Yowzah Oneshot Collection (2)

28(G)

A Lifetime of Adventure Or Vice Versa

                       leiascully

"The trouble is," Doctor John Smith said, leaning forward, "the trouble is that all these...adventurers think that they're so deuced clever. As if they could have surmised the existence of the Temple of Ea or the battlefields at Korlé on their own. If it weren't for us, they'd just stumble through the wilderness until they fell into a ditch." He said "adventurers" as if it were a shameful word, a filthy word. They sold their knowledge, hired themselves out in much the same way as the poor souls in the district where Doctor Smith never set foot. They made discovery seem tawdry, the stuff of cheap serialized sensational novels. He loathed them.

The other professors all grunted in agreement. Smith's lament was a common refrain in the halls of the Safari Club, at least while the adventurers were away. When the adventurers were in town, none of the professors could get a word in edgewise. It was all, "Well, old chap, that's all fine and dandy, but out in the jungle, there's absolutely no way…" and "You know, I've been to the pyramid. Not nearly as big as you might think it was. I remember there was a little tavern…" and "My favorite time was when I met the Queen of Estoria - you remember her, don't you? - Anyway…" The worst of it was that they were always campaigning to have the lady adventuresses let in, or a few of them were. Smith had nothing against women, of course, in general anyway, but it was a gentleman's club. A man could hardly relax in the company of adventuresses, some of whom wore trousers and had been known to smoke cigars and swear. A gentleman's club was no place for that. Neither was a university, for that matter, which reminded him of a fresh injustice.

"They're even forcing me to admit some of these madmen into my course!" Smith exclaimed. "It's going to be a shambles."

"Terrible, terrible," muttered the other professors, sunk into their armchairs behind their newspapers with their brandies and their cigars. The boy came in and rang the bell for quiet hours and Doctor Smith subsided, sulking in his own armchair, hardly even paying attention to the latest article. It was another story about another adventurer, someone called River Song, who, according to the photograph, was nothing but a smirk under a fedora pulled low over his eyes. Smith snorted to himself, earning a glare from one of his colleagues. These photographers apparently thought they were artists now - it was sensationalism, just like the article. Why not show the face of this River Song, at very least? Why not show the gentleman himself? A man ought to make his measure known. All mischief and no matter, he called it. The reporter had written quite the story to go along with it: nothing properly cited or referenced, all the focus on the perilously chilly slopes of the mountain and none on the historical significance of the relics that had been discovered there.

There was just no decency in the press anymore, Smith decided, and no scholarship. At least he had his dignity, writing about discoveries in the civilized calm of his office, far from the mud and sleet and biting insects. Adventuring was no work for a man of intellect.

The name River Song sounded slightly familiar, though. He was certain he'd heard it somewhere before. Probably in another of these newspapers, he thought, which he read only to keep current on the smears perpetrated on the good name of his hallowed profession. He motioned for another hot milk and turned the page of his newspaper, folding back the photograph of River Song with particular care. He wanted to make certain he didn't see that all-too-knowing smirk another second.

+ + + +

Doctor Smith looked around, scowling. It was the first day of the term. He had been strongly encouraged - at potential risk of furlough, as he came to understand - to accept a few verifiable adventurers into his class. He was accustomed to adult students, given the level of interest in his subject, but they were generally enthusiastic amateurs with no real ambitions toward actual exploration. At least the ridiculous stories in the newspapers were good for something - he'd found a few useful research assistants, the sort who worked weekends and never wanted paying. Enrolling actual adventurers was a much different kettle of fish, however.