Chapter 105: 105: The Academy Test XV
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"No," John said. "We are warned. For now!"
Fizz relaxed so much he almost rolled over in the air. "Warned! I can live with it," he said. "Expelled would make lunch taste sad. I have never been to an academy. I want to experience the life of a human academy."
"You will. If I pass the test." John replied.
They walked toward the north table. Master Venn was already there, handing out folded sheets and pointing to times with the edge of his hand. He did not look tired, but the chalk dust on his thumb told anyone who could read hands that he had done real work in a short minute.
The clerk gave John a handout and a small map of the yard with numbers written by the gates. "Ninth bell is the last warning to enter the test room, tomorrow. Oh! My mistake it’s not tomorrow. Ninth bell on test day," she corrected herself, tapping the number with her nail. "Do not come early and then get bored and do something foolish like coming late. Also you must be calm."
"We will be calm," John said.
Fizz put a paw over his heart. "We will be the calmest pancakes in the pan."
The clerk gave him a flat look that said she had once been a girl who made too many jokes and had learned to make fewer. "Next," she called.
They stepped aside and let the line move. A few young candidates turned to look at John. Their eyes shone with a mix of things: fear and hope and the kind of awe boys feel when a man lifts something heavy with one hand. One boy asked John, "Was it really black hole magic?"
John did not answer. Fizz said, "No comments," and wiggled his brows as if that were a great secret.
They left the yard by the small gate and found the lane. The world outside the wall looked the same as an hour before, but it was not. News had already run a block and a half ahead of them and turned the corner to tell someone who did not need to know.
They walked in silence for a half block. John’s hand felt a little cold now where the dark ball had sat. He flexed his fingers once. The mana veins inside him folded back to its calm low hum. He let out a long breath he had been holding without noticing.
Fizz drifted close. "You would have hit him low," he said.
"Yes," John said.
"You would not have broken his bones," Fizz said.
"No," John said. "Only his pride."
Fizz thought about that and nodded. "Good plan. Pride grows back stupid and new anyway."
They reached the corner with the one-hand clock. The hand had moved a finger-width. The day had not broken. The bell had not fallen. The world had stayed in one piece. It was a good result for a minute that could have ruined a month.
"Back to the Bent Penny," John said.
"Back to stew and quiet and no exploding," Fizz said, making sure to say the last words with care in case Elara’s warning could hear from far away.
They walked the short way home. The tavern lady looked up when they came in and sniffed the air around Fizz like a fox. "You smell like soap and your face looks like trouble," she said. "Do I need to worry?"
"No," John said. "We followed rules. Anything to eat? We are hungry."
"Good," she said. "Stew is still warm."
Fizz leaned over the counter. "Do you have pie," he asked.
She squinted at him. "Do you love pie?"
Fizz touched his chest. "I love pie. Give me the biggest piece you got. John will pay."
The woman let out a laugh that shook the mugs. "Pie for you then," she said, and then after a beat, added, "Half a slice should be good enough for your small tummy."
Fizz clapped his paws. "No. My tummy is big. I can eat a lot. Give me a big piece."
The tavern lady laughed. "Alright. I will give you the biggest piece. It’s on me."
Fizz replied, "Lady, you know how to do business. I will remember this treat."
They ate. They did not talk much. John read the handout again and again. He was trying to remember the information in his head before the exam time. Fizz arranged crumbs on the table into the shape of a very small noble and then ate the noble’s head.
"Justice," he said through cake.
They went upstairs after eating. The room felt safe in the way a small room can feel when you have a key and a good latch. Fizz floated to the bed and flopped like a stone dropped in a soft pond. John sat by the window and looked at the narrow strip of sky between roofs. A single star showed in the bright wash of late day.
Fizz spoke into the pillow. "We didn’t make a single friend," he said. "We made an enemy. Who’s name is fart."
"We made a strong enemy," John said. "Someone who got power and money."
Fizz turned his head. "Sometimes power and money don’t work when you face the ultimate duo of Black doom ball and elemental Lord."
John did not answer. He watched the sky turn soft. He let the last of the day bleed out of his bones. He let his hand be only a hand again.
Down in the yard, the cat on the shed roof rolled over and chased its tail once, then fell asleep. In the city, a small story about a black ball and a noble muddy cheek will be found on the next day’s breakfast tables. It might bring some unwanted trouble for John and Fizz.
Tomorrow will be a quiet day for them. The upcoming days after that would not.
Time will talk.
That night, while John and Fizz lay quiet at the Bent Penny with the window cracked and the little square clock pushing its one hand along, the Aqua family townhouse on Crescent Row filled with light, music, and people who never had to count bread.