That morning Cecil woke excited to continue his entry to the library. Nothing would dampen his mood. Not the nanny who was elsewhere these days, and definitely not something as trivial as a moral compass.

  Every compass had to be recalibrated sometimes, right?

  After some wrestling with his better judgement, the excitement came out on top.

  What was up there on the second floor besides the graduate projects he had seen? Powerful engraved tools? Tomes of great learning that would be his.

  Once he broke the stone seal and went in.

  No problem.

  Easy peasy.

  Madam Wyntrop divined his excitement immediately. The tea she had brewed afterwards tasted like fresh dirt and milk.

  It was… a nice dirt taste to be sure. But dirt all the same.

  And it hadn’t stopped his leg from bouncing up and down under the table.

  When she finally dismissed him, he ran to his other classroom and sat down. He used to like sitting by the window, but after the assassination attempt, the thing had broken on top of him, Cecil picked a new favorite chair. This time it was two rows back from the front row, and the closest one to the bookcases that lined the wall.

  A very safe position from the windows, close enough to the door in case of emergencies, and far enough from the front row where Eriss and Arron sat to not feel awkward.

  It was perfect.

  Mostly.

  He slightly adjusted his wooden chair so that it aligned perfectly with the one in front of it.

  Now it was perfect.

  When he sat back down Tavv entered the room and slouched to the chair furthest from the front.

  Cecil leaned back in his chair, “what's wrong dearest brother? What kind of trouble have you gotten into this time?”

  Tavv lounged as if he had no cares in the world, and no tailbone protesting il use. “Whatever do you mean? I never cause trouble. It is trouble that finds me.” he ended with a pitious sniffle, and dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief.

  “Yeah right. And where did you get that handkerchief?”

  “I bought it.” he snapped airily.

  Just then, Talmage walked in, “What did you buy?”

  “Oh, just some kerchiefs. I seemed to have misplaced my others.” Tavv replied nonchalantly.

  “Indeed? I have also lost some of mine inexplicably. And so have others. Perhaps there is a conspiracy?”

  Tavv laughed, “Are you saying someone is stealing cloth squares? What a ridiculous notion. What would they do with them anyways?”

  Cecil kept in his own laughter as Talmage responded.

  “Well, there is a secret kerchief language that is sometimes used by southern nobility. Though, I doubt it has made it this far.” Their teacher grew thoughtful as his eyes lit with barely contained humor, “There is however, another language that is more often used here. Seldom used here. But thanks to Tavv, we will learn it!”

  Tavv slouched into his chair, but looked mildly interested.

  Aaron and Eriss had walked in halfway though Talmage’s declaration and looked confused as they sat down next to each other on the front row.

  Cecil was excited.

  A whole new language to learn. One that few knew, and one that wasn’t written down. It was the epitome of ephemeral communication. Gone even as it is seen.

  Talmage started to open drawers in the desk until he found what he was looking for. “Ah ha! Here it is,” he held up a small fan, “For today's class, I will give you a crash course on the language of the fan.”

  Arron grumbled, “I will never need to use this. May I be excused.”

  “No you may not. And you all will be required to meet with Madam Wyntrop for a final real world test. Any questions? Good. Catch.”

  He had left no space to respond. Cecil shrugged and resolved to ask the man after class.

  Talmage threw the fan he was holding at Arron, who caught it easily. Then he bent to grab another from the drawer, and threw it at Eriss. Aaron caught this one too, and handed it to her.

  Cecil caught his fan with minimal mishap, though he had only caught it by the tip of the wood.

  When Talmage threw to Tavv, it arched beautifully in the air, before it clattered on the tile floor near his seat. He hadn’t even tried to grab it. But picked it off the floor with minimal effort.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Then their teacher stepped from behind the desk and stood ramrod straight, and his left hand thrust forward. “Every conversation is like a battle. And the fan is a weapon we can bring to bear against our enemies. And Just like a blade you hold it with a firm, yet gentle grasp. Confidence. Direct. First I will show you the easiest words. Double tap your left cheek for yes, and a double tap on the left will mean no. Remember that your left is your opponent's right. Got it? Try it.”

  Cecil held his fan in his right hand, and tapped gently on either side of his face.

  Talmage nodded, “Great ya big pansies. Now stand up in a line in front of me and say yes.”

  Aaron and Eriss just stood up since they were already at the front. Cecil and Tavv had to awkwardly walk to the front. At least, Cecil did. Tavv slinked up to his spot and said with a sly grin, “Yes?”

  Talmage smiled, “Drop and give me twenty push ups for cheeky insubordination.” Tavv shrugged and dropped to the ground. As he was counting off, their teacher continued, “The rest of you, say yes with your fan.”

  They all tapped their left cheek without issue.

  “Great. And now that our wayward soldier is done, I will show you some more.”

  Talmage quickly ran them through the basics.

  Fan fanned slowly? Ease.

  Fan opened and closed rapidly? Intrigue or attraction.

  Fan across the lips? I wish to speak in private.

  Fan tapping the palm? Beware.

  Cecil grinned to himself.

  This wasn’t that hard to learn. And now he had something he could do at parties that would allow him to eavesdrop on other conversations. And he could easily practice alone in front of a mirror. There was probably a book in the library on it too… Unless it was really a secret language. But in that case, the book would be on the second floor. Which wouldn’t be a problem soon enough.

  Talmage seemed to notice their cocky fluency, and threw in some more intermediate language for them to practice conversing with. Which went well—until Tavv attempted a full conversation.

  He tapped his fan on his lips, flicked it over his heart, and tilted it back behind his head.

  Arron stared, horrified. “Did you just propose and declare war?”

  “Possibly,” Tavv said with a grin.

  Cecil tried not to laugh. “How would you answer that?”

  “With great restraint,” Eriss replied, gently taking Tavv’s fan away.

  Talmage muttered, “Prophet preserve me.” Then spoke louder, “I think that is enough for today. Keep the fans I gave you and practice. Then meet with Madam Wyntrop sometimes this week to talk in fan language. You will pass the test if you manage to have an intelligible conversation with her. Now leave.”

  As his siblings disappeared through the door, Cecil approached Talmage, “I did have a question.”

  His eyebrow raised, “Do you still have it?”

  “Yes. Men don’t generally carry fans. And if the goal of this is to be discrete, then waving an item you don’t normally carry would seem out of place.”

  “Yes. The country where this is primarily used is often hot, and everyone carries fans. Which means this is only a problem in countries like ours. But you can work around it by using your hand, or perhaps a wine glass for some of the simpler gestures. Anything will do. Where this language truly shines is with women informants. They often exchange information under everyone’s nose at parties where they were invited to be beautiful ornaments.”

  He nodded, “But don’t people notice them standing silently next to each other and fanning themselves oddly?”

  “Ha! They would spot it immediately. Which is why they are never silent. They have two conversations at a time, one verbally, one by fan. Then they say their farewells with none the wiser about their information trading.”

  “But, if you know it, and teach us, doesn’t that mean alot of people know about it? Making the language useless?”

  He shrugged, “It might. But those who truly want to keep their conversation secret make up a new key, and only share it with the recipient. Now, I must get going. Or Arron will wonder why I am late to sword practice.”

  Cecil followed him out the door thoughtfully after he put the little fan into his bag.

  There was no way to know when this would benefit him, but no knowledge learned would go to waste. And this little tidbit of language had plenty of avenues of usefulness.

  Alleviating boredom at parties was the least of them.

  Cecil made a special trip to the kitchen, where he collected double the amount of misbakes than usual.

  Oakley had taken the “gift” with cheerful equanimity.

  “Since you’ve conquered a little piece of crumbling wall, we should move onto our actual goal. And I have the perfect tree to start you on.”

  The older boy guided him to a small oak in the forest. It was a squat thing with branches low to the ground and thick with age.

  “Ok, now watch closely.”

  Cecil watched as Oakley climbed up the tree with exaggerated slowness. Then when he reached a limb, he pulled himself over and straddled it.

  “Now you go”

  Cecil studied the bumpy map of the tree carefully before putting his hands and feet to work. The course criss cross lines and nubs helped him gain purchase as he slowly made his way up to the branch next to older boy’s.

  “Nice!” Oakley said as he slapped him in the back.

  “Now this is how you get down”

  Then he jumped out of the tree and rolled on the grass before jumping up and smirking.

  “You go.”

  Cecil looked at the ground far beneath him. It had only taken a couple of seconds to climb up, how had he gotten this high? The cookie he had eaten on the way here seemed to turn in his stomach with the uneasy grace of a spider hanging by a single thread.

  “Just relax, bend your knees, and roll!”

  Cecil gritted his teeth. He wanted to be like Oakley, so he would jump down like him. Then he scooted off and screamed as his insides jumped about excitedly. He landed and rolled laughing with equal parts joy and panic. Oakley blocked out the blue sky and grinned, one of his front teeth missing.

  “Well, never want ta do it again?”

  Cecil scrambled up unsteadily and shook his head.

  “No, let’s go again!”

  Two more trees later and Cecil frowned at his hands.

  “Oakley, do your hands hurt?”

  The older boy looked back at him and got closer.

  “No. But you’ve got baby hands. You’ll have to wait till you get calluses like mine.”

  “How long until I get hands like that?”

  “I dunno. Depends. Let's stop in the meantime though. You don’t want blisters forming. They hurt like muck.”

  Blisters? Cecil examined his hands palm up. They were red and hurt to the touch.

  “When will it stop hurting?”

  “When you get calluses”

  “Well, how will I know I've got calluses?”

  Oakley grinned, “When it stops hurting.”

  Cecil tried to punch him, but the boy slipped out of the way and laughed, “Got to go. See you tomorrow baby hands.”