The Dreaming Spires

by William Kingshart

  Brutus Muller was leering at me. “So, Norgard, looks like we meet again, huh?”

  Dicky didn’t even look at him. He just said, “Shut up, Muller.” To me, he said, “Catch you in the fencing room this afternoon.” And he and Brutus left.

  I squinted as I watched them file out. Brutus was carrying Dicky’s books.

  The rest of the morning passed in a kind of surreal fog. I kept thinking I was going to wake up and everything would have been a wild dream. Whenever I thought about it, it just seemed too absurd to be real, but then I touched my scratches and bruises and I knew it had been very real. Besides, Sebastian had been there. He had seen it. Ciara had been there and had almost been killed. It had been real all right, and Ciara was going to be kidnapped and held for ransom if I didn’t do something to stop it. But instead of doing something to stop it, I had to prepare for a damn debate, because if I didn’t win that damn debate—or at least make a damn good try—I would probably be expelled from the school to the eternal shame and, worse, disappointment of my father.

  For less than a second I thought about coming clean with Dad, but I dismissed the idea out of hand. I could just see myself. “Dad, I can’t prepare for this debate because, you see, I’m an elf and I have to use my superpowers to rescue Michael Fionn’s daughter from shape-shifting leprechauns…”

  And by the time I’d run thorough this thought process for the hundredth time, I realized I had absorbed exactly nothing of the class I was in. Top grades comin’ right up, Dad.

  At lunchtime, I met up with Sebastian and we swapped notes—not that there was much to swap. I told him about the debate and Dicky, and he told me he hadn’t seen Ciara anywhere. Somebody had said that her dad had phoned her in sick, but nobody was really sure.

  At three p.m. I went up to the fencing room and found Dicky there with Brutus. Brutus had his usual smirk that spoke volumes about the level of his neural and synaptic activity. But Dicky was next to him, strapping on his suit, and there was nothing stupid about his face when he smiled at me. There was nothing particularly friendly about it, either.

  “Norgard! Good to see you. I’ve been looking forward to crossing steel with you. I understand you’re quite good.”

  I dropped my bag and unzipped it. The last thing I felt like right then was swashbuckling banter with this bozo. I said, “Sure. Let’s do it.”

  I suited up and we stood en guard. His lunge took me by surprise. It was fast, real fast, and I barely parried in time. But I did, then flipped his blade and launched a blistering attack on him. I must have put all the day’s frustration into it because he retreated like an express train in reverse, but he parried every single attack. I was momentarily stunned.

  We paused to eye each other then we both attacked simultaneously, at the speed of light. Brutus was goggling at us. I don’t think he had ever seen anything like it. There were sparks leaping from our blades. It was too fast for any eye to follow and we fought purely by feeling. Not a single thrust got through on either side, and after five minutes, we both stood panting and staring at each other. I felt grudging admiration for him. I was invincible, and he couldn’t beat me, but damn! I couldn’t beat him, either.

  He threw his epée on the floor and said, “Sabers!” He turned to Brutus. “Muller! My saber.”

  Fortunately, my look of astonishment was masked by my helmet as Brutus scrambled to his feet and pulled Dicky’s saber from his bag. This guy, Dicky, must pull some serious weight to have Brutus running around as his toady. I walked over and got my saber. We took up our positions again.

  I let him attack first and he came at me with a slash to the head. I easily thrust his blade aside and lunged at his chest. I was pretty sure the point would go home, but suddenly my blade was sliding past him, I was half off-balance and his blade was slashing at my side. I rectified with a nanosecond to spare and blocked the slash as I overbalanced. I heard him grunt and he backed away. What he didn’t expect was me to attack while still off-balance. I dropped to my haunches and thrust a devastating lunge up under his guard as he retreated. It was game over and another victory to the invincible Jake—only it wasn’t. His reflexes were practically superhuman. He blocked me and I avoided having my helmet knocked off by half a hair’s breadth.

  I retreated. We were both taking gasping breaths. I focused. There was nothing else in the world. I was going to take this arrogant SOB down. Now! I roared as I charged him. I think my blade crossed the light barrier. The sound of steel on steel echoed off the walls. He retreated, turned my attack against me and charged me down so I was galloping backward toward the end of the mat. But I flipped his blade and exposed his chest so he was charging into my blade and, for a flea’s heartbeat, I knew I had him. I yelled as my blade skimmed past his vest and before I knew what I was doing, I was blocking a savage slash at my neck.

  We retreated again. He threw his saber down with a crash and yelled, “Katanas!”

  I said, “I have no katana.”

  “I have two.” He pulled off his helmet, strode to his bag and pulled out two beautiful Japanese samurai swords. He threw one to me. I drew and examined the blade. It was exquisite, but it was not modified for competition. One single slice from one of these babies could take your head off. This guy was crazy. I drew breath to tell him to go to hell, but instead I threw off my own helmet and heard myself saying, “Okay, let’s do this.”

  We ignored the mat. We both knew there were no rules anymore. We fell on each other in a battle to the death. We fought with no restraint. Every blow was a death blow and carried deadly intent. We were fighting for our lives, but above all, we were fighting to win, and to hell with the consequences. His speed and skill were astonishing. No normal person could have withstood the devastating power of his attacks. Yet I had him retreating, sweating and struggling to resist the hail of blows I rained down on him. It was a miracle we didn’t die there.

  We staggered away from each other, gasping for breath. He was smiling and shaking his head. “How?”

  Before I could answer, he raised his blade for me to look at. I checked my own. They were chipped and dented like pieces of driftwood.

  He stared at me and he said, “Viking broadswords. Let’s finish this.”

  He stripped off his fencing suit down to his jeans and a bare chest. I did the same. He threw me a stunningly crafted Viking battle sword and we charged each other without preamble. Things got brutal. I don’t know how long it went on, but I was possessed by a berserker rage and I know he was, too. If anybody had tried to stop us right then, it would have gone badly for them. Any one of the blows we rained down on each other would have severed a limb or split our skulls down the middle. We didn’t care. I remember swinging two terrible blows right to left and back again that would have cut him in half if they had connected. He jumped back and sprang onto the table that ran along the back wall. From there, he laid two massive blows down at my head. I blocked both and swung at his legs. He leaped and thrust down at my neck. I deflected the blow and rammed my right forearm into his legs. He came crashing down on his back. Without thinking, I rammed the blade down, double-handed and plunged it through the table up to the hilt, an inch from where he had been lying just before.

  I was disarmed, but his sword was lying on the floor at my feet. He had sprung to his haunches to avoid my deathblow and our faces were inches away from each other. We were breathing hard, staring into each other’s eyes.

  He said, “I think I have seen all I need to see, Norgard, and so have you. Are you as good with a bow?”

  I nodded. He dropped down from the table. He spoke to Brutus without looking at him. “Collect my weapons, Muller.”

  In silence, I watched him dress while Brutus scurried around gathering up his swords and his kit, packing them into his bag. Finally, while he was buttoning his shirt, he spoke.

  “You are the best swordsman I have ever met.” Then he turned toward me. “And I have fought the best.” He repeated it, like he was making a point. “The
best. And you are better than them.”

  I shrugged. “I guess I had a lucky day.”

  His face told me what he thought of that. He raised a hand and pointed at me. “Let’s be friends, Norgard. People like us should be friends. We should not be enemies.”

  When he’d gotten to the door and Brutus was about to open it for him, I said, “Who said anything about enemies?”

  He stopped and turned back.

  I added, “Apart from you.”

  He shook his head. “Nobody, apart from me. Don’t cross me, Norgard. Let’s be friends.”

  I said, “It’s a debate. Aren’t you getting a little serious?”

  He smiled. “A debate? Friday is a lot more than a debate. You should know that.”

  Then he left.

  I dressed and gathered my stuff, wondering what the hell had happened just then and what the hell had happened to me. I am not Erik Blacktooth. I am a nice, well-educated, American kid, but I had been about to cut this guy in half with a Viking broadsword—or rend him asunder or cleave him in twain.

  I went back down the stairs, thinking absently that I could really use a flagon of ale. You do, after a battle to the death with broadswords.

  I found Sebastian waiting for me on the steps outside the school. He looked me over and said, “What on earth have you been up to now?”

  I smiled. “Does it show?”

  “Rather, old chap.” He stood and we fell in step toward the gates. “I’ve asked about. Nobody seems to know anything about Ciara. Short of asking some of her tutors, I don’t know what we can do.”

  I shook my head. “No, that would arouse too much curiosity. She’ll probably be in tomorrow. We still have four days. If she isn’t here, then we can think again.”

  I left him at the gates and walked home in a state of deep confusion.

  Chapter Ten

  But Ciara didn’t turn up Tuesday—or Wednesday, either. While I waited for her to show, I spent long hours working on the debate. By which I mean that I spent long hours staring at the piece of paper Mr. Singh had given me while thinking about Ciara and wondering where she was. At one point, about two a.m. on Wednesday morning in a fit of furious motivation, I wrote the words Ladies and Gentlemen. Then I visualized Ciara’s face in the audience, looking up at me. I stood and started pacing the room. At four a.m., I collapsed on the bed and by five I had fallen into a fitful sleep. Two hours later, my alarm went off. I fell out of bed, clawed my way across the carpet to the bathroom, showered then sat for an hour staring at the piece of paper that had Ladies and Gentlemen written on it while wondering where the hell Ciara was and if she would show up for school that day. If she didn’t, I had a real problem.

  But I knew she wouldn’t—and I was right.

  At eleven I had a tutorial with Mr. Singh to discuss the progress on the debate. The idea was that I would deliver what I had written so far as a piece of oratory, and he would give me advice on content, style and my delivery. When I told him all I had managed to write was Ladies and Gentlemen, he sighed, got up from his desk and went to look out of the window. That is never a good sign. When people do that, they are usually about to tell you something you really don’t want to hear.

  After a moment, he said to the view outside, “Jake, you haven’t been here long, but you’re a likeable chap and people seem to care about you. Nobody is keen for you to leave under a cloud.” He turned and stared at me, giving the words time to sink in. “And I am quite certain you want to make your father proud.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But, I don’t know if you are aware of this. Mr. Muller’s father carries a certain amount of weight in this school. He has made a number of generous endowments…”

  “I see, yes.”

  He walked back to his chair and sat. He was trying hard to help me. I could tell that. He went on. “Strictly off the record, Jake, after the recent incident, we need a good reason to keep you on. We need you not only to keep your nose clean, but we also need a good academic performance. We need you to be a positive asset for the school. Debating is the way forward for you. What I am trying to say is that the headmaster is offering you a lifeline with this.”

  “I know, sir…”

  “I would really, very strongly, advise you, Jake, to make the most of it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, please. Go now and prepare your debate. Bring me something we can use.”

  I went straight to the library and dug out every book, article and essay I could find on the subject of fossil fuels and how their exploitation is devastating vulnerable animals, habitats and humanity itself. I piled them on my desk and stared at them unseeingly for three-quarters of an hour, thinking about how badly I was about to let my dad down.

  At lunchtime, I put them all back again, unread, and went in search of Ciara and Sebastian. I found Sebastian waiting for me outside the dining hall.

  “Before you ask, no, I haven’t seen her and neither has anybody else. She has vanished without so much as a puff of smoke. What’s happening with your debate?”

  I glanced at him. “What debate?”

  We collected our food and found a quiet spot in the far corner of the hall. We sat and I said, “There’s only one thing to do, Sebastian.”

  He prodded his mashed potatoes resignedly and said, “Oh, God.”

  “I have no choice. I have to contact her. I have to find out where she is. Her life could be in danger.”

  He put a slice of roast beef in his mouth and ruminated for a while. Finally, he said, “I know. What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll have to go to her house.”

  “They’ll never let you in, and you’ll alert them to the fact that you’re after her.”

  I sighed and rubbed my face. “Okay, so this is the age of communication. She has to be on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram…”

  “With her father? You’re joking! They won’t even be in the phonebook.”

  “What about friends? Girlfriends? Did you ever see her hanging out with anyone?”

  He was shaking his head before I’d even finished. “Forget it, Jake. Michael Fionn has decided to isolate his daughter, and there’s no way you are going to get to her through any of the normal channels.” He realized what he had said too late. He looked at me and I looked at him. He said, “Oh, God, Jake, what are you going to do?”

  I pushed my food around my plate for a bit while he watched me. Finally, I said, “If I can’t reach her through a normal channel, I’ll have to use an abnormal one. I’ll have to go there tonight.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ll have to break in.”

  “Are you insane?”

  “I don’t think so. What are my options? You said yourself that there’s no way I’m going to get to her through any of the normal channels. I haven’t got time to mess around, Sebastian.”

  “Have you any idea what will happen to you if you get caught? That is burglary in British law! You could go to prison!”

  “Okay, fine! So you tell me. What are my other options?”

  He flopped back in his chair and shook his head. “I honestly don’t know, Jake, but as your friend, I have to warn you against this. I have to. I have a really bad feeling about this.”

  I nodded. “I know…” I spread my hands. “But…”

  He sighed and dropped his fork on his plate. “When do you plan to do it?”

  I thought for a moment. “I need to prepare a bit. Tomorrow night.”

  “You want me to help?”

  I smiled at him. “Thanks, Sebastian. I appreciate it, but it’s best if I go alone.”

  He nodded. “For God’s sake, don’t get caught.”

  * * * *

  It was a September moon. The sky was a deep, translucent blue, but a few clouds, like the silhouettes of tall ships backlit by moonlight, sailed quietly on the night. I looked at the clock on my cell. It was five minutes to midnight and the house was dark and silent. I had my ruck
sack packed and ready by the window. I slipped up the sash and the night air brushed my face, rich with the rich smells of damp grass, the sweet and the musty tang of the fallen leaves of autumn.

  I slung the rucksack on my back, slipped out of the window and by using the drainpipe and the ivy that swarmed up the side of the house, I was able to make it more or less silently down to the lawn. A quick sprint got me past the arbor and down to the back fence. Then it was a steady trot cross-country, through fields and hedgerows for half an hour until I came to the woods that abutted Ciara’s house on the banks of the Isis.

  I lay on my belly, on a bed of damp, pungent leaves and moss under a giant chestnut tree, trying to pierce the darkness with my eyes and see into the haze of shadows around the house. There was nothing but sleepy stillness. Around me, small things rustled and snuffled through the dead leaves and the undergrowth. Then a spotlight snapped on at the back of the house. By its light, I saw a cat, its shadow stretched and dancing grotesquely across the lawn. It trotted to the back of the house and disappeared. After a minute, the light winked off and silent shadows engulfed the garden again. I waited. No lights came on in the house. Nothing happened.

  I got up and vaulted silently over the wooden fence. I stayed crouching on the grass for twenty seconds. Still, nothing happened. So I sprinted across the lawn to the rose bushes that flanked the patio. The spotlight snapped on and I ducked behind the bushes and crawled up to the back wall of the house then along to the kitchen door. There was no cat-flap, but there was no cat, either. I waited, motionless, until the light winked off again.

  There was no doubt this guy was going to have an alarm system. The question was what kind? I wondered if the cat belonged to the house and came and went as it pleased. If it did, I could be fairly sure the system did not have a motion sensor. But I could be equally sure that if I tried to force a window or a door, I would trip some kind of an alarm and the cops would be all over me in a matter of minutes. I really hadn’t thought this through. Always think your plans through. Make the long movie.