Two days flew by and Victor and Hansel did what little they could to help repair the damaged parts of the academy from the recent attack. A behemoth, a great and terrible best from the woodlands near Etheryn’s Gully in the south east, had broken down the academy’s main gate and laid waste to many small buildings, including the homes of several students.
The day was hot and the labour hard, but everyone contributed and their many hands made lighter work. By noon Hansel’s dark hair was dripping with sweat and his hands were red and blistered; he was a strong man with broad shoulders, unlike Victor who was tall and lean. As they worked together there were many outsiders who mistook them for brothers because of the similarity in the colour of their hair, not to mention their close comradeship.
Up in the tower of Mr. Silver’s office, he and Rodrick observed the work below with dismay. Rodrick had been so busy of late trying to deal with their recent catastrophe that the stress of it was making the scars on his face hurt. “How can we be expected to clean this up on our own?” he complained. “If not for us those fiends would have ravaged the entire city. Hundreds would have died!”
“Easy, dear friend,” Silver calmed him. “We never expected any gratitude (though it would be appreciated) but we have to remember that the dark ones attacked the academy directly. This is war, a shadowy war; as far as the government is concerned we’ve brought this chaos upon their city, and I fear that no matter how many lives we save it will not alter that opinion.” He paused, as if he had fallen deep into a memory and become lost in thought. He stepped onto the balcony and watched the blue sky. “At least the storm is over for now. This is the time for action,” he turned around. “We must do something!”
Rodrick nodded. “We grieve our fallen comrades, sir,” he said. “Alexander most of all. With the threat now diminished it’s time we held a proper funeral.”
“Yes, Alexander deserves as much, though the news of his death spreading throughout the city will not aid our situation. Still, send out a notice and have the preparations made.” Rodrick jotted the orders down on a notepad among a very long list of things to be done, and Silver continued. “A hundred years ago there was a Slayer for every ten citizens of Haswhald; we were elite protectors, loved and revered by all. With Mistress Ling away, it seems only three remain, including myself.”
Rodrick glanced again out the window and at the rubble below. From so far up the workers were ants in the dust, individually small and insignificant against the tidal wave of evil that approached. He recalled that Gretel and her friends had recently completed their exams and were ready to be selected. A sudden idea sprang into his mind but he dared not voice it aloud to Silver. “I’m afraid our peril has not yet ended,” he said in its place.
“Of course not,” said Silver, “but perhaps one thing at a time. The governor sent word, did I mention? He can offer volunteer workers to us but is not willing to help fund the repairs. It appears we’ll have to pay for it ourselves.”
Rodrick couldn’t bear to go on like this. He sighed. “That’s going to be a problem, sir. We’re out of money.”
Silence followed. Silver lowered himself into his chair and massaged his temples. “Oh, I’m getting too old for this.” Rodrick was unsure if he was making a joke, though it seemed unlikely. “Go through with the plans for Alexander’s funeral, and see what you can do about speeding up our repairs.” With a stout “yes sir” Rodrick made to leave the office but Silver stopped him again. “One more thing: fetch the dossiers of our latest graduates. Don’t look so grave. I know the thought that lingers in your mind, Rodrick. The Path of Enlightenment is never pretty and always dangerous, especially for your daughter, should she be chosen; but you know as well as I that we need them, be they ready or not.”
ns 172.69.7.128da2