“You wanted to see me, Captain?” The door to Engel’s office was left ajar, so I announced my presence before showing myself in. If there was a more nuanced procedure I was supposed to follow, it had not yet been taught to me; if it should have already been taught to me, then the responsibility was probably Cruz’s, and if ignorance for the sake of expediency got my unenthusiastic mentor scolded, I was content to consider that an acceptable outcome.

  I gave a quick wave of thanks to Wynn before closing the door behind me. It was she who’d come to fetch me while I was in the process of moving a small stack of misshapen stone blocks from one side of the grounds to the other - one of the many ridiculous tasks Cruz set for me. Along with the summons, she came bearing the gift of a cold drink and damp towel, without which I doubted I’d have been as close to presentable as I was. The steady stream of Recovery mana helped as well, of course, but kind gestures carried a magic all of their own.

  Engel looked up from the stack of paperwork on his desk, a solid piece of furniture that looked imposing despite the massive figure that sat behind it.

  “Recruit! You got here fast. Good. Sit.” He gestured at a pair of plain wooden chairs sitting opposite his desk. Their existence spoke of a consideration not strictly necessary for one in a position of authority, but it was not the chairs that demanded my attention.

  It was the shovels.

  Almost an entire side of the room was dominated by racks filled with the things. Some were large, the kind of shovels someone might dig a grave with. Others were small, hand shovels often associated with hobbyist gardeners. Most, however, stretched the definition of what a shovel could be, and I wondered if I wouldn’t have recognized them as such out of context.

  One shovel featured a head wider than a person and almost as tall. Its handle was not straight, rather, it curved back behind the head.

  Almost like an unwieldy shield. Others featured prongs, spikes and other modifications that might allow them to function as other specialty weapons if one squinted and used their imagination. I openly studied them as I slowly made my way to a seat, and Engel was quick to notice my fascination.

  “Impressive, are they not?” He walked over and grabbed one of the hand shovels, its tapered head and stunted handle making it look like a punch dagger in Engel’s grasp. He slowly mimed lunging towards an invisible foe before placing the tool back in its place, readjusting it a few times until it was just so. “Each one had to be commissioned to my specifications.”

  “Impressive is definitely the word I would use,” I agreed, hesitating a moment before I continued. “Would it be acceptable to ask about your Build? The shovels make me curious.”

  Engel chuckled as he returned to sit behind the desk. Seeing him now, there was a certain caution, a gentleness to his movements that had not been present when he confronted Lionel almost an entire week prior.

  If he’s got Strength [Body] like I suspect, it could be a ‘world off glass’ scenario, I mused.

  “Acceptable? It depends on who you ask. Normally, no, but I am not shy about such things. There is little I would gain from overt subtlety.” As he talked, he took a moment to realign a stack of paper so that it sat closer to the centre of his desk.

  I nodded.

  “In that case I-”

  “Of course, if someone were called into their superior’s office, a smart young man might wait until after they learned the reason before seizing the conversation for themselves.” With elbows firmly planted on the desk, Engel slowly interlocked his fingers to emphasise his point before resting his chin on the resulting double-fist. “Are you a smart young man, Will?”

  “I- Yes, sir. What did you wish to speak with me about, sir?” I took a seat only to realize that, given my own height, it left me barely able to see above the oversized desk. Reluctantly, I stood back up.

  Engel’s lip quirked into half a smile.

  “That was one too many ‘sirs,’ but I appreciate the enthusiasm. How are you settling into Squad Nine?”

  I hesitated before responding, taking a long moment to consider my answer. If I complained, it might be enough to get me placed with a different mentor; from what I’d been able to gather, Cruz had already been rather vocal about his displeasure with the assignment.

  Yet they put me with him anyway. Why? There was something I was missing. I had a plan, of sorts, for dealing with Cruz and rocking the metaphorical boat might have done more harm than good.

  “I believe I am settling in okay,” I said slowly.

  “But?” Engel picked up on my uncertainty, not that I was making much effort to hide it.

  “It is not what I was expecting, sir.”

  “Interesting,” Engel said slowly. “How so?”

  “It is about Slayer Cruz, sir.” I could be tactful and still voice my concerns. Lionel had led me to believe The Slayers would afford me more freedoms than The Crown, it was time to put that to the test. “I do not believe we are compatible, it is a matter of… enthusiasm, I think.”

  Engel chuckled, then.

  “Apologies,” he said quickly. “I am not laughing because of your words, it is just…” He gestured vaguely at me. “There is a novelty to hearing a child speak with such consideration. I have a nephew who would have just described Slayer Cruz with a fart noise before storming out of the room.” His chuckle turned into something closer to a guffaw, a contagious sound that made me crack a smile of my own.

  “If it would help, sir, I could do just that.”

  “No, that will not be necessary, recruit,” Engel said warmly. He reached down and opened one of the many drawers built into his desk, withdrawing a small, decorative box that he placed between us. He removed the lid, revealing a small stack of what resembled shortbread cookies. “Would you care for an alfa? The box keeps them fresh.”

  I was familiar with the treat, having most recently had one during the party thrown after Lionel finished subduing the tehon.

  “Where is the caramel?” I asked, picking up one of the offered sweets. They were normally a cookie sandwich, of sorts, filled with thick, caramelized milk. What Engel offered me looked more like a single cookie.

  “Just take a bite.” He was watching me expectantly.

  Not wanting to be rude, I did just that. My eyes went wide as the flavours hit my tongue.

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  “This-”

  “The cookie was made and baked around a thin filling,” he said, sounding proud. “I have no idea how it was managed, but are they not delightful?” He pushed the little box closer to me. “Take as many as you want.”

  Despite the presumably small quantity of caramel in the alfa, there was a potency to it, a richness that bordered on decadence.

  If these are not Skill-touched I will eat my shoes. I reached over and grabbed another one of the cookies for later.

  “Now, to address your concerns.” Engel steered the conversation back to the matter at hand. “It is because of Slayer Cruz’s reluctance that I paired the two of you together. Cruz has his own reputation and circumstances,” Engel gestured at me again, “and you are a peculiar presence in The Slayers for reasons I am sure have already been explained to you.”

  I frowned, slightly.

  “I am not following your logic. Why does that matter?”

  “It matters, recruit, because I am using both of you to illustrate a point. Your success with Cruz - or rather, his success with you - is going to do much to push an agenda I support.”

  Son of a-

  “So I am being used as a political tool?”

  “Bluntly speaking, yes,” Engel said. “It was why I nominated Squad Nine to take you in and offered my support.”

  “I thought Lionel owed you a favour for helping me?”

  “He does.” Engel’s expression turned smug, almost predatory. “Just because I would have helped anyway did not mean I was going to pass up the opportunity to get something out of it.”

  Damn. Well played, I guess. There was a lesson to be learned, there, one that gave me an idea.

  “So, what is it?” I asked.

  “What is what?”

  “The agenda I am helping you push. I imagine my cooperation would be beneficial.” I maintained eye contact, my tone implying that the opposite of my inference was also true. A gamble, of sorts, but one I felt confident in making now that Engel had let slip I had value to him beyond his base duties and responsibilities.

  Engel reached up to rub his chin in consideration, taking a long moment to consider my words. I schooled my face into neutrality and tried not to let Fudge distract me while I waited. He’d been left outside to his own devices, but the deviant nature of our Tamer Bond continued to leave me aware of every bout of curiosity and reaction to a smell or sensation.

  Congratulations, Fudge, you found more bird shit to sniff, I thought dryly.

  “Very well,” Engel finally said, allowing me to focus back on the conversation. “It is a matter of organisation. How much of our history are you aware of?”

  “Not enough, I suspect.”

  Engel nodded.

  “I thought as much. We have a library, of sorts, here at the fort. I encourage you to acquaint yourself with it. For now, I will generalize.” He took a deep breath. “Back when The Crown referred to the royal family, some generations ago, The Slayers as we are now did not exist. Rather, our responsibilities were wrapped up in the military.”

  I remained silent, content to listen to the entire explanation without interrupting.

  “Now that The Crown refers to the council and their Chairs, we exist as a separate entity - a pragmatic choice, at the time. When one person could mobilize the entire military with a word, it was not a concern. Suffice to say, that is no longer the case, and we needed - need - the freedom to act and respond to incidents with relative autonomy to be effective.”

  “The problem- No, not a problem so much as- No, it is a problem, especially now. The problem is that The Slayers borrowed heavily from their military roots. They borrowed too much. We should be organizing ourselves more efficiently given our relative lack of numbers, but big changes require many voices, and - among other things - suggesting the disbandment of the squads garnered a lot of vocal pushback. It got a lot of support, too, but there is a divide in our ranks on this issue.”

  A motion to change and the conservative voices that wish to maintain the status quo, a tale as old as time. For all that being reborn in a strange, new world often left me feeling out of place, it was the little things, the constants of the human experience, that made me feel at home.

  “I still do not see how Cruz and I fit into this,” I noted when it became clear Engel was done with the broad strokes of his explanation.

  “Our… faction, I suppose you would call it, wants to abolish the squads and spread The Slayers out in pairs. We’d divide the map into regions and have each pair be responsible for their little slice, with the capacity to join with other pairs in the event a larger incident needed to be addressed. Each pair would be expected to be autonomous… and be responsible for training an apprentice or two.”

  It finally made sense.

  “People like Cruz are being used as an example as to why the idea would fail.” Engel gave me a solemn nod.

  “Exactly,” he said. “But, if we can show that having that responsibility, with minimal oversight, allowed him to grow as a Slayer and raise a successful recruit…” he trailed off, letting me fill in the blanks myself.

  “And me being an atypical recruit? How does that play into things?”

  “Honestly? It is us stacking the deck in our favour.” He paused. “Sometimes people play card games and try to-”

  “I understand,” I said, cutting him off before he awkwardly tried to explain gambling idioms to me.

  “Right… Well, given your Core Skill and the fact that we can stretch your training out over several years instead of the usual, more condensed, program you are well suited to succeed despite an inexperienced mentor.” His tactful emphasis did not go unnoticed.

  “I see.” I leaned forward, placing my elbows on the desk and mimicking Engel’s earlier gesture, folding my hands together with deliberate slowness. “So, what is in it for me?”

  Engel tensed.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You deliberately placed me with someone who is ill-suited to training me,” I said. “What is in it for me?”

  “The Slayers shielded you from Crown conscription.”

  “They did, but you are inviting me to participate in matters within the Slayers that go beyond my innate responsibilities.” My mouth felt dry. I knew I was about to take a calculated risk, but even calculated, it was still a risk. “What would someone who wants your plan to fail offer me, I wonder?”

  When Engel spoke next, his voice was low. Dangerous.

  “Did Lionel put you up to this?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” I admitted. “But you did, actually,” I said.

  Engel twitched as he realized what I was getting at.

  “Because I-”

  “Correct.”

  A beat of silence stretched between us, immediately broken by a loud bark of laughter before Engel ruefully shook his head.

  “Well, then, to answer your earlier vague inquiry: my Core Skill is Tools [Shovel]. Appropriate, seeing as how I dug myself into this one, no?” He slammed a hand into his desk to emphasise his point, rattling my jaw as the shock of it travelled up my arms and into my skull. “Lionel may not have put you up to this, but I can see why he took a liking to you.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat.

  “Thank you, sir, I-”

  Engel raised a tempering hand to forestall any excitement I might feel. “It was not necessarily a compliment. Now, keep in mind, I cannot directly interfere with your apprenticeship - that would defeat the purpose.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “There is also the understanding that, by accepting something from me, you are offering your assurance that you will be successful.” The good will in his expression was immediately replaced by something decidedly more sinister. “That means there will be consequences for failure. Understood?”

  “I understand, sir.” I hadn’t actually considered that I might fail, caught up in the moment as I was.

  Engel resumed his cheerful demeanor.

  “Then we can begin negotiations. Did you have a request in mind?”

  I stood a little straighter, fighting to keep the surge of relief I felt from buckling my knees. I may have traded one problem for another, but it was one I’d chosen for myself. That difference meant everything. A smile tugged at my lips.

  “Something like that.”

  Politics, am I right?

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