A Town Called Dust: The Territory 1 (10 page)

He looked around the room and saw Squid standing in his uniform.

“There are two things wrong with this picture,” Lieutenant Walter continued. “First, the rest of you don’t look like Squid, and second, he didn’t tell you all to get changed. Now hurry up, you have two minutes.”

All eyes in the barracks turned to look at Squid.

“Thanks again, Pumpkinhead,” said a voice from the front of the room. “Haven’t you done enough damage for one day?”

Squid recognized the boy from the journey to the Academy; he was someone you couldn’t help but notice. His name was Darius Canum. Though not an obviously handsome boy, he was striking in that he had one green eye and one brown eye. It was his attitude, however, that made him memorable.

Darius was from Cameron, a town even further away than Dust, though it was a wealthier place with soil that was ripe for dirt farming. Darius was, Squid had overhead him saying many times on the journey to the Academy, the fourth son of Big Ed Canum, the most successful dirt farmer in the history of the Central Territory. They were an extraordinarily wealthy family, at least by the standards of dirt farmers, and had considered sending their son to join the Diggers as their way of giving something back. Darius had had no say in this, as he had loudly informed anyone who would listen, and was less than pleased. Squid had already seen him release his frustration on other boys during the trip and had marked him early as one of the people he should avoid. But it appeared that the things Squid wanted were not always going to happen.

“I’m going to be watching you, Pumpkinhead,” Darius said.

In a few minutes the rest of the boys had changed into their training gear. Lieutenant Walter led them out of the barracks, through the labyrinth of corridors, across another yard and outside of the Rock. On the large patch of dirt that passed for the football oval Squid spent the next two hours doing ridiculous things like running around, jumping and pushing himself up and down until he felt like vomiting. He found himself thinking that maybe, just maybe, life on a dirt farm wasn’t so bad after all.

“I can’t believe how hard they work us,” Darius said as the boys were woken in what seemed like the middle of the night by an insistent thumping on the barracks door. “Do we have to get up this early every morning?”

“Move it, Scants,” came Lieutenant Walter’s voice from the hall. “Weapons training before breakfast.”

The boys, still half-asleep, mumbled their agreement with Darius. All except Squid and Max. Max was already up and in uniform. This was their third day at the Academy and each day Max was always the first to be ready in the morning and the last to go to sleep at night. Squid rolled out of bed without saying anything. These early starts were still later than the hour he’d had to rise most mornings on the dirt farm and so that, at least, was one thing he didn’t have to complain about.

Each day the routine was practically identical: up with the sun, out into the yard for exercise, then classes all day and sometimes into the night, with meals in between. They learned the practical skills they would need as Apprentices such as tending horses, shining and fitting armor, sharpening swords, cleaning rifles and mending clothes, but they were also instructed in the theoretical aspects of the Diggers, such as the history and structure of the organization. Then, of course, there were the religion sessions with the Sisters of Glorious God the Redeemer. While most of the boys complained about the long days Squid found it all quite interesting. He wasn’t very good at a lot of things they had to do here, but he relished the opportunity to learn something new, something that had nothing to do with dirt. They didn’t study enough about numbers, Squid thought, but at least he had the chance to think about things. It was almost as good as school. It might even have been better if it wasn’t for all the people.

Eventually the trainee Apprentices managed to assemble in the main yard. Since their arrival at the Academy they had spent most of their time with the other boys from their barracks. The twelve boys in Squid’s room were known as Scant C. They were standing quietly in their gray uniforms facing the flagpoles, the same place they assembled every morning. The flags always hung motionless; there was no wind inside the Rock. The boys from Scant A laughed at some shared joke. The other Scant groups had a camaraderie that even Squid noticed was missing from Scant C.

“That’s enough, you little insects,” a voice snarled from behind them. “Scants don’t get to laugh.”

Most of the boys turned. Squid didn’t need to. That voice was clearly the deep, rough bellow of The Bear.

“Don’t turn around!” The Bear yelled. The boys’ heads snapped forward. “You’re supposed to be at attention!”

The Bear walked around and stood in front of the three sections of Scants.

“You are not real warriors,” he said. “You are boot-polishing slime scrubbers, but it is Academy policy that in the event you ever need to defend yourself in battle you are at least somewhat versed in swordcraft. If you ever make it to the rank of First Apprentice—a highly unlikely event—it will be your duty to follow the Digger you serve into battle if they fall and stop them from rising again as a ghoul. I expect Scants like you to run away at the mere sight of a ghoul, but nonetheless, you must be trained. Due to unforeseen circumstances that I assure you will never happen again, I am the one who is stuck instructing you this morning. My time is far more important than you will ever be, so I expect you to listen.”

The giant man indicated a rack of small wooden swords off to the side of the yard.

“These are wooden training swords. Collect one.”

Squid swallowed and felt for the key around his neck. His palms were sweaty as he followed the boys toward the rack of swords. They meandered along in a group, talking among themselves in excited anticipation. Squid certainly didn’t feel that. He had known that he would have to use weapons sooner or later, but that didn’t make it any easier. As with a lot of things, he understood the principle, but when it came to actually doing anything with his hands it all fell apart, often in a way that left him in pain.

“Hurry up!” Major Essenburg yelled, the vein in his forehead bulging, a sure sign that they should do what he said.

Squid was hurrying along with the other Scants when he was shoved from behind hard enough to stumble forward, crashing into the back of a boy in front of him. That boy just happened to be Darius Canum.

“Why don’t you watch where you’re going, Pumpkinhead,” Darius said. “I don’t like being touched, particularly by stinking kids from Dust.”

“Sorry, Darius,” Squid said. He turned to look behind him but his pusher was already gone. Apparently he didn’t want anything to do with Darius either.

“Don’t let it happen again, Rat Licker,” mumbled Darius as he turned, whispering something to Glenden, Tank and Rusty. Darius had worked quickly to establish himself as the unofficial leader of Scant C. He was smart, Squid had noticed, in a cunning sort of way. He had a way with people that Squid didn’t understand. It seemed Darius knew precisely the right time to compliment or insult someone in order to have them join his little gang of followers. They had only been together a week, but already that gang consisted of nearly everyone in Scant C except for Squid and Max.

“Yeah,” Tank laughed. “You lick rats because you’re too poor to have anything else to lick.”

“Be quiet, Tank,” scowled Rusty. He smiled at Darius but Darius didn’t look back. He was grabbing a sword off the rack, the biggest one. Squid, on the other hand, picked up one of the smallest swords. The leather grip was worn, and the blade was chipped and bent to the left in a gentle curve.

“Okay, get in line,” said The Bear, his tone impatient. “No, stop swinging them around and line up—a straight line, you idiots, facing me. Now, pay attention. Hold the sword in ... Just put the thing on the ground if you can’t help yourself, it’s not a toy!” The Bear waited a moment. “Right, now that’s out of your system we can start. Hold the sword in your strongest hand. For most of you that will be your right hand, but there’ll be a few weirdos who’ll want to use their left. If that’s you, you’ll have to remember to reverse everything I say.”

Squid experimented with the sword in one hand and then the other. He settled on his left hand, weirdo style. The thirty-six boys followed The Bear’s instructions, copying the motions as he ran through them slowly with his own sword. Squid tried to make the sword an extension of his arm like he was told, letting it flow through the air, its weight doing the work, but it was altogether more difficult than it looked. After a life spent on a farm he should have had the strength to wield a wooden training sword smoothly, but it was like Squid’s muscles didn’t believe in learning. Instead he found himself banging his knees and elbows with the sword as he attempted to perform a parry and a thrust, a slice, hack and chop. He could remember which was which, but they all seemed to get tangled up as his body wouldn’t quite match the picture he had in his mind. As The Bear called out the movements, Squid somehow ended up facing the wrong way.

“Squid!” The Bear yelled. “What on the Ancestors’ red earth are you doing? You are perhaps the worst trainee I have ever seen. Boys, please take this dirt lifter as an example of what not to do.”

Some of the other boys sniggered under their breath. Darius laughed out loud.

“I didn’t tell you to laugh, Darius! You’re a no-good dirt lifter too!” The Bear turned his attention to the whole group. “I don’t expect much of you, boys. None of you Outsiders have even the thinnest of ties to Alice. You will likely never progress beyond Apprentices, but since you are here it is my job to raise you out of the dirt. The Diggers need everyone we can get. I don’t expect you to be master swordsmen, but I expect you to at least be proficient enough that you won’t cut off your own face.” The Bear sighed.

“I hate giving inspirational speeches,” Squid heard the Training Master mumble under his breath before raising his voice again. “Considering how I’m in a good mood today we will have half an hour of free practice and then breakfast. After that your morning belongs to the Sisters. Try to copy the forms I showed you. Get a feel for the sword before tomorrow. Remember to keep your weight balanced; you don’t want to overcommit and leave yourself vulnerable after a parry. Now get on with it, you useless dogs.”

The boys began swinging the wooden swords through the air.

“I trust I can leave you to handle this for a few minutes,” The Bear said. “I have matters to attend to.” He began walking away across the yard. He got a few steps before he turned back. “And don’t go practicing on each other. I don’t want any more casualties.”

Squid raised and lowered the sword a few times, trying to get a feel for the weight of the thing. It just seemed so unwieldy in his hand. The tools on the farm were bad enough but this was worse. This was just like the axe. He knew what he needed to do but he couldn’t get his body to do it.

“Stinky!”

Squid turned instinctively; the voice belonged to Darius. Most of the boys were gathered in a rough circle. Tank was standing inside, holding his wooden training sword.

“We’re having proper practice sessions,” Darius said. “We decided that you’re up first, against Tank.”

“But The Bear said …” Squid started.

“The Bear has obviously gone to beat everyone to breakfast. He won’t be back,” said Darius. “Besides, the only way we’re going to learn properly is if we get in and have a go.”

“I don’t think so,” Squid said. “I’m not very good. Someone else can go first.”

Darius approached Squid and grabbed his loose gray uniform around the neck, twisting his fist and pulling him in close. Squid could see the pores in his skin. Squid felt the coarse material tighten around the back of his neck.

“Unfortunately you don’t get a choice.” Darius jammed his fist up under Squid’s chin in a quick punch, then began to drag Squid toward the circle. Squid grabbed at Darius’s hands, trying to wrench his grip free, but the other boy was too strong. He dug his heels into the ground and leaned backward. This caused problems for Darius, at least momentarily.

“Glenden, Rusty!” Darius called out as he fought to drag Squid, “come help me!”

Glenden and Rusty eagerly helped Darius pull Squid toward the ring of boys, who had already started cheering. Squid was soon in a familiar situation, being thrown face first into the dirt. Unfortunately this was not something that became less demeaning with repetition. It was certainly made worse, however, when Squid looked up to see a person who was not called Tank for nothing standing in front of him wielding a sword, even if that sword was just a wooden one.

Tank smiled. At sixteen he was a big lumbering boy who was fitted with his own natural armor, a layer of blubber that should have been all but impossible to acquire in the poor region he came from.

“Get up, Rat Licker,” Tank said.

“Hold on,” called Darius. He walked into the circle and dropped the slightly bent wooden sword on the ground in front of Squid. “He dropped this,” he said.

Squid lifted himself to his feet. If he didn’t pick up the sword then the fight wouldn’t go ahead; it was dishonorable to attack an unarmed opponent (unless it was a ghoul), they had learned this only yesterday. Squid didn’t move. That was the answer; he just wouldn’t pick up the sword.

“Get it,” Tank said.

Squid stood, clutching at his key. His hands were shaking and he felt like he might vomit.

“I said, get it.”

Tank began moving toward him, wooden sword at the ready. Squid took a step back. He turned, but was encircled by the other boys. There was nowhere to go. As he turned back he saw that Tank had thrown the bent wooden sword at him. Squid caught it clumsily before it struck him in the face. He realized too late that this was what Tank wanted.

Tank raised his sword and Squid lifted his own in a half-hearted defense. It made no difference, though; Squid felt Tank’s sword strike his own and slam it back into his face. He felt the sharp moment of shock as the flat of his own wooden blade bashed into his nose. The instant of numbness subsided and Squid felt blinding pain. He grabbed at his nose, pinching his nostrils shut. The metallic taste of blood filled the back of his throat.

As Tank wheeled back for a second blow, Squid turned away, trying to protect his face. He waited for the blow to fall but instead heard the clack of another sword catching Tank’s. Squid hesitated for a second before peeking out from under his arm. His gallant savior was Max. His fine features had given way to a scowl that was directed furiously at Tank.

“If you step away right now,” Max said, “well … then you’ll be
able
to step away.”

Tank pushed down on his sword, and Max’s blade began to lower, but only slowly. Max was strong.

“No interference,” Darius called from the circle.

Max called back, “Why don’t you call off your fat dog?”

Tank pushed down harder on his sword. Max was visibly slipping now. His arms were about to give way.

“I think I’ll leave him to finish you off,” Darius said.

“Very well,” Max said. He pulled the blade out from under Tank’s sword fast enough that the fat boy stumbled forward. As Tank was trying to regain his balance Max kicked out his front foot, and Tank fell, landing heavily in the red dirt.

“A swordsman must always watch their feet,” Max said with a smile, “but a master swordsman will always watch his opponent’s feet too.”

“Rusty, Glenden,” Darius said to the two boys who flanked him like overzealous bodyguards, “do something about this, will you?”

Rusty and Glenden moved into the circle. A low chorus of “ooooooohhhhs” built up from the ring of boys. Tank began to push himself up, but Max stepped on the back of his head, pushing his face into the dirt as he moved toward Rusty and Glenden. Squid watched as Max spun the sword around him so fast that it blurred into a twirl of wood. It was clear that he was much more practiced with a sword than any of the other boys. Upon seeing this display Glenden stopped, suddenly a little hesitant. Rusty looked back at Darius.

“Don’t worry, Darius,” he said, “I’ll handle this little runt.”