Balance - Book 2

by Marc Dickason

  *****

  As I sat in Defence and Countermeasures Room 4, awaiting my trainer, I reflected on how smugly pleased I had been with my revelation of becoming an Enforcer. I had envisioned myself kicking in the Academy doors, blowing minds with my immense Spirit capability, smashing evaluations with deft swipes of my hand, and exiting the rear doors in a shiny uniform, having not broken my stride. And then, I told myself, with the full legal force of the government at my back, tracking down my mother would be child’s play.

  As I thought back on this now, ass slowly losing sensation against a torturously uncomfortable wooden chair, it baffled me I had not taken into account the lethargic operating speed which was every Department of Magic’s M.O. The Academy was no different. It seemed to be staffed entirely, from enrolment desk to administration offices, by bored middle-aged men and women each more disinterested than the next, and each looking as if they were bitterly annoyed at being distracted from insect collecting hobbies.

  “You’re looking for enrolment forms B17 and G5? Very well, please take a seat while I fell this tree, reduce it to pulp, produce paper, and print said forms. Won’t be a moment.”

  And all the while the brave men and women who had entered the doors bright eyed and bushy tailed, bursting with youthful ambition, were sapped of strength and reduced to husks. In an effort to prepare them for the bureaucracy of government employment, I guessed.

  I sighed and looked around at the other seated Cadets, all appearing seconds from boredom induced suicide. A young man, probably having introduced himself at some point and name now forgotten, caught my eye and shrugged in a “can you believe this?” gesture. As if my legs joining my ass in the numb department were not enough. Basics evaluations were breathing down our necks, and the particular trainer’s reputation for tardiness had begun to sting.

  Finally the door opened and the Defence and Countermeasures trainer, Mister Delaney, stepped in; a tall, broad shouldered man in his forties. The female Cadets seemed to like him, though certainly not for his teaching professionalism.

  “Forgive my tardiness,” he announced, stepping into the room and taking up position before the Cadets, “There were pressing matters to attend to. I had much planned for today, but alas time runs short and we will be forced to settle with the condensed version. I will talk today about maintaining a Place of Calm under pressure.”

  The Cadet who had shrugged muttered audibly. Delaney’s head snapped round.

  “Something you would like to say?” he inquired loudly, smiling.

  “No, Mister Delaney,” the Cadet responded.

  “Speak up. Don’t be shy.”

  “It’s just…” he began, glancing around for support, “I think I speak for everyone when I say we are anxious about our Basics, sir.”

  “Of course. And so you should be. What is your concern?”

  “Well we haven’t started on any aggressive technique studies yet, sir. It seems like we might have started learning practical application by now.”

  “I see,” Delaney responded, frowning for theatrical effect, “My pace is too slow then?”

  “It’s not that, sir…”

  “Oh, I see. You are anxious to learn how to melt people’s minds. Is that it, Cadet?”

  “I mean no disrespect, sir, it’s just that it really seems like we might have moved beyond defence techniques…”

  Delaney turned to the class. “Does everyone agree with this?”

  There were a few nods.

  “No, you are quite right, Cadets. A volunteer?”

  No volunteers were forthcoming. His eyes settled on me. “Won’t you join me up front for a moment, Clarence?”

  I blinked. “Beg your pardon, sir?”

  “Don’t be shy, step up. Quickly now.”

  There was a pause. Two dozen heads turned in my direction. I stood and advanced to the front of the hall.

  “Now, young man,” he continued, “Face me and take a few steps back.”

  I did so.

  “Excellent. If you would, please resist my attack.”

  My heart was suddenly hammering and warning buzz sounding frantically. “But sir…”

  “Yes, Mister Clarence?”

  I wanted to say ‘I feel a bit put on the spot, this is highly unusual for this particular class’, but my mouth did not cooperate. Instead it said;

  “Nothing, sir.”

  Delaney’s mouth drew into a line and brow furrowed. In response I took a breath and found my Place of Calm.

  I’m under the table, above me is the sound of dominoes clicking into place. I’m safe, absolutely and completely safe…

  But no attack occurred. The moment drew on and Delaney continued to stare, eyes locked on my own. Eventually, after thirty seconds of silence, I assumed he was playing some kind of bizarre practical joke, perhaps waiting for me to smile awkwardly before bursting into laughter. I obliged and grinned. At once a sensation of vertigo rushed in. I reinforced my Place of Calm, attempting to push back a sensation the world was contracting in around me. But found my fingertips were itching incessantly.

  ‘God, what is that itching? Did I put my hands in something earlier?’

  My mind began chugging for explanations, searching the day for items I had touched which might cause itching.

  The itching developed and turned into a burning, fast becoming painful, quickly becoming unbearable. Finally, panic taking hold, I raised my hands and realised my fingers were melting. I stared. Skin and flesh drooped like wax and trickled to the floor, exposing white bone beneath. Horror exploded in my head.

  “Oh Christ!” I heard my voice roaring, “Oh shit!”

  My body spun and I lunged for the door, having the intention of bolting to the bathroom and running water over my hands. This, I reasoned, would cool the flesh and stop it melting. But I couldn’t grasp the doorknob. My hands refused to close, having lost their function as tendons and muscles slid off, now hanging in pink ribbons that dangled to the floor.

  “Help me! Someone help, open the damn door!”

  Hands grasped my shoulders.

  “Easy, Cadet! Easy now! Calm down!” Delaney was peering at me, face lined with concern. “Calm down, take a breath. Your hands are fine. See?”

  I gawked at my hands. They were not melting.

  “You’re fine, you’re fine…”

  Cool relief rolled in and I gasped in a breath, putting my back to the door and sinking to the ground. I realised my face was dripping sweat and wiped it away.

  The relief, however, quickly gave way to paralysing embarrassment. Two dozen faces were staring at me, each frozen in a mask of silent terror.

  “This attack is what is referred to as Body Horror,” Delaney said to the room, “It has been outlawed, and for good reason. There are no circumstances in which an Enforcer will have to use it, but many occasions when you will have to defend against it.” He paused, letting his gaze move from face to face. “So you see, offensive techniques are not much good to an Enforcer who cannot yet efficiently defend himself. Would you not all agree?”

  There was a murmur of cautious agreement.

  “And hence, why we might all be a little less interested in aggression, and be more concerned with our defence. Class dismissed. Clarence, stay for a moment. I’d like a word.”

  I stood and moved aside, watching the other Cadets file out. Many still wore expressions that said they’d just sat through a twenty four hour horror movie marathon. I waited till the last exited.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Shut the door please.”

  I shut the door.

  “I’m sorry about that, Cadet. Perhaps I was a bit over-enthusiastic. Are you alright?” There was a flicker of embarrassment in his eyes.

  “I’m fine, sir.”

  “Perhaps you’d like to visit the Mental Wellness Department?”

  “I’m fine, sir, like I said.”

  “Good.” There was a pause as he studied me. “You don’t belong i
n this class, do you Clarence?”

  My heart lurched. “Beg your pardon, Sir?”

  “I received a message earlier today from a ‘concerned citizen’, as it were. The message was rather plain. It said you do not belong in this class. Can you think of why it might say that, Cadet?”

  “I couldn’t say, sir.”

  He smiled and nodded at a paper on his desk. “I did a background check, of course. It says your mother is wanted for questioning concerning irregularities with a restaurant she was running; ‘The Sushi Palace.’ Correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Your grandmother, Fran, was an Enforcer. Suspended from duty. Also wanted for questioning.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I see. Well, you were cleared of any wrong doing, and it is not unusual for some Enforcers to have colourful backgrounds. Comes with the territory, some might say. So this did not strike me as interesting. What did strike my interest were your application forms. They clearly state, as is expected of an individual in the Accelerated Program, that you’re ‘a student of exceptional talent.’ But in your case rather astonishingly so, as it turns out.”

  “That’s correct,” I responded, doing my best to hold eye contact.

  “Indeed!” He raised his eyebrows theatrically. “And most profound is that you had not shown any magical talent or even magical abilities of any kind until just a few months before being accepted into the Academy. Astonishing! You’re a regular prodigy, aren’t you, Clarence?”

  “I guess so, sir, yes,” I agreed.

  “You guess? Come now. Don’t be modest. You’re a man of incredible talents. Your time spent at the Magical Hazard Rehabilitation Centre would confirm that without question.” He picked up the paper and made a show of being flabbergasted at its contents, “You spent hardly a month there before being cleared? Mind blowing, utterly mind blowing. And a Class 5? Cleared in under a month? One would almost say you flew through the program, one that is notorious for sometimes dragging out for over a year, and often not even clearing a person at all. All that, and a Class 5 to boot.”

  “I performed well, yes sir.”

  “So you did. And after your time at the Magical Hazard Rehabilitation centre…” The paper was slammed back down on the desk in an expression of boundless amazement, “…you went right on and destroyed the entrance exam into this Academy, achieving flying colours in every single category!”

  “I did, sir, yes.”

  “Amazing, Clarence,” he crooned, shaking his head, “Truly unbelievable. I would say you are the most promising Cadet I have ever encountered.” His eyes hardened. “Had I not just disabled you a moment ago with a spell Cadets boasting a quarter of your talent could easily resist.”

  My mouth flapped, requesting an excuse from my brain. None was delivered. “I was nervous, sir.”

  He sighed, bringing down his voice. “The D.O.M is an organisation fuelled by pride and dedication, Clarence, rewarding hard work and exceptional talent where it is deserved. There is especially pride in the Accelerated Program. Cadets work extremely hard to get into it, and only the finest and most ambitious are lucky enough to be accepted. The majority of this class are already pegged for commanding Specialist positions at various Departments, and rightly so, since their skills are outstanding and sorely needed in the city. It is a crying shame, Clarence, that I occasionally hear about a Cadet that slips into the program by questionable means, generally as a way to take advantage of a prominent position. Undermines the pride aspect of the Academy, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I would, sir.”

  “Of course you would,” he muttered, drifting into silence.

  “Is that all, Mister Delaney?” I said at last, my eyes rooted to the floor.

  “Yes, Clarence, that is all. And I think it only fair to mention that since you are of such exceptional talent I will be pushing you to your limits during your Basics evaluation.”

  I had an image of standing before a board of evaluators shrieking at the sight of my melting hands. “Okay. Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re welcome,” he replied, smiling. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You have yet to even qualify for your Active status.”

  “It’s tomorrow, sir.”

  “Then I wait breathless with anticipation.”