Chapter Ten
Imperial Military Academy, Caerleon, Holy Empire of Britannia, April 2007 ATB
"Come on Graham...no pressure...you can do this."
Graham Aker gulped, and took a deep breath, trying to slow his fluttering heart.
There she was, a few steps away, talking with a couple of other cadets just outside the lecture hall. She was a first year cadet now, with the insignia at her collar to prove it. But otherwise she was just as he had first seen her.
Viletta Nu. The girl he had tried to ask out so many times, and one way or another had always failed. But now she was a cadet, and in the Western Division to boot! It had to be fate! It had to be destiny!
He vaguely recognized the two cadets talking with her. He had seen them hanging around Jeremiah Gottwald, from the Eastern Division. They were almost certainly Purists; one of the army's largest and most influential cliques. He had seen Viletta Nu hanging around them a year ago, but then she had been a servant, so he hadn't thought much of it. Was she serious about joining?
He wouldn't have been all that surprised if she was a noble. The Purists believed in maintaining Britannia's traditional social order, so obviously they were favoured by nobles. But from what he had been able to find out, Viletta was from a middle-class family in Charlotte.
Whereas he was a gutter rat from the old Richmond ghetto.
She was leaving. Her two companions were leaving, and she was about to head off by herself. It was now or never.
He glanced at the nearby trophy cabinet, where Howard and Daryl were hiding. Both gave a thumbs up.
"Hey! Cadet Nu!"
Viletta paused, and half-turned to regard him with one golden eye as he strode up to her. Her face was neutral; a good sign.
"Good afternoon, Senior Cadet," she greeted him, though without much enthusiasm.
"Heh, yeah. Good afternoon, outside of the humidity but hey, what can you do."
He smiled. She didn't. His heart was pounding like a pogo stick.
"Indeed. Do you have any business with me? Or are you trying to woo me again?"
"Uh...well, I..."
"Senior Cadet, with all due respect, I must be frank."
Graham perked up.
"Your first impression was sorely lacking," Viletta said, rather sharply. "You came across as a maverick flyboy overcompensating for his background. It was enough to make me wonder if you had come to the wrong academy. Perhaps Colorado would be more to your liking?"
Her gaze was like forge fire, her every word as hard as a hammer blow upon his ego.
"On the other hand, you do show some ability as a soldier, and you display a natural charisma that could come in useful as a leader. But there are certain qualities you appear to lack."
"And...uh...what would those be, Cadet Nu?" Time for the dagger to plunge in. Graham braced himself, hoping it wasn't too obvious.
"I intend to graduate from this academy as an officer in good standing," she said. "I intend to be knighted, and then to rise to the nobility. I can only allow your name to become associated with mine if you adhere to the same high ideals by which I have chosen to live."
"High ideals, Cadet?"
"Had you a foot in paradise, would you withdraw it in order to go and fight?" she asked, fixing him with a penetrating stare. "Can you put aside your own desires, your own interests, for something higher and greater than yourself? Are you willing to lay down your rank, your honour, your very life, for the sake of right?"
Graham stared back, momentarily struck dumb. Where did she get all of this? It sounded like something out of those corny old knight-and-damsel dramas.
But something about the way she said it...
"If I may protect those who are weak and powerless," he replied gravely. "Then yes, I would."
For a moment, just a moment, he could have sworn that her gaze softened just a little.
"Then you may prove it," she said. "Prove that you are capable of putting aside your own desires. Acquire two weeks of furlough, and I will permit you to date me. If that will be all, Senior Cadet."
She turned on her heel and strode away. Graham slumped against the wall, his mind awhirl. He had never felt like this, not at Saint Michael's, and never before.
But two whole weeks of furlough?
His mind raced. If he didn't go out on Saturday, or ever, it would take him fourteen weeks to assemble that much furlough. Fourteen weeks! The academy didn't give out extra furlough lightly, and it could deduct furlough for any number of reasons; usually for disciplinary infractions or remedial training.
Fourteen weeks. Fourteen weeks of never leaving the campus. Fourteen weeks of giving it his all - no, more than his all - in training and class. Fourteen weeks of never, ever, ever screwing up, or pissing off the instructors, or breaking any rules.
Graham took a deep breath and looked back at Viletta, just as disappeared out of sight. He closed his eyes, and could hear his two friends emerging from their hiding place.
"You want two weeks?" he muttered, and then smirked. "I'll give you three."
"Dude, what did she say?" Howard asked, giddy to learn what happened.
"What did you say?" Daryl asked with crossed arms. Graham looked back at his friends and smiled.
"She offered a challenge. I accepted it." His smile became a smirk. "Operation Faint-Heart-Never-Won-Fair-Lady, go go go!"
It was 18:20 hours, and all was well.
Alexander put down his polishing rag and examined the boot. It gleamed like a polished mirror in the sunlight, fit for the Imperial Guard parade.
He allowed himself a surge of satisfaction. Technically it was a menial task to polish boots, but they were Princess Cornelia's boots, which made it an honour; at least to him. That he could polish them up so well, well enough that even Master Sergeant Young could not find fault with them, gave him no end of pride.
His phone beeped. Putting the boot down, he pulled out his phone and looked at it. His princess was paging him.
He slid the phone back into his pocket, and set the boot with its twin beside Cornelia's bed. Her dress uniform hung on the wardrobe door next to them; brushed, pressed, and ready for the evening meal. He then spent a few moments washing the boot polish off his hands. This done, he arranged his uniform and headed for the meeting room.
The meeting room was at the very end of the main corridor. The door was shut, but he could hear a furious argument taking place inside. Bracing himself, he knocked on the door, then as a voice bade him enter, opened it.
The room was dominated by a round meeting table. Princess Cornelia sat in the presiding chair, while eight other cadets sat around the table. He recognized second years Amara Sandoval, Marcia Seward, and Rachel Carfax, but there were some First Years too. There was Stephanie Franklin, a good-natured young woman who reminded him of Monica Krushevsky.
"What's he doing here?" demanded Amara Sandoval as she saw him. A stern, rather hard-nosed Second Year, she had never treated him badly, but nor had she been particularly friendly either.
"Princess?" Stephanie Franklin rounded on Cornelia.
"Why did you bring him here, Senior Cadet?" Now it was Rachel Carfax's turn to round on Cornelia. "It's none of his business!"
"I summoned him because I believe he will be useful," replied Cornelia firmly. "He's more capable than you give him credit for, and he is also completely trustworthy."
She gestured for him to come closer. Alexander strode around the table to stand beside her chair. The incipient mutiny seemed to have died down.
"Cadets, are we certain that they are in the Eastern Division barracks?" Cornelia asked, in that same commanding tone.
"I saw them myself," insisted Carfax. "I…borrowed a camera drone from the engineering lab. They like to keep testing them, so they didn't object too much. They were in the upstairs common room. There wer"
Cornelia closed her eyes.
"Well then," Cornelia said, her former hauteur returning. "It's clear what we have to do. We have to get in there and get them back."
"If we're caught breaking in there, that's serious demerits," replied Sandoval, her tone hard. "I'm thinking it's a trap."
"Sneaking in won't be easy either," added Viletta. "There's three downstairs doors and two fire escapes, all covered by cameras."
"Are there any other ways in?" asked Cornelia, failing to keep a hint of desperate hope from her tone.
"It would have to be the trash chute on the south side. It opens on all floors, and it's not covered by cameras to the same level. But it's too small for any of us to fit inside it."
There was a sour, sad pause.
"Well that's it then," Sandoval threw up her hands. "Anyone got any better ideas?"
"Why can't we just complain to the commandant?" pleaded Franklin.
"Oh, you wanna so that?" demanded Sandoval, rounding her. "You wanna stand before old man Bruckner and whine about it?
Franklin whimpered, and the table descended into a very angry argument. Alexander was mystified.
"Begging your pardon, your highness..." Alexander asked, lowering his voice so that only she could hear him. "What are they talking about?"
Cornelia sighed.
Someone snuck in here and made off with several of our trophies, Alexander. That includes the contest ribbons from last
Alexander was stunned. The ribbons they had won in the summer contests? He remembered that day, and how proud he had been to see Cornelia, only a first year plebe, win so many ribbons; for marksmanship, horseback riding, and even fencing. It had felt so good to see her do so well, and to see her standing rise so quickly.
Anger bubbled inside him, at the thought of some interloper breaking in, and stealing what the division had rightfully won. What else might have been taken? Had they gone into the private rooms too? Had some troublemaker been pawing through his Princess' personal effects?
He was angry. He felt it churning in his heart, a sense of violation, of having been slighted. He wanted to do something.
"Please let me try, your highness."
Cornelia looked at him in surprise.
"Alexander..."
"Please let me go, your highness!"
His desperate, heartfelt plea brought the room to silence. Alexander faltered, as he realised that all eyes were on him.
"Seriously?" Sandoval was incredulous. "The kid?"
"Princess, no!" wailed Franklin, close to panic. "He's only a child!"
"All of you calm down!" commanded Cornelia. She turned to Alexander and gripped his shoulder. "Alexander, we're all very grateful. But this is too dangerous."
"Please, your highness!" pleaded Alexander. "Please let me do this! I can't let them steal your things and get away with it! Please let me help!"
"Could he fit up the chute?" asked Sandoval, looking sidelong at Viletta.
"I think so," she replied, looking Alexander up and down. "He's our best chance."
"No!" wailed Franklin. "They'll hurt him!"
There was another pause.
"Cadet Franklin is right," added Sandoval. "You're brave, young lord. But this is our fight."
"Cadet, with respect, it isn't a fair fight!" pleaded Alexander. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to master himself, remembering the weak, frightened boy he had been a year ago.
"Cadets, your highness, I know I am only a servant," he went on, forcing out the words. "But this isn't fair on any of you. Cadet Sandoval is right, this is a trap. If you go in there, you'll be found out, and the demerits will ruin you for the year. But I can get in and out without being seen; I'm the only one here who can. So please, let me do this. Let me be of use to you all."
He fell silent. The cadets looked at one-another, none of them able to speak.
"Alexander." Cornelia squeezed his shoulders. "You don't have to prove yourself to me, or anyone here. You don't have to do this."
"But I do, your highness." Tears pricked at his eyes. "Her Majesty trusted me when she sent me to you. I've been so weak, and depended on your kindness. Please, let me repay you this once."
Cornelia stared at him with sad, weary eyes. Then sighed.
"If this is your ardent wish, Alexander, then I cannot refuse." She straightened up. "I vote that we send Alexander to steal back the trophies. All in favour, raise your hands."
Cornelia was the first, followed closely by Carfax and Seward, then Sandoval. Then came the others, and Franklin last of all.
"The vote is unanimous," declared Cornelia. "Now, we must make our plans.
The night was cool, but not unpleasantly so.
Despite being engaged in what was technically chore, Graham was far from unhappy. The jeep was easy to drive, and the night air was a cool breeze on his face. An evening spent running errands instead of relaxing in the cadets lounge was a pain, but the work was all but done, and Master-Sergeant Antrim over in the motor pool had promised him ten credits for it.
Ten credits for a half-hour's work. Ten credits added to his personal total, and that of the Western Division. The more credits he brought in for the division, the greater his standing. And the greater his standing, the more likely he was to be allowed the kind of extra training and tasks that could earn him extra furlough.
Bringing him ever closer to his heart's desire.
He was just rounding a corner onto one of the main roads, when he saw another jeep up ahead. It had pulled over by the roadside, and two figures were mooching around while another was bent under the hood.
Graham sighed. Another delay to keep him from the lounge. He thought about driving on by, but he supposed he should at least check who it was.
He slowed down as he approached, and recognized the pair hanging around. First year cadets Alto Basilone and Miles Blaine, of his own division.
"Having some mechanical trouble?" he called out, as he halted his jeep directly in front of theirs.
"Looks that way, Senior Cadet," replied Basilone sourly. "Can't you fix that thing, Lewis?"
"I'm going as fast as I can!" snapped Lewis Conagher, another first year. "Something's wrong with the battery!"
"Let me take a look." Graham stepped down and strolled over.
"Pee-ew!" he flinched, as the smell hit him. "Where the heck have you been driving this thing?"
Basilone and Blaine looked at one another, and sniggered.
"Just a little, uh, errand for the seniors, Senior Cadet."
"Errand?" Graham strode around the jeep to look in the back. Whatever they had been carrying, it had relieved itself all over the floor. If the smell and consistency were any indication, it had not been in the best of health.
There were feathers too. Black feathers.
"Okay plebes." Graham turned to face the duo, who were still sniggering. "What exactly did this errand involve?" He put on one of his patented smiles. "Come on, tell uncle Graham."
"Don't tell him!" ordered Conager from under the hood.
"Ah what's the harm?" retorted Blaine. "It's not like we had a choice!"
Graham sighed inwardly. It was the first week of the new semester, otherwise known as Prank Week. It was the privilege of the fourth year cadets to order first year cadets to carry out pranks on their behalf. It was a genteel form of hazing, and tolerated by the academy because it was traditional; and because trying to suppress it was too much trouble.
Graham had drawn a prank in the second semester of his first year. He had been required and commanded to go clambering through the plumbing under the Southern Division's barracks, and introduce a whole tub of ink powder into the bathwater pipes. His orders had not informed him as to the reason why, but he suspected it was in retaliation for the Southern division's attempted kidnapping of Princess Cornelia's page.
He had also had more than a sneaking suspicion as to just what those three had been transporting in their jeep, not to mention its intended destination. He knew only one resident of the academy with feathers like those.
"Gentlemen," he said, his tone suitably casual. "This wouldn't happen to involve Ermintrude, would it?"
Basilone and Blaine collapsed into fits of hysterical laughter. It was all the answer he needed.
"Just taking her out for a ride, were you?" he asked, smirking. "Round by…the east barracks?"
"Just shut up! Don't tell him anything!" Conagher straightened up from the hood. He looked very angry. "We're in enough trouble as it is!"
"Cool it, Conagher," replied Graham. "I won't tell, pinky promise."
And he wouldn't. Even if he could bring himself to rat them out, he wouldn't get any extra furlough. What he would get was the undying contempt of every other cadet in the academy.
"Anyway." He looked down under the hood, examining Conagher's handiwork. "You're right, the battery's busted. Stay there, I'll tell the motorpool guys when I get there."
"What about the stink?" demanded Basilone, as Graham swung himself into the driver's seat.
"What were you planning on doing?" he retorted, then drove off without another word. He felt a little bad for leaving them in the lurch, but there wasn't much he could do.
His last stop was the knightmare hangar. As he pulled up and stepped down from the jeep, taking a package from the passenger seat, he saw Cornelia emerge from the office door, a small box in her hands.
"Good evening, Cadet Aker," the Princess greeted him.
"Good evening to you, Cadet li Britannia." Graham resisted the urge to call her Princess. Having to live with a member of the Imperial family was awkward enough without getting on her bad side. "Strange seeing you out so late."
"I had a small matter to take care of," she said, just a little awkwardly.
"And your servant couldn't handle it?"
"I left Alexander indoors. It's not safe for him to be out after dark."
"Yeah well, it is prank week." Graham paused, feeling awkward himself. "Can I offer you a ride back, Cadet?"
"That would be most kind, Cadet."
Graham dropped off the parcel in the office, then headed back out to where Cornelia was waiting for him. He prayed that Viletta did not see him with her. She would probably add another week to his ordeal just to spite him.
"Funny you should mention prank week," he said, as they climbed into the jeep. "I ran into a three wiseguys on the way here. From what I could make out through the guffawing, they let loose Ermintrude in the east barracks. Boy, I wouldn't want to…"
"What!?"
The Princess' barked command hit Graham like a speeding train. It was all he could do not to fall out of the driver's seat.
"Uh, cadet?"
"The east barracks!?" demanded Cornelia, eyes bulging. "Those idiots!"
"Look, what's wrong?" Graham asked, concerned. He had never seen her like this, not even when Alexander got kidnapped. She was always so composed, so confident.
"Alexander!" Cornelia's voice was hoarse. "Alexander's in there!"
"What!?" Graham was incredulous. What the hell for!?"
Graham shivered. He could not get involved in something like this. This wasn't just some regular prank week stunt. This wasn't something the Eastern Division could clean up quietly, without drawing unwanted attention. There would be instructors and IMPs stomping around the east barracks. There would be trouble, if only to keep the Eastern Division from doing something even worse in retaliation.
And if he got involved, he would be stepping right into the path of that trouble. It wasn't exactly crash-and-burn, but it would mean serious demerits and punishment duty. What was more, he could kiss goodbye any hope of earning extra furlough…and his date with Viletta Nu.
"You're right, it isn't."
He started the engine, then faltered as Cornelia climbed out of the jeep.
"Where are you going?" he asked, turning off the engine.
"To find my servant!" she snapped back, eyes flashing with anger.
"By yourself?" Graham couldn't believe what he was hearing. "On a night like this?"
"I can't just do nothing! He's my servant!"
"What do you care?" demanded Graham. He was angry; angry with this stupid, spoiled princess, so lacking in dignity and common sense that she had sent her own servant – a young boy! – into danger over a mere slight. "What does he matter to you, princess?"
Cornelia rounded on him, eyes flashing with anger. Graham was stunned, transfixed by their dreadful intensity, and more than a little afraid.
He had heard the tales of the knightmares, the demonic knights who roamed the land in ages past. He had heard the old stories about the strange and terrible powers that Britannia's Emperors supposedly wielded. For so much of his life he had dismissed it as mere superstition.
Until that very moment. Until he wondered if such a power could possibly be real, and if it was gazing out at him through those purple eyes.
"He is a very dear friend to my sister," she said, her words very cold and deliberate. "He was entrusted to me by Empress Marianne herself, whose page he was, and to whom I owe more than you could possibly understand."
She paused, and turned away.
"Just drive away, Graham Aker. This is nothing to you."
She began to stride away, and Graham cursed. She was right, of course. This was none of his business, none of his responsibility. He should just drive away, return the jeep, have a few quiet drinks in the lounge, then get a good night's sleep. There was no reason for him to get involved, no reason for him to stick his neck out. It was not his responsibility!
Then he saw Alexander, in his mind's eye. That bright-eyed, ever-so-polite little boy, always so diligent and dealing with his Princess' business. Alexander had never spoken to him in that arrogant, loathing way, never looked at him as if he had just soiled his pants and run from battle. He had always spoken well to everyone, even a commoner like himself.
Or Viletta…
"Your highness!"
Cornelia paused, and half-turned her head, one elegantly-curved eyebrow cocked in question.
"Please come with me, your highness." Graham started the engine, cursing himself for a sentimental fool. "I know a way we can save him, but we need something from the barracks first."
For a few moments Cornelia regarded him, then strode back to the jeep and leapt aboard. Graham drove the jeep onto the main road, knowing with a sinking feeling in his stomach that this would all end badly.
And at the same time, he had never been happier.
There it was.
Alexander could see the Eastern Division barracks, standing off on its own away from a cluster of academy buildings. Identical to the other four cadet barracks, it was long and wide building with three floors. The main entrance was set into the short western wall, leading straight out onto the main street that led to the HQ in the centre of the campus.
He crouched down. His hiding place was a grass embankment, leading down from the ring road that circumnavigated the outer edge of the campus to the wide fields beyond. Fortunately the grass was dry. The black 'ninja suit' the cadets had improvised for him was enough to conceal his identity, but his uniform was underneath it; a necessary precaution in case he had to discard his disguise. A wet uniform would be difficult to explain away.
He watched, scanning his eyes left and right. The lights were on in the building, but that didn't mean there was anyone inside; or more than one or two anyway. Dinner had been over for less than half an hour, so most of the cadets and their servants would be in the lounge drinking and socializing. But there was always the possibility that someone would decide to turn in early.
He checked again, and again. No one was in sight. The only obstacles now were the security cameras on the walls; which according to Rachel Carfax were not precisely synchronized. If the approach angle Cornelia had described was correct, then he would have a gap of ten seconds, fifteen at the most, to take advantage of.
Alexander slowed his breathing, focusing his mind on the southern wall, and the small alcove where the trash chute was. He flexed his legs, bending up and down, readying himself to run. He fixed his eyes on the nearest camera, watching as it began its rotation.
He ran, sprinting across the tarmac as fast as his legs could carry him. The seconds ticked away in his mind. Eight…nine…ten…eleven…
He reached the alcove and threw himself inside it. He slumped against the wall, forcing his breathing to slow, his legs aching from the mad dash.
He had done it. He had made it this far. If the cameras had seen him, it was too late to do anything about it now.
Alexander looked up. Above him was the trash chute, identical to the one at the Western Division barracks, and just wide enough for him to fit into it. Twice a day, an automated trash cart would reverse into the alcove, and those on trash duty would drop all refuse down the chute and into the cart.
It certainly smelt like a trash chute. Alexander forced himself not to wonder just what they had thrown out in the last dump. He had smelt far worse things on the streets. Had living with Empress Marianne softened his palate that much?
He reached up his hands, feeling around the inside of the chute. The sides were sheer, so he would have to brace himself and pull himself up. He bent his legs a couple of times, braced himself, then jumped.
He just managed to wedge himself in the gap, his arms aching with the effort. He pulled, dragging himself up, until he could brace his knees on the sides. The smell of trash hung in his nostrils, but he forced himself onward, bracing and pushing himself ever upward. For what seemed like an eternity he climbed, wondering if he would ever reach the top.
His hands touched something hard and flat to the side; the first floor hatch. Alexander waited, straining his ears to listen. But he could hear no sound, not nearby anyway. It was now or never.
Slowly, with heart hammering, he eased the flap open. The flap wasn't big enough to climb out, so he had to push himself through front first. Head first, then shoulders, pulling himself up and around with his arms. His body was equal to the task, made supple by years of training by his father and Empress Marianne. Maybe having to learn ballet with Lelouch and Euphemia hadn't been such a waste of time after all.
Finally he was out, easing the flap shut behind him. He could hear what might have been footsteps downstairs, but there were no other sounds that he could make out. Time to get going.
He crept along the corridor, glancing back and forth. The layout of the four barrack blocks was supposedly identical, so he expected little trouble in finding the common room, and the trophy board where his objectives lay. Ears pricked for the slightest sound, he poked his head around a corner.
And stared.
A pool of...something lay on the floor in front of him. It was a very unhealthy shade of brown, and the stench wafting up from it made his stomach churn, even through the mask. But the common room was just beyond it, at the other end of the corridor.
He had no choice.
Carefully, ever so carefully, he stepped around it. This done, he crept along the corridor to the door of the common room, paused to listen, then eased open the door.
The room was indeed deserted. It was much like the common room in the Western Division's barracks, with chairs and sofas arranged about, a few tables, and pictures of famous alumni hanging on the walls. There were screens too, and what looked like games consoles.
And there they were, the bright red rosettes with long ribbons, pinned to the trophy board. Steeling himself, Alexander crept over to the board, and began unpinning the rosettes and slipping them into his backpack. One by one he did so, his heart jumping at every distant sound, until he reached the last one.
Then a creak made his head snap round. A youth was standing there, legs bent in a stalking stride, a baseball bat in his hands, head glancing down at the creaky floorboard that had betrayed him. He looked up, and Alexander's blood ran cold.
"You're gonna get it, brat," growled Ian Usher, a first year cadet's pin gleaming malevolently on his collar. "She can't protect you, not in here, and not from me."
He hefted the bat, and Alexander knew he was right. There and then, Usher could beat him half to death and swear blind he hadn't recognised him. And there would be no way to protect his princess, and the Western Division, from the consequences.
He stuffed the last rosette into the backpack, sliding it back on as he crept to the side, eyes fixed on Usher. The youth advanced, slowly, clutching the bat so hard his knuckles had turned white. He was in the mood for violence, and Alexander did not stand a chance.
Unless...
He moved, hurling himself straight at Usher, his elbow jabbing into the cadet's stomach. Usher let out an oof and staggered back. Alexander dropped to the floor, rolled over, and leapt to his feet, making for the door.
The bat caught him on the shoulder, knocking him to the floor. He rolled, his shoulder and back screaming in agony, the momentum throwing him up and onto his feet. He ran, out the door, and out into the corridor.
He dodged the stinking puddle and rounded the corner, almost running into another cadet who was coming along the corridor.
"Whuh?" The cadet hesitated, taken by surprise. Alexander dived down between his legs, hit the floor, rolled, and leapt back up.
"What the...?"
"Thief!" shrieked Usher behind him. "Get him! Hit the alarm!"
The alarm. This was all going wrong. He had to get out, and fast!
Another stairway was ahead of him, a back stairway landing down to the storerooms. He sprinted up to it and looked down.
And hesitated, as he saw yet another foul-smelling puddle on the landing.
What was he to do? He dared not step in it, but it was so large, and the landing so narrow, that there was no way around it.
Unless...
Boots thundered on the floor behind him. He glanced around to see Usher and the other cadet charging after him. His heart thundered as they drew closer. He could not imagine anyone could move that fast.
He leapt up onto the bannister and let himself go. Usher was almost on him, swinging the bat, his face a mask of bestial fury. Alexander ducked, and felt the whoosh of air as the bat passed over his head. But Usher had overreached himself, and he let out a yell as he toppled forward. His free hand lashed out, grabbing his hapless colleague, and as Alexander slid down the bannister, they tumbled down the stairs.
He saw no more. The world was a blur as he rounded the corner, and continued down to the bottom. He could hear them struggling and cursing on the landing. He didn't have much time.
He clambered off the bannister, and looked around, trying to remember the layout. The short corridor to his left led to the front reception area, but there would almost certainly be someone there. The long corridor ahead served a series of storage rooms, but there was a fire exit at the very end round the corner. He could sneak out that way.
Almost sick with fear, he ran along the long corridor. The doors next to him were closed and locked, the rooms behind them packed with everything from food to tents to field tools. He rounded the corner, his heart leaping at the thought of the door, and safety.
And he skidded to a halt, as he saw it.
It was a bird, the biggest he had ever seen. It had a great oval body, long muscular legs, and tall, mostly straight neck; topped with a narrow head that snapped round to regard him with golden eyes.
It was an emu. And it did not seem to be in the best of moods.
Alexander's blood ran cold. He backed away, as slowly as he could manage. The emu continued to stare at him, the white and black feathers on its neck bristling. He continued to back away hoping he could reach the corner and get away before it got any funny ideas. The emu stepped forward.
Alexander spun on his heel and ran back down the corridor. He heard a terrible squawk, and the sound of running feet. He glanced behind him, and cried out in terror as he saw the emu gaining on him, its narrow legs pounding on the floor.
"There he is!" Usher and his companion had reached the bottom of the stairs. Both were covered in brown gunk, and both were furious. "Now you're gonna..."
Then they froze, as they saw the emu pounding after Alexander. His lungs burning, Alexander dashed around the corner, making for the short corridor. He heard them cry out in terror as the emu thundered straight into them.
Alexander ran on, ignoring the sounds of violence behind him. The main door was in front of him, and beyond it, safety. His lungs were burning, his legs aching, his back a mass of pain, but all he could do was keep going.
He ran on, through the foyer and up to the door, pausing only to yank it open.
"What the hell's that...hey!"
Alexander ran, out into the cool night air. He turned, racing on towards the main street. If he could just get far enough, find somewhere to hide...
But they were behind him. He could hear them running, hear them calling out to each-other.
And he could go no further. No breath could fill his lungs, and his legs would no longer obey him. He felt himself slowing down, felt his legs give way. He fell to his knees, and looked around one last time.
They were slowing too, spreading out to block his escape. They were angry, very angry. He had run them ragged, and a diarrhea-ridden emu was wreaking havoc in their barracks. They would have their revenge, and no one could save him.
An engine roared. Alexander looked up to see a jeep come racing out of the darkness towards him. He cried out in terror, and tried to scramble away as it turned around in a tight arc. There was a woman in the passenger's seat, her face hidden behind a balaclava helmet, reaching out for him.
He moved. He leapt to his feet, all the pain and weariness falling away, and reached for that outstretched hand.
He caught it, and it hauled him aboard as the jeep roared away. The woman pulled Alexander to her, his face slumping into her shoulder as she held him tight. He could hear angry shouts and foul curses, fading away behind them.
"Are you all right, Alexander?"
That voice…
He pulled back and looked up, as the woman pulled away her balaclava, a mane of purple hair tumbling down to billow in the wind.
"Your highness…"
"That was close." She smiled at him, a warm smile that reminded him of Marianne. "I was afraid we would be too late."
Alexander felt very warm inside.
"So what am I, chopped liver?" complained the driver, with Cadet Graham Aker's voice.
"What do you want, a medal?" retorted Cornelia, almost laughing. "An estate? A ward in chancery for your wife?"
"A simple thank you would suffice, your highness." Graham pulled off his own balaclava, revealing a rakish grin. "In the meantime, young lord, you might wanna strip out of that ninja suit. No sense in making it easy for them!"
It took the better part of twenty minutes to reach the west barracks. Cornelia let Alexander jump down first, then he turned and offered his hand like a footman. Cornelia beamed, as she let herself be handed down. Graham chuckled at the sight, then led the way towards the main entrance.
"I think we can safely say," Graham went on, as he opened the door, "that we…uh oh…"
He froze. Alexander looked around his waist, wondering what the delay was.
And froze in turn.
"Step inside, cadets."
It was Master Sergeant Barbara Young. With her were two soldiers, their insignia identifying them as members of the Imperial Military Police; the dreaded and despised IMPs. Many more cadets and servants were gathered in the foyer, with a distinctly sheepish air about them.
He heard Graham gulp, but the cadet strode inside and snapped to attention in front of Young. Cornelia did likewise, and Alexander followed on, taking up position beside and behind her.
There was nothing else he could do.
"I trust you've had a…fun evening, cadets?" Young's tone could not have been more venomous if she had been a king cobra, and not merely a five-foot-two slab of muscle and fury. "You certainly look like you did."
"Yes Master Sergeant," replied Graham, keeping his face suitably expressionless.
"How nice," the master-sergeant drawled. "Too bad your comrades in the Eastern Division can't say the same. They've been having some trouble with an emu, and a thief. And yet here you are, just back from a fun evening. What shall I make of that, Cadet Aker?"
Graham did not reply. Alexander's heart was pounding, his blood running cold. He prayed that she did not notice his backpack, or ask what was in it. There would be no explaining that away; not the panties, and not the ninja suit or the balaclavas.
"Nothing to say?" mocked Young. "Gorgeous Graham has nothing to say, for once?" She rounded on Cornelia. "Maybe you have something to say, Cadet li Britannia? Maybe you can explain why the Eastern Division claims to have been raided by a young boy in a ninja suit. Oh, ordinarily I'd say they'd taken a little trip to the Andes, but it's a little convenient wouldn't you say, cadet?"
"Or maybe I'm asking the wrong person?" She turned her head, and looked down at Alexander. He wanted to run and hide behind Cornelia, to beg her to protect him from this harridan. But he did not. He knew he could not. He could not disgrace his Princess, not now.
"Got something to tell me, young lord?" Her tone was a little softer than before, but Alexander could not miss the predatory edge. "Got something in that backpack?"
Alexander's blood turned to ice. There was no getting out of this, not now. He glanced up at his princess, and saw her begin to open her mouth.
"It was my doing, Master Sergeant!"
Alexander's heart skipped a beat. It was not Cornelia who had spoken. All eyes fell on Graham.
"Care to repeat that in detail, Cadet Aker?" Young strode over to stare him down. Her tone was curiously suspicious.
"I arranged the whole thing, Master Sergeant." Graham's back was straight, his face a vision of sober manhood, his eyes straight ahead. "I arranged for Ermintrude to be smuggled into the east barracks, and I put the young lord up to sneaking in while they were distracted. I am completely to blame, and I take full personal responsibility."
For what seemed like an eternity, all was silent. Young glared venomously at Graham. It was clear that she didn't believe a word of it.
"Then you won't mind repeating your little tale to the Commandant," she said. "Move!"
Alexander could only watch as the two IMPs stepped up in front of Graham, roughly spun him round, and marched him out through the door. Young strode after them, without looking back.
He looked around, and his eyes fell on Viletta Nu, amid all the dumbstruck cadets and servants. She was watching Graham, as if he were being marched away to the scaffold.
"Well, I think we can call the day a success on the whole."
Seated on Cornelia's bed, Alexander winced a little as she applied salve to his injured shoulder, followed by a soft pad.
"The Eastern Division thoroughly humiliated, the stolen trophies returned, and for yourself, the everlasting gratitude of certain young maidens."
Cornelia grinned at him. Alexander could not bring himself to smile back.
"I feel bad about Cadet Aker," he said mournfully. "He did nothing wrong, but he's going to be punished for all of it."
"Oh, I wouldn't worry too much about him," replied Cornelia. She reached down into the First Aid kit, and took out a roll of bandage. "He won't be punished too badly."
That took Alexander by surprise.
"I don't understand, your highness."
"Young isn't stupid, and neither is the Commandant" said Cornelia. "They have no evidence that Graham did anything. Besides, the Eastern Division won't press any complaint; not now that we have those pictures. Far easier for the Commandant to just let everything blow over, and get on with the semester."
"But…" Alexander was confused. "If she didn't believe him, why did the Master Sergeant take him?"
"Because the only thing Babs the Stabs cares about is her own authority." Cornelia began winding the bandage around his shoulder. "She had to walk away with somebody, but she couldn't throw her weight around too much either. There's a fine line between authority and bullying, and she's not so stupid as to cross it in front of so many witnesses; not to mention imps."
Alexander sighed. He trusted Cornelia enough to believe her, but he really didn't understand.
"What will happen to Cadet Aker, then?"
"Some demerits probably, and almost certainly some extremely unpleasant punishment duty. Perhaps he'll have to muck out Ermintrude for the rest of the semester. But they won't ruin him; not in the long term anyway. He's too talented for that."
"I see." Alexander allowed himself to relax. "I'm glad, your highness."
"You're not the only one," Cornelia replied, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "If that little gesture doesn't win Cadet Nu's favour, nothing will."
She finished securing the bandage, and stood up.
"In the meantime, I have something for you." She turned to the desk, and opened a small box that had been sitting there since he entered the room. She turned to face him again, a small black box in her hands.
"I wasn't sure that you were ready for this," she said gravely. "But now I know for certain. You have done me a good service this night, Alexander Waldstein, and good service warrants reward."
She knelt down in front of him, and held out the box. Alexander took it, wondering what it could be.
"I've arranged everything with Major Bruckner," Cornelia went on, smiling. "You can start training with us right away."
Heart pounding, Alexander opened the box. Inside was a fob of new black leather, from which hung a little metal cylinder.
A knightmare key.
"Your highness!" Tears pricked at Alexander's eyes. He felt as if his heart would burst. "How can I…?"
"Hurry up and become a man, my good little Alexander." Cornelia put a warm hand on his head. "If you do well enough, I might even make you my knight."
And it's over. Thank god for that.
I hope that this goes down well with you all. I have a fairly good idea of what I want to do with the following chapters, but this has proven a real challenge for me. I needed to present a change in Alexander and Cornelia's relationship, and show Alexander's growth as a character, without pushing things too far.
I might have gone too far by rehashing the story as a heist, with an emu as complication. Zaru certainly thought it would be hard to write, but at the time I welcomed the challenge. The single hardest part was how to draw Graham into these events without it seeming forced, yet at the same time making it suitably meaningful for him personally. This sort of thing can all too easily go horribly wrong, and I can only hope that I've pulled it off in this case.
Next up we have a couple of side chapters, followed by the third and final chapter of the academy arc.