This is a chapter from the book "Harlequin: A Fool's World Novel" By Clayton Overstreet which is being published here for promotional reasons. It is available complete from Amazon and its affiliates in book format. If you do not want to wait for me to post the next chapter, have a problem with the formatting as it appears on this website, and would like to support me so that I can have the time and money needed to write more, I strongly suggest you buy it. I do own these characters and would like to seriously profit from them. This book is however private property, I own the copyright to the story and characters, and I would appreciate it if you did not disseminate it to other people. I can't stop you, I know, but I'd really prefer if you would just buy the book, even if you read the whole story here. Legal action however will be taken for plagiarism.

Chapter 4

Do You Have Class?

Auditing the classes she could take was not easy. There were dozens of them and they were spread out across the castle with only four hours in a day to do them all. Unsure what to do and needing time to think she started with the closest one to the cafeteria. According to the schedules and maps it was Jibes & Insults. When she got there she intended to slip in and hide in the back of the class and plan her next move.

Instead as soon as she stepped inside an old woman wrapped in what looked like a black shroud with a green face, warts, greasy black hair, and long hooked nose was waiting like a viper in the grass. "Ah! Fresh meat! Tell me dear, are you too stupid to find your way here on time or are you just a self indulgent bitch who doesn't care enough about other people to respect a schedule?"

"I'm sorry…" She began.

"Yeah, you're sorry. Pathetic more like it. A sad excuse for a human being. Did you come in here just to take up space or are you trying to waste my time?"

"Neither. I was just…"

"Indecisive too huh? Not a single worth while quality. I don't know what you think you're doing in this school. You should see the gardener. Maybe he could use you as compost."

Dahlia was about to try apologizing again. She had gotten dressing downs from teachers before, even when she was only a minute or two late for class. Normally the only thing you could do was take it along with a punishment and try not to draw attention next time. But just as she was about to speak she heard the other students around the room giggle. They were all watching with huge grins. Even Short Stuff who she saw near the back watching with interest. Remembering the name of the class Dahlia realized that this was not her in trouble; it was her being used as an example. Clearly the teaching style in this place was "throw them into the deep end and see if they sink or swim".

Gathering up her pride and a lifetime of experience, she changed mental gears. This was not a class, it was a party and she was being insulted by a stuck up girl who technically out ranked her and was trying to make her feel inferior in public. She had been in this situation a dozen times. "I apologize, madam. It won't happen again." Around the room students gasped. It came in several waves as different students realized what she had done. While sounding perfectly polite, she had basically implied that the teacher, who according to the chalkboard on the wall was Mrs. Thea Mark, was a whore.

Caught off guard the woman paused, but not for long. "So you do have a tongue. I was beginning to think and hope someone had cut it out."

"No, I was just caught off guard when I saw you. You have such nice…" She made a show of looking the woman over and holding back a sneer. After a slightly too long pause she finished with, "Hair. You have okay hair."

Smirking Mrs. Mark said, "I was actually quite impressed with those buck teeth of yours. Would you mind smiling so I can check my makeup?"

"Not at all," Dahlia said with a grin. "Charity is so important when dealing with the unfortunate. And isn't it just awful when you have less than perfect features? Not that I'm telling you anything. I really admire the way you soldier on despite your obvious and numerous failings. It's so inspiring, Mister Mark." She finished with a patronizing smile as if she were talking to a toddler who was trying to impress everyone with the large booger that had just been found in her nose.

"Missus," the teacher snapped.

"Really? I am genuinely surprised both that you're female and that your title implies that you somehow got married. I assumed it was just a pseudonym since there aren't that many blind and deaf men on the dating scene," she said innocently and peered around her at the chalkboard. "Oh, you're right. Terribly sorry, I had something hideously ugly in my way and the smell was making my eyes water so I misread it." She placed a hand to her face and inhaled against her palm, faking a cough. In a concerned voice she said, "You know if you want I'm sure I can find someone with no gag reflex to help hose you down and apply some delousing powder… though I'm not sure whether or not the smell is keeping the flies away or if it's just your… sparkling wit."

The teacher was grinding her teeth now, but was not out yet. "I'm sure you know a lot of people with no gag reflex."

Dahlia gasped. "So that was your mother!" The classroom erupted into laughter. A few others let out sympathetic moans and a few, including Mrs. Mark herself, flinched as if Dahlia had slapped her. "Such a spry old woman. For someone without teeth she really knows how to work her mouth…"

Mrs. Mark held up black nailed green hands in surrender. "Okay, enough." With a gleam of respect in her eye she turned to the rest of the class. "What you have just seen is a perfect example of back handed insults. This is advanced technique used in situations where a direct insult can have terrible repercussions. It allows one to later claim that there was a misunderstanding or that you were just a bit thoughtless. The loser is the one who either cannot come back with another back handed insult or who loses their temper to the point where they slip into direct insults and/or physical violence. Like if I was to call her a bitch. A backhanded insult would be more like if I said how kind it was of her parents to adopt a Sasquatch as their daughter and then, out of generosity to the rest of us, shaved its ass and taught it to walk backwards to spare us actually having to see her face." She looked back at Dahlia.

"Heard that one a lot growing up did you? My guess would be from all the crypto-zoologists flocking around to take pictures of the bouncing baby… whatever you are."

The teacher took a moment to breathe through her nose. "You know, this was meant to be the 'establish my credibility' part of the class."

She shrugged. "I think I did." She did not add "loser". She did not have to. There were some more giggles around the room.

The teacher nodded. "Yes, you did. As far as I'm concerned you've passed. Now will you please leave before I really lose my temper and actually slap that smirk off your self satisfied face?"

Dahlia nodded and curtsied. She shot a wink at the rest of the room and then turned and walked out, feeling a lot better about herself. Her smile only grew as Mrs. Mark slammed the door behind her.

Since she had a free period Dahlia found a sitting room and went over the list of indoor classes she tried to decide what might be useful. A surprising number of them were actually things she knew well. As a former Duchess she had been given one of the finest educations her father's money could buy by people who could make army drill instructors cry. So she decided to ignore any classes on making props or things. Give her a few bits of electronics or a 3D printer and she could wire up just about anything. As for things like itching powder or fart gas, she could mix up such things in her sleep given even a moderate lab.

She immediately dismissed dance and music classes. That would just be an excuse to show up just about everyone else. Not that she had a problem with showing off. Taking on Mrs. Mark had been fun. She just wanted to save it for something more important. There had been a lot of events on the school calendar for the weekends including dance competitions. There was plenty of practice space in her room for that sort of thing and P.E. to keep in shape so she put those on hold until the afternoon when she could get a real sense of the classes rather than being overwhelmed by the sight of the students.

Then there were the humor classes. Despite her excellent showing in Mrs. Mark's class she was not sure she even could do direct insults. She had been raised in polite society, which meant thinking about what you said and leaving an out with even the foulest members of the royalty because even assholes could have armies. The indirect assault was risky enough and usually saved for when people just would not stop pushing. Being polite was one thing, but a risking a war was better than letting people think you were weak. A war could be won. The weak got a pack of jackals at their heels forever until one got lucky.

Learning to tell jokes sounded like it might be fun. So did the storytelling Buffalo Chips had mentioned. Dahlia just was not certain that she was comedian material. Stiff upper lip was the family watch word. Not just when things went bad, but all the time.

A voice caught her attention. She looked up and saw Old Man Winter, back in his makeup, looking at her. "Something wrong? I would have expected you to be in at least one class by now."

"I did, but was asked to leave after I embarrassed Missus Mark in front of the students."

He blinked. "Missus Thea Mark? You embarrassed her?"

"Insulted actually. She was about to strangle me where I stood before she got hold of herself, said I passed, and told me to leave."

"That… is quite impressive." He stroked his long white beard. "If you keep this up we'll run out of things to teach you."

"I'm not really sure what you can teach me." She explained her thoughts on the classes. "There are things I could learn for certain, but I'm not really sure that they are me."

"I see." He nodded his head and made sucking sounds with his lips like an old man adjusting his dentures. "Tell me; in your home I suppose you have family paintings, busts, and records. All about your ancestors and the things they've done."

"Oh yes. Ever war we've fought in, all the heroes, the scandals… I've got them all memorized."

"And I will just best that the words 'make your family proud' are etched in stone under each one."

"Essentially."

"So what you need, I think, is a role model. Someone you can identify with and set an example of how to behave. Or how not to do it." He looked her in the eyes and she saw the shine of a man in his prime or at least close to it behind his mask. "I do not want to give you a swelled head, but I must tell you that so far what I've seen has led me to feel that you have the most potential of any student we have had here in years. True you have only been here less than one day, but every time I see you, you seem to excel beyond expectations. We expect our students to come here with natural talents and as much of a standard education as possible. Many come expecting being a fool to lead to an easy life. That being free to do anything means that you are free to do anything."

She snorted. She had too much experience around aristocracy to confuse liberty with freedom. "Well they are supposed to be fools."

"That is why our school motor is 'To be truly free, a person must forge their own manacles, chains, locks, and keys before someone else does.'" He gestured for her to get up. "Follow me; I have something to show you." He led her down a hall and towards a blank space on the wall. He pushed one of the stone bricks and a piece of it swung open with a stone grinding sound. "This castle is full of hidden passages and hiding places. I don't even know all of them."

"Mine too… I mean my father's. I spent a lot of my time at home exploring them. It was the only way to get around in time to be punctual enough for his grace and to find out whether it was smart to actually appear in front of him or find a decent excuse."

"Not many of the students use them around here. The staff does though. It helps save time." He stepped through and she followed. They were suddenly in a long white hall. The secret door closed behind them. "Welcome to the Hall of Fools and Martyrs." Lined up along the walls were paintings of various clowns, mimes, jesters, and even a few people sans costume. "Some of our greatest students who really made a mark in the world."

While fools had never been a huge part of her life, a proper education in history meant that she recognized a few of them. Sometimes it was like knowing who was a king or famous war hero. Or even things from her childhood. "That one over there is Candy Cane, isn't it? She founded the amusement park Sugar World and the Candy Cartoon Studios. I used to watch those when I was a child and my nannies and tutors let me have a break from lessons."

"One of our finest artists and my great aunt," he said proudly.

"The one down there looks like Fat Fanny and that is Bean Pole. They were both spies during the revolt of 1967." She peered down further. "And that is Fancy Yancey who blew himself up next to the Washington Monument to protest the arrest of the civil rights leader Jennifer Alice."

Old Man Winter nodded. "Not everyone makes a great fool of themselves, but it's important to remember when they do." He started walking along the hall. Dahlia followed, recognizing a few more of the famous faces around her. There were plaques under them with a list of deeds in tiny letters. Some of them were failures, others heroes and a few who just got their names out there right down to fast food spokesmen. They reached a door at the end of the hallway. "Behind here is the library. There is no talking so I hope you can either use a card catalogue or your mime skills are impressive. The librarian takes pride in doing the minimum to help."

The large double doors at the end of the hall opened into a huge library with arching ceilings and seven floors that stretched up into the sky lined with book shelves. Most of the students were on the first floor using Internet computers, newspapers, and magazines. Taking notes on current events. As they passed one of the tables she glanced down at one note without staring too long and saw that the student was making fun of a King Alphonse of Carolina's chief advisor Hugo James. Something about how his very hairy ears kept him from hearing complaints. The student saw her looking and quickly covered the paper, glaring at her.

Ah, so that was it. No wonder there were TVs and radios provided in the rooms. Anyone telling jokes had to keep up with current events and breaking news. That was practically what reporters were for. Keeping up with that sort of thing and catching it before someone else was probably very important. Knowledge was power after all.

Old Man Winter led her past a large round desk where a stern looking clown-woman with a gray wig and a lot of wrinkles under her makeup sat reading King Lear. There was a large red button shining in the light. Above it hanging by chains was a large "NO TALKING" sign. The woman glared at her as if she was an intruder, but did not say anything. In fact it was the quietest library she had ever been in. Usually there was at least someone whispering in the stacks somewhere, but aside from the sounds of turning pages, clicking keyboards and footsteps there was not a sound. In the giant room it was kind of creepy, though the acoustics were great. If she said anything in there she would bet the librarian would hear it even from the top floor.

Old Man Winter started up a large winding staircase and as they went she saw that the usual organizing system had no place here. There were signs on each section. Animal training, parodies, joke books, dirty joke books, magic tricks, clown law, the occult, parables, history, storybooks, erotica, weapons… the subjects were widely varied, but many of them were not things she had ever seen in most libraries or book stores. Certainly not to the extent that they were collected in this library.

The headmaster stopped on the third floor and went into the stacks. Dahlia started to follow, but he came back shortly with a stack of four thick books. A History of Fools, Fools Through the Ages, Clowns Through Time, and The Oldest Jokes In The Book. He handed them to her and then pointed over her shoulder. Dahlia turned to look. There was nothing there so she turned back and saw him grinning. Wincing she shook her head, unable to believe she had actually "looked over there".

Suddenly a huge alarm went off and she dropped the books to cover her ears. Dahlia started to call out, but Old Man Winter slapped a hand over her mouth. The siren faded after a moment and he pulled her over to the stairs. The librarian had left her desk and was pelting across the first floor like a marathon runner. Someone ducked into the shelves just ahead of her, but a moment later she came back holding a red wigged clown by his ear as he struggled. "Ow, you're hurting me!"

In response she lifted a bullhorn she was carrying to her lips and shouted through it, louder than the siren had been. "No talking in the library! I heard you Funny Bones."

"I laughed at a joke in a book," he said. "Barely a whisper!"

"NO TALKING!" She bellowed. "THAT'S THREE DAYS OF DETENTION AND A MONTH LONG BAN FROM THE LIBRARY. IF YOU SAY ONE MORE WORD IT WILL BE DOUBLE!"

As her words echoed around the library and everyone watched with baleful glares as their own studying had been interrupted, she dragged the boy to a door opposite the hall Dahlia had been brought through and kicked them open. Still being dragged by the ear the other clown kept his painted lips shut tight. With a flourish the librarian threw him out of the library and then shut the doors behind him.

Dahlia looked at Old Man Winter who shrugged and pointed to a far wall where another "No Talking" sign was posted. She pointed down at the librarian who was going back to her desk. He shrugged and grinned. Together they gathered up the books she had dropped and he took her down to the desk where the librarian had her sign a card inside the front of each book and stamped a return date with a loud thump. She also added a paper bookmark to the top book that warned of severe penalties for lost or damaged books. Looking at the stern woman behind the grease paint, she had no doubt that despite all the jokes around the place, this was a very serious threat.

Out in the hallway Dahlia said, "It seems like you take the rules around here pretty seriously."

"To the letter," he told her. "Have you seen the detention podium?" She shook her head. "It's just down here. Follow me."

On the way she asked, "What are these books for?"

"Just some fine examples of the fool's tradition and the results. One always needs goals and things to aspire to. What exactly is it you want?"

She started to say "nothing" but stopped herself. She wanted a lot of things. A safe place to belong, friends, love, and freedom to do what she wanted and the security to wake up in the morning without wondering where her next meal came from. She had wanted so much to make a difference in the world. "I hate to sound like my father, but I want power."

"Oh?"

"I've been raised my whole life to it. Money, position, alliances, possessions, and personal abilities. They are all about the power. The funny thing is that a lot of people when they get it do not know what to do with it. Some want it just to have it. Others want it because they are afraid or for greed. For the sadistic thrill of being able to control the lives of others or just so they can safely ignore them." She smirked. "My father equates power with status and respect."

"And you?" He asked.

"Well according to the therapist I had in my sophomore year I have deep seated issues with my parents and a need to make myself feel better by proving that I am better than them caused by a lifetime of being at their whims. In other words I've spent most of my time in a position where they control my life. I don't do what I do because I want to please them, so much as being good at what they want me to do is the easiest path to what I wanted, which was to reach the age in which I could claim my family name and be worthy of it so that I could do what I wanted with it." She looked up at the ceiling. "I suppose like most royals I considered my title to be my destiny as well as a tool to improve myself when the time came in the hopes that I would be neither as unlikable as my father or as vacuous and pointless as my mother. I care for both of them but it has been a long time since I was young enough to think they have no flaws."

"You've studied psychology, haven't you?"

"Some. People with power need to understand people. Especially your own failings." She pursed her lips. "And now that I've had everything stripped from me I need it even more."

"Do you see any failings in me?"

"My father's voice in the back of my head is telling me that just being a fool, let alone intentionally filling the world with them is a failing. I try not to listen to that. Me, I think you're a decent leader in a difficult but necessary job that promotes a hallowed tradition. You have experience that I lack and knowledge that I need if I stay here.

"On the other hand a normal person doesn't put on makeup and humiliate themselves for the entertainment of others. It speaks of a certain disregard for the opinions of others. If that was just who you were your real appearance would not be so good. Real outsiders tend to let social conventions fall to the wayside. My guess is that you're the type who was harassed for something or other growing up. I'd say that your parents were somewhat past their prime when they had you and died when you were still a teenager."

He stopped walking where he was. His voice cracked when he spoke next, not in the way an old man's would, but as someone who was holding back emotions. "How could you possibly know that?"

"Your choice to make yourself up like an old man, controlling your fear of old age and dying along with honoring your beloved parents who did their best but were too old to be like everyone else's. One of my teachers in school was Marvin Hill. He wrote a book on why people choose the names and images they do when they are talk online and how masks are more about showing your real face than hiding it. You've got a woman who either is or makes herself hideous teaching a class on insults. My RA is a mute mime who cusses whenever possible. I'm in a tower full of people who are defining their whole lives by their differences from the rest of humanity. And it all focuses on the right to do whatever you can do to smash the system. This place is a shrink's dream."

Gathering himself and capering along with a tinkle of bells Old Man Winter moved again. "So do you think that because your father has stripped you of your title and so called destiny, essentially making everything you've done to attain it, that you have nothing left to aim for?"

"Maybe," she admitted.

"Has it occurred to you that what you did that lost you your place and landed you here might be your actual destiny? It makes everything else fall apart, leaving you nothing else and defining you."

"I don't want to be just one thing," she said. "Defined by one part of myself."

"Specializing is not the same as having one trick. Warriors sometimes become kings and politicians. Thieves sometimes become security consultants. Fools can die foolish or become wise. People major in things at school becoming a lawyer or a surgeon but rarely both, because spreading yourself too thin is a good way to break. I've seen students who tried to do everything drive themselves mad, kill themselves, lose sight of their goals, or get so busy they miss the hazards in their way." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "This is not alchemy where we try to turn lead into gold. We're just taking gold and making it into something, be it a statue, jewelry, money, or a part that lets a computer work. Whatever it becomes you take it for what it is and because it is rare and precious you try to make it the best that it can be." They turned a corner while she considered that and he added wickedly, "Of course a bit of smelting doesn't hurt." He cackled loud and long.

They were in another hallway, this one lined with a long raised wooden stage along the length of each side with a set of stocks every few feet. Roughly a dozen of them currently occupied. They were padded and had stools. What they did not have was any way to leave to go to the bathroom, a fact verified by the smell. Fortunately there were a lot of windows that provided the only air conditioning in that part of the castle. Dahlia guessed this was the part furthest from the P.E. field and the parking lot. Maybe where the gardeners kept that compost heap Missus Mark had mentioned.

In front of the stage was a trough full of rotten vegetables. Nobody was there at the moment, but the faces of the detainees were splattered with it. In addition there were some padded paddles hanging up on the walls behind them. "See, this is why it's nice to have power."

"You don't have a problem with this?" Old Man Winter asked. "A lot of students complain that it's medieval and unfair."

"It is," one piped up. He picked up a rotten tomato and hit the kid in the face with it. "This is cruel."

Dahlia rolled her eyes. "My father's job includes punishing criminals. We have an actual dungeon and torture chamber. I have spent my whole life in schools that still believe a good beating keeps kids on the right path. Forgive me if I have little sympathy for a little light humiliation and discomfort. I personally would not like to be put in one of these things, but I would not be surprised or call it unfair if I knowingly broke the school rules, especially after you give us two weeks to get used to it. My first school beating included having to write a five page essay on why 'ignorance of the rules is no excuse'." She frowned, remembering. "Actually there never was an acceptable excuse for anything."

"That's one of the best parts of being a fool," he told her. "We don't need excuses or even reason."

After putting the books away in her room Dahlia went to lunch. The cafeteria looked remarkably clean considering the last time she had seen it. Aside from that it was no different than breakfast. Not all of her new friends were there this time, possibly sitting somewhere else or skipping lunch entirely. The girls from the tower were together though and even Shits was sitting with them this time. It was pizza day and after she got a few slices Dahlia joined them at their table. As soon as she got close there came a wave of questions. Everyone wanted to know about what had happened in the insult class. Apparently Short Stuff had been telling them all about it.

"What was I supposed to do?" She asked. "Did I make a mistake?"

"No, you were awesome," the tiny girl said.

Tits said, "Missus Mark loves picking on Naturals because she's one. You saw her nose, right? Her childhood must have been miserable. My first day in class she made me cry in the first five minutes."

"I had to quit," Dolly said.

"The woman loves her work," Al said. "I stayed because I made her really uncomfortable. Especially when I sat with my legs spread and scratched my balls."

Shits held up a card. YOU'RE ALL WIMPS, BUT YEAH; IT WAS GOOD TO HEAR THAT BITCH GOT A LITTLE IN RETURN. Dahlia got the feeling that Shits had been on the receiving end of Mark's insults too. It clearly had not done much for her disposition.

After lunch and a near decapitation by bread stick the whole school filed out to the field Dahlia had seen the day before. Their teachers were waiting for them. Dahlia froze at one point and stared. A middle aged blond with no costume was gathering a crowd. "Oh my gods! I don't believe it!"

"What?" Tits asked.

"That's Sally Cross! She's a teacher here?"

"Yeah, she's in charge of teaching people to do stunts like in the movies. She retired from acting three years ago…"

"After she finished filming the last Hannah Jinx movie Born To Floor It! She did all her own stunts until she tore her Achilles' tendon flipping a jeep." The woman was in her early forties, though she looked more like her early thirties. Some said it was her health regimen. Others that she had some work done. "She's my favorite actress ever and she always did her own stunts. I have had a huge crush on her since I was twelve! I can't believe she's here! If I'd known I would have given up my title and enrolled here myself! Gods I hope I don't geek out and ask if I can show her my Hannah Jinx fan fiction." Starry eyed she hurried forward, not even noticing the shocked look on Tits' face.

For the next two hours Dahlia listened to everything Sally said. It turned out that what she was teaching was a beginner class on intentionally falling while still not getting hurt. They would get more complicated later, she said, but the basics were important. She even had a spare pair of one-size-fits-all clown shoes that she lent to Dahlia because none of the other new students had joined her group. It was actually pretty hard, though Dahlia had an edge thanks to her martial arts training. Unlike in those physical classes it was not supposed to look smooth. They key was to make it look like you were tripping over your own feet or even hitting the ground hard while at the same time landing in a way that meant you were both fine and able to move swiftly. Dahlia failed on her first three tries on the big soft mat that had been set up because she kept coming up in a perfect defensive martial arts stance.

On her last try through Sally was giving her instructions and it was a hot day so the still gorgeous star had stripped out of her shirt and was only in a tank top. Dahlia spaced out and tripped on the edge of the mat and without thinking twisted around towards Sally who caught Dahlia in her arms and held her as if they were on the cover of a romance novel. Unable to think of anything else as she was pressed against the older woman with both their hearts beating fast from the sudden surprise she gasped out, "My hero."

Sally smiled down at her and helped her to her feet. "Your Kung-Fool is strong. That was pretty good. Just watch the dismount. If I had not caught you, you might have twisted your ankle." She patted Dahlia on the shoulder and then turned back to the class. "Did everyone see that? Especially the adlibbing at the end there. Who is next?"

It was sad for her when the class finally ended, but Sally said that anyone doing stunts should always be at their best and after two hours it was time to rest. So they finally broke up and determined not to be a stalker Dahlia let her walk away despite the urge to clamp onto her leg like a police tire boot and never let go. Still walking on air she meandered around the field some more until a voice called out, "Excuse me miss, could you help me on with this straight jacket?"

Dahlia looked around and saw a man in top hat and tails. Unlike the bums his clothes were immaculate. His only face was a thin moustache and two large eyebrows painted on his face. He was holding a straight jacket along with some chains and locks. With nothing better to do she went over to help him. He handed her a key ring and then slid his arms into the jacket while she followed his directions to adjust the straps. Then she wrapped him tightly in chains before clicking the locks into place. "Who are you?" She asked conversationally.

In a fake Italian accent he said, "I am the great escape artists Georgiou The Magnificent!" He raised his arms and the jacket and chains fell off like the petals of a flower. He took a bow and Dahlia politely applauded.

She looked around. "Shouldn't you have a class around here?'

He shrugged. "I'm afraid I often attract a large class early, but as it goes on most drop out because someone gets hurt or they find they have to do something uncomfortable. This year things are already slow."

"Do you also teach the sleight of hand class? A friend of mine takes that."

Picking his things up said, "I'm afraid not. That would be Fantastic Fiona. While sleight of hand and concealment are definitely part of my curriculum it is slightly different."

Dahlia looked around. There was horse riding, which she was familiar with. The trapeze was barely different from ballet with just a little farther to fall. Juggling she was pretty sure she could practice herself. Animal training would be a little involved and she already had that down anyway from training her hounds and horses at home. "Can I take your class? I mean I'm really enjoying my class with Sally… uh… Ms. Cross… but I've got an hour of P.E. free after."

Georgiou smiled condescendingly. "I'm afraid that being an escape artist requires a little more than an hour of practice a day. There is great pain involved as you learn to dislocate your joints, stretch your muscles, and learn how to conceal tools about your person."

"I can do it," she insisted. "If you tell me what to do I can practice in my free time."

He was about to deny her, she could tell, when he suddenly blinked. "Weren't you the girl on the high wire yesterday?" She nodded. "How did you do that?"

"Fifteen years of private tutoring in dance, gymnastics, martial arts, sword fighting, sports, debutant training, and everything else my father could find the time to force me to excel in."

He was silent for a moment. "How are you at handling pain?'

She considered and then turned her back on him to show it off. He inhaled a bit when he saw the stripe-like scars crossing her back. "In my school they only hit you really hard where it did not show under the clothes, though that deep purple one really split the skin and I was doing my homework from a hospital bed because the nun got carried away and cracked a rib."

"Some of these look fresh."

"Oh the little red ones? That's from my father's belt buckle a little over a month ago. He was angry but he never had the experience. Normally he just has people beaten." She lowered her shirt and turned around. "It's been a long time since I've had a real beating. They stop doing it when you do not make mistakes. I've been hurt worse at dance lessons. Dancers take a lot of damage."

"This I know. Did you ever consider complaining to the authorities?"

"My father is the authorities. He gave them permission to beat me as they deemed needed. Complaining would have just gotten me hit more. "

"Ah." He walked around her, looking her over now. "I suppose I could giver your idea a try. I warn you, if you give me any reason to believe you are not practicing or otherwise not taking my lessons seriously, I will drop you immediately. If I wish to waste my time I can do it practicing rather than trying to teach my secrets to someone who treats it as a game. My lessons will tax your body in ways that none of the other classes will."

She stood up straight. "Sir, I do not take on obligations I do not intend to take seriously. To tell the truth looking around I'm kind of hoping for something challenging. Confidentially I was intentionally making my walk across that high wire look a lot harder than it was."

"Well then my young fool let us see if you are telling the truth or merely bragging." He sat down cross legged on the grass and nodded for her to join him. She did, watching him intently. "We will begin with the finger exercises…"