The Breton Boys

Chapter Eight: The Academy | 1

Reid was not feeling very hungry at breakfast the next morning. He managed to choke down a few bites of boiled egg and bread at his mother's insistence, but he jumped straight out of his chair when Duncan rapped loudly on the back door a few minutes later.

Their mother kissed the boys goodbye as they grabbed their packs and met Duncan outside.

"Reid!" Duncan greeted, surprised. "You're starting already?"

"Captain Pitchblende told him he was last night," Oliver said.

"A personal invitation from the Captain?" mused Duncan. "You don't see that every day, do you?"

"Definitely not," Oliver agreed.

Reid was still struggling to see what had been so glorious about his intimidating encounter with Pitchblende, but his mind was too filled with apprehension about his first day of training to spare much mental energy on working it out.

They had not been traveling long when the path opened onto a semi-circular clearing. In the middle of the clearing was a simple, one-story wooden building with a low porch wrapped around the front. A pole stretched from the top of the roof, two colorful flags waving in the wind at the top.

"This is it," Oliver said, leading the way through the large double doors.

Reid followed him into the building and was largely unimpressed. He had been expecting something grand and intimidating, like Captain Pitchblende, but they stood in a simple hallway paneled with dark wood. There was an identical set of double doors at the opposite end of the hall, and only two other doors besides that.

"Good luck today, Reid." Duncan waved before heading for the door at the far right end of the corridor.

"The squires have the room down the hall, but the pages are in here," Oliver explained, leading Reid through the door on the left.

It opened onto one large room with a podium and blackboard at the front and many wooden, two-person tables in rows stretching nearly to the back. There were several trainees already seated throughout.

"We've got History first," Oliver said to Reid. "Let me introduce you to Sir Crick."

Oliver led the way to the podium, where a fit, middle-aged man with a receding hairline was marking pages in a large book.

"Sir Crick?" Oliver said.

"What can I do for you, my boy?" Crick said, looking up.

"This is my brother, Reid," said Oliver with a grin.

"Ah, yes," said Sir Crick, slowly running a hand through his brown and gray hair as he examined Reid with a curious expression. "The Captain said you'd be starting today. Pleasure to meet you, lad." He shook Reid's hand firmly. "Aris Crick; I teach History and lead Armor and Formations training. Let's have you sit right here in front. We keep our books on the shelves over there - Oliver, would you fetch him one?"