A Poison Dark and Drowning (Kingdom on Fire #2)(30)

Dee was seated on a bench against the wall, examining one of the daggers. Magnus stood in the center of the yard and kept trying to get his corkscrew sword to behave itself. Whenever he tried swinging it, it whined in the air like a sick dog.

“I believe I’m an expert,” he called. He’d already taken his arm out of its sling. Now it was bandaged tightly, and he winced when he moved it. Hopefully, he’d let Maria take another look at it.

“Some things never change.” Blackwood went to lay the scythe against the wall. He would not be in an approving mood for any of this. Still, he’d sat with me in the library, helping to make copies of the instructions. He’d seen the weapons loaded carefully this morning, checking each in turn. Duty. He’d told me once that was his lifeblood. His queen gave an order, and he would see it done.

“It’s like a homecoming.” Magnus put his sword down. “We should have got the other fellows involved. Maybe brought some cider as well.” He stretched his arms above his head, giving his back a satisfying crack.

“There’s no time for games,” Blackwood said.

“My favorite part of all this has been spending so much quality time with you, Blacky.” Evidently, a large part of these meetings would involve keeping them from killing each other.

I handed out the papers and set the copies down on the bench. One could never have too many copies. I’d enjoyed making them, really. It took me back to my teaching days at Brimthorn. While I didn’t have many fond memories of the place, the excitement and relief I saw in the girls’ eyes when I helped them understand a particular equation or conjugate a certain verb in French had made me happy.

“I’ve created a lesson.” I beamed.

“Huzzah,” Magnus said dully.

For a few moments, the boys were silent as they read. I could tell they were confused; I didn’t blame them. There were some terms I simply didn’t understand, and others I wasn’t entirely sure I could read. Strangewayes had bizarre names for his weapons, and no system for matching weapons with titles. I was fairly certain the whip was a cariz, the daggers martlets, but couldn’t be sure. I’d done my best, guessing and filling in the gaps as I went. For the most part, I thought I’d done a fine job.

For the most part. The point of today was to have a go at each weapon. Even with spotty knowledge, we’d get nowhere without practice.

“Let’s see this demonstration,” Valens said, picking a thread from his sleeve.

Hopefully, this would be enough for a start. Dee and Blackwood began sorting out the weapons.

“We’ve got two twisty swords,” Magnus said, checking the paper for the name. “Er, deckors.” And that was that. He put the sheet by the wayside and didn’t consult it again. “Then there’s the thing that looks like a scythe with teeth, a bone whistle, two normal-sized daggers, a tiny, tiny dagger.” Magnus picked that one up, frowning at it. It was about as long as my palm, blade and hilt and all. “There’re also the three flutes, a whip, and some kind of lantern.” He picked up the last one, then put it down just as quickly. There was something about that particular object that both intrigued and repulsed people.

I looked back at my paper. “Strangewayes didn’t write about how to use most of them, but he did say that the lantern was ideal for ‘beaconing’ a creature.”

Magnus took the whip from Dee. When he cracked it, a flash of violet light exploded in our faces. My eyes stung for several seconds before I could see properly again. Blackwood held out one of the swords, his knees relaxed, his arms out straight. He tried swinging it, but the weapon twisted in his hands and fell to the ground, making that sick-dog noise when it struck. My eardrums rattled at the very sound. Valens’s pen scratched as Dee picked up one of the flutes. It really was the oddest-looking contraption: slender, with finger holes along the length and a cruel-looking mouthpiece that resembled a large metal thorn.

“What’s this do?” Dee asked. I looked at the sheet I’d prepared. Strangewayes had said very little in the way of how to use it, only that the right tune would drive a beast away.

“We need a melody.” I frowned. “Give it a try.”

Dee shrugged, put his lips to the thing after wiping it down with a cloth, and blew.

A moment later, when my ears had finally stopped ringing and my head felt as though it was no longer going to explode, I got up off the ground. The damned sunlight pierced my skull like a knife. Blackwood was on his knees, his hands gripping the back of his head. Poor Dee, tears in his eyes, kicked at the flute where it lay on the ground.

“You stupid bastard!” Dee yelled.

“Don’t touch it! It could make the noise again,” Magnus yelled, tackling him. The flute’s “music” had sounded like the demonic screams of a million cats burning in a furnace, but worse.

Valens had dropped his notebook and was working his jaw, testing his hearing. There were angry shouts from around the other side of the barracks as bootless men in their shirtsleeves came rushing around the corner to gape at us. One fellow sported half a face of shaving cream.

“No more of the flute today,” Valens ordered, his voice cracking.

Blackwood grabbed the moldering sheath that the flute had come in, and gingerly slid the instrument back inside.

“Does anyone want to try the daggers? I mean, martlets?” I asked, determined to use the vocabulary. Weaving as though drunk, Magnus picked one up. I took another.