Void Lord: My Revenge Is My Harem

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Edda adjusted her hair and checked the lane like habits asked her to. "I will go east," she said. "Then to the black market. Then to the shop."

"Do not say 'black market' out loud in markets," Fizz advised. "People get excited."

"Do not say 'shop' out loud in shops," Edda said back. "People raise the price."

They parted at the corner. Edda slipped into the crowd and vanished like a stitch in cloth. John and Fizz turned toward the academy, the calm big building from outside.

They walked the known streets. It felt strange to have them feel known. The baker with a loud laugh waved his towel. The water seller nodded because he had decided John was the kind of man who nodded at water sellers. A boy with ink on his fingers ran past and shouted, "Late!" to no one, and three other boys shouted, "Same!" even if it was not true.

Fizz hovered at John's shoulder and hummed. It was not a song. It was a sound that kept worry from putting roots down. "Do you think the warden will be angry like a cabbage knight?" he asked.

"No cabbage," John said. "Only a warden."

At the gate, the guard checked their faces and their pass tokens. "You were out late last night," the guard said to John without heat, just as a note.

"Yes," John said. He did not lie. He did not volunteer any more. He handed the token. The guard handed it back.

They walked under the arch and into the cool of the yard. The stones here always felt a touch colder than the street stones, as if someone had told them to behave.

They were three strides in when a uniformed student with a sash stepped out from a side path. Warden's aide, by the look of him. Two guards stood a few paces behind, not close, not far. The aide had the voice people use when they would rather be doing anything else but are doing this because a book told them to.

"Student John," he said. "The first-year warden L asks for you."

John's field drew in a little. He had known this would come. He had broken a simple rule: do not spend the night outside the gate on a day when your pass says: return by night. He kept his face even. "I will come," he said.

The aide's eyes clicked to Fizz. "Spirit may wait in the lobby," he said. "Or accompany you to the room if the warden allows."

"I am furniture," Fizz said at once, trying to look like a lampshade and failing completely.

John glanced at him. "Wait in the lobby," he said, calm. "If I am not back soon, do not be loud. Be useful."

"I am always useful," Fizz said. Then, because he is also kind, he added in a small voice, "Do not let them scold you too much."

John dipped his head, not quite a nod. He looked at the guards. He looked at the aide. He followed.

The aide led him along the cool side hall where footsteps sound like they belong to other people. They passed a tall window where light fell like a ladder. They passed a corridor that pretended it was shorter than it was. The academy wanted boys to learn to walk without making a fuss.

John kept his hands quiet and his breath even. One worry kept tapping at his ribs: He had made a choice last night, a good one and a bad one at the same time. He had chosen to stay at the Bent Penny. He had broken a line on a page. Now someone who keeps lines on pages would say words about it. He could stand that. Words do not break bones.

The aide stopped at a door that knew how to look important without looking rich. He knocked. A firm voice said, "Enter."

John stepped in. The room smelled like ink and stone and a hint of soap. A woman in a gray coat sat behind a plain desk. Her hair was pulled back the way people pull hair when they want to keep thoughts in front of it. Her eyes looked at John and did not blink.

"Student John," she said. "You did not return by curfew time."

"Yes," John said.

"Sit," she said.

John sat. The chair was plain wood, straight-backed, made to keep a spine honest. Across the desk, the woman in gray folded her hands.

"I am Warden Lutch of East House," she said. "First-year students must obey the rule." Her eyes were steady, not cruel. " I will make sure of that. You did not return by curfew. Why? Answer me!"

He kept his voice even. "Yesterday was my eighteenth birthday. Friends held a small party at a tavern. There was drinking. I should have returned before dark. I did not. I fell asleep there."

Warden Lutch let the words sit. She did not pounce. She also did not smile.

"This academy is a city inside a city," she said at last. "It runs because rules run. When one rule fails, others stumble. Curfew keeps first-years alive. It keeps us from fishing boys out of alleys and excuses out of papers. You had permission to leave. But you did not have permission to stay out."

"I understand," John said.

"Good," she said. "Because a lesson without a weight is air. You need a weight you will remember."

He didn't flinch. "What is the punishment?"

"You will take night duty in the beast disposal room," Warden Lutch said. "Every night until classes begin. Four nights. You will guard the room and clean it until it is clean enough to eat from the floor. When you are not guarding, you will still be cleaning. Day and night if you like."

John held her gaze. "That room is large," he said. "I saw it once on a tour. It's the size of a hall."

"It is," she said.