Rebellion (Chronicles of Charanthe #1)

  Chapter 27

  After a morning of vigorous circuits, when they were all more than ready for bathing and lunch, Karl told them that they couldn't go straight back to their rooms. He'd had a message from Harold asking the students to gather by the smithy straight after the class.

  "Sorry to keep you from your food," Harold said once they'd all assembled in the courtyard. "This won't take long. As you've probably heard, you need to design your graduation knives some time in the next few weeks. Now, it'll take me a while to make all these up, and I'd like you to be able to use them for the final contest in the summer, so we've got a bit of a deadline and I thought I'd better talk you through what you need to be doing."

  He brought out a couple of his own knives and handed them out, passing one to each end of the line of students.

  "These are mine, which is about as complex as you can get with pure metalwork, but I was showing off. I'd thank you if you kept yours a bit more simple, but that gives you an idea what's possible."

  He hefted a large jar onto the worktop in front of him, and pulled out a handful of gemstones.

  "Now, you'll probably want some colour in there, so we've got amethysts, turquoise, sapphires, emeralds, rubies..." He paused, and shuffled through the gems with one stubby finger. "A few opals, loads of citrine – not that you should let that influence your choices, we can always get more. That's why you need to give me plenty of time."

  "So what do we actually need to do?" Jorge asked. "I'm hungry."

  "You need to come up with a design, some combination of engraving and gemstones, to identify your weapons," Harold said, looking slightly flustered at having his flow interrupted. "I really need you all to have finished your designs by the equinox, but don't be shy if you've got something to show me earlier than that. I'll need to check your ideas against the record of existing designs, anyway, so it's worth your while to come early."

  "Alright." Jorge turned from the group. "C'mon, Fred, let's go. I'm just gonna write my name."

  "It would help," Harold said, raising his voice as Jorge walked away. "If you designed something that could fit nicely inside a square or circle – you'll need lots of those – and that could also be stretched along a knife hilt."

  Jorge didn't stop, although no-one went with him.

  "As I was saying," Harold continued once he'd disappeared into the dining hall. "We've got plenty of colours for you to choose from, you can mix and match if you like, and you'll need to sketch out the arrangement you want. Then I'll check it against everyone else's designs, make sure you've got something unique, and start forging your weapons. Any questions about any of that?"

  "How are we supposed to know what's been done before?" Charles asked. "It'd be really annoying to design something and then find out it's already been taken."

  "It doesn't happen often," Harold said. "Unless you really want something extremely simple, in which case, come and talk to me first."

  Eleanor traced imaginary designs in the air with the point of her knife during the afternoon's lesson, while Robert's words about the secrets of plausible disguise drifted over her. But whatever she came up with, she was struggling to picture anything she'd like more than the beautiful knives she was already using.

  The following afternoon, while they were supposed to be practising new techniques with throwing stars, she wandered across to where Ivan was sitting to watch.

  "Problem, Eleanor?" he asked as she sat beside him.

  "Not exactly. I wanted to ask you about graduation designs."

  "Oh?"

  "You probably don't remember, but there was something you said when you first saw my practice knives."

  "Don't underestimate my memory." He spoke with a serious tone, but there was a glint in his eye. "What did I say?"

  "About the graduation set, and how I might've come to my design a bit early."

  "Ah, yes. I was right, wasn't I?"

  "That's what I'm trying to work out. The thing is, they're beautiful knives, but I've no proof they're unique."

  "Well, it's Harold who makes the rules. But you bought them in Taraska, didn't you? That should be enough distance to reassure him."

  "Do you think so?"

  "That's my guess – but you'd have to ask him to be sure. Anyway, let's see where you're up to with these stars."

  She got to her feet and fired two stars towards the nearest target; Ivan nodded his satisfaction, and left her to practise while he went to see what the others were up to.

  After a quick dinner, she went up to see Raf.

  "Raf – your girlfriend's here again!" Greg called out when she came into their common room, before opening the door to Raf's room and pushing her lightly through the doorway.

  Raf looked up with a smile from where he was sitting, cross-legged on the floor, sharpening his knives.

  "Welcome back," he said. "Make yourself comfortable, I won't be long."

  "Why do you let them call me your girlfriend?" she asked as she perched on the edge of his bed. The question had been troubling her ever since Greg had first started using the term.

  "You know how these things go," he replied, without looking up from his knife this time. "If you deny that kind of thing, they'll only get more insistent. I'm sure they'll get bored of it eventually."

  Her heart sank a little; that wasn't really the answer she'd hoped for, in the moments when she'd let herself have any thoughts about what he might say.

  "Anyway, I came to talk about graduation knives," she said, changing the subject as swiftly as she could. "I can't decide what to do about mine."

  "What's troubling you?"

  "Well, I've got all these lovely ones from Taraska, and all the others Harold's already made to match, but there's no guarantee there aren't more in Taraska with the same design. So I don't know if they'll let me carry on with these ones, and it might be fun to come up with something new anyway... I'm torn."

  "Why don't you do a new design, and then you can decide which to use? That way you'd have a backup if they say you can't use the Tarasanka ones."

  "I suppose so."

  He sheathed the newly sharpened dagger, and moved on to his stiletto. "You don't sound convinced."

  "Well, I'm not keen on wasting time."

  "Then why don't you just ask someone whether it's okay to use your ones? Then if they say no, you can get on with your new design."

  "You're right, of course. I'm sure I'm being silly, because I do love these ones, I just keep worrying about whether they're really unique. Anyway, enough of that – are we going out tomorrow?"

  "I hadn't decided, but I certainly will if you're going to come."

  She nodded. "I'd like that."

  He got up, sheathed his various knives, and dropped his sharpening block onto the desk.

  "What's this code?" she asked, sliding a sheet of paper out from under where the sharpening block had landed. "I can't make it out."

  "Oh, that's just school notes." He sat beside her on the bed, and took the paper from her hand. "Yeah, really boring stuff."

  "You coded your school notes?"

  "They made us use it for most of our work, for practice."

  "Will you teach me?"

  "I'm not sure I should." He folded the paper before putting it back on the desk. "It's a Venncastle code."

  "Well, at least let me try to break it. I need a bit of a break from thinking about this next contest."

  "How can you think about it when you don't even know what the rules are going to be?"

  "That's what I'm thinking about! It's hard to prepare for something so unknown."

  "Just assume they'll test everything," Raf said. "Even if they don't, it'll put you in a good position for the third contest, because that really could be anything."

  "That's if I even get through to the last one."

  "Ellie! Of course you will. You've already got two points, and I'm sure you'll do great next month."

  "Thanks, but I'd rather be realistic."

 
"I am being realistic, you've got a great chance. Besides, I want you to win."

  "Really? Why?"

  "Aside from wanting the best person to get the job? Well, there's the selfish angle – I'm fully expecting to win my year, and if I'm on the council I'd quite like you to be there. And if I somehow don't win my seat, I'll need you to watch my back in there!"

  "You're not going to have a problem, are you?"

  "I like to hope not."

  It was in the middle of a climbing lesson three days later, when she was hanging by two fingers from the guttering of the bell tower, that Eleanor realised what she wanted to do about her graduation knives. If Harold would let her. She didn't know enough about metalwork to be sure whether her idea was plausible, but it would be her preferred solution.

  She went across to the smithy before dinner, and found Harold busily beating the edge of a curved sword. She waited by the door and watched as he finished hammering and plunged the blade into cold water.

  As the hissing died away, she spoke up: "Have you got a moment?"

  "Of course. What can I do for you?"

  "It's about the graduation designs."

  "Oh, have you done it already?" He came across the room towards her, wiping his hands on his trousers. "Let's have a look then."

  "No, I haven't finished, I was just thinking and... well, I wanted to check the rules. You've got a record of everyone's designs, haven't you?"

  "Indeed."

  "And I'm sure you can tell me what's possible."

  "I should certainly hope so."

  "The thing is, I've got really nice weapons already, you know that," – she pulled one of her throwers from its sheath – "And I don't want to have to get rid of them. But, of course, there's no guarantee the weaponsmith in Taraska didn't make more of this design."

  "Well, I won't stop you on that account." He took her knife and examined it. "It's a risk, but it's your decision. I've already got that design on file for you, and you're right, it's a beauty."

  "Actually, I wondered if I could draw some kind of variant on the current design – if you'd be able to change them."

  "Depends what you come up with." He walked across to a cupboard at the back of the smithy and started sorting through a pile of metal sheets. "Adding stuff is easier than taking bits out, but I'm sure I can have a go. Might be hard to work between those gems, mind you, they're quite close-set."

  He came back to her with a square sheet of metal, around six inches across, that had her identity number inscribed in one corner and an enlarged copy of her design taking up most of the space in the middle. The sapphires were drawn in outline, the blue ones each marked with a little cross in the middle, and the white ones with a circle.

  "This is yours so far," he said, handing it across to her. "Of course if you start from scratch, I'll throw this on the scrap heap, but it's yours if you want to work from it."

  "Thanks. Can I borrow it for a couple of days?"

  "By all means – that's why I dug it out for you. Just try not to lose it."

  She took the design back to her room and copied it onto a slate, then experimented with adding a few extra scrolls and circles around groups of gems. She made several attempts, erasing her additions each time and restoring the original design before trying again.

  Eventually, she settled on a simple outline that she thought she was happy with, and went to see if Raf was around to give her a second opinion.

  "Hey, Ellie," he smiled as he opened the door. "What's up?"

  "I had an idea about the knives," she said, holding the slate behind her back. "And I wanted to see what you think before I take it back down to Harold."

  "If you're happy, that's all that matters. I'm sure it'll look fantastic, whatever you've done."

  "The thing is, I thought I could just slightly change the ones I've got, so even if someone else has brought some back to the Empire with the same design, they wouldn't be the same any more. Then I can keep my knives."

  "Sounds like a great idea. Show me?"

  She held out the slate and waited, still standing in the doorway.

  "Looks good." He handed it back. "Nice and simple."

  "Thanks. I think I'm going to take it down to Harold in the morning."

  "Why not now?"

  "I don't know. I wanted to sleep on it, make sure I'm still happy tomorrow."

  "Go now." He pressed the slate back into her hand. "You'll sleep better once you've got a resolution."

  She knew he was right, and Harold would probably still be working, so she went straight down to the smithy. As she'd suspected, the fires were still hot.

  "Got an idea?" Harold asked when he caught sight of her.

  She handed him the metal sheet with her current design, and the slate on which she'd sketched her new idea. "What do you think?"

  "Looks fine to me." He held the two side by side. "Can't see any problems with that. And no-one else has brought me a design yet, so I can get straight on with yours."

  "So what now? Do I have to leave all my knives here so you can change them?"

  "I wouldn't, if I were you. We'll do them a couple at a time. It should be fairly quick, compared to forging a whole new set of blades – but is there anything else you want me to make, while I'm at it?"

  "Well..." She thought for a moment. "I haven't got my own harping knife yet, and I could always do with more stars."

  "I can do that. Leave me a couple of your daggers, then, and I'll make a start tomorrow."