Chapter 9: Compensation

Aren spent two days in the Academy infirmary with three broken ribs and a healer who very obviously did not like him.

She was a stern woman with grey hair who treated everyone from Class D quickly and without conversation. On the first morning, she pressed her glowing hands to his side until the bones knitted with a sound like cracking knuckles. On the second, she told him he could walk as long as he did nothing stupid. He promised solemnly that he wouldn’t, and she didn’t look as if she believed him.

’Fair enough! I wouldn’t believe me either.’

Mira came both evenings. She brought bread from the dining hall wrapped in a napkin, sat on the end of his bed, and carefully avoided talking about the Rift. She talked about Nell instead, who had heard about the accident from a nurse and was furious that nobody had come to tell her in person. She talked about Tam, the boy from her team, whose leg was going to heal. She didn’t talk about Roderick, the boy who had been dragged under the ground, because nobody was talking about Roderick yet. His family had come to collect his things, and that was all.

"Holt says he ran to get help." Mira’s voice was completely flat on the second night. "That’s the official story now. He saw the danger and ran to warn the instructors. Very brave. His father wrote a letter to the Headmaster."

"And Team Four?"

"Team Four are commoners." She shrugged bitterly. "We told them what we saw, and somebody wrote it down. That’s all that ever happens when commoners tell the truth."

Aren nodded slowly. He had seen this plenty of times in his old life. A powerful man made a mistake, a lawyer wrote a letter, and the mistake turned into a story about courage. It wasn’t even interesting anymore.

"You’re doing the thing."

"What thing?"

"The thing where you go quiet and do sums in your head." She pointed at him with a piece of bread. "You’ve done it since we were eight. You did it when we found that purse in the canal, and you did it before you sold those stupid rocks. Whatever you’re planning, don’t."

"I’m not planning anything."

"Liar." But she smiled a little when she said it.

On the third morning, a clerk came to tell him the Headmaster wished to see him.

Headmaster Ysolde Marr’s office sat at the top of the oldest tower in the Academy. It was a round room full of books and dried plants, with windows looking out over the whole city and a fire burning even though it wasn’t cold. The Headmaster sat behind a desk buried in letters, a cup of tea going cold at her elbow.

Up close, she was older than he had thought, thin-faced, with age spots on her hands. Her eyes were very sharp, though, and they followed him steadily across the room the way a cat follows something small moving in the grass.

"Sit."

He sat.

"A Rank D monster appeared in a Rift rated F to E." She didn’t bother with greetings. "That has never happened in the two hundred years since this Academy began using it. A student is dead, four are injured, and one of them is you." She tapped the letters. "Seven noble families have written to me since yesterday. They are very upset. Some of them are upset that their children were in danger. Most of them are upset that their children were frightened in front of commoners."

"I understand, Headmaster."

"Do you? Then you’ll understand what I’m about to offer." She slid a sheet of paper across the desk. "The Academy takes responsibility for injuries suffered during an examination. You’ll receive twenty gold crowns in compensation. In return, you’ll sign this. It states that you were hurt during an unexpected monster attack, that the instructors responded correctly, and that you have no complaint against the Academy or any of its students."

Aren looked at the paper, and then at the number.

Twenty crowns was more money than he had ever held in this life. It would pay for Nell’s medicine for months. It was also exactly half of what he needed to stay at this school.

He deliberately left the pen where it was.

’Careful now. You only get to play this card once.’

"May I ask a question, Headmaster?"

Her pale eyes narrowed very slightly. "You may."

"How many of the injured students are getting twenty crowns?"

She paused. It was a short pause, but it was there. "All of them receive compensation suited to their situation."

"So the noble students are getting more." He said it gently, simply as a fact rather than a complaint. You never accused the person across the table. You just showed them the numbers. "That makes sense. Their families can cause more trouble. I’m a commoner with no family and a stolen relic on my record. I can’t cause any trouble at all."

"I’m glad we understand each other."

"Except for one thing." Aren folded his hands on his knees. "Darius Holt didn’t run to get help. He threw me at the monster. Four students from Team Four saw it, and they already told your instructors, and somebody wrote it down. Right now that paper is sitting in a drawer, and it doesn’t matter, because they’re commoners."

He let that sit quietly in the room for a moment.

"But if the Holt family’s letter says their son was a hero, and the Academy’s own report says he threw a student to a Rank D monster and ran, then someone, someday, might find both papers. The Ashgraves, for instance. Lady Ashgrave stayed and fought while her teammate fled. I imagine her family would be very interested in the difference between those two stories."

The Headmaster said nothing. The fire crackled.

"I’m not threatening anyone." "I’ll sign your paper. I have no complaint against the Academy. I’m only saying that my signature is worth a bit more than twenty crowns, because it’s the one signature in this whole mess that you actually need to buy."

Ysolde Marr studied him without moving. Then, slowly, one corner of her thin mouth turned up.

"What do you want?"

"My term fees. Forty crowns, paid by the Academy, so I can stay this term."

"And?"

He hadn’t expected an and, so he took a slow breath.

"My sister has Rift sickness. She’s at the healer house in the lower city. I’d like the Academy’s healers to examine her. The ones here. They’re better than anyone she can see down there."

"Rift sickness." Her eyes flicked briefly toward the window and the city below. "That is an illness of the lower city. Our healers don’t treat it."

"Then this would be the first time."

There was another pause, and then the Headmaster picked up her pen, struck out the number, wrote something new, added a line at the bottom, signed it, and pushed it back across the desk.

Compensation: payment of term fees in full (40 crowns). Additional: one examination of the student’s sister by the Academy’s healers.

Aren checked every word carefully, and signed.

"You’re a very strange servant." Ysolde Marr took the paper back. "Where does a boy from the lower city learn to bargain like that?"

"Selling rocks, Headmaster."

"Hm." She blew on the ink until it dried. Then, without looking up, she added, "Lady Ashgrave has told me three times now that she was saved by a man with a rag over his face. Nobody else saw him. The instructors searched the area and found nothing." She folded the paper into a drawer. "You were found in the trees, not far from where she says he came from. Did you see him?"

Aren kept his face perfectly still. "I saw a lot of trees, Headmaster. Most of them hit me."

She looked up then, and her pale eyes rested thoughtfully on his face, and he had the distinctly uncomfortable feeling she wasn’t looking at his face at all, but at something behind it.

"You may go."

He walked back to the dormitory slowly, one hand on his healing ribs, and for the first time since the trial, the numbers added up.

His fees were paid, so he could stay at Highcrest for the rest of the term. The Academy’s own healers were going to look at Nell, which was something no amount of lower city money could buy. Mira’s week and his own week at the healer house were covered. For once, he could breathe without counting.

On the stairs, he opened his status window.

[Name: Aren.][True Class: Zero (EX, Unique).][Rank F: Level 4.][Skills: Reduce to Zero (Lv. 1), Crescent Moon Blade (Grade S, Mastery 0%).][Anchors: 1/1. Vivienne Ashgrave (Primary).]

Level 4. Vivienne was Level 9 after Gravemaw’s core, and soon she would reach Level 10, the kind of milestone the System paid well for.

And Darius sat at a perfect one hundred percent hatred, waiting for a second Anchor slot that wouldn’t open until Aren reached Rank E. Six more levels, and he had no idea yet where they would come from.

’One problem at a time!’ he told himself firmly, and opened the door to his room.