Calanthe Colt

Alain

Alain crested the hill and stopped to admire the view. The pristine forest rolled out before him, the treetops a fine green carpet draped up the mountain. The wind, which had been fresh near the shoreline, now blasted his face with sticky, floral heat. He took a handkerchief out of his waistcoat, lifted his hat, and mopped his brow. He then wiped the lenses of his spectacles. There. The view was even better now. The forest ahead was not just green: here and there, pink and white blooms dotted the canopy, and bees busied themselves among those confections. He took a deep breath. Sea air was lovely, but forest air was lovelier still. It carried away one’s troubles and anxieties. And how great it was to stretch his legs with a hike. Just marvellous! What a day!

The senior porter for the expedition, Luan, was already seated on a boulder, the bags he carried in a heap nearby.

“It’s a good day for it,” said Alain as he sat on the ground to wait for the rest of the team. Sitting helped with the unpleasant illusion of rolling underfoot, a lingering inner ear issue after weeks at sea. “How fortuitous to have a sunny day to get our bearings.” Alain lived for these expeditions; he never felt more alive than he did walking through dragon ruins, learning more about the sadly departed creatures. Those moments were worth putting up with any amount of hardship.

Luan grunted and nodded. Alain wasn’t offended. The grizzled porter was a man of few words.

Alain took sips from his waterskin while he waited. Before long, Jordane Dupont reached the top of the hill. He was a strapping, handsome young man with blond hair and a winning smile. Alain hadn’t known him long. Jordane was the student on this expedition, while Alain was a researcher with a position at the university, and yet Jordane had built more of a rapport with the faculty than Alain had. Denis, the expedition leader, had taken a liking to the student. Alain was glad that he wasn’t the most junior member of the team this time.

Jordane flung down his pack and took a long drag of his waterskin. He then wiped his face and gave Alain a grin that was friendly, if only on the surface. “Look at you, going as hard as Luan! Farmers are sure built of different stuff, huh?”

Alain shrunk in on himself, his good mood scattered to the gusting winds. He hadn’t been aware that the students knew of his origins. He knew better than to bring it up at a university where most students had at least one relative with aristocratic connections. He wasn’t a farmer. His father had been a farmer. His brother was a farmer. He was a scholar. But at the University of Natte-sur-Mer, a commoner on a scholarship was notable.

Alain forced a bright smile onto his face. “Luan was faster.”

Jordane nodded. “Of course.” He grinned that bright, winning grin of his.

Alain couldn’t hold his opinion against him. He’d been the ‘farmer scholar’ long before Jordane had started his first year at the university.

Alain put the slight out of mind. There were better things to dwell on, especially on a gorgeous day, on an island with such untapped potential for learning. He inspected the peak ahead: their destination, one they hoped to reach within a few days. Dragon cities were usually found on peaks just like the one on this island: not too high, but with sharp enough cliffs for the dragons of yore to have launched from. Would they have time for a geological analysis? He’d always wanted to write a paper about the specific rock types that dragons preferred, but they were usually too focussed on cataloguing the artefacts and transcribing engravings to collect rocks.

He needed to be the lead writer of more papers. There were rumours of an upcoming cull at the university; those with poorer publishing records would go first. Despite all his work, Alain’s record was scanty because of an administrative error that had listed him in the acknowledgements of several papers instead of the author list. He needed to catch up before the cull if he wanted to keep his place on the faculty and eventually receive a coveted teaching position.

Alain was interrupted out of his musings by their other porter, Remy, and the head of the expedition, Denis Roche, reaching the top of the hill. Denis’s mutton-chop-framed face was red and sweaty. Denis was of an age that it was remarkable he still made his discoveries in the field. Alain admired the man because he’d been pivotal in Alain being accepted to Natte-sur-Mer and because of his stature in the draconic studies community.

Luan offered Denis his seat, and the older man sat and mopped his face and neck. “That was indeed a climb! Most invigorating!” he wheezed when he had reclaimed enough breath. “Shall we stop for a snack before we push on?”

Mid-morning wasn’t the best time to stop. A morning meal break on a hot day often lingered. But Denis needed more breaks than the rest of them. Besides, the weather was pleasant, and there’d been no sign of others on the island. As excited as Alain was to get to their destination, taking time to enjoy the journey was acceptable.

Luan unpacked travel biscuits as Alain sat near Denis. The expedition leader had been elusive aboard ship, hiding in his cabin while suffering from seasickness. This was his first chance to ask some important questions.

“Denis,” he said after they had both eaten.

“Yes, my boy?”

Alain winced. He would have preferred ‘Doctor Perrier’. He was in his thirties and a colleague, so ‘boy’ was not flattering. Yet another accidental slight to rise above. He set his shoulders. “Shall we confer about how we will publish our findings?”

Denis snorted. “We haven’t found anything yet.”

Alain didn’t want to rock the boat; that had never worked for him. But he had to curate a decent publication history. “I’m asking because last time, you didn’t include me in the author list, only the acknowledgements. An oversight, I’m sure.”

“You weren’t an author?” Denis asked in surprise.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Denis slapped his thigh. “I remember now. While I appreciated your help on the expedition, I only give coauthorship to those who help draft the paper. You weren’t at the meetings. That’s why.”

Jordane snickered, though he was looking in another direction.

What meetings? He hadn’t been invited to any meetings. “I did contribute. I did all the translations from Draconic for all the papers.”

“No, I gave those to Professor Favre. I distinctly remember.”

“Who delegated it to me.”

Denis shook his head. “I’m sure you helped Professor Favre out; you have talent.” He held Alain’s shoulders in a fatherly way and smiled. “I know it’s an adjustment transitioning from being a student who is propped up by a scholarship to a scholar who stands on his own two feet. But you need to pull your weight. Then your career will progress more smoothly.” He tapped Alain’s shoulder.

Alain sighed and watched the bees hard at work while he waited for the others to finish their snack. Oh, how he identified with them in that moment: working hard all day, only to be overlooked as part of the scenery. Though it was better to be a bee than a wasp. He wasn’t a wasp, and neither was Denis. Denis didn’t realise he’d said anything unfair: he was falling prey to common perception. Propped up by a scholarship? The scholarship got him into university, but it hadn’t got him anything else. While others were coasting by, living off stipends from their families and making use of private tutors to catch up before exams, Alain had been supporting himself with a part-time job stacking shelves in the university library.

Or was Denis right? Was there something he was missing, something they all knew how to do that he did not? It wasn’t as if he got on poorly with everyone; he was well-liked at his boarding house, and he’d had friends outside the university, even a few lovers. But he hadn’t connected with the rest of his faculty. He was the first person in his family to attend university, and the previous scholarship recipients in his faculty had already moved on before he started his first semester, so he’d had no role models. He didn’t understand the more nebulous facets of faculty interactions; all those unwritten rules.

But ever since he had been a small child, he’d wanted to study dragons and their artefacts. The schoolroom teacher in his hometown had recognised his intelligence and helped him prepare his scholarship application. He owed it to her to do his best. And to his little brother, who’d taken over the family farm in his stead. Then there was Denis himself, who’d been on the scholarship selection committee the year Alain had been accepted and had been the deciding vote that awarded him the honour. That meant something.

The others were preparing to depart. Alain stood and hefted his own pack.

“Alain?” said Denis.

“Yes?”

“There’s something you could help with.”

“Yes?”

“Could you take a bag from Remy? He’s too laden down.”

Alain looked at the porter, who was now carrying Denis’s pack along with his existing load. His smile faltered. “You want me to…do portage duty?”

“You’re such a strapping man. All your time on the river is paying off.”

It was true. He was part of the faculty rowing team. He’d been told that participating in an extracurricular activity would boost his reputation, so he’d done it despite being time-poor. But he hadn’t realised that would volunteer him as an extra porter. Not that he minded helping the porters out, he thought, as he relieved Remy of a large satchel of archaeological equipment.

As they walked down the hill into the forest, Alain pondered his place in the team. He needed to make sure everyone knew when he’d worked on a paper. Professor Favre had surely forgotten to tell Denis that Alain had done the work. But it was hard for him to talk about his achievements. He didn’t like tooting his own horn. But if he didn’t learn how, he’d be cut from the university faculty, and it would be no one’s fault except his own.

A sound in the forest interrupted his thoughts. He looked, but saw only the swaying branches and nodding flowers. He walked a few more paces, then heard another sound, like a snapping twig. Again, he saw nothing. He paused, listening.

“Come on, Alain! Don’t dawdle!” called Denis, who was making good time now he’d off-loaded his pack.

“Are there large animals here?” he called back.

“Not on an island this remote. You’re imagining things.”

Just then, branches snapped and swayed as shadows leapt out of the forest. A cacophony of voices yelled, their words overlapping with thundering footfalls, bewildering.

There were fewer of them than his first estimate: armed attackers with glee on their faces. They were yelling in Royann, and their clothes were of familiar styles, if rough. A burly man with a shaved head held a cutlass to Luan’s throat, the blade catching a dappled speck of light like a mirror. A similarly burly woman held a cutlass to Remy, chuckling. The porters held up their hands. A small, rat-like man pointed a dagger at Jordane’s face. The latter let out a startled squawk and fell on his arse. Ahead of their party, a smirking dark-haired man stood tall on a humped tree root and pointed a flintlock at Denis. “Well, hello there. Who are you all?” he said with a grin that showed too many teeth.

Alain stumbled back and felt a sharp pain near his kidney. He froze and looked over his shoulder, expecting to see some hulking brute. Nothing. He looked further down and gaped at the incongruity of what he beheld. Standing behind him, with a dagger to his lower back, was a beautiful woman with short, curly hair and large, dark eyes in a tanned face. Those eyes were as hard as obsidian.

“W-we’re an expedition from the University of Natte-sur-Mer,” said Denis. “Let us through.”

Alain winced. It would have been better to claim to be surveyors for the Crown. Then they might have claimed they weren’t aware of a dragon city on this island. But why else would a university expedition be here, if not to find ruins?

When the diminutive woman behind him heard ‘University of Natte-sur-Mer’, she sneered. Then she eyed how many bags he carried. “You’re over-dressed for a porter, aren’t you, big guy?”

Alain pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I’m a scholar.”

The woman turned her head to the side and spat on the ground. “Wrong answer.” Her eyes held a flicker of hurt until she met his gaze. Then they hardened further until they were like black diamond.

The dark-haired man ahead had been looking at each of them in turn. “Oh, we’ll let you get to the city,” he said. “Under certain conditions.” He waved his flintlock at Denis. “Bet you’re the bigwig with all the knowledge. You can help us find the good stuff, right, hotshot? And these four strapping men you’ve brought with you? We have a use for them too. Yes, we do.”

Most of the armed people laughed, sending a shiver down Alain’s spine. The exception was the woman behind him. As awful as the laughs of the others were, her hard gaze on him as if he were her mortal enemy was worse.

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Note from the author

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