I̴'̵m̸ ̴w̸r̷i̷t̵i̶n̷g̶ ̶t̷h̵i̵s̶ ̷l̶e̵t̷t̵e̶r̴ ̶f̸r̵o̸m̴ ̷a̸ ̷p̴r̷i̷s̸o̸n̸ ̴i̴n̵ ̴N̸e̶w̷ ̸P̴o̷r̵k̷ ̶C̸i̶t̵y̴.̶ ̷T̴h̸i̸s̴ ̴i̶s̶ ̶a̸ ̵w̸a̷r̵n̵i̴n̷g. ̷d̶o̶n̶'̵t̸ ̸c̸o̸m̵e̴ ̸h̸e̷r̷e̷.̴ ̸Y̵o̵u̷ ̶d̴o̴n̷'̷t̶ ̶k̶n̵o̴w̴ ̶w̷h̶a̶t̶ ̴h̶e̵ ̴d̶o̴e̶s̴.̷ ̶Y̸o̵u̷ ̵d̷o̸n̵'̷t̷ ̸k̴n̵o̷w̷ ̸w̶h̸a̶t̵ ̵h̷e̵ ̶p̸l̶a̴n̷s̵.̸ ̷Y̴o̸u̸ ̴c̸o̴m̶e̶ ̶h̶e̵r̵e, ̶y̶o̴u̶'̴r̸e̸ ̷d̶e̶a̵d̴.̵ ̴S̵o̴ ̷d̷o̸n̷'̷t̶ ̶e̵v̸e̵n̶ ̷c̴o̷n̴s̴i̵d̸e̸r̷ ̸i̸t̷.̸ ̷D̵o̵n̷'̷t̵ ̵e̵v̵e̶n̴ ̶c̵o̴m̵e̶ ̷n̴e̵a̵r̷.̶ ̸P̵l̷e̴a̷s̴e̷ ̴— ̴y̵o̷u̴ ̴h̷a̶v̴e̵ ̷t̵o̸ ̸u̸n̸d̷e̶r̷s̵t̵a̸n̴d̴ ̵— ̶I̴ ̶h̴a̸v̶e̵n̴'̸t̶ ̸g̸o̷t̸ ̶l̸o̵n̷g̵ ̸— ̸I̵'̵m̴ ̴b̵e̴i̵n̶g̵ ̴c̴o̴n̷v̴e̶r̴t̴e̴d̴ ̵s̵o̶o̵n̷.̴ ̶J̴u̶s̴t̵ ̵s̸t̶a̶y̷ ̴a̷w̷a̵y̸.̵ ̶H̶e̸ ̷i̶s̷ ̵u̷n̵s̶t̵o̸p̶p̶a̷b̷l̷e̷.̷ ̴H̷e̸'̷s̴ ̴b̴u̷i̶l̴t̷ ̵a̴n̵ ̷u̷n̶s̵t̵o̵p̴p̸a̴b̸l̴e̵ ̴f̸o̵r̸c̴e̴.̶ ̷D̴o̷ ̵n̸o̷t̷ ̶r̸e̷s̶i̸s̵t̴.̸ ̶D̵o̶n̴'̶t̸ ̸c̷o̷m̸e̷ ̷t̴o̵ ̵N̶e̷w̷ ̸P̵o̸r̸k̶ ̸C̴i̸t̶y̴,̶ ̶a̵n̴d̷ ̸m̷o̸s̷t̵ ̷i̵m̸p̴o̸r̸t̵a̶n̶t̶l̵y̴-̷
Ṉ̷̢̨͈̥̯͓͈͓̮̤̉ờ̸̲̬̮̰͓͕̦̄̎͛̎͗̽̚.̷̖͓̘͎̖̫̺̖̈͋̓͌͘̕̚
̶̧̭̮̳̤̣̥̔͋͋͂
̴̹̤͖̏̍̏̈̊͂̌̕͝͠Ǹ̸̫͈͇̜̭̲̗̂̇͜o̷̰̰̜̟͍̳̰̭͎̝̾ ̸̮̺͕̏̈̍́͒̆̽͘͝-̴̡̛̛̹̱͙̟̹̎̈́͒͗̅̈̔̔̋ ̵̛͔͇̍̂̈̃́̑̓͂̍ņ̷̨͈̬͎͍̮͙͕̞͙̿̕ơ̶̧̨̨̹͍̖̗͈͚̱ ̶̗̈́̍͆̄̏̾̈́̾-̸̧̄̀̓̇̒͗̒̂̚͘̚
̷͉͎̻̻̊͛̊̒͜͝Ṅ̵̦̹̺̣̒̂̀͑̅͐͗̄̈́̊̕O̷̺̖̰̭̪̖̩̼͕̞͂͆̅́͐̀͜ N̴̨̡̢̧̺̮͙̜̥͇̼̲̙͕͓̣̯̭̪̘̰̲̫̱͉̯͎̼̅͌̓͂̑͆̔͒͆́̽̂̇͗̊̇̀̔̽͆̅̓̃̇̄̃̉͌̏̀̕͘̕͜͝Ö̶̯̥̤͔̫̝́̉͊̓̈́͐̽̅͂̊̍͂̑̅̇̐̑͆̂̊̾͒͊̂͂̃͗͠͠
̷̡̡͇̖̊̇͐̋̅͑͆̕͝͝Ä̸̛͔̘̞̦͇̤́̅̅̎̀͛̊̆̈̔̚ͅ
̶̡̭͎̜̜̟̣͕̊͛̃̍̒ͅ.̷̧͚͓̹̞̠̘͓̓̓͜.̴̨̤̟̬̖̈̆̍͛͗͋̉͑̏͗͑
̷̯͍͓̱̱̉̆.̵̢̩̼͕͔̹̦͇̥̿̎̄͜͜
̴̘̥̞͕͙̘̗̯̯̂͆̆̑͑̐̈́͠.̴̲̩̩̪͍͙̖͇̺͗̇̋͌͂
̴͙̳̟́̀͋̒̉̿͛.̸̡̗͇̣̻̭̠͍͉̔̇̈́̃̕͝͝ͅ
̴͍͆̓̈́̈́͒̒̔̚
Praise him.
.
.
.
~~o00o~~
Chapter 9: Money is a Memory
(Ness)
~~o00o~~
.
.
.
I wake up in a cold sweat.
Yet another nightmare. More fire. More burning hands. The Face, bearing down on me, only now with the grave thrown into the mix.
It's getting tiring.
There's blood on my pillow, and I tense, before remembering my wounds from yesterday. That accursed tree. I check myself in the window, and a long, red, three-pointed scar glares back at me, patterned like a stitch. Yet another mark to set me apart from others, I think bitterly.
The room is already infested with sunlight. What time is it? As if by magic, the clocktower rings eight times in response, and I sigh. We're already late for breakfast.
Lucas's form rises and falls under his covers, still perfectly soft in his sleep. I stand to wake him, but there's a crunch as my feet meet shards of wood. I hop with momentary pain, glowering as I remember yet another one of yesterday's injustices. It's all I can do to keep my temper in check.
I shake Lucas awake.
"It's light," he observes, stretching.
"That's what happens in the mornings. Also, we missed breakfast..."
We dress fast, moving efficiently down the stairs. There's not much time for chatter, or much to chatter about. Today is going to be ordinary, I decide. It's about time we had an ordinary day, one without discovering mysterious secret passages in the school, meeting awful monsters, or being attacked by a demonic face.
But just as I think that, I slip my hand into my trouser pocket, finding the wooden Lucas figurine. I resist the urge to pull it out with Lucas right beside me, reminding myself that he cannot know about this, and above all, I just need to keep him safe. Which means figuring out exactly what it is.
We hurry into the dining hall. I spot Toon Link, Villager and Red still sitting at our table, so we grab a quick bowl of cereal and sit with them.
"At last!" Toon Link says as soon as we sit down. "Wow, you look like death."
"Thanks," Lucas says flatly, his eyes grey. "That really improves my morale."
"It's true, though. Anyway," Toon Link puts his hands on the table, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "Villager told me that Meta Knight and Olimar messed up your rooms. So, while we've been eating… I've come up with the perfect revenge."
"Revenge?" Lucas pales. "That's not a good idea..."
"It is a terrible idea," Red says. "You should express only dissatisfaction without escalation."
"How rude!" Toon Link folds his arms with mock outrage. "You haven't even heard my plan yet."
"We don't need to," Villager says, eating a quiet spoonful of his porridge. I notice significant bags under his eyes. "We already know it'll be insane."
"We should let the professors deal with it," Red agrees.
I sense the growing tension, and I try to be decisive for once. "How about we see what Headmaster Hand does, and if he does nothing, we see what Toon Link's plan is?"
Everyone nods in agreement. Problem solved. I internally congratulate myself, and soon enough, breakfast is finished, so Lucas and I take ourselves to the art room to be greeted by Professor Shulk.
"Good morning! Now, boys, I spoke to Headmaster Hand. He wants to see you after the lesson about the events of last night, y'know, the destruction of your rooms, and—"
"All right," Lucas says, before Shulk can tell his life story. We hastily take a seat.
"Good to see you all, class." Shulk puts his hands together, standing at the front of the room. "I have some new newspaper headlines if you want to start your next piece of work. So, well — best of luck!"
There's a scramble over to the paints and palettes. I grab my canvas and as many different bottles of paint as I can find.
"Let's see what terrible things have happened," I say.
Virus Fears Increasing Incrementally
Worries over the newfound virus in Onett are increasing, with
over 50 people confirmed dead. Geldegarde Monotoli,
politician and spokesperson, described the situation as 'dire,
chaotic, and altogether disastrous.'
Noble businessman Porky Minch has suggested closing the city,
a decision that mayor B.H Pirkle and the Onetian Council will
be debating later today. The Sharks, a renowned gang and
hard-line splinter group, have criticised this idea, leader Frank
Fly declaring that the economy would 'be in tatters'.
Meanwhile, Captain Strong, leader of the Onett First Brigade,
has stated that Onett forces plan to commence the neutralisation
of Tazmily as soon as possible. He informs our reporters that
the area will potentially become a quarantine site...
"They cannot do that!" Lucas exclaims, and I jump, not expecting him to be there.
"I know." Nana appears, nodding with furious agreement. "It's outrageous."
"It's illegal!" Lucas actually hops from foot to foot with distress. "They cannot do that to my home. They cannot!"
"At least they're keeping it inhabitable," I say. Sometimes, I'm not proud to come from this city.
"But the Tazmily villagers, Duster, Fuel... there has to be something we can do..."
Nana looks at the ground. "The world is such a cruel place sometimes."
"I agree," Lucas says, grabbing the article from the table. As he scurries off to paint, I scour the other newspapers for anything inspiring.
New Pork City — A Safe Haven For All
The benevolent Porky Minch has recently opened his new
settlement, New Pork City, to the North of Onett. Mr Minch
declared the city as a 'safe haven for all children, women and
cowards,' in the circumstance of war. As citizens of Onett, we
should already be grateful to Mr Porky Minch for his kind
donations to the Onetian Council, and ecstatic at this generous
offer of peace...
I look up. So that's what he's been up to lately. I'll guarantee that anyone who goes there will be met with Hell; high taxes alongside slavery, I'd wager.
But I'd be stupid if I did not recognise just how intelligent Porky is. He has that uncanny ability to play the newspapers like a puppeteer, a favourite among children, and a friendly face among adults. He has stakes in so many different financial sectors, a foothold in every industry. He's always crafting a new idea, never resting. Always diligent. Hard-working. Unmistakably evil.
I'm quite certain what I'm going to paint. Lucas is already working on his new masterpiece, having finished a beautiful Tazmilyscape last lesson. I spy that he's selected a purple-brown colour palette this time. It's hard to detect what he's painted so far; it's an amalgam of dark, shadow-like shades, festering like fog on the canvas. But festering precisely. Lucas always knows what he's doing.
I spy Nana starting a new piece of work on the other side of the room, and there are no prizes for guessing what she's doing. Another fruit. A lot of yellow. I think it's a banana this time, and I wonder vaguely if she paints anything other than fresh produce.
Meanwhile, I lay down a pink oval in the centre of my canvas, along with an intersecting black circle. I surround my dark border with grey spikes, aiming to continue the abstract themes somehow, even if my painting ends up looking like something out of Frankenstein.
"What are you doing?" Lucas asks me. I see his shadowy mist has formed peaks, purple blobs oozing over their heads.
"Figure it out," I say, grinning.
"That's not fair."
"Too bad."
"Well, I'll tell you what I'm painting," Lucas says.
"And what is that?" I turn again to look at his canvas, and he gives me an evil grin.
"You!" He swipes a paintbrush over my nose.
I gasp. "I beg your pardon, did you just assault the great Ness?" I dab my thumb in pink, pressing it onto his cheeks. "No action is without punishment, my dear Lucas!" Suddenly, he looks like he's wearing make-up, and I burst out laughing.
"Shush!" someone hisses, and just like that, the fun is over. I forgot how particular art students are about noise; apparently, they must work in complete silence, or they will immediately perish. Lucas rolls his eyes at the heckler and continues working on his piece. From what I can tell, it's shaping into a city of sorts, but the purple blobs in the sky are now dripping, clinging to the skyline like clouds of jellyfish.
I begin to add ears and a nose to my pink circle, which is of course becoming a big fat pig, representing our friend Porky Minch. I smile to myself. I prefer this version of him.
Professor Shulk comes over to observe.
"Lucas! That's rather interesting, what is it?"
"I'm painting Onett." Lucas shows him the article about the virus, pointing especially to the final paragraph. "All the buildings are infected with a disease. It represents the toxicity of the Onetian Council."
"Impressive," Shulk says. "But don't put that on display, or you might get arrested. Ness… what is that?"
"It's abstract, Professor," I say, feeling foolish. "The pig represents the, uh, higher powers, and their hold on the earth and the cities. The border represents a feeling of enclosure. That the rich put upon us." I make it all up, but I think it sounds convincing enough.
"Very good," Shulk appraises, before meandering over to obsess over Nana's banana.
"The pig looks more like a representation of Porky," Lucas says.
"That's because it is."
Lucas laughs. "Is it really?"
"Yes, have a read of this…" I hand him my article. His face grows pale with concern.
"When the hell did he get a city?"
"I suppose when he had enough money to afford one. It'll be economically disastrous, though."
"Agreed," Lucas says, though he doesn't look convinced. "Everyone will know how awful he is when he turns out to be the worst mayor ever."
"And at least this means Porky isn't in Onett," I say. "That's a relief, right?"
"It is," Lucas says, but he still looks vexed.
We continue to paint, and by the end of the lesson, I have a pig and a half-formed city sphere. Lucas isn't finished either, he still has a mix of grey and purple all over his canvas. I trust he'll add some defining shapes next time, unless he's planning to paint a spectral swamp.
"Don't forget, Headmaster Hand has summoned you," Shulk says as he waves us out.
I'd forgotten. I realise with a prickle that I'm not looking forward to this, especially after the telling-off I received last time we met. But when we knock on the ostentatious door to his office and it swings open, we're left with no choice but to step inside.
"Ah, Ness, Lucas, greetings," says Headmaster Hand, and we tip our caps with respect. "Do be seated."
We obey in silence, sitting beside Villager and Red. Headmaster Hand wastes no time in looming over us. "So, boys. Professor Shulk informs me your bedrooms were... disturbed."
"That's right," I say. "And we think it was Meta Knight and Olimar, sir, and—"
"I see." Headmaster Hand interrupts me with a small shift of his gaze, and I'm not surprised when he asks, "Do you have any evidence of this?"
"Nothing concrete, but—"
"Then, is it not unwise to accuse?"
"Well, yes, sir, but—"
"That is the end of the discussion," Headmaster Hand says, with such an air of finality that I turn away in shame.
Villager shifts in his seat. "How are you gonna find who did it, sir?"
"Villager," Headmaster Hand sighs. "Each year, every term, such things as these happen. I tell you all the same thing, we have no way of knowing who did it, we only have ways of ensuring it doesn't happen again."
"And what ways are those?"
"Well, Professor Shulk, being your hall monitor, has volunteered to keep an extra eye out on your dorms."
"All right," I say. It sounds like a rather flimsy plan, but it's unimportant. "There's something else," I say, when Headmaster Hand begins to stand.
"Oh?"
"I was in a cupboard, sir. I was, uh, getting some broomsticks for the caretaker." I make up a lie. "In it, there was a secret passageway. It led into the forest. I thought you should know."
"Into the forest?" Headmaster Hand looks alarmed, all of a sudden. "Which cupboard was it?"
"The one on the right, in the main corridor. There were several other routes," I add quickly. "I don't know where they went."
"Thank you for telling me about that," Headmaster Hand says, evidently trying to sound calm. He stands back up again, walking briskly to the door. "I won't keep you any longer, then. You should all take yourselves to class… and I'll need to look into that passageway." His gaze lingers momentarily on Lucas.
"Thank you, Headmaster."
We leave. Headmaster Hand's an unusual man, I reflect, but at least he's got his priorities in the right place. At least he's willing to investigate.
"What classes d'you have?" Villager asks us.
"Business," Lucas groans, heavy with the realisation. "I'll be scolded for being late."
"Me too," Red says.
Villager checks his timetable. "Arithmetic for me."
"Likewise," I say. "But good luck, Red and Lucas..." I give Lucas what I hope is a reassuring look, and he scurries away in Wario's direction.
"Thanks," Red says dryly, following suit, leaving me and Villager alone.
"Arithmetic is dull," Villager says as we walk. "Marth is a boring teacher."
"I wish we could abstain..."
"Marth would report us missing. We cannot."
"I suppose you are right..."
There's a slightly uncomfortable silence as we enter the classroom. After the sincerity of last night, we're not sure how to regard one another.
"Boys!" Professor Marth says brightly. "Why are we late, hm?"
"We had to visit the headmaster."
"Ah yes, of course." He nods as we sit. "I heard about the incident last night." His eyes rake the scar on my cheek, and I have the disconcerting feeling that he suspects more than we let on. But he quickly returns to his chipper self, brandishing his chalk. "All right, everyone. We're doing Differential Calculus today..."
I have no idea what that is, but it sounds horrible. I wish Arithmetic wasn't a mandatory subject. I could see myself taking almost anything else; Trades would be exciting. Theatre would be enjoyable. Music would be even better, possibly the ideal subject. I was forced to learn the harp as a boy, the one good thing Father did for me, even if the harp is my polar opposite. The harp is gentle, and I often cause trouble.
"...and that's how you do it!" Marth finishes brightly. "Now, complete this question on the blackboard…"
Villager turns to me. "D'you know how to do this?"
"Of course," I say. "You take the number, the graph, the curve, and the gradient—"
"That's just terminology."
"All right." I hold up my hands. "I don't know."
"Well, if we won't complete these questions..." Villager looks around, shifting in his place. "Should we just play cards?"
"Sounds good," I say, closing my Arithmetic book. For some reason, I'd been expecting him to say something more serious.
A few games manage to kill five minutes or so, but I'm starting to get hungry again, so it's hard to focus on much other than what is for lunch? It's usually bread and soup, which is fine, but sometimes there are glorious days, where there is meat, chicken, steak. I hope today is one of those days.
"Okay, here's an idea." Villager brandishes a grid. "Chess?"
"Sure." After about thirty moves, he wins.
"All right, boys." Professor Marth comes over. "I'd like to see your progress."
Villager and I exchange a hasty glance, and I flash some sums from the last lesson in Marth's direction.
"I didn't quite understand," I explain.
"Then why did you not call me over?"
"Well, I—"
"I don't want to hear excuses. Now, in calculus, the differential represents the principal part of the change in a function y = f(x) with respect to changes in the independent variable. The differential dy is defined by dy=f'(x)dx where f'(x) is the derivative of f with respect to x, and dx is an additional real variable, so that dy is a function of x and dx."
"Oh, that makes sense," Villager lies, so convincingly that even I'm fooled for a second.
"Great." Marth gives a rare smile. "Now, I'll want to see your progress by the end of the lesson, all right?"
"All right," I reply.
Marth walks away.
"Damn." Villager puts a hand to his head. "Was that explanation in English?"
"No, it was in maths," I say. "Bowser isn't teaching us."
"Christ." Villager swats me with his book. "Please, do not do comedy for the play."
I frown. "The play?"
"D'you not know? Headmaster Hand is opening auditions for a play, something to do with 'honouring creativity.' Toon Link is gonna be involved."
"When is it?"
"Professor Steve said Friday next week."
I think. A play… what would I do? I'm not great at acting. But I'm confused, it's rather unusual for Headmaster Hand to call an event like this. I wonder if there's an ulterior motive?
"That reminds me." Villager lowers his voice. "Something happened while you were asleep in the forest..."
I listen closely to his story about seeing Headmaster Hand. It concerns me to hear how ragged and worn down he looked.
"And he did not say why?"
"Not a word."
There's a small quiet.
"We should get to work, or we'll get sent to the headmaster," Villager says, opening his Arithmetic book again. "C'mon."
"Right," I agree, clumsily following suit. "Let's go."
I copy the question from the blackboard:
Determine where, if anywhere, the function f(x)=x^3+9x^248x+2is not changing.
I feel frustration turning in my gut just looking at it. I don't understand Arithmetic. Letters and numbers swim wildly through my mind, twisting through my thoughts. I feel so stupid when I stare at it all, trying to find meaning in what is in front of me. Can I simplify this? No. Can I factorise it? I don't know how.
Villager isn't having much better luck. What had Marth said differential functions were? Hell if I remember. This is the sort of thing Lucas would be good at... I wish he were still in my Arithmetic classes. I'd be able to copy his answers.
Villager seems to have scrawled something down, 3x^2+18x−48,but his handwriting is so bad that I cannot read any more. He doesn't seem to have the answer, anyway, because he's fidgeting around, and his eyebrows are furrowed like a pair of tiny caterpillars. And suddenly, the clocktower rings, and it's time up, and I have nothing to show. It's the tale of my life. I look down at my empty page, thoroughly disheartened.
Marth comes over.
"Well, how did you do?"
I decide to take a gamble.
"The function doesn't change at -8, and at 2."
"Oh, well done, Ness!" Marth says with surprise. "You are the only person in the room to get it right."
I stare, bewildered. "I am?"
"Yes," Marth says. "In fact, I think you'd be perfect to represent the class at the Inter-School Arithmetic competition."
"Uh, the what?"
"I'll sign you up! Brilliant!"
"No, Professor, you really don't have to—"
"I insist!" Marth beams. "Don't doubt yourself, Ness, you are evidently a fine mathematician."
"But—"
"That's sorted, then. I'll put you down. Have a fine day, boys!"
Marth rushes off, and I'm left staring agape at Villager, who's fighting back the urge to laugh.
"How on earth did you get that right?"
I hang my head. "It was a guess."
Villager laughs even harder. "You're finished!"
"I just got one question right! That was the biggest overreaction I've ever seen."
"Wait 'til I tell the others…"
I sulk. "Well, I hope they'll be good friends, and they'll be sympathetic."
We hurry to lunch, but our classroom is so far from the dining hall that only a few portions of fish and potatoes remain when we arrive. I grab my plate, full of grey, miserable spuds from the bottom of the pile. A bland-looking slab of pollock sits next to them. Rock-solid peas.
I sigh, sitting beside Lucas, stuffing the fish into my face.
"Hungry, then?" He laughs as food goes everywhere.
"Mhm," I say thickly. "How's y' morning?"
"Awful," Lucas admits. "Wario did not believe I was seeing Headmaster Hand, so he made me stand in the corner. And we need to have four pages of our business plan done by next lesson."
"We'll get started tonight," I assure him.
"Are you working together?" Red asks, scandalised.
"A partnership is a type of business, isn't it?"
Red opens and closes his mouth, but no sound comes out.
"Oi! Stop talking about partnerships," Toon Link says suddenly. "I was just saying, Professor Sebastian Tute asked why we weren't at orchestra last night."
Oh, fantastic. Professor Sebastian Tute is our very tiny conductor, and he's the most finickity man in the entire world.
"What did you tell him?" I ask.
"I told him we were composing a symphony. Unfortunately, he now wants to hear it."
"You did?" Lucas spits out his peas. They roll onto the floor. "Do you know how long a symphony is? And hard to compose?"
"Quite long?" Toon Link guesses. "And quite hard?"
"They can last for hours!"
"Oh. How calamitous…" Toon Link hastily changes the subject. "By the way, did you get back all right last night? I kept Bowser busy, I hope it was enough."
"Oh, we didn't say," Villager says. "We went back into that cupboard, there was this passageway. It led, well, there were loads of branches to it."
"Excellent!" Toon Link cheers. "You'll have to show me."
But I shiver, thinking back to the cold and the dark. That feeling when Lucas and I separated...
"Wait," Lucas says. "If you were keeping Bowser busy, then what was chasing the rest of us?"
There's a beat of silence, and Villager whistles.
"It couldn't have been anything except a person," Red reasons. "Or it wouldn't have made such a racket."
"Wait, hold on." Toon Link holds up a hand. "You were chased?"
"Yes," Villager says. "We split up."
"Split up? Isn't that what you are not supposed to do?"
"I was too slow," I admit. "I ended up by the dorm stairs..."
"I ended up by the pool," Lucas says.
"Well," Red sighs, spearing a potato with venom. "There was a giant ladder at the end of my passage, hidden behind a painting. I ended up on the top floor."
"What is even on the top floor?" I ask. I've never needed to go up there.
"Not much," Villager says. "There's that big circular room with glass everywhere, and the domed roof — you know how you can see the dome from outside? I think it's professors' bedrooms, mostly."
"Circular room?" I'm bewildered. "Are you sure we go to the same school?"
Villager laughs. "We'll explore after our last lesson, okay?"
"Okay," I say. I suppose I never bothered to explore the school before; I only really go upstairs to go to my dorm, since all my lessons are downstairs. I know there's a common room somewhere on the first floor (well, two, separated by gender) but the younger children often use those.
"Did much else happen?" Toon Link asks. "Other than your rooms getting messed up?"
"Not really."
"Good, good. Well, after Bowser had given me eighty hits with the cane, I got back all right."
"Eighty hits?" Red balks.
"Yes, he adds one on each time he catches me out of bed—"
"He's caught you out of bed eighty times?" Red folds his arms.
"It's insomnia." Toon Link suddenly appears pained as he grabs his fork, not meeting anyone's eyes. "I cannot do anything about it. Walking around helps."
There's a small quiet, and I take the opportunity to continue savaging my fish. Despite its ragged appearance, it's quite good. Not nearly as good as steak, but good nonetheless.
"How was Arithmetic?" Lucas asks me quietly.
"Terrible," I groan, remembering the claustrophobic feeling of looking at those sums. "It was so hard, discontinuous calculators or - or something, I did not understand a word of it."
"And also," Villager says, grinning. "He guessed an answer right, so Marth signed him up for the inter-school Arithmetic competition."
"Ness? A mathematician?" Toon Link laughs out loud. "I don't see it."
"You don't say!" I look around worriedly. "This is a disaster."
"You'll be okay," Lucas says.
I finish my fish just as the clocktower chimes for the next lesson.
"Good luck in Double Arithmetic," I say, patting Lucas on the shoulder.
"Good luck in Double Business."
I end up being late once again, because I detour to leave the figurine of Lucas in our dorm, realising it's a bit queer to still be carrying it around. But fortunately, when I arrive, there's no sign of Wario.
Wario. In the forest. With Bayonetta.
...I suddenly feel ill.
"Hey, Ness." Bayonetta beams as I sit down. "Good to see you."
"Hello," I say, trying to block out the memories. "How are you?"
"Dear me, you sound sick!" She frowns. "I hope you haven't got the virus."
"The virus?" My mind swims. "Oh, yes, that, no, I don't think so—"
"Excellent! I won't get it either, then. Seen Wario today?"
"No."
"Shame... Hey, I know we only met a few days ago, but for my birthday, I'm having a dorm party. I'm inviting as many nice people as possible, so please do come along. Bring as many others as you like!"
"Oh, thank you! Uh, when is it?" I ask, hoping I don't sound too hapless. I'm rarely invited to parties.
"Wednesday, next week. And my dorm's on the left of yours — no, the right — no, it is a left — it's the first dorm on the right!"
"I'm sure I'll find it." I manage to get a word in over all the lefts and rights already leaking from my mind.
"Fabulous," she says, smiling.
I force a smile in return. I don't know how Bayonetta's party is likely to be, but it worries me. Judging by her eccentricity, it'll probably be more chaotic than any I've been to before. Though, Toon Link has hosted some quite raucous events in the past. I remember before Christmas, a surprising amount of people had crammed into Toon Link's dorm, and it had been a liberating night, to say the least. Lucas and I had ended up ditching before it reached its peak; Lucas had gotten claustrophobic, and there had been far too many kisses and tongues for my liking. Not that anyone in our group has ever kissed anyone, we've all placed bets as to who will be first. Currently, my bet is on Villager.
Wario finally comes in, grumbling under his breath.
"Well!" Popo calls. "A pound for every minute, Professor!"
There's a surprised silence. Wario has a policy that for every minute you are late to his lesson, he'll charge you a pound. Wario marches right up to Popo's desk, slamming his meaty hands down with considerable force.
"Would you like to repeat yourself? I do have an expansive cane collection, you know."
"Not really, Professor," Popo says, maintaining a brave countenance.
"That's what I thought. See me after class."
Wario stalks back to the front of the class like a cat hunting his prey. Nana turns around and tells Popo off ("You are so irresponsible! What will our parents think!") and Wario glares at us all.
"Money, money, money, money, money, money, money, money, money," he informs us.
There's a resounding silence.
"Money lives longer than you'll ever live!" He gesticulates at the wall. "Money is more important than you will ever be! Your legacy is based on how much money you make. So, get writing your business plans! What the hell are you waiting for? Miserable lot!"
Wario storms into his chair, throwing open a box of papers. I'm not sure what is up with him today. Perhaps he was assessed for street repairs.
"It's so lovely that paper and copper are worth more than us," Bayonetta says, opening her booklet. "Anyway! Time to begin."
"What is your idea?" I ask.
"Well." Bayonetta beams. "I already sell my body for plenty of money so I can get my heroin fix, and so I can pay the school fee, so I figured, why not use that as my business plan? Wario really liked the idea."
"Did he now?" I feel sick again.
"Oh, yes." She nods, and I squirm in my seat. "What is your idea, Ness?"
"Oh, Lucas and I plan to work together."
"Is that allowed?" she asks.
"It should be. Partnerships are a type of business." I'm getting less certain the more people question it.
"I'm impressed," Bayonetta says. "I'd do the same if Samus took this subject. Lucas is your friend, right?"
"Uh, yes." I find myself reddening for some reason. "Why?"
"Well, I was in the forest last night, and I saw him."
"You did?"
"Yes," she says. "He wasn't with you, though. It looked like there was some sort of Thing creeping up on him. I went to get a professor, and I'm not sure what happened after that."
"Some sort of Thing?" I say worriedly. This is all news to me. "What did it look like?"
"Well, it was big, quite shadowy…"
Images of the Face flash through my mind.
"He seemed all right at lunch," Bayonetta continues. "I heard you talking about something - something very long and hard?"
"We were talking about symphonies," I say, definitely reddening now.
"Oh, how quaint! And did I hear you say—"
"We should probably start on the business plan," I say, trying to save myself from further embarrassment. "Or Wario might cane us, too."
"Oh, yes. Course! Silly me," she says.
Ignoring Bayonetta's sudden frantic scribbling, I stare down at the blank page in front of me. Something with Lucas in the forest? I banish the worst thoughts from my mind, resolving to ask him later. For now, a business idea. What is something both Lucas and I like? I suppose we both like art, so we could sell paintings, perhaps?
A logo. I try drawing me and Lucas, but it looks like a pair of monsters. I instead opt for a sort of colourful spiral, and it does the trick…
Soon enough, the double lesson disappears in a haze of vague ideas, including me drawing out a floorplan for some reason. I resolve to talk with Lucas about it later, since he's been set it for homework. Wario is so unfair, putting that amount of work on him. Has he no kindness? No feelings of good grace?
These mutinous thoughts carry me out of Business and into the corridor, where Lucas waits.
I smile, pleased to see him again. "How was Arithmetic?"
"Dull," he says. He doesn't smile back. "I did not get selected for any competitions."
"Damn it! I was hoping I wouldn't be alone."
"I did not understand the sums," he says.
"I did not understand them either!"
"No, but you've got good luck, you know?"
I'm puzzled. "I do?"
"Yes, you always get out of difficult situations."
"Really?"
"Of course you do. C'mon, Ness, you got lucky when you were born."
I'm bewildered by his sudden praise. "But you are the one who's good at everything."
"I'm not good at everything."
I count on my fingers. "You are better than me at art—"
"We have a different style—"
"Better than me at sport—"
"Okay, that's true—"
"Better than me at writing—"
"Not true, I've never written—"
"Better than me at music—"
Lucas sighs. "We both play different instruments, you cannot even quantitatively measure that—"
"And I don't even know what quantitatively means!"
"Well, come on, Ness." Lucas pats me on the back. "At least you have money. You're upper class. That's like a handicap, right?"
I grimace. Lucas's has often prodded me about my family's wealth, and sometimes, it gets to me. I know he wouldn't really be bitter, but I often wonder if he genuinely believes it makes me superior in some way. It makes me feel guilty.
But before I can muster a clever reply, Rosalina swoops out of her office. "Hello, Ness, do you have time to take this letter?"
"Well, we should be going to History—"
"No matter. It's from your sister — you can open it at your leisure."
Gladly, I take it, and we keep walking towards our class.
"I wish I got letters from home," Lucas says, and I instantly feel guilty again.
"I'm sorry."
"Ah — don't apologise. I did not mean to sound jealous."
"It's all right." I touch his shoulder, wondering why he's suddenly so negative. "I've still got all the letters you sent me, you know."
"I keep yours at home." He smiles. "You rambled a lot. It was sweet."
I redden as we enter the History room, and not because of the class staring at the scar on my cheek. "Sorry we're late, Professor, we had to see Professor Rosalina..."
"I see," Ryu says briskly. "Starting a streak of lateness, I observe. Please try to avoid this in future."
"We will," Lucas and I say in unison.
Unfortunately, for our lateness, we're tasked with handing out the textbooks. Villager whispers "get me out of here!" as I give him his, and I grin, seeing he's still next to Zelda. Toon Link happily takes his, starting to draw a strange picture of Ryu on it. Finally, I sit down next to Lucas, but I notice he's looking unhappy once again.
"Did something happen?" I whisper as Ryu begins to talk. "Is it the letters?"
"The letters are fine," Lucas says. "And so am I."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
I narrow my eyes. Very rarely, I can tell when he's lying. This is one of those times. "Tell me what is the matter."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because it's not proper."
I scowl. "Since when did you care about that?"
"Since it became important." He casts a furtive glance at Meta Knight and Olimar. "It was just some things people were saying, all right? About my father. It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me," I say.
"But that doesn't change — things. They'll pick on me whatever. People like them always will, because I'm poor. I've just got to live with that."
"You shouldn't have to," I say. "It's not fair."
But he gives me a sad smile. "You are so naïve, Ness. They're a higher class. They're not supposed to be nice to me. People like them – like you – aren't even supposed to be my friend."
I'm stricken. "But I want to be your friend. Your closest friend."
"I know, and that's why you are better than them." He touches my hand. "Come on. Let's get on with the lesson."
"But—"
"Ryu will scold us. Let's listen."
I know there's more to his trouble, but he's right. It wouldn't do to have yet another letter sent home to my father. Even if being poor is terrible, so is being rich, I think bleakly to myself. All these expectations, rites of passage, all the facades… it fills me with distaste, most of the time. I don't want to pretend, like my father, boastful with money and cruel with his words. I don't want to be like my mother, keeping up appearances and wearing her best pearls at dinner parties.
Shaking my head, I try to listen to Professor Ryu.
"—and onto our sources," he's saying. "Today, we have an eyewitness account, a sketch, and The Great Jurassic Encyclopaedia, which you have in front of you. But also… we have the bone of a Tyrannosaurus Rex!"
Dramatically, he withdraws a long, yellowed bone from his coat. The class looks impressed.
"Now, be careful with this," Ryu says, handing the bone to Toon Link, whom I cannot help but feel is the least likely person to be careful with anything. "The deposit for me to borrow this was very high, and as I'd quite like not to have to sell my house… I'm hoping to return it intact. Your task is to analyse all this evidence, evaluate which pieces of evidence are valid, and then use it all to form a theory on how the dinosaurs went extinct."
It seems simple enough, enough to distract me from Lucas's still bleak visage, at least. So, I look down at the textbook.
A massive gravestone is on the front.
All the air rushes from my lungs. I gasp for breath, trying to take it in. But there it is, looming over me, an omen of my sure demise, warning me of the terror, the inevitable end—
"Ness!" Lucas quickly grabs my hand. "Calm down! It's different — look, it says The Dinosaurs on it."
I try to control my breathing. That damned grave is starting to haunt my every step — Lucas touches my back as I ground myself. I'm not going to die. I'm quick to open the book, to avoid looking at that horror any longer. But before I can read the introduction, Lucas has his hand in the air.
Ryu comes over.
"I think I know which sources aren't valid," Lucas says.
"Already? Which?"
"The eyewitness account and the sketch. How could anyone have been there to give an eyewitness account of the dinosaurs, or to draw a sketch, millions of years ago? They must be invalid."
"You are a natural, Lucas," Ryu chuckles. "That took, what, a minute? Good work. You've excelled recently."
Lucas smiles, but I glower at Ryu inconspicuously. I don't trust the way he talks to Lucas, what with that figurine.
"By the way," Ryu drops his voice suddenly, "I should update you both on the disappearances after the lesson, so if you so happen to take longer to pack up than everyone else…" He gives a subtle wink. But suddenly, he turns, and it fast becomes apparent what is caught his attention.
The clocktower begins to chime. I gulp, and the class gasps.
Smoke is pouring in through the open door.