Chapter 5

He was very warm.

A heavy heat, full of moisture and scent, the smell of food and soap mixing together in a way that was stimulating, though not pleasant.

The sword woke. He was in a large room, dimly lit, laid out on what seemed to be a long table with a metal top. He sat up, it was, as he’d already noticed, very hot. The reason for this became obvious, as he saw the row of ovens against one wall, their interiors lit by a yellow light, each filled with a large ceramic pot.

“Finally,” the [Demon Lord] said with a huge yawn. He was seated at a small round table tucked into the wall opposite the ovens. He stretched, “I was just about to get another book.” There was a book split open on the table in front of the [Demon Lord], he was clearly more than halfway through.

“Did we win?” The sword asked.

“Probably under some ridiculous heroic definition of the word,” the [Demon Lord] said. “By my lights, the bastard got clean away, and I didn’t get a single corpse. So no, we did not.”

“Oh,” the sword said. “Why was there a lizardman on Earth? Are those common now?”

The [Demon Lord] snorted. “Isn’t it obvious?”

The sword looked blankly back.

“Ok, not for you. Of course, why would a sword need to be able to reach a logical conclusion?”

The sword waited. He was aware he was being made fun of, it just didn’t seem that important.

“The school is called Crossroads Academy. It’s a literal name. We’re built on the crossroads between worlds. So yeah, Earth’s old residents who fell into some other world, we show up back here, but so do randos from other worlds who somehow get stranded on Earth.”

It had never occurred to the sword that travel between worlds would go in both directions. But now that the [Demon Lord] had said it, it was obvious. “Why didn’t they tell us in orientation?” He asked.

“They did. You weren’t paying attention,” the [Demon Lord] said. “That’s why the curfews are sort of strict. The only people out at night are supposed to be on Night Patrol, I guess that’s when we get visitors from other worlds. Which sounds like some kind of vampire thing, but I haven’t seen any vampires on the green so…”

The sword nodded, this all made a surprising amount of sense. So, the lizardman had come from another world. And yet…he frowned. “But that was a professional scout. Quite a good one. Not just a random wanderer.”

The [Demon Lord] waved his hand dismissively, “So he got separated from the dungeon party, or he deserted his mercenary band and got lost in the woods. Who knows. Night Patrol will find him, or they won’t.”

The sword didn’t think it was so simple, but it was clear the [Demon Lord] had no more interest. He was feeling a little bit less disoriented.

“So…why are we in a kitchen?” He asked.

“More importantly,” a quiet, monotone voice said from the dim doorway, “how is your arm doing?”

The man who stepped into the dim light was nearly as tall as the doorway, wrapped in a large wool coat and a black scarf despite the opressive heat of the ovens.

The sword looked down at his arm. He’d forgotten about it. There was a tight bandage on his upper arm, and it ached, but he had no trouble moving it.

“It seems to be working,” the sword said.

The man nodded his head, then walked to the ovens and opened one of them, rotating the pot inside before shutting the door. “What is your name?”

“Eclipse,” the sword said, then caught himself. “Nick.”

“Eclipse Nick,” the man repeated. “Very good.”

“Uh, no,” the sword said, “Sorry, I got confused.”

“Names are confusing,” the man said. “What would you like me to call you?”

Mostly the sword just wanted to stop talking about names. “Nick is fine,” the sword muttered.

The man nodded again, then drifted to the next oven, rotating the next pot.

“Are you…the cook?” The sword asked, still confused about what he was doing here.

The man straightened. “Oh. I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Cadmarius,” he bent back to the next oven. Straightened and turned around to face the sword.

His left cheek was split by a long pale scar, his eyes were blue, sheltered by long lashes. He was too old to be a student, still young, though he moved and spoke so slowly it made him seem old.

He was clearly not a wielder candidate. The sword couldn’t have said exactly why. It wasn’t that he already had a sword, like Ms. Lopez.

It was just that he was complete already. He didn’t need a sword.

“I’m the head chef for Crossroads Academy,” Cadmarius said in his monotone voice. “If you’re feeling up to it, could you get off the table?”

The sword swung his legs over the side, and stood, feeling dizzy only for a moment. Cadmarius acted as if everything was settled, but the sword was still puzzled. And, for once, he thought it wasn’t because he was missing something obvious.

“But, if I was injured, why am I in the kitchens?”

“Oh.” Cadmarius said, laying out a cutting board onto the table the sword had occupied, and producing a long, beautifully sharp knife from a pouch at his waste. “That’s because Arthur called me.”

“This is going to take all night if you keep talking, Cad,” the [Demon Lord], whose name must be Arthur, cut in. “I work in the kitchens. Cadmarius told me to call him if there’s ever trouble. So I did. Uh…the Night Patrol and I aren’t on the friendliest of terms. Too many trigger happy [clerics].”

“Well,” the sword said, “Thank you.” He knew that was what you were supposed to say. And it had hurt at the end, and the blood had felt horrible spilling onto him, all sticky and hot. They’d even gotten him a knew shirt from somewhere.

Cadmarius nodded slowly. “Now, as thanks, why don’t you chop some onions for me?”

The sword did not enjoy how onions made his eyes tear up, but he did like the smooth slice of Cadmarius’ kitchen knives as they ripped through the thin white layers.

The onions were followed by carrots and celery, and then several chicken carcasses. Next to the ovens was a huge rack of grates, Cadmarius turned a knob, and blue fire sprang up, licking at the black metal covering.

He produced an enormous pot, large enough to sit in, and then began methodically dumping all of the ingredients the sword and Arthur had prepared.

Cadmarius seemed to do nothing quickly, which clearly bothered Arthur, who tapped his foot constantly. The sword found it soothing. Everyone else always moved and talked so quickly.

While the sword was peeling potatoes, Cadmarius tapped his lip and asked, “Why were you in the lower levels, Nick? You’re room is not on that floor.”

“I heard a noise,” Nick said. “The sound of a sword. I wanted to find it.”

Cadmarius nodded. Picked up one of the peeled potatoes, and began slicing it into cubes, which should have been impossible given that the potatoes themselves were not at all square.

“Yes, that would be very intriguing,” Cadmarius agreed. “But why were you awake in the first place?”

“What?” The sword asked.

“Based on what you and young Arthur have said, it would have been…two o clock in the morning. Very late.”

“Oh,” the sword said. “Yes. I was awake.” He did not want to talk about not being able to sleep. For the last while he had felt nearly comfortable, focused on a specific task, doing something that was almost like sword work.

He didn’t want to think about how uncomfortable this body was.

“Well,” Cadmarius said, many cubed potatoes later. “If you can’t sleep again, you may come to the kitchens. Arthur is dangerous. Best not to tempt him.”

“Hey!” Arthur said from the stockpot. He had been told to skim the fat as it boiled to the top. “I didn’t even take a finger.”

“That’s right,” Cadmarius said approvingly.

The sword didn’t say anything, as it seemed nothing needed to be said. After the potatoes were added to the soup, Cadmarius handed them both a slice of fresh baked bread—the sword had been astonished to discover inside all those clay pots had been bread—and told them both it was time to go, as they would need time to prepare for morning bell.

“Take him back to his dorm, Arthur, and if you run into trouble, call me again.”

It was still dark when they emerged from the main building onto the campus lawn, and the sword’s breath fogged in front of him as he exhaled.

“What is Cadmarius?” He asked, as the reached the door of his building.

“Hmmm?” Arthur asked. “He’s the chef, he told you.”

“No, is he a [wizard]? Or something else? He doesn’t need a sword.”

“Why are you asking me?” Arthur shrugged.

“Because you have appraisal, obviously.”

Arthur tsked. “Was hoping you didn’t notice. I don’t know.”

“How do you not know? You haven’t used it on him?”

Arthur shrugged again. “Of course I have. I do it every day just for fun. It always says the same thing. [Cadmarius].”

The sword pondered this for a moment, but didn’t reach any conclusions.

“Hey if you’re not going to eat your bread, can I have it?”

The sword had forgotten about the bread he’d been given by Cadmarius, he handed it to Arthur, it was somehow still warm despite the cold air.

The boy devoured it, then walked away without a backwards glance.

The sword returned to his room and sat on the edge of his bed, waiting for the morning bell.

He covered his ears when it sounded, as he had the previous four days, but today it felt a little less harsh.