heinrich’s father didn’t do that. “You two need to learn how to be next to each other without fighting. We both want Class ’09 to put in a good showing at the Winter War this year, don’t we?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Good. Be the bigger man.”

  Heinrich wasn’t even sixteen yet. He wasn’t ready to be the bigger man. He wasn’t even ready to be a man. He threw his backpack on the table, crossed his arms, and sulked.

  The Foul Mouth was already across from him, grinning from ear to ear. “How’s Vicky doing, buddy?”

  “Who’s Vicky?” Naomi asked.

  “His sister.”

  “Urgh . . . sisters,” Naomi complained, “horrible things.”

  “Welf likes his.”

  “Weird. Don’t see why. Unless you can push your chores off on them.”

  The fourth person of the group sat down between Heinrich and the Foul Mouth. Glancing at her, Heinrich’s body instantly flushed from head to toe and he was shocked by how quickly his penis rose to life in a throbbing erection. Another indignity of being fifteen, he thought, trying to inconspicuously shift his chair forward so the table covered the bulge.