CHAPTER 31: LOOKING ELSEWHERE

As a mother’s keen joined a brother's wail, love and pain twisted into a new song that ripped through the unmoving stone of the colossal face above.

  “Sixty-Seven?” Bridget said incredulously.

  “Voice down, Miss Vasily!” Instructor Cardenas hissed from the corner of the room. “Quivervine is sensitive to sound.” She pointed at a long cluster of tendrils that crept up the glass wall of the greenhouse, its green leaves shaped like the fletching of arrows that were currently pointed in Bridget’s direction.

  Perched on a three-legged stool pushed against the glass wall, the brown-haired teacher went back to her writing, nearly consumed by a mountain of notes that tipped precariously on either side of her. Stacked higher than Bridget’s head if she had tried to stand on the stool, the horde of paper supposedly contained all of Instructor Cardenas’ ‘work’, and a certainty of peril if you tried to take a sheaf out of the wrong place.

  If anyone found it odd that the small woman kept her office in the middle of a greenhouse, no one had found the wherewithal to voice that opinion, because Cardenas was lenient, her assignments, like today's, largely consisted of assigning her class to wander about, looking up the plants she had assigned them within the pages of their books, and answering any questions they came up with.

  “Sorry.” Briddy mouthed silently over her shoulder.

  Without looking up, Cardenas frowned, crossing something out on the page in front of her.

  Bridget found Practical Botanica to be an odd, yet pleasant experience, the freedom to work at her own pace more than suitable after a lifetime of patiently waiting for others to catch up in classes.

  “What page does the survival chapter start on?” Thurston walked over to her and Tuck, waving his copy of A Journey into Botanica by Terbon Iiels.

  Bridget’s eyes sparked with amusement. “There’s a table of contents at the front, Thurston.” She said, trying to suppress her smile as she flipped the book open.”

  “Yes well, Abaget-”

  “Always tells you. That’s what you said the last time.”

  “Ah well, time does pass, and history repeats itself, dear girl, though I can’t help but notice…” Thurston’s dark sideburns rotated as he looked at the open book in her hands. “Ah yes, you have already got it right there, yes?”

  Bridget sighed in fake exasperation, shaking her head. “You could at least look at the book and confirm that such a thing as a table of contents exists.” He got so lost in the classes that his attache couldn’t constantly attend to every detail.

  “It’s three hundred and fourteen,” Tuck said mildly, smiling briefly over at the lordling before squinting up at the slanted glass roof above them. Several of the windows were propped open to let some air in, though that did little to assuage the humidity that stuck their uniforms to damp arms and backs.

  Bridget began writing her report for the assignment, a basic survey of plants useful in long journeys like tracking and hunting. They only needed a few examples, but the daunting part of the work was locating the plants that their book only described. Craning her neck down beneath a hundred-foot-long sea of leaves, she got to work, consulting the first paragraph on the page before her.

Commonly known as Wayfinder’s leaf, this striking plant possesses a dark pigment of green, its leaf flared similar to that of birch, though the tip of the leaf is more pronounced, and shot through with veins of white. When chewed, it is said to enhance seeking spells-

  She looked up from her textbook, peering through the various collection of clay pots and stalks in front of her, craning her neck to look past the wide, frondlike branches of a fern. If only they were allowed to use spells here, Maistwel’s classes would’ve ensured that this could be done in a record time. Not that anyone had been foolish enough to use magic since Argus had tried to levitate a pot of Flarefern their first week in, accidentally bringing down the plant, its dirt, and Instructor Cardenas’ wrath for using magic on her plants down upon his head.

  “So Briddy.” Tuck’s voice said behind her, drawing out the vowels in her name.

  “Nope.” She used her pen to push up the thin flexible branches of a bamboo bush, squinting at the pot next to it.

  “Don’t you want some illustrious company?” Thurston rolled the ‘r’ in illustrious, coming up beside her.

  Straightening, Bridget fiddled in her bag, taking her sweet time to draw out a piece of paper. “Would said company’s attention happen to be focused upon my notes?” She said.

  “And scintillating conversation, dear girl,” said Thurston, stroking his sideburns.

  “Please,” Tuck added.

  Considering the pair of them, hovering there before her with grins that said they already knew her answer, Bridget let out a prolonged sigh. It was, after all, the twentieth or so time they’d had this conversation.

  “Fine.” She let the word out, leaning back towards the plants. “But you’re holding the branches back.”

  As she searched, the boys spoke with each other, Tuck’s bad jokes eliciting more than the occasional chuckle from Thurston. Bridget took her time to focus on the plant she had suspected was Wanderer’s leaf, sketching out its long-pointed leaves onto the paper before moving on in search of something called ‘Mealfruit’.

  “So Sixty-Seven.” Thurston whistled.

  “That’s..” Tuck trailed off, shaking his head.

  “I know,” Bridget murmured, eyes flicking over towards Cardenas. As much as she wanted to get excited, she kept her voice low. “When’s the last time we found over 50 of them in one place?”

  Thurston leaned back, tucking his arms behind his head. A purple vest tugged upwards, revealing a plum undershirt tucked neatly beneath his sheer green and white uniform. “Tomorrow will be a show, that’s for sure.” He said.

  Bridget scanned the humid room for a tall bush with bulbous white fruit, like her book described, eyes flitting between the different clusters of green-shouldered heads she saw dotting through the greenery. Plants kept in pots were perched on every surface, their foliage making the view somewhat obscure. She couldn’t be entirely sure, but aside from a lack of pale fruits, she had also noticed an absence of diversity among the color of clothes different groupings wore. The closer the rally loomed upon the horizon, the more care the students seemed to take to display their loyalty to who they were supporting. Underneath the semi-sheer of her classmate’s uniforms, Bridget could spy a smattering of Titan’s Breath green, a blush of Rising Dawn’s purple there, even a few dots of Teradish’s yellow and The Molten Flail’s red, standing out amongst a sea of blue and orange shirts worn by those who supported the more popular guilds.

  Theirs was one of the few groups that mingled colors, Thurston’s eggplant attire complementing the blue of Tuck’s collarless shirt. Pulling her sky-blue top away from where it stuck to the base of her back, Bridget headed toward the back of the greenhouse.

  “Aren’t you excited for the festivities tomorrow?” Thurston asked as he trailed along. “I imagine having an insider’s view into the workings of the hunt must be exhilarating.”

“Hmmm?” Bridget said looking over at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “The Rally.” Tuck supplied helpfully.

  “No, the inside view bit.” She said.

  “I just thought that your parents would have…” Thurston took in the look on her face, trailing off before he could complete the thought. “Haven’t they been sending you letters? Telling you all of the things that are going on?” He looked in between Tuck and Bridget, as though asking if this was a common occurrence.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  “They haven’t said anything to me about it,” Briddy said, voice clipped. “They’re too focused on my grades and making sure I know how imminent my impending failure is.” She slipped through a tiny crowd of red Molten Flail supports that was blocking her path, knocking shoulders where they stuck out in her path.

  “What’s wrong with your grades?” Tuck said, exiting from the throng behind her and ignoring the dirty looks his deep blue shirt got.

  Bridget didn’t reply, pushing towards a collection of leafy shrubs in the back left corner that sometimes had different berries and fruits dangling off their branches.

  “Briddy.” Tuck easily caught up, poking her in the back.

  Swallowing, Bridget tried to push the memory of the note she had gotten that morning from her mind. Even with the effort, the small piece of paper forced its way into her mind, two lines scrawled in her father’s rough hand.

Guildhunts should be the least of your concern, given that your midterm grades were hardly sufficient. If you cannot be bothered to try, then you know what awaits as the prize for your incompetence.

  Nothing about the Guildhunt’s progress, the Gilded Down’s preparations, the pack of monstrosities, how Adelaide or Nolan were doing, not a word on the top marks that she had received for her various written exams or the glowing review Maistwel had given her essays. Not a peep. Just another reminder of her shortcomings and flaws, and the price that her father was trying to put on them.

  “They’re not good enough.” She muttered, crouching down to examine the bushes.

  They never are. She added silently.

  Perhaps they would be if you measured value against something attainable. Vex said.

  Bridget ignored her relic’s opinion, indicating a few branches for Thurston and Tuck to push aside.

  “Bridget, I’ll have you know that I only copy off of the best students,” Thurston said grandly, ignoring the exasperated look she shot at him. “Besides, I happen to know by way of Tuck that you study more than both of us combined. You’ve always got some book or the other bulging its way out of your bag.”

  Tuck nodded in agreement. “Don’t listen to your father. Your grades are pretty good.” He released a branch he had been holding from her as they moved on.

  “If only book-smarts was all I needed for our classes though.” She said before suddenly turning; a flash of white had caught her eye.

  “Hey, we do well in our Cell.” Tuck grinned, pulling up beside her. “I mean despite…”

  “Internal tensions.” Thurston finished.

  “That’s not the problem.” She squinted at the round fruit in front of her, its round bulbs a pale ghostly white with the faintest hint of pink blush. Flipping open her copy of A Journey into Botanica, Bridget began to track down the Mealfruit description once again.

  “What’s the problem then?” Thruston sounded thoroughly confused, though she didn’t look up from her book to confirm that.

  “I’ll give you a guess,” Briddy said, scanning the page.

  “Does it start with Relic?” Tuck’s voice said, coated with the softness of repressed laughter.

  “And end with Hennigan hates me? Sure does.” Bridget seized a fruit and broke it open, revealing a deep, hearty orange centered. “Found it.”

  Giving the halves over to the boys for consumption, she wrote down her notes on the plant’s appearance, the width of its stalk, and any distinguishable features. Once finished, she straightened up, turning the page around so they could get a look.

  “Make sure you mark down that it’s only edible if it’s lacking green streaks,” Bridget said but nobody replied.

  Looking up, she found the pair standing a small distance away, Thurston wiping a chunk of Mealfruit from Tuck’s face with a black-ringed hand. Giving him a crooked smile, Tuck bumped his shoulder into Thurston, who bumped it back, smiles widening into grins while Tuck tried to grab the last bite of the lordling’s fruit.

  Bridget quickly returned her attention to her notes, cheeks burning a little as she put some more details on her sketch of the plant. It felt like she had just witnessed something private, a special moment between two people that wasn’t supposed to be watched. She hurried away to look for a final plant to write an observation about, turning pages of her textbook without really reading what was on them.

  Finally, she settled on Soaproot, and when in search of a purple-stemmed plant with oversized light-green leaves. Thurston and Tuck caught up after a while, shoulders still bumping as some unspoken joke passed between their eyes. Bridget swallowed the unsettling feeling in her stomach that she shouldn’t be there, and desperately wished not for the first time that Gail or Abaget was in this class with her.

  After explaining her current mission they forged on and a helpful direction from a girl in a royal blue shirt who Briddy vaguely recalled as being named ‘Tabitha’ quickly found themselves nearly completing their circuit of the greenhouse.

  “So we’ve got Wayfinder’s leaf, Mealfruit, and what again?” Thurston said, clearing his throat.

  “Soaproot. Useful to cleanse wounds and can be pulped to scrub yourself with.” Bridget said, avoiding looking up at the pair of them. Instead, she kept her eyes on the lush vegetation that surrounded them in various pots and planters, keeping her gaze where it belonged and not intruding.

  Ruba always told her that she snooped too much, watching people for little details that could help her understand why they acted like they did. At age nine, when she had pointed out how the glass in her mother’s hand never ran dry at family functions and was surely a motivator for her poor mood, Bridget had earned herself a slap and an earful of scolding for putting her nose where it didn’t belong.

  There are some things, her mother had said that you have no business trying to dig into. Personal lives are one of them. Keep your eyes to yourself Bridget, and stop rounding your shoulders or you’ll remind our guests of a Quakeape.

  “You know,” Tuck said, breaking her out of her reverie. “One of my cousins told me you can smoke Wayfinder’s Leaf. Said it ‘helps you find something else.”

  “Not in this classroom it won’t, Mister Sanlaurant.” Instructor Cardenas’ voice cracked like a whip from the corner opposite them, where she was still perched next to the door. “Misuse of school plants will be severely punished.” Apparently, the Quivervine could tolerate noise if it was in defense of other plants.

  “I believe he was joking, Instructor Cardenas.” Thruston’s sideburned-covered cheeks spread in a wide grin before he huddled back around with the two of them. “Might I suggest we not use family members’ advice for vegetation within any teacher’s hearing?” He said in a hushed tone.

  Bridget shrugged. “Nolan and Adelaide were never really in any of the alchemical classes. Nolan does fabrication, I suppose, but he never gave me any advice about plants.”

  Thurston looked over at Tuck, another set of unspoken looks passing between them that included a few glances back at her. “Not what I was referring to,” He said finally. “But the point stands. Shall we continue our task of finding Soaproot?”

  Bridget gave him a long look, letting him shift around uncomfortably for a few seconds before she nodded and began looking around. Breathing in the sweet smell of earth, undercut by the bitter, herbal aroma from the pale-leafed plant she chose to examine, she frowned at the uniform stalk. Not what she wanted. After several minutes of searching, she realized the elusive Soaproot wasn’t against the front wall.

  Bridget chewed her lip in frustration. She was sure it would’ve been kept with the more fibrous plants towards the front, but it was nowhere to be found. Turning towards the central column of greenery that stretched down the middle of the humid room, Briddy let her eyes glaze past herbs for culinary dishes, plants for household remedies and uses, and fragrant leaves for medicinal use, hanging in neatly wrapped bundles from the metal ceiling beams overhead. Maybe she should recheck the fruit bushes back where they found the Mealfruit? There had been some plants there she hadn’t checked.

  She led the way back through the semi-sheer uniformed shoulders of their classmates when a thought struck her. Household plants. Turning towards the long partition of vegetation, she pulled at her book, opening it not to the section on survival, but to the chapter for domestic uses. There indeed, four pages in, she found another entry for soaproot, describing a natural detergent formed by mashing and squeezing out its flesh.

  “Idiot,” Bridget muttered to herself, shaking her head as she made her way towards the lavender leaves she had spotted.

  “Pardon?” Thurston said, looking up from the quiet conversation he and Tuck had been having.

“Found it,” Bridget replied. Confirming with the textbook, she pushed aside the dirt, found the pale roots peeking up at her,   and finished up their assignment with a few angry strokes of her pen.

  As they made their way back towards Cardenas’ nest of papers, Thurston seemed to have his mind far from what grade they were about to receive.

  “Wonder if there will be those roasted Brussel Sprouts at dinner again.” He said.

  “Didn’t they say it’s just soup and stew tonight since they’re changing the cantina around?” Bridget asked as she pushed a few damp curls of hair that kept sticking to her forehead out of the way and into the silver grasp of her clip.

  “Doesn’t it always shift around in the evening?”

  “For the daily heat, sure, but they’re setting up stuff for the rally tomorrow.” Bridget pulled out the paper with her observations on it, handing it over to Cardenas, the boys scribbled a couple of last-minute things on theirs before they did the same.

  Accepting the papers with a jut of her chin, Instructor Cardenas directed them to put them in the newest pile forming near her feet and shooed them out of the greenhouse with little ceremony.

  “The way she gets rid of us, you would think we’re trespassing or something of the sort.” Thurston huffed.

  “She probably sees all of her students like an invasive species,” Bridget said, tucking her textbook away in her bag. “Not that I blame her. And at least this time we didn’t get an anecdote to go with it.”

  As they strolled towards the tall, rectangular cantina building, where a line of students was gathering bowls of various soups and slices of freshly baked bread, Bridget took in the half-string line of pennant flags that was slowly stretching itself across the building under Doctor Maistwel’s careful eye.

  “Maybe one day we’ll terrorize students with tales of our missions,” Tuck remarked, joining the line.

  “Well, we’ll get a good look at what the future looks like tomorrow,” Bridget replied grimly. “Everyone knows it’s not a Guildhunt without bloodshed.”