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J. PATRICK BL ACK
Elessa reporting, ma’am,” she says. “Sixth Class Section E all present and in good condition.” On our first day at the School of Rhetoric, when Danyee told us to elect a section adjutant, everyone was sure it would be Bomar. On the School’s entrance evaluations, Bomar scored higher than anyone in our section in leadership. “Ninety-seventh percentile,” he would say about ten times a day, just in case anyone forgot. Bomar decided his high score meant anything he wanted to do was automatically good leadership; at lunch, he liked to order people to give him their dessert rations “for the good of the section.” Elessa was the first one to say what we all already knew: that school would be miserable with Bomar as adjutant. After that, the choice was obvious. Elessa is smart and organized, and she can do an insane number of chin- ups. When the vote came in, she won 19–1. Elessa always seems to know what to d o—she would have made a good fontana, I bet. Instead, Ninth City got me. “Section E is yours,” Danyee tells Elessa. “Take your cadets to East Wing Shelter and report to your Centurio Aspirant.” “Yes, ma’am.” Elessa turns on her heel to face us. “Cadets, with me,” she says, and sets off. The other cadets of Section E follow, until only I am left. Danyee gives me a small nod and an even smaller smile, then approaches the arch with its huge wall of stone. As she does, a dark shape appears in the white surface: the outline of a man, like the shadow of someone standing on the other side. It holds up one arm, waving at us to stop, and a voice comes out of the wall. “An a tmospheric-incursion alert is in effect,” it says, deep and booming and sort of echoing in the same way as the siren still wailing through the air. “The Academy of Ninth City is closed until further notice. All personnel are to report to their designated shelters. This is not a drill.” The voice pauses a moment, then begins its message again, but stops when Danyee places her palm against the white stone. “Rhetor Danyee of the Academy,” she says, “escorting Fontanus Jaxten to the Forum.” The voice stops, then, after a moment, it says, “Pass.” All at once, the wall of white vanishes like clearing mist, and we’re looking out onto a courtyard of stone paths and wide lawns, empty and bright beneath a cloudy sky. The door reappears behind us as soon as we’re outside; I don’t hear it happen, but when I look back, it’s there. Danyee has taken a small metal disk from her pocket. It’s a storage device, I know, made to hold artifices, and given to her for the sole purpose
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6/16/16 4:57 PM