Chapter 13

“No,” the sword said automatically.

“Aw, please?” Alice made a face and fluttered her eyelashes. Why would she do that?

“You’re not qualified,” the sword said.

“Excuse us for a second, please,” Arthur said, tugging the sword loose and pulling him to the side.

“What are you doing?” He whispered into the sword’s ear.

The sword pulled back, while he had liked being so close to Alice, Arthur’s grip on his arm was tighter in a weird way, and his breath did not smell good.

“She is not qualified,” the sword said.

“She’s hot as hell, apparently likes you for who knows what reason, and is half as obnoxious as the rest of our class of narcisistic protagonists. Also, she’s hot as hell. Earth ain’t like the other worlds where everyone looks like they just got out of plastic surgery, don’t go discounting the value of hotness.”

“Then make her a [thrall] or something,” the sword said, shrugging out of Arthur’s grip. “I don’t want her.”

“Now that’s an idea,” Arthur said, rubbing his chin. “That’s a great idea. Are you serious? You’re really going to be picky about this?”

“She’s not qualified,” the sword repeated. It was all that needed to be said.

“Huh,” Arthur seemed, weirdly, pleased with this response. After another glance back at the politely waiting Alice, he tapped the sword’s arm. “You should ask her how she knows you want a wielder, by the way. You haven’t exactly been talking to anyone about it.”

The sword hadn’t thought to question that. But now that Arthur pointed it out, it was strange.

After another moment decrying the sword’s stubbornness, Arthur walked them back to Alice.

“I like knowing things,” was Alice’s enigmatic reply to the sword’s question. “It’s something of a habit. How come I can’t be a wielder?”

The sword tried to come up with some more descriptive explanation, then gave up. “You just can’t.”

Alice frowned, “Interesting. Who are you considering?”

“Yeah,” Arthur asked, “Who makes the cut for best murderer in the class?”

The sword looked around, all three of his candidates were here. He looked back at Alice and Arthur, he couldn’t think of a reason not to share with them.

He pointed at the boy with black flames. Alice’s hand shot out, pulling his harm back to his side. She was smiling, “First lesson about gossip, it’s best not to get caught if you can help it. Pointing at who you’re talking about is asking for trouble.”

“Oh,” the sword said. He hadn’t thought they were gossipping. But that was good to know, he would try to remember. “Um…” he tried to remember the boy’s name.

“Black hair, brown eyes, perpetually hiding his mouth behind his collar like he’s got a face full of pimples and a cancer-ridden mom to kill for?” Arthur asked.

“The one with the black fire skill,” Alice added.

“Yes, that’s him,” the sword added. “The next one is,”

“Wait wait wait, you’re going too fast. Tell me more about black fire boy,” Alice interrupted. “Why would he be good as a wielder?”

Because he would be, of course. The sword wanted to reply. But he tried to come up with more to say. He had judged seventy three wielders, even though he’d never told them, of course. This should be something he was good at.

“He is the most powerful person in our class,” the sword said slowly, “aside from Arthur.”

Alice nodded. “Yes, I thought so. But so what? Why do your wielders need to be powerful?”

The sword made a face. “It’s um, more that the powerful usually want me. And…they tend to use me to my fullest. That’s an important part of being a wielder. Often the weaker ones…lose their nerve. They tend to stop using me quickly.”

“That’s interesting,” Alice said. “Who’s next?”

“The laughing girl,” the sword said, this time just nodding in her direction. “She has the experience.”

This time Alice looked a little surprised. “But…but she’s so goofy. She never shuts up about how much she loves ice cream.”

“She has killed more people than anyone else in our class,” the sword said simply.

“What, even more than me? How could you possibly tell that?” Arthur asked with great curiosity.

The sword shrugged. There was no effort to it. He’d just known many wielders. “It’s easy to spot the good ones.”

“She told me she was a court jester in her other world,” Alice said. “She juggled in front of me. It was very cringe.”

The sword didn’t say anything. Alice looked at the laughing girl, she was in one of the largest groups, and the nosiest. Her back was shaking, she was laughing, of course.

Alice looked back at the sword, her gaze steady. “How interesting,” she said. “Anyone else?”

“The girl with amber eyes,” the sword said. He did know her name. “Mei Huang.”

“Yes she’d be perfect wouldn’t she,” Alice said agreeably.

“Amber eyes? Who’s that?” Arthur asked.

Alice gently nodded her head in Mei’s direction. She was, as always, in the center of her group, carrying on a lively conversation with them, the chosen few. There were several smaller groups near hers, little satellites orbiting the center.

Arthur whistled. “Ok, she’s really hot as hell, I pick her. What was she, an [elf queen] or something?”

“Just an [aristocrat] like the rest of our little court,” Alice said. “But her training is impeccable isn’t it? She’s graceful in the middle of a crappy grove, wearing nothing but an off the rack school uniform. I’ve been tailoring mine to make it fit, but she doesn’t even need that, does she?”

The sword said nothing. Her qualifications had nothing to do with how she looked. And he was no more comfortable assessing someone else’s body than he was his own.

“She’d be very popular,” Arthur said agreeably.

Alice raised her eyebrow slightly at him, “She already is.”

“Oh, no, I meant with my people. Quite the gift for the Third Circle I think, they appreciate practiced elegance. They say all that effort ages the flavor, like fermentation, you know?”

“Of course,” Alice said with a polite murmur, shifting so that she was once more gripping the sword’s arm.

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” the sword said. It was now quite cold, and the air had somehow gotten more wet without it actually raining, so that his face felt like it was being sprayed by a the lightest film of water.

“Oh but you should stay just a little longer,” Alice said. “Parties are an unbelievable strategic opportunity.”

Arthur nodded vigorously, “Soooo many potential victims.”

“You can talk to almost anyone at a party, if you set your mind to it,” Alice continued, as if Arthur hadn’t said anything. “And you’ve already done the hardest part, which is cultivating the person next to the person you’re actually trying to talk to.”

“I have?” The sword asked. He was bewildered by this sudden recasting of a party as a strategic battle ground. There were no weapons in sight. Unless you counted the beer.

Which perhaps he should.

“Yes, that’s actually what I thought you were doing when you saved me,” Alice said, smiling up at him. “Not that I really minded. But you’re a bit too innocent for your own good aren’t you?”

The sword still was not following. He said so.

“I know, darling, come along,” Alice said, and pulled him in towards the circle of people centered around Mei.

Arthur tagged along behind them, which made everyone freeze up as they presumably received a warning from inventory that the [Demon Lord] was approaching them quickly. Arthur waived at them cheerily, producing various sorts of smiles that even the sword could tell were not genuine.

But after Alice’s cheerful introduction, something like the natural conversation that had been flowing previously began again.

The sword had thought they were going to speak directly to Mei, but instead what happened was that he and Alice slid from person to person, Alice giving brief introductions and then inserting herself into whatever conversation was in progress.

Arthur had gotten side tracked somewhere along the way in some conversation with two wide eyed boys about the nature of demonic curses.

Each of the conversations that Alice pulled him into seemed to be about nothing at all. The weather, the beer, the clothes they were all wearing (and weren’t they all just school uniforms?) how hard the classes were or how easy. Some funny, or not so funny thing that someone had said or done.

It was all just noise.

The sword wanted quiet.

But Alice kept her grip on his arm, making it just a little bit too hard to slip away from her, and slowly, slowly they circled inwards, towards Mei Huang.

Her cheeks were flushed, and she was laughing cheerfully with another girl between sips from her plastic cup.

Alice slid them both next to her and said cheerfully, “Look who I found! I’m not sure I mentioned, but Nick was my dear savior the other day during that dreadful attack in the hall.”

The other girl smiled politely at the sword.

The glassy unfocused look in Mei’s eyes vanished immediately. She looked the sword up and down with the analytical speed of a weaponsmasters.

The sword exhaled. Even being next to her, he felt instantly better.

Mei Huang said, “No.” And turned back to her companion, shutting the sword and Alice out completely.

Alice blinked, then turned to look at the sword, surprise leaking through her composed expression. “Are you sure you didn’t say anything else to her?”

“She has made her decision,” the sword said. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed. An unpleasant feeling, he hadn’t realized Alice had affected his expectations at all, but some part of him had thought that because she knew how people worked better than the sword did, and there was still some chance.

But the wielder candidate had refused him the first time, and she had meant it.

It had never happened to the sword before, but then, he was much diminished from what he once was. It seemed perfectly plausible Mei Huang had no use for a sword trapped in flesh, especially here, at Crossroads, where weapons were not always necessary.

“I am going to go now,” the sword said, determined that this time Alice would not change his mind.

“Perhaps you should,” Alice said thoughtfully. “How interesting. A complete miscalculation. I haven’t done that in a couple of lives, you know.”

The sword didn’t, and didn’t really care. He turned to start making his way out of the circle of chattering noise, but found he was unaccountably dizzy.

He staggered, and Alice’s hand reached out to steady him. “Whoops! The beer catching up with you?” She asked cheerfully.

“No,” the sword said, as the world started to spin around him. “I didn’t drink any beer.”

Her cheerful concern turned into something more serious. “Then—” and then she too staggered.

With no more support, the sword went sprawling into the mud. All around him, the other students began to do the same, falling with undignified splats and moans.

He heard Arthur curse from somewhere, “Ah hell, they’re using gas,” and the tromp of uniformed boots entering the clearing, and then there was nothing but darkness.