“And the contraband in question is no longeroncampus.” The second also drew his saber.
“Ohh, that’s convenient.” She opened the ill-fitting jacket of her uniform and drew an enormous pistol from a holster at the small of her back. “This is my ceremonial ten-gauge shotgun.”
Both men stepped back.
“Ceremonial? That?”
“Great for this ceremony called… hmmm… a funeral.”
It was at this moment, I noticed two things.
1. She was doing afarbetter job of this rogue business than I.
2. A nekojin woman, also from our class, was removing my luggage from the carriage.
A decoy?
As the old expression goes, don’t look a gift centaur in the mouth.
I stepped between her and the men, a hand in each direction. “Ladies, gentlemen. Let us solve this like civilized people. These gentlemen may depart, and I will file a formal complaint via the academy.”
They holstered their sabers and withdrew.
I turned to her. “Thanks.”
She holstered her weapon. “Brenda’s the name. Friends call me Bloodbath Brenda.”
I’d hate to think what her enemies call her. I extended a hand. “Theodore.”
“You know what that geezer Arel said, all eyes are on us. We mages gotta stick together and clobber anyone who threatens us, right?”
“I am fairly certain…” that’s the exact opposite of what he meant. “Fairly certain nobody will threatenyou.”
“Carry a decent weapon, will ya.”
◊ ◊ ◊
I blew out a deep sigh of relief at the solid, heavy thunk of the dormitory door shutting behind me. Releasing my luggage to massage aching shoulders and arms, I took in the foyer. Footfalls and muffled voices echoed from above and below, but the tone was subtly different than on campus. Hushed and indistinct snippets of conversation were warmer, punctuated by laughter here and there. Broad marble staircases leading up and down sported curly balusters and a railing thick enough to slide on.
Though of course I was no longer a child who did such things: this was an elite learning institution. And somewhere in this three-dimensional orchestrated swirl of wood and stone, of iron and glass, a tiny corner would be my new home.
As part of the admission, I’d filled out a form about my preferences in roommates. Speciesrestrictions, how loud I was, how late I stayed up, that sort of thing. Yet I didn’t even know a name yet. Just a room number and a brass key.
I huffed, grabbed my luggage for what I hoped would be the last time, and trudged up the stairs.
The dormitory had originally been a hotel across the street from campus and was sold to the academy some time after its founding. A pedestrian bridge at the third story connected it to the main campus, yet the architecture was distinctly more ornate than the rest. Sculpted details with a maritime theme adorned doors and windows. Carpets and runners in rich maroons and deep blues. And little alcoves and bay windows along the halls enticed as cozy study areas.
“Finally, fifth floor.”
Distracted by the fluting of enameled, cast-iron radiators, I noticed the forcefully swinging door too late.
I could have sprang away. I could have shoved my luggage out of the way. I could have blocked the swing of the door.
Attempting all three at once turned out disastrously ineffective.
“Sorry!” yelled a voice as I dropped my largest suitcase, then tripped over it, then careened down the stairs with the rest.
I groaned at the bottom of the stairs, face pressed against a navy blue section of carpet. It was, on such close inspection, indeed a sumptuously crafted floorcovering, yet said inspection was not at all worth the journey to get there.
