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Chapter 670: Professor Jules' Confrontation
🕑 Added 2023-09-08 23:00:57 +0000 UTCThere were only four times in the life of Professor Vernia Jules that she’d wished she was more like Chancellor Baelin.
For the most part, she found the barbaric and likely insane—by modern standards—colleague fascinating, highly intelligent, and filled with an abundance of wisdom.
But, he was also a monster.
His casual disregard for the safety of young wizards, and his alien view on justice often unnerved her, and she also found his warmongering and thirst for blood a terrible influence on young minds. She did have great respect for him, but she wanted to follow the modern path of wizardry; the goatman had clawed his way from a barbaric era of sword and sorcery, where mist and fear ruled an age undreamed of. An era where blood sacrifice was as common as grass, and wizards secluded themselves in dark towers, contracting with demons, fae, devils and worse.
Such an age should be left behind.
But, there had been times in her life when even she felt that demons, violence, and blood might not be so terrible.
The first time was long ago, when a colleague had wronged her in a way that was truly unforgivable.
They were both young ambitious students, students working together on an important project for the better part of two years. Night upon night, during graduate school, would find them slaving away in the Cells, conducting experiments that showed great promise.
They were in the final stages of replicating their results, the last step before publishing a paper she was sure would have made their names in the alchemists’ community.
…that was until her colleague had underhandedly published their results under his name alone.
What followed was more than six months of university tribunals, accusations of fraud, plagiarism, arguments and the eventual revelation that the reason their findings had looked so promising, was because her ‘partner’ had faked his numbers.
By the time the trial was over, he’d been expelled, while her reputation had suffered a blow that took years to recover from.
During that trying time, Baelin had casually suggested she simply conjure a shoggoth in her laboratory and contract with it to…make things right, as it were.
“Like a Proper Wizard would,” he’d said those words as off-handedly as if he were recommending cheese for breakfast.
And, she’d actually been tempted.
Strongly.
Only her values and tight self control had stopped her from crossing a line she would have regretted crossing for the rest of her days. As wretched as her colleague’s actions had been; taking his life would have been a step too far. He’d paid a huge price since he was ruined academically, professionally and personally, and she made herself a promise to never entertain such vengeful thoughts again.
…until decades later. One sunny day, her son-in-law had vanished, running off to greener pastures with the couple’s savings, and a young woman he worked with, leaving her daughter and their three children coinless, and devastated.
For the longest time, she would have a repeating daydream where she found the bastard, shoved him in a cage, and zapped him with lightning three times a day for the combined number of years her daughter and grandchildren had been alive when he’d run off, something Baelin had enthusiastically encouraged.
But—in the end—she chose the way of civilization by not resorting to cages and lightning, eventually learning, with a great deal of satisfaction, that the bastard’s life had disintegrated from a series of bad, midlife crises inspired decisions that resulted in him being flat broke, and his young lover abandoning him for much richer pastures.
Seeing him on her daughter’s doorstep, begging for another chance had made her smile, and oh, how she’d grinned as his expression plummeted when her daughter cursed him with the most colourful language she knew. But the cherry on top of the situation came when she personally chased the randy dog away on the back of her skeletal steed, which made her cackle like the witches of old.
And so the years had gone by without her having any reason to wish she was more like Baelin…
…until Carey London died.
For nights, the Professor of alchemy had considered reaching out to Professor Mangal and getting her help with conjuring the kind of demon that would rampage through this entire, filthy realm.
But, she’d resisted those dark urges.
Now, though?
They were back.
In force.
And for the fourth time, she wished she was more like Baelin.
“Watcher Hill,” the alchemist growled, stalking through a hallway of the Research Castle. She took a sip of scalding coffee as she squinted against moonlight glowing through windows lining the walls. “Please remind me why I shouldn’t blow everyone in that room into component atoms.”
“You are not a battle wizard professor,” Watcher Hill said stoically, marching at the head of a column of six Watchers.
“Remind me why I shouldn’t have you blow everyone in that room into component atoms,” Professor Jules growled.
“That would be outside our mandate, professor, as tempting as it would be,” Watcher Hill’s words were clipped as they rounded a corner, on their way to the map room at the end of the hall.
“Pity.” Professor Jules snarled.
She opened the doors, resisting the urge to fling them wide, letting their handles smash against the stone walls.
Inside the map room, a group of Thameish delegates and soldiers waited, some stood and some sat. Several looked at the map in curiosity, while others examined the volumes in the bookcases, still others sat fidgeting, or nervously murmuring to one another.
Several Watchers attended the ‘guests’, watching them closely.
Every eye flicked to the opening doors.
“What is this I hear about you wanting to take one of my students?” Professor Jules demanded.
She marched into the room, with Watcher Hill and a lower-ranking soldier shutting the doors behind them.
An awkward silence hung.
Until an imperious looking man—the sort who looked like they enjoyed wielding power that was in no way their own—immediately jumped to his feet and unrolled a very official looking document.
It bore the seal of the king.
“Good day, madam.” He said curtly. “We are here seeking a Thameish citizen, one Alexander Roth. By order of the king, he is to be turned over to us immediately!” his voice boomed through the room. “Where is he, schoolteacher?”
Audible gasps filled the air.
Jules pointed at the man. “Get out!”
The man baulked. “What do you mean, get out, by the power invested in me by the king—”
“Greymoor, within the Barony of Devon has been acquired by the city-state of Generasi by way of lawful purchase as cosigned by Chancellor Baelin, City Councillor Kartika, and King Athelstan Merciex!” Watcher Hill barked, her words sharp. These lands are subject to both the laws of Generasi, and the University of Generasi’s regulations. You are showing disrespect to a university professor. You may remove yourself to the courtyard, or I can throw you there myself.”
“How dare you!” the man cried.
“That is enough!” a man with thick, white mutton chops cried from near the map table. “As a higher ranking member of this delegation, I order you to go out to the courtyard. Greymoor is effectively a foreign embassy; do not embarrass us any further, you half-wit!”
“But Lord Reginald, the king—” the man turned red in the face.
“Only gave you the authority to read a bloody message! Not start an international incident! Now get out before I see you flogged!” Lord Reginald roared.
The man wilted, his teeth grinding. “The king will hear of this!”
With that, he turned, stalking to the doors; before he could fling one open, two Watchers opened them, giving him looks of stone. Sniffing, he marched into the hallway, muttering to himself.
“Terribly sorry about that, Professor Jules,” Lord Reginald rounded the table, drawing a handkerchief and blotting his brow. “This has been a stressful time and we are all a little wound up. There are some folk who take a bit of power, then try to squeeze it for all it’s worth, as though they were some farmer, harassing their poor dairy cow!”
Professor Jules was silent for a moment, brows rising at his odd reference to farmers and dairy cows.
“His attitude was most unpleasant,” Professor Jules said, giving Lord Reginald a flinty gaze. Some of the delegation scoffed at her expression. “But I’ll ask the same question that I asked earlier, because no one has given me an answer yet: what is this I’m hearing about you wanting to steal one of my students?”
“Well.” Lord Reginald cleared his throat. “It is not quite so simple, you see.” His throat clearing turned into full on coughing, as he pressed his handkerchief to his mouth. “It appears that there is some evidence that this Alexander Roth is the Fool of Thameland, whom we of the nobility, the church, and the king’s army, have been searching for over the course of two long years and more.”
He grimaced. “The relationship between your researchers and this delegation has been positive, and you have done a great service to both yourselves and Thameland at large. We value that and understand our position is as awkward as yours. Hopefully, we can resolve this situation peaceably, quickly, and allow you to return to our mutually lucrative business.”
Professor Jules resisted the urge to spit at his feet.
She glanced at the members of the delegation who were sitting…in the very same chairs that the strike force had been sitting in only months earlier, while everyone—including Alex—had desperately searched for Carey.
They had been blindly searching while the same church that these people held in such high regard, were the ones responsible for Carey’s kidnapping, and her ultimate death.
Now those very chairs were being occupied by people who wanted to kidnap another one of her students.
The sight made her want to throw up.
“Know that I do not ask that Alex Roth—one of your helpers—be given to us lightly; it feels wrong to be trying to give ultimatums to someone who has done as well by us as you, Professor Jules,” Lord Reginald continued, blotting more sweat from his brow. “But this is a duty handed to us by the throne and the High Priest of Uldar, Tobias Jay. Thus, it must be done.”
Someone cleared their throat.
It was a skinny man wearing robes that looked like they’d been wrinkled from long travel, his bushy eyebrows knit together across a furrowed brow. She knew him as the representative of the court wizard of Thameland. “Forgive me professor,” he began, “But I must confess to being quite confused. I’m trying to understand what service this Alex Roth could possibly offer you, since the Fool cannot cast spells. If he is a student, he must not be a very good one; I apologise for any inconvenience our errant Hero has caused you. If he is the Fool.”
Jules’ blood reached boiling point.
“Of course, it could be that he is not the Fool, but we must verify!” Lord Reginald said.
Professor Jules shot the man a hard look. “Tell me, Reginald, do you remember a young man who helped you put your mask on before the chaos bomb demonstration?”
Reginald squinted. “I do believe…I recall a muscular young man, yes. Nice fellow.”
“That young man was Alex,” Professor Jules said. “He is a valued member of our expedition.”
The court wizard’s representative gawked. “That ox?”
“Yes, and I won’t be handing him over,” the alchemy professor’s tone was flat and uncompromising.
“Erm, I am afraid this is not a request,” Lord Reginald said, almost apologetically. “As I said, our actions are under the order of King Athelstan Merciex and High Priest Tobias Jay. Do be reasonable.”
“Am I a citizen of Thameland?” Professor Jules asked him.
Lord Reginald’s eyes narrowed. “I must…are you baiting me into stating the obvious—that you are not, so that you can then lash me with words to the effect of: ‘then you need not follow the king and High Priest’s orders?’”
There was a pause.
“Yes,” Jules said, feeling somewhat childish.
Reginald sighed. “I had a sinking feeling that you would say that. Is there no way I can get you to reconsider? It would be much easier for us all if this was resolved quickly.”
“No, there isn’t,” Professor Jules said decidedly.
“This only serves to confirm that this Alex Roth is the Fool,” another noble joined in.
“Maybe it’s simply that I don’t want to see a young man dragged away like a common outlaw,” Professor Jules said. “You’re already speaking of my student with so much disrespect, and you don’t even know if he’s this Fool or not. How am I to trust that he’s going to be treated properly in your ‘care’? Plus, he’s a free, young man—Fool or not—and if he doesn’t want to go with you, he doesn’t have to.”
Lord Reginald sighed again. “Then this situation is officially above us. Professor Jules, could I ask you if you would consider meeting with one of our priestesses in the village of Luthering. She is an advisor to High Priest Tobias, perhaps together, the two of you can sort this matter out.”
He smiled. “She is a kindly woman and she might be able to reassure you. Mother Charity is her name.”
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Hello thirty-one cool fools, almighty chosen, wise sages, and mighty champions! Thank you for your support!
I am on my trip, so there will be no author's notes for a little over a week!
Enjoy!
Comments
If only Alex had remembered to take a few selfies with Uldar's corpse.
Uroš
They just want to control him, just like they control (or tried to) the other heroes
Julien Fellegara
Alex is already a hero, and he already carry the mission. So, i don't know what they expect from him.. 😑
Bob Bryan
Some light the balin signal.
Weirwood
I know Baelin is probably a bit dissociated from students dying but I still feel like he's going to react badly when he gets back. Wonder if he's just in time for Santa.
