Chapter 15

“Y-your majesty?” I stammered. “Are you sure?”

The old bastard grinned; I gave him exactly the off-balance reaction he’d hoped for. “Kings don’t have a lot of official power these days. However, I don’t have to go cap in hand to Parliament to knight whoever I bloody well please.”

“I don’t deserve this,” I blurted out.

“I beg to differ,” he said. “Granted, most of your service has been overseas, but you’ve proven yourself a worthy son of the United Kingdom. The ceremony is tomorrow, so wear something nice. It’s going to be broadcast worldwide.”

“I-if you’re sure,” I said.

King George nodded. “I’m hardly going to take back my word at this point! That would be a waste of everyone’s time, especially since I’m told we’ve interrupted your training.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” said Mr. Maki. “Still, I believe in the boy; he’s good at making up lost ground quickly.”

Well, wasn’t that something to warm the cockles of my heart. He really did like me, even if he shouldn’t.

Nobody should, really…

I shook my head to clear it. Mariko would be disappointed that I was still thinking in those terms. Besides, the real Soren Marlowe wouldn’t be carrying around the guilt of murdering the nation that was about to honor him, and I needed to shape up. He’d have been overjoyed, if a bit awestruck.

“If you believe in me, then I will too, Your Highness,” I said, stifling a needless line about the length of his reign. “A party, though? It seems like an awful lot of bother on my account, though.”

He barked a raspy laugh. “Look at him, getting a swollen head already! There’s more to celebrate than you, my boy. I’ll let that be a surprise for you both, though.”

I’d have to watch myself around the King George; he seemed overly fond of surprises.

**************

I’d learned so many helpful concepts and phrases since arriving in the human realms. Devils have rather uncomplicated psyches, so the idea of ‘imposter syndrome’ would have been foreign. After all, it wasn’t about deserving accolades, it was a matter of having them at all to build up your reputation.

A pity I had too much of The Enemy’s taint in me to avoid those unworthy worries. Worse, I couldn’t talk with anybody about it, besides Mr. Maki. When I explained I didn’t deserve the honor, he rebuffed me.

“Nobody likes false modesty, Marlowe.”

Like the old hypocrite had ever been truly modest! I swore that he was jealous that he wasn’t getting knighted alongside me.

Our smartphones had been confiscated at Installation 17B, along with Kiyo’s GoSato. I’d been given mine back, since it wasn’t practical to travel without it. It turned out to be a curse, since it let me scroll through social media late into the night. Mr. Maki was snoring away without a care in the world from his bed, leaving me to my own devices.

It wasn’t simply jetlag that kept me awake; my guilt over my pending honors wouldn’t leave me alone.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t anybody I cared to call who actually had access to their phone. Heida wasn’t the most sympathetic soul, and I hadn’t been especially close to her father or sister. Headmaster Tachibana was a possibility, but he actually knew the full truth, and I was liable to say something incriminating in a recorded format. Everyone else I was close to was either in training or dead.

Hold on; there was one possibility. I’d never heard back from Rose one way or the other after her mission. We’d speculated she wasn’t in a training unit, due to a lack of experience compared with the rest of us. She might have been shuffled off to another magical academy. It was worth a shot, at least. I couldn’t discuss what was really on my mind for a variety of reasons, but hearing her voice again would be a relief.

Technically, I got what I’d wanted after the first ring.

“Hello, this is Rose Cooper! If you’ve got a message, just text me and I’ll get to it when I can. I don’t really listen to voicemails.”

So much for that. Maybe they’d shuttled her off to a different training unit? I didn’t know her to do much without her phone, so I doubted she’d be without it.

Unless her mission in the South Pacific had gone wrong?

No, no, that was absurd. Somebody would have told us. The Wizard Corps wouldn’t hide something like that. Probably couldn’t hide it for long, realistically. No, Rose was simply unavailable.

Right?

Well, at least I had something new to worry about.

**************

Belfast, North Ireland

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Tuesday, December 13th, 2050

The next morning, Mr. Maki dragged me off to a clothier to rent a tuxedo for the knighting ceremony later that night. Shock of shocks, I proved to be easier to fit than six feet of bulging muscle and beer gut. I was done in ten minutes, while they’d have to do some modifications to accommodate him. With the time crunch, he’d have to stick around to verify the changes.

“I saw a café around the corner,” said Mr. Maki. “Go amuse yourself over there; I’m going to be a while.”

The shop was on a relatively quiet street, just wide enough that a single car could have fit. Everyone was on foot, though. This section of the city seemed untouched by the post-war eyesores, giving it an authentic touch.

I wasn’t wearing the suit anymore, having switched to some plain civilian clothes so I could blend in as much as possible. Still, I felt everyone’s eyes on me as I strode down the street. My worry told me that somebody had recognized me from the battles in England, but my sense told me that they’d been plastering my face all over the media for months. I was a rising star, as much as the idea disturbed me.

I’d underestimated just how well known I was. At first, it was little snippets of conversation I overheard as I passed people on the street.

“He looks familiar…”

“Yeah, can’t place it, though…”

I picked up the pace and tried to cover my face with my hand, which proved to be a mistake, since it only brought me more attention.

“Is he that Magpie Wizard?”

“Yeah, it’s him!”

“Hey kid, slow down!”

It was one thing to be recognized by a pretty waitress or a comely security guard. That sort of attention was always welcome. However, I had a good dozen followers. I could either make a run for it, or I could give them what they wanted.

Well, I don’t like to disappoint. I came to a halt and spun around on my heel. “Oh, are you talking to little old me?”

My impromptu fan club was mostly women old enough to be my mother, though there were a couple of men mixed in. I supposed most younger people would be occupied with school or work.

One of them, a heavyset man wearing a green cap, stepped up first. “Yup, that’s him. Come over here and let me shake your hand.”

He’d cut to the head of the line, but everyone was snapping photos or shoving something for me to sign. I’d deal with him first, though. His sweaty palms made me miss Ms. Patel from the airport, but I returned his strong grip with one of my own.

“Gladly, sir, though I don’t know why I’m worth such a fuss.” Once I released him, I started signing autographs.

One of my admirers, a round woman with raven hair invaded by streaks of grey, giggled at that. “Oh, listen to him. Getting knighted by the King tonight, and he wonders what the fuss is!”

Her nearly identical friend shook her head. “So modest! Just like the writeup said.”

“Writeup?” I asked.

“The Guardian put out something this morning about you,” she said. “You really didn’t know? They had quotes from you and everything.”

Oh they did, did they? Exactly why I don’t believe the press! However, I kept my cool. “Well, now I do, my dear. I hadn’t realized it was already public! Thanks for the tip; it’ll give me some reading material while I get a coffee.” With that, I managed to escape.

The café was only three blocks away, but the same basic scene repeated itself four times before I arrived. Each group mentioned The Guardian’s piece about me. Even if King George disdained their advice, his social media expert knew their stuff.

There was a benefit to my newfound fame, though. The barista, a trim young blonde, refused to let me pay for my tea and kept finding reasons to come check up on me. She never allowed my cup to be more than half empty. She was also very handsy, touching my upper arm and shoulder. One time, she even pretended to trip as an excuse to press her chest against my arm. The effect was slightly ruined by her sloshing a bit of Earl Grey on my white shirt, though.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she said.

“Think nothing of it, my dear,” I said. “It’s an old shirt, anyway.” That was a lie, but she was proving to be a bit… distracting. She was clearly the sort of chase a celebrity. In the old days, I’d have taken a quick break to have her in the back room. Hell, up until Mulciber’s attack, I’d have been a free agent. In a post-Iceland world, though, she was only trouble.

Between her and a few other admirers, it took far too long to read a fairly succinct article.

Profile of a Hero. Even if I hadn’t been a devil, what a ridiculous, overreaching title. They didn’t have much information I didn’t already know about the real Soren Marlowe; the son of a Danish refugee and an English father, he’d been a poor student at the Merlin Academy of Magic. It covered his ‘brutal treatment at the hand of the monstrous Grim Horde’ before his ‘daring escape to the coastline, where he was picked up by the HMS Coventry’.

There was one handy bit of information: it said that he had no known family, confirming my and headmaster Tachibana’s knowledge. Just the way I liked it, since those were fewer people to out me.

There was one line about me becoming a ‘new man’ at the Nagoya Academy of Magic, crediting the ‘expert tutelage and example of his homeroom teacher, Mr. Maki, the Divine Blade’. I’d have to save that bit for him; it would warm his boastful little heart. Still, the ‘new man’ bit made me wonder if whoever in the government had fed this tripe to The Guardian was in on my secret.

They got a few key details wrong. They credited my nickname, Magpie, to it being my favorite animal, rather than to my longish nose and low-grade kleptomania.

I hadn’t been caught in a while, but I realized I’d walked away from the clothier with a spare ballpoint pen in my pocket. If I was going to be in the public eye, I’d have to be more mindful about that.

True to everybody’s word, there were the so-called quotes from me. Dark Lord’s bones, somebody was feeling bold to not even tell me! I was going to have words with… well, I wasn’t sure who, but I’d have them!

“Simply an honor to even be considered for knighthood,” the false me never said. “I don’t deserve it more than anybody else. I’m only an ordinary wizard doing his part to fight the demonic menace.”

I rolled my eyes. They had me sounding like Hiro Takehara!

I paused, remembering my protests to the king. “Oh no, I do sound like Hiro!”

“Who’s Hiro?” asked the barista, who had returned… again.

“Not important right now,” I said.

“Alright then. Freshen your cup, Magpie?” she asked. My lack of attention seemed to be driving her crazy; I swore her shirt had been more buttoned up before, and that her skirt had covered more of her legs. “Maybe something else?”

Bloody Hell, I wasn’t playing hard to get, I was hard to get! I willed her to pick up the hint.

In spite of all temptations, I managed to meet her eyes.

Well, maybe after a quick glance. She’d put in the effort, after all. It would be rude. Still, this groupie was trouble.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t drink another drop.” I dropped a ten pound note on the table. “You took excellent care of me, miss. Have a fantastic day.”

Oh, the stink-eye I got as I walked out. I don’t think she expected me to notice, but the reflection in the shop’s window gave her away.

If the barista hadn’t been so distracting, I might have noticed that I hadn’t hit the bottom of the article—the page had simply been interrupted by an advertisement—which was a shame. After all, it gave away the other surprise that King George had alluded to.