Chapter 13: Handle with Care

Chapter 13: Handle with Care

The West Teaching Hall contained six short obstacle lanes and a shelf full of crockery.

Silas had expected desks. He stopped just inside the entrance, taking in the low steps, wooden rails, and narrow turns marked across the floor. At least there were no running tracks. Tomorrow’s remedial session would provide enough of those.

He found an empty bench and sat down while the other students arrived.

Mira Duforte entered with her ankle still strapped. She spoke briefly to the workshop instructor, pointed at the bandage, and received a nod. Silas watched the instructor cross something off her slate.

Please be the running part.

"Duforte, Rooke. Lane four," the instructor called.

Mira turned toward him. Whatever she had requested, it apparently hadn’t been that.

He collected his satchel and joined her beside a low table. Their tray held six thin porcelain cups, each half filled with water. A cloth lay underneath them.

"One carrier, one stabilizer," the instructor said to the class. "The carrier keeps both hands on the tray. Your partner follows alongside and keeps the contents intact. Talents are permitted, but you may use your hands. Some of you will find that more effective."

She indicated the lanes.

"Cross, set the tray down, and exchange roles. Damage, spilled water, and time all count. If you have a medical restriction, follow the marked alternate path. This is a control assessment."

Mira reached for the tray.

"I’ll carry first," she told Silas. "You can stand there and do the part that doesn’t require effort."

He had been about to offer exactly that arrangement. Coming from her, it was suddenly much less appealing.

"You heard the part about exchanging roles?" he asked.

"I heard it. Try not to disappear before then."

"If I intended to disappear, I’d have stayed home." Silas put his satchel beneath the table. "Lift it. Let me see how much they move."

She raised the tray sharply. Water climbed the sides of the cups, and he caught three of them with Remote Grasp before they could knock together.

Mira glanced down.

"Ready?" she asked.

He spread his holds around the cup bases. Away from his room, the response was weaker, but six small cups required little force. Holding them without crushing the porcelain required considerably more attention.

"Now I am."

She started before he had finished speaking.

The first section was straight and level. Mira crossed it briskly, her gait almost even until she reached the turn. She slowed over her injured ankle, then accelerated out of it.

One cup began sliding across the cloth. Silas pulled it back too sharply and sent a splash of water over its rim.

"You’re spilling it," Mira said.

"You’re changing speed."

"There’s a corner."

"I can see the corner. Give me a moment when you come out of it."

Mira stopped with the tray held against her stomach. Another pair passed the same point in the next lane. The boy carrying their tray nearly caught his sleeve on a rail.

"We are being timed," she said.

"Then stop talking and walk."

She gave him an unpleasant look but resumed at a steadier pace.

Silas followed beside her, keeping within easy reach of the tray. He had been trying to hold every cup in a fixed position while she moved beneath them. It worked until her pace changed; then he had to shift all six holds at once.

At the next turn, he let the cups travel with the tray and caught only the little slides that would bring them together.

The handles stopped rattling.

Mira took the marked path around the raised step. She didn’t use Air Impulse. After yesterday’s session, even she apparently had reservations about throwing herself through a crockery exercise.

"Slower here," Silas said as they approached the rails.

She shortened her steps without answering. He loosened one hold and corrected another as the tray tilted. A cup leaned, settled, and stayed upright.

They reached the far table with a damp patch on the cloth and all six cups intact.

Mira set the tray down carefully. Silas released Remote Grasp and flexed his fingers, although they hadn’t been doing any of the work.

"Your turn," she said.

He took the handles. The tray was light enough. He could do this.

He had made that assessment about a walk home fairly recently, which reduced his confidence in it.

"If you need to stop, tell me before you drop it," Mira said.

"I’m carrying cups, Duforte."

"You could barely walk after the practical."

Heat crept into his face. He lifted the tray before she could add anything else.

"Then stay close."

They started back.

Without Remote Grasp holding the contents, every little movement was visible in the water. Silas lowered his shoulders and kept his elbows near his sides. Mira walked beside him with one hand hovering over the cups.

She caught the first one against her fingertips as it slid. At the turn, she moved a second cup farther from its neighbor instead of forcing it back to its original position.

"You can move them?" Silas asked.

"She said keep them intact."

He looked at the six cups he had so carefully maintained in two neat rows.

Of course she did.

Mira spread them farther apart. When his right wrist dipped, she placed two fingers against a handle and steadied the cup until he corrected the tray.

His arms began aching near the rails. He wanted to use Remote Grasp underneath the tray and save himself the trouble. It was permitted here, unlike the sandbag exercise, but dividing his attention might make the shaking worse.

He slowed down.

Mira stayed beside him. "You’ve got room on the left."

He moved his foot, cleared the rail, and breathed out through his nose. The last straight section looked longer from this direction.

"Nearly there," she said, watching the cups.

"I know."

She let that pass. When they reached the table, she guided the far edge down while he lowered the handles.

Silas left his hands resting on the wood for a moment.

The instructor came over, checked the cups for cracks, and poured the remaining water into a measuring jug. She noted the level and their time.

"A little slow. Very little lost, though, and no damage." She put the jug down. "Better corrections on the return. You gave each other space to work."

Mira looked at the slate. "How was the preservation score?"

"Excellent. Keep that and work on your pace. You’re finished."

Silas retrieved his satchel. Around them, other pairs were still carrying trays. A cup broke in lane two, followed by a whispered accusation loud enough for everyone nearby to hear.

Mira handed him the cloth from their table.

"Here. Your sleeve’s wet."

He wiped the cuff. "You sound surprised we passed."

"I thought I’d have to do both jobs," she said. "Your control helped."

He waited, then realized she had finished.

"Well," he said, folding the cloth. "Try to contain your enthusiasm."

"Don’t make me regret saying it."

She took her bag and left. Silas sat for a few minutes before following.

By the time he reached his room, he was hungry again. He ordered dinner, changed out of the damp shirt, and rested with his feet up until the ache in his arms eased.

The chipped custard dish was still on his desk.

He brought the chalk marks closer to it, leaving a little space around the rim. During the workshop, Mira had let the cups shift when there was room. He had also done better once he stopped trying to correct every movement with the same hard grip.

He rebuilt the ward and threw the wooden ball gently.

It pressed into the boundary. He allowed a little give before feeding in the force to turn it aside, keeping the pressure below the point that had broken his earlier attempts.

The ball dropped onto the towel.

He repeated the throw. Then again, from a different angle. On the fifth attempt, it got through and tapped the dish, but the boundary held together.

[Boundary Ward — Assimilation: 45%.]

Silas retrieved the ball. He wanted to try a harder throw, then remembered the chip in the dish and his aching arms.

Tomorrow would do.

He put the equipment away when dinner arrived. This time he had ordered an extra custard. He ate it by the window with his feet on the spare chair, browsing the academy terminal for something to watch that didn’t end in an examination.