Chapter 28 -Student

“I don’t accept your answer.”

He barked a laugh. “What do I care if you accept it or not? I would be the one teaching you, not the other way around. What will you do, follow me around like an abandoned puppy?”

I stared at him.

In truth, I had no intention of following him around, and I was not even that passionate about learning from him anymore. But I was enjoying pestering him. Perhaps there was also a bit of spite. I wanted to prove to the man I could do it. Especially after how he had been denying me at every turn.

So, I stared him down.

“I told you, I will not teach you.”

I almost spoke up, but instead I shrugged and made myself comfortable in his living room couch and began to look around. Where I had only seen a mess before, I could now make out some order in the chaos. I picked up the papers that I had moved to make space for myself to sit. Thumbing through them, I saw that they were drawings, or deliberate marks at the very least. Some were easy to decipher, like the front of a building. Others took me a little longer to understand, never having seen them before. But when it clicked and I realized I was looking at the floor plan of a building, my eyes widened, and I pulled the paper closer.

“That’s enough. You’ve overstayed your welcome.”

I glanced up at him, then out the window at the setting sun. With a nod of my head, I put the papers down exactly as they were when I had arrived, and I made my way to the door. Before I left, I turned as though it was an afterthought and said, “Oh, I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Like Hell you will be. Now get out before I call for the guard.” He growled.

I laughed and walked out. Had I looked back, I might have caught the smile pulling at his lips or the glimmer in his eyes.

-

The night had just begun to envelop the city and I made it back to the Queen’s Coliseum just as curfew was ending. Guards at the gate gave me a look of warning, but also one that betrayed their curiosity. I was never late.

As I rounded a corner heading for the mess hall, I saw Hensler muttering to himself pacing up and down the wide corridor. He looked up when he heard my footsteps and for the first time, I saw an emotion in the man’s face.

“Gelas, where have you been?” He cried, looking me up and down. I had not planned to be gone for so long, and his reaction caught me off guard.

“Just around the city.” I answered.

“Just around the city? Don’t you know what happens to people of your background that are out after hours?” He said.

I replied with a nod and slowly resumed walking in invitation for him to join me. He did and the two of us headed towards the mess hall.

He shook his head, and with that, his uncharacteristic behavior vanished, leaving him aloof.

It was fine by me, I had no wish to talk, especially not with him. For all I believed him to be a good man putting in the effort to help me improve, I hated how he looked.

Not his appearances. He was not ugly, nor was he particularly beautiful. I suppose there could have been a distant handsomeness to him, but his face is not the point. It was how he looked at people that I hated. His eyes held adoration for the stuck up, good for nothing individuals. For no other reason than having descended from royal blood.

A mess through and through. It irked me to no end when I saw how blind he was to their pride and ill behavior.

Dinner was a routine ordeal. A heavy bread with fish stew and a bright purple salad on the side. One of my favorites of the week, and I had just started to dig into the steaming stew when Hensler spoke up again.

“If you keep spending so much time outside, and so little time preparing for the upcoming festival, you will lose your right to leave the coliseum.”

No, not now, I thought. Things were going too well; did I not deserve peace and happiness?

I quietly grit my teeth and with great effort kept my face neutral. I methodically broke off a piece of bread and dipped it in the stew. It came apart like sand and ash in my mouth, the normally delightful dinner was now stripped of flavor.

“I’ll be back earlier next time. And as for not preparing for the festival, you can hardly place the guilt for that on me. Not that there need be any blame. Was it not you who said I was doing too much? Did you not point out how many hours I worked compared to those around me? Do my lessons not teach me to find a connection with people?”

I drilled my advisor with unnecessary aggression. So much for keeping a neutral reaction. He took note, and his eyes lit up, but he waited until I was finished.

“What is her name? Or his name.” He asked with a discomforting amount of interest.

I was taken aback, and blundered my reply, “Why would it matter to you? Even if there was anyone, which there isn’t, why would I share their name?”

“Ah so there is someone.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Is she beautiful? One of your sister-in-law’s associates? Perhaps she is of distant royal blood?”

My face darkened at the thought of Teofile being of the same blood as those who fought in the coliseum with me, and I realized I made another mistake a fraction of a second too late.

He had been searching my face when he asked, and now he nodded to himself. “No, I did not think you were interested in men. Thank you for being so co-operative.” He said with a wink and a sly smile.

“How did you get to meet her?”

I stopped humoring him then, knowing that he would manage to learn something from whatever I said. But it did not stop him from asking questions.

“What does she work as?”

“Does she live close to the coliseum?”

My eyes flashed dangerously then, and he backtracked.

“I only ask, because if you would like, we can give her seats closest to the fighting grounds during the festival.”

The color left my face, and Hensler regarded me with a strange look on his face. “You poor thing. She does not know does she?”

I shook my head and he stopped asking questions.

That, more than anything else, persuaded me to speak up, to justify myself, but I could not. We ate the rest of the meal like a mute couple that had a falling out, not speaking, nor could I bear to meet his eyes. I knew why the shame had gripped me, and I wished for a release. I wished to share the guilt that burdened my shoulders, but to talk with Hensler?

I felt terribly alone then, and I missed my family dearly. I had never been able to talk with anyone, but after Chereba that had changed. My parents, and more importantly my brother, was there for me. Only, he was gone as well now.

I found that I was in bed now, but I knew not how I got there, or when I bid farewell to Hensler and left the mess hall. My sleep was long and troubled. I woke up with ghostly aches and my finger drifted to where my ear had been.

I yearned to curl up and wait until a new day dawned, but that was not the way I did things. Instead, I let routine take over. As the sun dawned, Hensler found me already covered in a sheen of sweat that dripped into my eyes. He made no mention of yesterday’s conversation and began his own warmup. Today he did not bother with the run, instead only going through motions slowly with spear in hand. I joined him and we moved as one. The scarred pupil next to the practiced master.

My transitions from one position to the next lacked his fluidity, but my strength carried me through. Even the most well-made spear can feel heavy when held outstretch for a length of time. But that was the point I suppose. To get used to holding it and moving with it until it became second nature.

It was said that a true fencer did not differentiate between their sword and their arm. Dancing alongside the spearmaster, I saw truth in the saying. I mimicked the familiar moves for a quarter of an hour in silence before he spoke up, “Pairs.”

I fell into line alongside him, closer than before. Now the spear twirled less and jabbed more. The motions were tighter, made for two or more warriors in ranks when space was limited. Forwards and back. Advance and retreat. The spear staved off imaginary foes as Hensler dictated the pace of our attacks with the stomping of his forefoot. It slammed into the ground, then with foot planted, he shifted forwards and thrust. There was a predictable rhythm that the individual routine lacked. But thus was the way of the order of the Sertilovan. The first of whom had been slaves. Oarsmen on the ships that first came to the land that was to be Tell. From over the seas, they sailed. Pulling in tandem, day after day. Just as the muscles adapt, so too was the pattern was engraved in their very souls, until their hearts began to beat as one. It was said that they were connected to the extent that one from the Sertilovan knew where any of his brothers were at any given moment. And if they stood in each other’s presence, their arms would move together as though connected by a stiff iron rod.

Hensler and I trained together for the rest of the morning, but much like previous days, I was soon left to my own devices. I had lunch in the mess hall. Alone this time.

No sooner had I finished my meal than I strode to the exit of the coliseum and down to Lenare’s bookstore. It was not that I forgot how to get to Khatvari’s flat, rather I did not know if he would be there. And if he did not have a close relationship with Lenare, then I was not a gladiator.

Sure enough, when I spoke to her she laughed, recounting with delight how Khatvari grumbled and groaned about the young man she had sent his way. She gave me clear directions on how to find him once more. Today he had forsaken working at home and was instead aiding the builders in their labors.

Not aiding, as I soon found out. He was shouting and berating a young man around my age for laying bricks wrong. Then he turned to another warned him to hasten his feet and quit his dawdling. I watched from afar as he exercised his tyranny over the poor souls.

A well-meaning tyranny; for each criticism, he offered advice on how to correct it, and for every third criticism, he offered a compliment.

It did not seem like much to me, but I saw that it was enough, and it kept the young men and woman working hard.

I decided I had enough of staying out of sight and I strode onto the work site, amidst the wood-cutting, brick laying and concrete mixing. At first I joined the fray unnoticed, but it quickly became obvious that I was doing nothing. Which was not true, because I was in fact doing something. I was waiting for the old man to notice me. However, the gruff, weathered face did not turn my way. So I strolled about on my own; watching as one person measured out lengths from a wooden beam, peering over a hole where another person dug out space for a foundation, interrupting a young man beating on the earth with a strange but simple device. When I asked, he told me it was to ensure that the ground was flat, and I pressed him for more questions, pointing at people and asking what they were doing.

If memory does not fail me, his name was Bakur. A stout young man with dark brown hair and shoulders as wide as an ox. A grim face from afar, but up close you could see his eyes, kind and looking for any opportunity to help people.

…Which got him into a pickle. Knowing he would answer my questions, I had asked and continued to ask until Khatvari’s wrathful tongue descended upon him. For the longest time I had felt bad about that, but it was the only way I figured the old man would approach me, and I was right. After verbally lashing Bakur, he turned to me and we had a delightful conversation that took all of ten seconds.

“You.” He glared at me.

“I.” I agreed, meeting his eyes.

He growled a demand, “Get out.”

“No.”

“You’re distracting them.”

“I am.” I said with a shrug.

“Leave.”

“No.”

“Teach me.”

Now it was his turn to object. “No.”

I shrugged my shoulders and looked for a place to sit. Much to my delight, there was one such chair. An old, weathered, flaking, sun tanned, brown leather chair. The only chair that could be seen on the entire site. A chair so old, so out of place, it could only belong to one person.

I took pity on the man then, and left the site.

Only to return carrying my own chair.

I plopped it down next to his, and lay my right ankle on my left thigh as I leaned back. My face began to ache as I struggled to keep the smile off of my face. I could barely hold it in, especially when I saw the expressions of everyone working there. They had all witnessed my interaction with their boss, yet all of their reactions were different. For some, their brows rose to the top of their head. Others began to grin. And then there seemed to be a third party, who kept glancing at Khatvari’s back from where he stood, hunched over a table, reviewing some drawings.

As if knowing something was wrong, the old man’s head tilted. Like a cat he bristled and I could see him struggling to figure out what it was. Then he realized. It was quieter than before.

He straightened his back and turned around.

The already quiet atmosphere became one of stone-still silence.

“Carry-on.” I gestured.

His face went red as a sunburnt rose, and a vessel burst in his forehead. He stomped towards me, shaking a finger, “You!!”

“YOUU!!!!” He shouted again, having lost any and all sense of vocabulary.

“I brought you a lemonade.” I said, and with a nonchalant flourish I procured the lemonade from behind my chair.

His countenance changed then, and instead of sputtering nonsensical verbiage, he cooled down. With a sigh he accepted the drink and sat down. Ah, the wonders of lemonade on a hot day. I knew its benefits intimately, and apparently so did he.

He sipped at the tasty beverage, and everyone returned to their work, unsure of what else they would do.

“You’re going to be a real pain in the ass aren’t you?” He observed.

“Not any more than I’ve already been.”

“Is that so…” He pondered while looking over the builders working under him.

“Well, seeing as I can’t get rid of you…”

I did not smile when he finally acquiesced to my request, I only nodded my head and readied myself for what was to come. Thus began my apprenticeship to the Ninth Architect of Katentin.