Shadowcroft Academy Year 2 - Chapter Thirty-Nine

The next morning, Logan got Treacle up early for their normal routine of working on their core in the morning. The minotaur was game, as happy as Logan had ever seen him. The night before had been rough. After their meeting with Shadowcroft, Inga had just wanted to go to bed, no planning, no scheming, no reading. Just bed. Logan and Treacle had followed suit.

As expected, Marko had gone with Steve to Vralkag. He seemed to still be there. While Marko had gotten less wild, he still sometimes partied all night long.

Inga was the real morning mystery. Where was she?

Her symbiotic signal was masked—which meant she didn’t want to be found. Logan didn’t want to intrude on her mental space, but they needed to talk with her. After searching the dormitory and checking in with Madam Orry Gammy at the Library, Logan and Treacle finally found in her the Golden Serpent Hall, eating honey straight out of a bowl with a spoon. And not even the right kind of spoon. She looked beyond depressed. She’d taken Melvin’s fedora from him, and now it sat on the table next to her.

From the kitchen came the clatter of dishes and pans. From the smell, they were warming up the ovens. Chef Treegee and the other Treegees were prepping the hall for breakfast still a couple hours away.

Logan plopped down next to her, while Treacle took a seat on her other side.

Shadowcroft wasn’t going to do anything, but Logan wasn’t ready to give up. Not just yet. “If it wasn’t Melvin, it has to be Chadrigoth,” he said, cutting through the tension like a finely honed Viomaria steak knife. Logan grimaced—he really was spending too much time with Inga. Her cutlery obsession was spreading. “There’s no other possible option,” he continued. “If Shadowcroft isn’t going to actively pursue this, then its up to us. Period. We need to assume that Chadrigoth’s going to find a way to take a run at the Bloodrock Dungeon. We need to be there to stop him.”

Tears ran down Inga’s face.

Logan kicked himself—it was the wrong time to bring up another ambush plan. They were all feeling low—except for Treacle oddly enough—but they had to stop Chadrigoth from striking again.

Marko and Steve came careening into the Golden Serpent Hall and stomped right up to them. Marko was still in his jeweled robe and jaunty vest. “Okay, last night, I was on my way to Enrico’s, and I was going to hit the Liverkill hard. But then that’s just what I would do, right? Get all weepy over Melvin and wind up puking in GK’s sabatons. Then I thought… No. Not this time. I needed to think. So I’ve been walking around Arborea, all night, thinking. We kinda helped get Melvin killed. It’s not directly our fault but close enough. Here’s the thing. We have to avenge him. We have to stop anyone else from dying, and if someone has to die, it should be us. It should be me.”

Inga slowly pulled the fedora off the table and put it on her head. Strangely it looked good on her. She had to set it back on her head to allow for her antennae.

“No. It should be me. This is my fault, after all. Everything pointed at Melvin, but I should’ve double-checked that Verminaxx was dead and not just working under an alias. I was so sure of myself. It’s been such a rough year for me. The Eritrean tableware class has been so taxing. Ed the Rot Troll died. Then when Tet got hurt… there was a bit of drama there. Just a bit. And now Melvin is gone. And I really thought I’d level right after you did, Logan. Yet here I remain, C-Class Rank 1. Given our luck recently, I’ll evolve during our Offensive Dungeon Design Final.” She sighed. “It feels like everything is falling apart. This is my Stringentia Strigiformes Exams all over again”

They sat there in silence until Steve clattered around and patted Inga.

Treacle took out the grass Slim Jim from his arm and started absently chewing once more. “Logan and Marko are both right. The best thing we can do for Melvin is stop anyone else from getting killed. From how Chadrigoth was strutting around after talking with Shadowcroft, he thinks he’s in the clear. So, I say we set up a trap for the abyss lord. We don’t need to kill him, just expose him. However, this time? We take all the risks.”

Marko’s mouth dropped open. “Treac! You’re like sunshine on a rainy day!”

“I’m very positive person,” the depressed minotaur sighed. “Unlike some people.” He tipped a horn at Steve.

The mannequin just squeaked and patted Inga.

She finally took his hand and made it clear that the soothing was over. “If Shadowcroft is opening all the dungeons, this might be good for us. I suppose, we can monitor the Bloodrock. Even better, perhaps we can make sure to take our O.D.D. finals in the Bloodrock. I just hope I’m not evolving over finals. That would be awful.”

“Won’t happen.” Logan waved his friends closer. “Listen up. This is what we’re going to do. Inga is right, we just have to keep track of who goes into the Bloodrock. Since Treacle is up there all the time, taking crafting classes from Professor Crucible, he’ll be our point man. I wonder if you can whip up a sentry.”

“I can,” the minotaur said between bites. “I will work on that post haste.”

“Good.” Logan knocked a fist on the table. “As long as Chadrigoth stays away from the Bloodrock, we should be fine. And if anyone else is snooping around there, we have our next suspect. We sit tight until finals and keep our eyes peeled. Then, we make sure it’s Inga and I going up against our favorite abyss lord.”

“Norman the Unholy?” Marko asked.

Treacle rolled his eyes. “No, his son, Chadrigoth.”

“Oh.” Marko blinked.

Logan finished walking them through the plan. “It’s simple. We’ll guard the Bloodrock from Chadrigoth, but I’m betting, he’ll make his move during our O.D.D. final. That way, at least the proctor and probably Professor Zantho will be watching. We’ll catch him before he smashes our gem and unleashes the power which we know is there.”

“We so know it’s there!” Marko said loudly. “What’s the power again?”

Steve put his creepy plaster face in his creepy plaster hands.

“We’re still not one-hundred percent sure,” Logan answered. “But we know we don’t want Chadrigoth to get a hold of it. We just need to get through the next month. We’ll keep our eyes and ears open.”

The plan was good. It was simple, but simple plans were usually the most effective since they had the fewest points of failure. And this plan should work. One nice thing about a school with a laissez-faireattitude toward the survival of their students, one did have a great deal of freedom to take risks. And if things didn’t turn out well? There didn’t seem to be many consequences.

The next four weeks flew by. It was a steady routine of punishing morning exercises with Rockheart, followed by a day of classes, and then they’d spend their evenings studying in the library. It felt oddly normal after all the weirdness of the year. But there were a few changes that continually reminded Logan that nothing was normal at all.

For one, Inga was on the very edge of ranking up and become a B-Class, Azure Branch cultivator. She had also taken to wearing Melvin’s fedora. And when the hat wasn’t on her head, it would be in her hand fanning her face like she was a soccer mom going through early menopause. She would insist she was seconds away from evolving, but then nothing would happen.

Another big change was their History of Arborea class. Now that Logan knew the truth, it was more boring than ever. It was like Professor Nekhbet only cared about the theories behind the realm and not the actual fact. However, the vulture teacher did have Shadowcroft withholding the facts from him.

Logan now saw the Threshing Turtle in a whole new light. He could see where the professor leaned a bit too heavily on his staff at times, and seemed confused when Logan and Inga went to the Tartarucha Cells for their Monday practice. Still, for being absolutely ancient and mortally wounded in a battle against a god-like dungeoneer, the old turtle was doing pretty well at hiding the fact that he struggled to get through the day.

The biggest change, however, was the school’s reaction to the death of Melvin.

There were multiple funerals for the kitchen ghast, plus memorial services and a special competition for who could bake the best cherry triangle. No one won because all of the pastries weren’t very good, and no one could figure out how Melvin had come up with strangle cherries.

It was funny. Ed the Rot Troll had been with them since the beginning, and his death hadn’t gotten that much attention. Melvin had shown up the past summer, was only at Shadowcroft for a handful of months, but he was being treated like a hero. Melvin had been incredibly social, though, especially for being so socially awkward. Apparently, he’d met every single person at the academy, even if only to sell them a pastry.

Logan and the rest of the Terrible Twelfth continued to feel awful about what had happened. They would’ve given anything to rewind the year and treat the guy better. Less smack talk. More love. But unfortunately, sometimes what was done couldn’t be undone. When they got especially morose, Treacle of all people would remind them of Shadowcroft’s old line: They were alive. They could do wonderful things.

And so the days rolled by, the weather got warmer, Professor Nekhbet got more boring. Inga mastered silverware, tableware, goldware, all your basic wares. She could tell an early spring place setting from a late spring arrangement; it was like she wanted to excel in the class she’d shared with Melvin in order to honor the memory of the dorky kitchen ghast.

Marko taught Steve to clap along on a few songs he played on the lute. Marko’s music was already terrifying, but Steve’s oddly off-rhythm clapping made it exponentially worse.

Treacle kept an eye on the Bloodrock, using a little version of himself, only about six inches tall, who continually patrolled the dusty, fire-scorched halls, unbeknownst to the school staff. Treacle could be very clever when he had a mind to. A few people had gone in, mostly professors, but they always went in alone. Chadrigoth never even graced the entrance. He was far more interested in the Winterdark Halls, which were the frozen, arctic-version of the Bloodrock.

It was pretty clear what the abyss lord was doing—he was casing out the dungeon he wanted to use for his Offensive Dungeon Design final.

With all the dungeons open now, Logan and Tet worked on a special project in their class with Professor Toothbyte, A Kaleidoscope of Killzones: Diverse Dungeon Environments. They were putting a presentation together on the variety of Apothine energies and how they manifested themselves in different situations. It was fun to be working with Tet again, and Logan really did like the shark-faced professor. For being a living murder machine with a hook for a hand, he was strangely sensible and down to earth. He reminded Logan of command [AR1] Sergeant Major from back in the days when he wasn’t a mushroom.

Logan had also come to appreciate his Core Calisthenics with Professor Moonbow Rainsap. He’d hated the naga hippie so much, but now that’d he’d opened himself to other ways of cultivating, his Apothos channels had never felt more open. Professor Rainsap had been working tirelessly to help Inga evolve, but try as he might, nothing seemed to be working. He hit them with a weather analogy, which basically meant they had to be patient. It would rain when it would rain. And the rainbows would smell like serenity.

Or something. His lessons were still a bit tricky to follow at times.

Logan’s favorite class by far was his Offensive Dungeon Design class. In the final, the students would be facing off against each other in dungeons of their own choosing. Professor Zantho liked the idea of Logan and Inga going up against Chadrigoth.

There was just one problem, and there was nothing that the Terrible Twelfth could do about it.

A month after Melvin died, Logan and his friends were in the Mines of Madness for their last O.D.D. class before finals started. Even though it was spring, and warm outside, there was still frost on the ground in the cave. Those metal railway tracks would always be cold, not matter what the weatherman said. Professor Zantho had a chalkboard positioned in front of the class; on it was a map of Arborea with each of its thirteen dungeons marked out with large white Xs.

“Okay, maggots, you have your opponents,” she snapped, flitting back and forth in her Greek warrior garb, “You know the rules, and we’re basically following your capture the flag rules. The proctor of your exam, will be either Professor Ikgix or myself. We will randomly choose who will use their Apothos to open the Null Arena. Then, the two dungeons will fight until one captures the gem off the pedestal of their opponent. We’ve gone over strategies, we’ve gone over gambits, and you will be graded on both your offensive capabilities as well as your defensive layout. Now, who wants to choose their dungeon first?”

Chadrigoth raised his hand, which was strong, powerful, and tipped with razor-sharp talons. Logan knew how sharp those claws were, firsthand. Or was that severed hand first?

Professor Zantho grinned. “Oh, the big boy wants first crack. Why am I not surprised? Well, the fungaloid and his mothmancer friend are going to be hard to beat. I wouldn’t have said that at the start of the year, but that little mushroom maggot got himself to B-Class. Having you face all four wouldn’t be fair at all. Them two will be hard enough to beat. So, abyss lord, I’ll give you the home field advantage so to speak. Which dungeon do you want?”

Chadrigoth stood up and splashed out dark fire around him. His desk smoldered. The cold-based dungeon cores, like Fractilla the ice imp and Larry the snow golem, gave him annoyed looks.

“Well, Professor,” a cruel smile pulled at Chadrigoth’s handsome lips. “The Terrible Twelfth have had their panties in a twist over the Bloodrock for months now, and so that’s the one I want to use. I know they’ll cry about it now, but that’s nothing compared to how they’ll cry when I crush their gems.”

“Capture their gems, maggot,” Professor Zantho hissed.

The abyss lord gave a shocked Logan and Inga a big smile. “To-may-to, tom-ah-to, all the same to me. I’m going to win. They’re going to die.”

Marko squinted, mouth half-open to show his big goat teeth. “You mean, they’re going to lose, right?”

Steve again put his creepy plaster face into his creepy plaster hands.

“You heard what I said,” Chadrigoth replied, a wicked smile spreading across his face.

[AR1]Yo, military guy, should this be capilized?