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Sir Enigma
Part 1 of 1
Synopsis:  Following the stellar success of Sir Stalwart, another student is "puked" from Ironhall to protect His Majesty from an assassination attempt.

Sir Enigma

    Constable Belor held the ruffled urchin firmly by the shoulder, guiding him to a seat and practically forcing him to sit.  Grand Master looked the boy up and down with a prejudiced eye before asking, "Why do you think the lad belongs here?  Besides the attempt to save him from a hanging."

    Belor glanced at his silent charge.  "He already saved himself from one.  Slipped the shackles and cell both and was halfway out of town before we caught him... in broad daylight, no less."

    Grand Master grunted with surprise.  "You think you have what it takes to be a Blade, lad?"

    "Giv'n th' choice 'tween a swift sword in me 'eart an' a slow 'angin' by me neck... well, tain't much choice," the boy replied.

    "Lose that disrespectful tone or you'll welcome the noose," he warned.

    "Yes... sir."

    He let it pass.  "Boy, unless you pass the agility test, you don't get enrolled, understand?"

    "Yes, sir."

    He gestured for the boy to stand, and Belor slid the boy's chair out of the way.  "Catch if you can," Grand Master said, then began tossing coins.

    In the end, only one hit the floor.  The new lad had caught fourteen of fifteen coins, even jumping to catch one or two.  Impressed with the performance, Grand Master actually allowed himself to look over the boy.  About thirteen years old, he was skinny but tall for his age, his jaw set in firm resolve.  He found himself judging whether the new boy would be a rapier or a saber, then caught himself.

    "Summon the Brat," he said to the Prime at the door.  "We have a new recruit."

*      *      *

    Sir Steadfast held the new boy pinned with his gaze, waiting for the Brat to come and take him away.  It had been nearly five months since the Silvercloak fiasco, and Ironhall still wasn't the same.  Grand Master wearily rubbed his eyes.

    Twice in that time, the boys at Ironhall had had to contend with a Brat that could hide away so well, they never could find him.  The first had been Sister Emerald—which really didn't count, since Grand Master'd helped her hide—and the second was the sullen little thief dragged in by Constable Belor less than two months later.

    Oh, there'd been the occasional time the older students had managed to catch the Brat, but that had all been in his first few weeks.  Apparently, he'd found a fool-proof hiding place after that, and rarely ventured out where the older boys could catch him.

    Now, he looked up at the door just as the Brat in question appeared.  "Sir?"

    Grand Master gestured to the new boy.  "Show him around the grounds, then report to Master of Archives to sign yourself in.  Then and only then are you no longer the Brat."

    "Yes... sir."  Grand Master attempted not to frown at the tone of the Brat's voice.  This kid had been an untameable spirit—he just hoped it wasn't so untameable he'd have to kick the lad out.

    The Brat, sporting a blackened eye and a split lip, beckoned to the new boy.  "Time ta lern th' ropes," he announced.

*      *      *

    The Brat glanced at the new boy, hoping the kid would last for a little while, at least.  The new kid was so skinny, he hardly seemed more than a bundle of sticks tied together in a vaguely boy-shaped form.

    "Look, I 'as ta shows ye th' grounds," the Brat said.  "And I 'as ta tells ye th' 'sponsibilities o' bein' th' Brat, but I tain't gotta shows ye any more'n that."

    The new boy looked bewildered.   "I thought you were the Brat."

    "I is," the older kid replied.   "Until I's put in th' Master o' Archives' book.  Then ye be th' Brat."

    "Oh."

    "An' a word o' advice," the Brat continued, holding up a brass coin.  "Each Master 'as a token... wi' a token ye don't get bothered so much... iffun's ye is errand-running fer a Master.  Still, ye gots ta 'spect black eyes."  He pointed at his own shiner.

    They exited the building, the Brat nearly running into a chubby-faced redheaded boy.  "Beggin' yer pardon O Credulous, Atrocious, Presumptuous Candidate Intrepid."

    Intrepid beamed.  "New boy, you'd best learn all our names... or you'll be taking more swims in the trough than he did."  With a heavy punch to the Brat's arm, he walked off, laughing.

    "Ye ne'er could catch me, tubby," the Brat muttered.

    The new boy looked at him with shock.  "Why did you call him all those names?"

    "Intrepid tain't too smart.   He dudn't know what 'alf  'em mean.  Ye'll ne'er tell 'em, neither."

    "Of course not," he answered swiftly, as the Brat led him to the Master of Archives.

    "Have ye asked 'bout me name, sir?" the Brat asked.

    "Oh, Brat.  Yes, I have," Master of Archives said, "and Grand Master approves.  Sign here."

    The Brat walked over to the book, picked up the quill and signed his new name into the book the archivist held out.  "Now ye be th' Brat," he declared.  "I be Candidate Enigma."

    The new Brat swallowed.  "Do you have a title I should memorize, Candidate Enigma?"

    "Jest Candidate Enigma fer now, Brat," he said.  "I'll be lettin' ye know soon as that changes."

    Pointing him toward the door, Enigma began the tour.  An hour and a strained muscle—from too many cartwheels through the mud—later, it was time for the evening meal.  Prime Glyden stood at the front of the hall with Enigma and the Brat beside him.  When he had the attention of the assembled boys, he cleared his throat and announced.  "Tonight, we present Candidate Enigma.  Does he meet your approval?"

    A deafening roar nearly knocked the new Brat off his feet.  Prime and Second picked Enigma up and carried him back to his seat among the sopranos—the youngest of the accepted candidates, named for their often-squeaky voices.  Instead of sitting, however, Enigma picked up an object.

    "Aye, ye not be fer likin' it," Enigma began, addressing the seniors.  "But it be me right."

    The boys at the tables nearest him, all sopranos and beansprouts, began to thump the hardwood, chanting "Now!"

    Enigma looked down into his closed hand, looked up, then grinned.  "Brat... I salute ye."  And he threw something round and white.

    It wasn't until the egg splatted against his face that the new Brat realized what was happening: the hazing had begun.

*      *      *

    Candidate Tremayne wasn't a very good swordsman, but there was absolutely no reason why Candidate Enigma laid him out in sword practice.  Rolling to his feet, he spared the newest candidate a wary look.  "How did you do that?"

    "No un ever asked if I'd 'ad a bit o' practice wi' a blade."

    The seniors presiding over the sword lessons laughed.  "Most new boys don't," Prime ventured.

    "Most new boys ain't like me," Enigma responded.

*      *      *

    Sir Bandit hooked his thumbs in his belt.  "I really hate to do this to you again, Grand Master," he began.

    "Do what?"

    Bandit inspected the window sill for a moment.  "Grand Master, it has come to Durnedal's attention that a plot to assassinate the King is being circulated through dissident groups.   The idea is to plant someone in the royal court to ingratiate himself with the King and then murder him."

    Grand Master looked up from his desk.  "Go on."

    "Stalwart proved to be such a success that we're willing to try it again."

    "You're going to accept another candidate into the Guard without a Binding?" Grand Master gasped.

    "Well... that is the plan, yes."

    Sister Emerald sighed wearily.   "The problem is, Grand Master, that Wart and I are becoming too well-known in the court to effectively masquerade in such a capacity.  It's been nearly five years since we were first commissioned, and we need someone new for the job.  Someone who's a swift blade and loyal to boot."  She crossed her arms.  "I'm here to ensure that the chosen candidate is sincere in his loyalty."

    "I suppose you expect this one to be a senior?"

    "Well... that would be best," Bandit acknowledged.

    "Candidate Enigma," Grand Master said.  "Fastest blade I've seen in a while."

    "Rapier?"

    "Saber.  The lad practically dances with the thing.  He's as skinny as a beanpole, but there's strength behind those arms."

    Emerald nodded.  "I would like to meet this 'Enigma'."

    Within five minutes, the Brat had returned with the senior candidate.  Emerald felt a twinge of sympathy for the younger boy, having been in his position once.  Rather than dwelling on those memories, though, she turned her attention to Candidate Enigma.  Barely taller than herself, Enigma had what could only be described as a "pretty face".  His jaw was strong but narrow, his eyes clear and green, and his skin as youthful as a fourteen year-old's.  She suspected he hadn't yet begun to shave.

    "Candidate Enigma, I am Sister Emerald of the White Order."

    "The 'Brat'," Enigma grinned.

    Emerald blushed.  "One of these years, we'll all forget that."

    "Oh, don't worry about it.   Remembering that you survived it gave me the strength to survive my weeks as the Brat, too."

    "Thanks," she said.  "I think.  Enigma, what are your feelings toward the King?"  With her important question asked, she settled back to study his reactions.  Time, she decided, judging by his steady measure.  But was he Earth or Air?

    "He's my sovereign," the candidate replied immediately, "and as such, I owe him my life and loyalty."

    "How did you come to Ironhall?" Bandit asked.

    "Less than two steps ahead of a hanging, actually.  I was a thief, Sir Bandit.  Constable Belor finally caught me and brought me here."

    "Are you a good swordsman?"

    "The best at Ironhall, sir."

    Emerald was impressed with Enigma's honesty.  Now came the tricky part of the operation.  "Have you ever done anything that might have gotten you expelled?"

    Enigma's cheeks turned red as he replied, "I have been flippant to Grand Master many times, Sister."

    Grand Master snorted.  "That's going to get you puked."

    "Sir?"  The blood drained from his young face.

    "He's giving you fair warning, Enigma," Bandit smiled.  "So be as flippant as you want all this next week.   Give the Grand Master an excuse to puke you."

    "But I—"

    Bandit laughed.  "Certainly you've been told how Sir Stalwart was inducted into the Guard but not Bound?"

    "Yes..."

    "My dear boy, do I have to spell it out for you?  Officially, you're being puked, sent packing.  Unofficially, you're being made a member of the Guard.  Got it?"

    The candidate seemed to sway on his feet.  "Then am I to assume that I will be placed incognito in some capacity?"

    "Yes."

    "I s'pose I's could slip back into me ol' way o' speakin' again," Enigma sighed, his cultured voice slipping away into a more common accent.

    Emerald smiled, having decided on Air.  An Air-Time, like Wart.  "Actually, we'll be placing you at Court.  One week from now, you'll be expelled.  Within two weeks, we'll have you ready to perform as a courtier."

    "May I ask why, Sister?"

    "We have uncovered a plot to assassinate the King," she answered.

    "One week," Grand Master warned.

    Enigma's smiled blossomed.   "Is that starting right now?"

    The Grand Master frowned.   "I guess so.  Why?"

    "No reason... sir."   Offering him a rude gesture, Enigma fled the tower.

    "I should have expelled that one when I had the chance," Grand Master sighed.

*      *      *

    "You shouldn't be so disrespectful to Grand Master," Prime Intrepid warned, who'd matured a lot in five years.  "Just because you're third in line doesn't make you invincible."

    Enigma grinned.  "I really don't care."

    "You should.  You've been here four years.  Why waste it now?"

    "Hey, I got what I wanted from Ironhall.  I don't want to spend the rest of my life Bound to some idiot noble.  I learned how to fight and got an education here, and that's all I wanted out of this place."

    Intrepid's jaw dropped.  "You what?"

    Enigma's voice dropped to a conspiritorial whisper.  "I'm leaving... tomorrow."

    Prime stood stunned for a moment, until Enigma's disarming smile told him he wasn't serious.  "You're crazy, you know that?"

    "Yes, sir, I do."  Aiming a jaunty salute in his direction, the younger candidate walked away.

    Intrepid didn't think anything of it again until the next morning, when he awoke to find Enigma's bed empty.   Only then did he realize that Enigma had been serious.  He'd gotten what he wanted from Ironhall and left as fast as his feet could carry him.

*      *      *

    Sir Bandit met Enigma at the edge of the moor with a horse.  "Are they convinced you've been puked?"

    Enigma shrugged.  "I let it slip to some of the candidates that I'd allowed myself to be taken to Ironhall so I could learn how to fight.  It wasn't completely dishonest."

    Bandit waited for the rest.

    "Look, my attitude changed after a while, okay?"  Grumbling to himself, he swung up on his horse.   "So you're going to turn me into a courtier?"

    "That'll be the work of Lord Roland and Lady Kate.  We've also employed a few trusted magic workers to grow your hair out to a 'fashionable' length and soften your skin.  The calluses on your hands, though, we'll leave."

    "It's fashionable for a courtier to sword-fight."

    Bandit nodded.  "Of course."

*      *      *

    Sister Emerald wrapped her arm around Sir Stalwart's waist and sighed wearily.  Though Roland and Kate were supposed to have taken Enigma under hand and turned him into a gentleman, she didn't see him anywhere among the new courtiers.  What if there'd been trouble?

    "Why so restless, Em?" her husband asked.  His face had filled out quite a bit over the last five years, but he kept himself clean-shaven for tradition's sake.

    "I don't see Enigma," she whispered.

    "Then if you don't see Enigma, I consider that a success," Lord Roland said, approaching from the right.  "I'm not about to tell you where Enigma is, either.  Kate and I worked too hard to let this particular Blade's identity slip now."

    "But—"

    Wart laughed.  "He won't even tell me, Em.  Do you think he's going to tell you?  Besides, Enigma's become a convenient scapegoat."

    "What?"

    "Candidate Intrepid—" he waited until her groan lessened—"reported that the day before Enigma ran away, he told him that he'd gone to Ironhall only to get an education and learn how to fight.  When word leaked out that an assassination was suspected, many of the Blades jumped to the conclusion that Enigma was the assassin.  Suffice to say, we're allowing that belief to continue."

    "Doesn't that make his job harder?" she asked, brow furrowing.

    "Not if he isn't known as Enigma in his present capacity," Lady Kate replied, then turned to her husband.   "Come dear, the first dance is starting."

    Wart offered his own arm, and he and Emerald swept out onto the floor.  As they danced, as perfectly in step as two Time sub-types could be, she cast her eyes about the room, searching for a courtier who was an Air-Time.  By the end of the fourth dance, however, she was convinced Enigma wasn't in the crowd.  She and Wart retired to their table in the corner.

    "You can change someone's appearance," she complained,"but you can't change his elements.  The only other Air-Time out there besides you was Sir Fury!"  Wart groaned.  "What's that supposed to mean?"

    He rubbed his chin absentmindedly.  "Nothing... Speaking of the devil, here comes Fury now."

    The young Blade in question, who'd once disgraced himself in his own eyes by not recognizing Emerald in her guise as Ironhall's Brat, approached with a lovely young blond on his arm.  He was grinning from ear to ear.  "Hello, Sister, Stalwart.  Allow me to introduce my dancing partner for the evening, Miss Lydia Calloway."

    "Calloway?" Emerald asked, suddenly interested.  "Not, by chance, related to the Calloways from Prescott?"

    Lydia smiled.  "A cousin.   Fortunately, that allowed me to join the Court for the year, perhaps maybe even next year."

    "Ladies, if you don't mind, I'd like to borrow Stalwart for a moment," Fury continued.  "There's a young man here that claims to be as swift with a blade as he."

    After the men had left, Emerald turned to Lydia.  "The Calloways are cousins of mine, also!" she exclaimed.   "I'm originally from Peachyard."

    "Oh!" Lydia exclaimed.  "Well, I'm not much on family..."  She leaned forward, whispering, "We're the poor relations."

    Emerald nodded.  "You're one Eldric's daughters?"

    "Yes."

    Eldric, who Emerald wished fervently she didn't have to call cousin, was a rather unpleasant man with several lovely daughters, and, it was rumored, more than a few bastards.

    "What do you think of Fury?" she asked, directing her thoughts away from familial matters.

    "Oh, he's nice enough.  A bit smothery, but nice."

    While they chatted, Emerald tried to place Lydia's Elements.  Earth, likely, from the stability she exuded, and probably Time, too, from the way she'd danced with Fury.  Delighted in meeting another Earth-Time like herself, Emerald carried the conversation until Fury and Sir Stalwart returned.

    "Well?" she asked.

    "Not as good as he thought he was," Fury grinned.  "Lydia, I believe the last dance is starting..."

    "Of course, Sir Knight," the young woman replied, rising gracefully to her feet and taking Fury's arm.  Wart proffered his own arm, and he and Emerald swept out onto the floor.

    "What was that whole boisterous nobleman-thing about?"

    Wart grinned.  "One of the new courtiers decided that his years of tutoring in the art of fencing made him the match of any Blade.  Fury and I were forced to prove him wrong.  As an apology for humiliating him, I agreed to work with him later."

    Emerald nodded, thinking that perhaps the "boisterous nobleman" was Enigma.  But hadn't he used a saber?   Perhaps the use of a rapier was a ruse, to disguise his true talent with the saber.

    Vowing not to think any more about it for the time being, she lost herself in the dance.

*      *      *

    Emerald got the opportunity to meet the "boisterous nobleman" at fencing practice with Wart.  His name was Marlon, the nephew of a foreign diplomat.  His accent was charming, and when he looked at Emerald, he winked his cool green eyes.  "This must be your beautiful wife," he remarked to Sir Stalwart during a hiatus in the training session.  Kissing her hand, he introduced himself.

    She pretended not to recognize him.  "Pleased to meet you, Master Marlon."  When the match resumed, she carefully judged his stance, confirming that he was, indeed, an Air-Time.   However, as she'd promised Lady Kate, she wouldn't discuss any of the mission with Enigma.

    As the week progressed, Emerald spent more and more time with Lydia, sharing gossip about the courtiers and exchanging observations on the Blades of the Court.  With Wart spending much of his time training Marlon/Enigma, the two women had plenty of time to spend together.

    "I hear you once masqueraded as at boy at Ironhall," Lydia said one afternoon.  "What was that like?"

    Emerald sighed heavily.  "It was interesting.  I was protected by Grand Master and the other instructors, but I still got a bit of hazing."

    "Black eyes and cartwheels through the mud, no doubt," she smiled.  "Fury told me about the candidate that gave you a black eye."

    "And Fury slugged him right out of Ironhall," Emerald grinned.  "Ah, I didn't feel sorry for that one!"   The faintest tingling of sorcery had been disturbing her senses for some time.  "Tell me, Lydia, was there a spell cast upon you recently?"

    Lydia smiled demurely.  "I fell from a tree and broke my ankle about two months ago.  It was healed by magic."

    "What were you doing climbing a tree?!"

    The young woman shrugged her shoulders.  "I hadn't planned on coming to Court at the time.  If not for the charity of others, I wouldn't be here now."

    Marlon had even more sorcery about him.  Considering that his hair was now longer and darker and his face fuller and sporting a perpetual shadow of a beard, she wasn't surprised.   Emerald did not mention this to anyone, however.  He was, after all, supposed to be a secret.

*      *      *

    Court was more enjoyable with Lydia around, Emerald decided.  A group of the newest courtiers always huddled together at the back of the room—playing the role of the proverbial wallflowers—but Lydia was a burst of fresh air, always willing to take on the newest dances, though she knew few of them.  She was, however, a fast learner.

    Emerald soon found that she and Lydia were inseparable, and she came to dread the day Lydia would have to return home.  They spent all the time they could together.  It was therefore no surprise that they were standing together when the dreaded event occured.

    The group of young courtiers that clustered together fanned out through the crowd for the first time.  Though Emerald realized something was amiss, she was unable to warn the rest of the room.  She could only watch in horror as her own friend Lydia drew a knife and vanished into the crowd.  Just as a dance tune ended, the courtiers rushed, grabbing Wart, Fury, Bandit, and Durendal, and pointing previously hidden knives at several others.

    King Ambrose rose from his seat furiously.  "How dare you come armed into our presence?" he demanded, even as two Blades stepped forward to guard him.

    The leader of the conspirators scoffed.  "We don't take orders from you, Your Majesty.  And we aren't the only ones, right?  Now, those of you who aren't Blades, White Sisters, or royalty, may now leave."

    Marlon began to move forward, just as Emerald expected.  He hadn't taken more than three steps when an armed conspirator brandished a knife in his face.

    "Ah, Marlon," the leader snarled.  "We'd wondered when you'd decide to play hero.  You must be the 'hidden' Blade we've heard so much about."

    Marlon, to his credit, looked genuinely confused, and Emerald gave him points for his acting abilities.

    "I was on my way out, like you said," he gulped.

    The leader, though momentarily taken aback, continued, "Your paltry practices with the noble Sir Stalwart were truly a pathetic attempt to conceal your own abilities, yes?"

    "I-I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered.  "My father is an important man.  He's the diplomat of—"

    "A cover," the leader smirked.   "But not a very good one.  I'd expected better of Lord Roland and Lady Kate's abilities."

    "Then you'll be surprised to learn that Marlon is not Sir Enigma," a cultured voice said.

    Emerald swung her gaze to rest on Lydia, still brandishing her knife.  With a sweep of the weapon, she cut her skirts away and stepped out of them, revealing short breeches and, on her hip, a saber.  She tucked the knife back in its arm holster and drew the saber.

    "I believe I am the plant you were looking for," she announced, speaking with the voice Emerald had associated with Enigma.  But how could this be?

    The leader snarled for his cohorts to grab Lydia/Enigma, but she easily dispatched the foes with graceful sweeps of her blade, the cat's eye gleaming in the candlelight.  Like a stalking panther, she circled the leader once, twice, then stopped with a smile.

    "Aren't you going to fight me?" she asked in Lydia's voice.

    The leader grabbed a sword from a one of his henchmen and drew it, brandishing the rapier with obvious skill.   Without allowing Lydia/Enigma time to react, he lunged, hoping to take her off-guard.  Enigma easily parried and launched an offensive of her own, leaping like a dervish at her opponent.  Her saber darted here and there, drawing tiny cuts from his hands and arms too quickly for him to react to.  She was under his guard and back again, slashing and jabbing every step of the way.   Every thrust of the rapier was turned and answered.  After a dizzying moment, her opponent stumbled back, his hands trembling, maintaining a precarious, blood-slicked grip on the rapier.

    "A female Blade?" he finally managed to gasp.

    "I'm not the first girl to enter Ironhall," Enigma sniffed in Lydia's voice, tossing a sly wink in Emerald's direction.  She leapt in again, but this time her own attack was joined by the Blades of the room who, though still stunned, wrestled the traitors to the ground.

    Enigma's cunning blade soon slashed across the leader's hand, and he convulsively dropped his weapon.  Without hesitating, she hooked her toe underneath the rapier and flipped it up in the air, catching its hilt in her left hand.  Pointing both swords at him, she grinned wickedly.   "Surrender?"

    The defeated traitor raised his hands submissively, and Enigma stepped away with a grin, allowing Wart and Durendal to subdue him.  She placed the swords in Roland's hands, as she was technically not allowed to go armed in the King's presence.

    Speaking of the King... Emerald sighed mentally.

    "Lord Roland?" Ambrose boomed.   "This was what you had in mind for a plant in the Court?"

    "She was rather unexpected, wasn't she Your Majesty?" Lord Roland grinned.

    "A girl?"

    "She took us by surprise, too, Your Majesty," Lady Kate answered.  "We were about to teach Enigma how to behave as a gentleman of the Court when she suggested she learn how to be a lady of the Court, instead."  She shrugged her shoulders.  "We'd thought she'd lost her mind at first."

    "How did a girl get into Ironhall?"

    "I never lied, Your Majesty," Enigma sighed, bowing rather than curtsying.  "As skinny as I was five years ago, Constable Belor assumed the thief he caught was a boy.  I did nothing to dispell that illusion.  A girl thief wouldn't have been offered a chance at Ironhall."

    Ambrose's expression slowly changed from outrage to amusement.  "You mean you let whomever believe whatever?"

    "Yes, Your Majesty.  Sister Emerald assumed, when I stated that I, in the guise of Lydia Calloway, was one of Eldric Calloway's daughters, she assumed I was one of the legitimate daughters.  That, too, was incorrect."

    The king's laughter suddenly echoed throughout the chamber.  "So you decided to continue on at Ironhall, when at any moment you could have revealed yourself as a girl and been carefully escorted out, rather than puked?"

    "Yes, Your Majesty."

    "Why stay?" Emerald asked, finally coming to terms with the revelation.  "Surely the hazing..."

    Enigma smiled.  "The hazing wasn't so bad once I found a hiding place... and I'm not revealing where that was.  I soon came to enjoy the experience, and I had to improvise ways to hide my... femininity.  The rest of the boys merely thought I was extremely modest.  They continuously teased me about it."

    Great tears were rolling down the king's face.  "Oh, this is the most delightful thing I've heard yet!"

*      *      *

    "And was in this manner that the first female Blade, Sir Enigma, was awarded the four-pointed White Star and the rather irritating nickname 'The King's Sewing Needle.' "
     —The Litany

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