EDUCATION
In addition to the "comprehensive education" that the district government gives to the governor-general's son, the loving father started a strict regiment on his son on Classical Latin and Mycenaean Greek. While the son had shown some interest in these subjects, he has found it generally inconvenient to reveal the fruits of his studies in the diverse fields, to his classmates when questioned.
"Governor," the secretary asks, "I am wondering what you teach your child yourself, you know, besides the typical maths and English."
"Oh," he replies, sipping his coffee on the promenade, "nothing that special. Just the typical classical languages in the spare time."
"Really? That must earn him some respect from his peers at school, you know, as that is no longer taught for years as a mandatory subject."
"Ah – how time erodes away proper education!"
"Yes, governor."
"He'll probably join the service when he is 18 and tour the country. By that time I might be back at cabinet, so it can be difficult to see him. Knowing these languages will gain him enormous benefits when dealing with the higher rungs of society."
"Yes. My first son is four, and I am planning to start him on the stuff too. I started Greek before I even started English."
"The good old days – waking up before the sun. I am really lucky to have a son not darting away at this boring course."
"I'm sure my Cato won't too."
"May that be the case, Quintus. Greek is a lost art, especially here in 2. All the kids do here is fighting without a stop. Culture vacuum."
"There's something I think I should tell you, governor."
"Speak freely."
"You son has divulged to me that his classmates have not appreciation of his ability to speak and write in Latin."
"I had rather anticipated that. But that's the price one must pay to be cultured. It might be the same for you Cato. Pity, I can't help you get to the Capitol. With that you need the Interior Minister's approval."
"I was not in danger for the reaping, and probably not my son. The only danger is that if he volunteers. I'll try my best to purge it out of him as he grows up. Hopefully he can do better than I did."
"Don't say so, Quintus, you have a great career ahead of you. Here in district 2, you probably reached the pinnacle; any more you need to become a Capitol citizen."
"Alas – I've already put my family up for the queue, but it might take years."
"I'll write to the interior minister, he's a friend."
"Thanks, governor."
"It's time that I go and pick up your son, governor."
"Thank you, Quintus."
The secretary walks out of the hall quietly. He goes into the car and orders the chauffeur for the school. The sky blue vehicle, with its plush, comfy interior, first descends the hill on which situates York Hall and ascends a plateau a few moments later. Apparently, the school had already dismissed the children, as pairs and trios came dribbling off the pavement. Most headed for the training center, but the car approached from the other direction.
On the other hand, Alex sits in a lonely corner under the shade, defending him loyally against the indiscriminant bombardment from the sun's rays. He had been inclined to hit under this tree for quite a few weeks, and this is a well-known fact. Quietly and professionally, two classmates hop down from the trees on his either side.
"SURPRISE!" they yelled. Alex shudders and drops his book that he presently reads. The classmates retrieve it and start reading it with keen interest. However, the interest was impermanent.
"Say," says one of them, "how do you manage to read this? How do you manage to read anything? Why waste the sunlight reading?"
Before the answer could exit the reader's lips, another inquires.
"Didn't you go and apply for the training membership? Why don't you go and have some fun?"
"One at a time, please. I read this because I want to make myself a better person, and I read books because I like them. I have the membership but I don't want to go. It's boring. It's like a factory, producing nothing useful."
"Goodness, those are some harsh statements. We are district 2 kids, may I remind you." The other giggles.
"I wish I could find the same pleasure in training as you do."
"That day," the second says, changing the subject, "you completely trounced Damien. I say, that was a great job. None of us really like Damien. We can't not play with him. It's rumoured that he actually kidnaps people who speak out against him and beats them up in private."
"And," Damien says from behind, without any of the three noticing his arrival, "the person, or people I will beat up reveals himself or themselves."
The two run away as though they saw the devil. Perhaps they really did.
"Good afternoon, dear fellow."
"Good afternoon, sir."
"I say, they had bolted away at just your presence. Rather amusing."
"They needn't. I wasn't coming for them."
A moment of awkwardness passes. Both looking away from another.
"Let me guess, is it our encounter at the gym that grants me the pleasure of your company?"
"Quite precisely, sir."
"They though you had something violent in mind."
"They are unfortunately right. My reputation precedes me."
"I gather that I may not refuse your indulgence now."
"It would be a shame."
"I thought I had more than paid for it, Damien. If it were not for you, I would not have surrendered the excitement."
"You do not practice good technique in the arts of deceit, sir. True, I am more than ardent to get my hands on them, but you were afraid to do it. That's why you gave the chance to me."
"Not so, Damien. I might have been inclined to have a bit of excitement myself, actually."
"Yes? And what would you have done? Release all of them?"
"Why not? I get the pleasure of having done something charitable and they have the pleasure of living. It's a perfectly mutualistic transaction."
"Yes, but, as you see, being able to kill humans for practice is a very rare treat for training tributes like me. I can tell you that I enjoyed every moment of it."
"What a frightful thing to say, Damien. It was a ghastly task. I can't imagine having to risk others' lives."
"I can't either. I will always take as many as I can."
"Do as you please."
"Don't think that way, please. You're a gentleman. I respect you. I will just kidnap you and ask your father to ransom you."
"Do you need money?"
"No. But having a bit more of it wouldn't hurt either."
"How much?"
"$30."
The seated knight tucks out two notes, one green, and one yellow to his captor. The captor seizes them.
"Here."
"You surely are rich. Or spoilt."
"This is basically pocket change, non-money where I come from."
"Would you mind if I increase the ransom to $60?"
"On the other hand, it isn't that little either."
"Smart."
"What will you do with the money?"
"I'll go to the brothel."
"WHAT?"
"You heard me. I am more developed."
"You little …"
"Pervert?"
"You 12-year-old paedophile."
"I actually just turned 13 yesterday."
"I will tell the police."
"No use. My father is the cabinet secretary in this district."
"So high and mighty, yet unable to escape the games."
"Escape? I'd kill to win it. Or rather, I will have to."
"Not necessarily."
"Capitol people like you have little sense out here."
"Says who?"
"Say I, future victor."
"You pompous ass."
"Look."
He points to the short sword that he carries with himself. Loosing his previous pretense of grace and friendliness, he takes it out and puts it against the unarmed knight's heart. Then, he shifts it, gliding the tip, shining from its recent polish, from crease to crease on the red, silky robes the knight wears. Applying slightly more force, he cuts through the red, revealing the white jumper within.
"It looks like you don't dress so differently after all."
"It is a bit too cold for the white tunic."
"It is interesting to note that Romans used to dress their soldiers with red tunics so that they can't see themselves bleeding. You do the opposite."
"The battle is over when one bleeds. I must conquer before an enemy knows of my presence."
"Same story with smashing me into the wall."
"No… rather an impromptu. I can't let someone as low as you are beat me."
The sword pierces through the white jumper, following roughly the same path, revealing the blue undershirt. The knight does not shiver from the slight chill from the wind, nor from the freezing coldness of the lethal blade.
"Low? I can drag you down from your throne and make you suffer so much."
"Are you quite done undressing me? We are in public, you know."
"I want to see you as you are… without all your deception. Just you. I want to see you quiver in fear without all your resource and smart-ass faking. We can begin by seeing you without your clothes."
"PERVERT!" shouts the knight, despite the endangered throat.
This attracts major attention. Every pair of eyes now focus on the knight, fragments of his glorious outfit flapping in tatters, yet his spirit still intact and glowing brighter than his shining clothes. Can the source of the light overcome the abyss of darkness two feet to his left?
"You shout in vain… kid. Nobody here dares to oppose me. Not the adults, nor the kids. I can slice you open if so much I want to, that I will see your arrogant face serenely loosing its blood, fading into the paleness of the rock, and the rubies of the lost liquid decorating my shirt and forever embalmed here in district 2. Just one jewel on the long chain I have."
"I stand against you as I stand against all people who do not know their place. Let's hope that the jewel will weight you down with shame."
"You look fearless. But will you keep it up when I have your constituents dislodged from their natural places? Will you still smile when I quench my thirst with your blood? To remind you, I am a master of the art of death."
"You? A master without craft, an artisan without art. You are too proud to see what I am, and you are too weak to understand me."
With that, the aggressor slowly rises from his seated position, removes his restraining clothes, and readies the gleaming weapon for the blow. The knight turns his head away and mutters something under his breath. In perhaps a split second, the secretary grabs what is left of the knight's robes and pulls him away from certain death. Still in the air, the knight smiles.
"Once more. Sorry."
Then, with a thud, they land on the ground. Immediately, they rush home, but the permanent secretary apparently suffered a broken arm as he landed. The governor himself drove his secretary to the hospital.
"You should defend yourself more carefully."
"Don't worry. I had it planned out all this time."
"You should go to the training centre, just in case."
"It's unpleasant there."
"That's OK. I'll create a proper school out of the place and you can be the chancellor. You'll play with them and learn a bit as well."
"Good thinking."