Once In a Blue Moon Page 2

  “Then what is so important I had to be hauled from my nice warm bed and thoroughly disgusting dream?” snapped the Administrator.

  “What brought you here, originally?” said Hawk. And there was something in the way he said it that made the Administrator give the question more than usual attention.

  “My parents thought I had the makings of a master swordsman,” he said gruffly, “because I had a habit of getting into trouble and then cutting my way out of it. They thought I might be Bladesmaster material. I knew better. I knew I wasn’t a warrior, let alone a hero—just a man with a short temper and no real sense of self-preservation. I said so, loudly, but no one listened. My father put me on a horse, handed me a bag of silver, and sent me out into the world to find my place. Maybe he did understand about me, after all.

  “I came here after I’d tried everywhere else. The previous Administrator had let things get into a real mess, so I pushed him down some stairs, several times, and took over. The Hawk and Fisher back then knew exactly what I’d done, but they gave me a chance. Told me I had six months to prove myself, or they’d have the Magic Tutor turn me into a small green hopping thing. Took me less than three. Now, some forty years later, I’m still here, and I’ll be here till they carry me out feet first.”

  “Are you happy here?” said Fisher.

  The Administrator looked at her for a while, as though he didn’t quite understand the question. “I never wanted anything else. I’m part of a legend, and that will do me.”

  “Did you never want marriage, family, children—things like that?” said Hawk.

  “Marriage isn’t for everyone,” the Administrator said firmly. “People just get in the way when I’ve got important lounging around to be getting on with. My fellow staff are all the family I ever needed, or wanted.” He looked at Hawk and Fisher thoughtfully. “You’ve been here, what, ten years now? As Hawk and Fisher? And you never once showed any interest in my personal life before. So why now?”

  “Because it’s time for a change,” said Hawk. He looked out across the plain. “Look at the Tree. Isn’t it magnificent?”

  The Administrator felt like saying a great many things, but the conversation seemed important enough that he played along. For the moment. They all looked out across the open plain, at the one thing of importance it contained: the ancient and mighty Millennium Oak. The biggest tree in the world; a thousand feet tall and probably more, with a trunk very nearly half as wide, and massive layers of branches reaching out a lot farther than was naturally possible. Just one of many clues, if its sheer size wasn’t enough, that the Millennium Oak was a magical thing. Its cracked and crinkled bark glowed a dull golden, and so did its massive bristling foliage. The Tree dominated the landscape, as though its overpowering presence had sucked most of the life out of the dry and dusty plain. It rose up and up into the sky, its topmost branches disappearing into the clouds. There were climbers of renown who’d tackled every mountain in the world but who wouldn’t dare attempt an assault on the Millennium Oak. And not just because of its height. The Tree had a presence, and perhaps even a personality, and it didn’t want to be climbed.

  You could tell.

  All around the Millennium Oak, the plain swept away for miles and miles, alone and deserted and untouched. If you travelled far enough to the west, you reached the wild woods. Perfectly ordinary trees, packed closely together, all the natural shades of brown and green, slamming right up against the edge of the plain as though the trees had met an invisible fence. All kinds of wildlife roamed the wild woods, but none of them ever ventured out onto the plain. They knew it wouldn’t be healthy.

  To the east, even more miles away, stretched the DragonsBack mountain ridge, tall and brutally ragged, marking the border between the Dutchy of Lancre and the Forest Kingdom. There were a great many stories about these mountains. Once, it was said, dragons made their homes in caves up and down the long ridge. Long and long ago. The caves were still there, unnaturally large and worryingly dark, but no one had seen a dragon in ages.

  “The first Hawk and Fisher made a point of checking out the caves,” said the Administrator. “They didn’t find any dragons. Looked rather disappointed, or so I’m told. Long before my time, of course. There are songs and stories from the Demon War that say Princess Julia rode a dragon into battle against the demon hordes. The last sighting of a dragon in the world of men.”

  “You can’t trust minstrels,” said Hawk. “Never was a bard who wouldn’t sacrifice the facts for a better rhyme.”

  “There are a hell of a lot of stories concerning the origins of the Millennium Oak,” said Fisher. “Some of them so old and so strange they might even have some truth in them. When the wind moves between the branches, the leaves seem to move with a life of their own, and sometimes it sounds like voices. Something the Tree heard, long ago. But the words are from a language no one speaks anymore, or even recognises. A language of a people who no longer exist. So no one now can understand what it is the Tree is remembering. The Tree is old . . .”

  “And birds of every species come here from all over the world,” said Hawk. “Every shape and size, and all the colours you can think of, including some specimens long thought extinct . . . just to perch on the golden branches and sing to the Tree. They sing a thousand different songs, yet somehow they’re always in harmony.”

  “Though you never see a woodpecker,” said Fisher. “I think they sense they’re not welcome.”

  “None of them are, when they’re sounding off outside my bedroom window first thing in the morning,” growled the Administrator. “Bloody dawn chorus. I’ve had to move my bedroom three times. I swear the bloody things are following me.” He glared at Hawk. “Have we indulged in enough whimsy yet? Can I just say I don’t give a damn about any of this in a loud and carrying voice, so we can finally get to the damned point?”

  “The Millennium Oak is a wonder and a miracle,” Hawk said firmly. “Haven’t you ever wondered who it was that originally hollowed out the Tree’s interior, to make hundreds of rooms and halls and interconnecting corridors, so long ago that no one now remembers who or why? Seventy-five years the Tree has been home to the Academy, and we still haven’t occupied half the available rooms. A Tree with a city inside it. Who would have thought?”

  “Not forgetting the city of tents that surrounds it,” said Fisher. “All the student population, set out in ranks and circles round the trunk. I can see a dozen different flags from here, from countries near and far, flapping proudly in the breeze . . . Though I’m glad to see everyone is following tradition, and no one flag is set any higher than any other. I’d hate to have to go down there and punch someone. I really would.”

  “I did enjoy it when you set fire to the last flag that tried to flout tradition,” said Hawk solemnly. “And the way you set fire to the flag’s owner when he objected. In the end they had to wrap him in his own tent and roll him back and forth in the mud to put the flames out. He cried real tears.”

  “The Millennium Oak has never flown a flag,” said Fisher. “The Tree is in the Dutchy, but not of it.”

  “Go back a couple of hundred years,” said Hawk, “and there is the story of one Duke who tried to occupy the Tree. To make a point, over who was really in charge here. The Duke led his army of some three hundred heavily armed men inside the Tree; and none of them ever came out. We’ve never even found a trace of the bodies. The Tree’s roots dig deep, and no one has ever sought to discover how deep, or what nourishes them.”

  “I think we should take a tour through the tent city on the way back,” said Fisher. “Show the students we take an interest. I mean, yes, they’re expected to provide for and look after themselves; that’s the whole point of not letting them take it easy inside the Tree. Self-sufficiency starts at home, and all that. But it wouldn’t hurt to remind the students we’re still keeping an eye on them.”

  “Someone’s started a still again, haven’t they?” said Hawk. “What’s the matter? You not gettin
g your fair share?”

  “It’s the principle of the thing,” said Fisher.

  “Won’t be long now before the Auditions begin,” said Hawk. “Look at the shadow.”

  The thousand-foot Millennium Oak cast one hell of a long shadow, and the tents that lay within it were always markedly cooler than those without. So the older and more experienced students struck their tents inside the shadow during the hot summer months, and outside it during the winter. All the newer students thus had no choice but to do the exact opposite, and dream of better times to come as they sweated through the summer and shivered through the winter. And of course once a year there was a mass migration and re-setting of tents, as the two sides swopped places to follow the shifting seasons. This usually involved a certain amount of armed skirmishing, as certain individuals disagreed as to which side they were properly a part of. It was all very good-natured, and usually ended at first blood. Because students who couldn’t or wouldn’t follow the rules and traditions of the Hawk and Fisher Memorial Academy didn’t last long. Hawk and Fisher saw to that.

  It had to be said: the students didn’t seem to mind living in the tent city. It was all very communal, with lots of eating and drinking and singing, and giggling under canvas. There were the wild woods to hunt in, several streams in which to fish and wash and perform necessary functions (and woe betide anyone who didn’t keep those uses strictly separate), and several towns beyond the woods, for more sophisticated fare. Often at dirt-cheap prices—the merchants indulged the students because they attracted the tourists. Who were, of course, quite properly soaked for every penny they had. That was what they were for.

  No tourists ever approached the Tree, or even the tent city. The Tree didn’t allow such over-familiarity.

  The Administrator sighed deeply, and massaged his lower back with both hands. It was clear that whatever Hawk and Fisher had brought him all the way out here to discuss, they were determined to take their own sweet time about getting to the point. So he gritted his teeth, plotted future revenges, and played along.

  “I have often wondered why the original Hawk and Fisher came to the Dutchy of Lancre,” he said, “to set up their Academy. We’re not exactly a big or famous country, after all.”

  “I think that was probably the point,” said Hawk. “The DragonsBack ridge does a very good job of separating Lancre from the Forest Kingdom, and there’s only an ocean on the other side.”

  “Far from everyone else, and protected by perfect natural defences,” said Fisher. “They couldn’t have picked a better bolt-hole if they’d tried.”

  And that was when they both stopped and looked directly at the Administrator, who felt a sudden chill run through him as he found himself the target of their cool, thoughtful gaze. The Administrator decided that whatever it was they wanted to tell him, he almost certainly wouldn’t be better off for knowing.

  “It’s time,” said Fisher.

  “Time we were moving on,” said Hawk.

  The Administrator nodded slowly. “Of course. That’s what this has all been about. Looking at things for the last time, and saying goodbye.”

  “It’s the first day of the new term,” said Hawk. “Which means the biggest Auditions of the year. Our last before we move on, to make way for the next Hawk and Fisher.”

  “Will you miss us?” said Fisher.

  The Administrator did them the courtesy of considering the question. “I suppose so. You’ve been here longer than most, almost ten years now. You’ve done good work. I was starting to think . . . Do you have to leave?”

  “Yes,” said Hawk. “People are starting to get too used to us.”

  “A new Hawk and Fisher will shake things up,” said Fisher.

  “All these years we’ve worked together,” the Administrator said slowly, “and I can’t say I know either of you any better than the day you arrived here to take over from the previous Hawk and Fisher. Of course, I can’t say I really knew any of your predecessors any better. You always keep yourselves to yourselves.”

  “All part of being Hawk and Fisher,” Hawk said easily. “We’re here to be role models, not friends or family. It would undermine the legend and authority of the names if people could see just how ordinary we really are.”

  “And we did come here, after all, to leave our pasts behind,” said Fisher.

  “Except . . . you never really do escape your past,” said Hawk. “It has a nasty habit of sneaking up on you from behind, when you least expect it.”

  Fisher looked at him. “You feeling your age?”

  Hawk was looking out over the plain, his gaze far away. “It’s cold early, this autumn.”

  Fisher moved in close beside him. “Are you . . . feeling something?”

  “I don’t know,” said Hawk. “Maybe.”

  Fisher waited until she was sure he had nothing more to say, and then turned back to the Administrator, her face artificially cheery. “So, are you going to miss us?”

  “Not if I aim properly,” growled the Administrator. “I’ve seen Hawks and Fishers come, and I’ve seen them go. And all that matters is that they leave me alone, to get on with the work that really matters. Running the Academy efficiently. I will say . . . you have been less of a nuisance than most.”

  Fisher surprised him then, with a sudden bark of genuine laughter. “You soppy sentimental old thing, you. We know you do all the real work. And don’t think we’re not grateful. We’ll authorise another raise for you before we go. Throw you a party, with a barrel of ale and a whole bunch of loose women. What do you say?”

  The Administrator shuddered. “No. Thank you. Really. And if I want a raise, I’ll just fix the books again.”

  “We’ve already arranged for our replacements,” said Hawk. “They’re on their way. Fisher and I will be leaving at the end of the week. We wanted to break the news to you first, so you can set the necessary procedures and protections in place, before the news spreads all over the Tree.”

  “Once the Auditions are over, we can start setting our affairs in order,” said Fisher. “And then we’ll be off. No point in hanging around. I hate long, drawn-out goodbyes.”

  “We’ve been here too long,” said Hawk. “People are . . . getting used to us.”

  “I trust you’ll make our replacements welcome?” said Fisher.

  “Of course,” said the Administrator, back on his dignity. “I always do. Got a special speech prepared, and everything. Mostly about staying out of my way, and what forms they have to fill in whenever they find it necessary to kill someone. I pride myself on having a good working relationship with every Hawk and Fisher. Do you . . . know where you’re going?”

  “We’re still working on that,” said Fisher. “But it’s time for a change. You’re right, Hawk. It is cold, for this early in the autumn. I can feel it in my bones.”

  Hawk and Fisher looked at each other, for a long moment. The Administrator could sense something moving between them that he wasn’t a part of.

  “I have this feeling,” said Hawk, “that something bad is coming.”

  “Yes,” said Fisher. “Something really bad.”

  “Well, yes,” said the Administrator. “New students.”

  He didn’t normally do jokes, but he felt a sudden need to change the mood.

  They all managed a quiet laugh. Only to break off abruptly as a whole flock of dead birds fell out of the sky, plummeting to the ground all around them. The soft, flat sounds of small dead bodies hitting the ground was like a round of heartless applause. The Administrator almost jumped out of his skin as he realised what was happening, and then his heart lurched again as Hawk and Fisher drew their weapons with almost inhuman speed and moved to stand back-to-back, weapons held out before them, at the ready. But there was no attack, no obvious enemy. Just dead birds, dropping out of a calm and empty sky for no obvious reason. And then that stopped and all was still and quiet.

  The Administrator realised he was wringing his hands. He could feel his heart beati
ng painfully fast. Hawk and Fisher looked carefully around them, and only when they were sure there wasn’t an enemy anywhere in sight did they relax, just a little, and put away their weapons. The Administrator got down on one knee, painfully slowly, ignoring the harsh creaking sounds from his joints. He was careful not to look at Hawk and Fisher. He tended to forget, until it became necessary for them to demonstrate, just how fast and dangerous they could be. That they were, in fact, highly experienced trained killers. He made himself concentrate on the bodies of the dead birds before him. He sniffed the air carefully but couldn’t detect any scents out of the ordinary. He leaned forward and looked the small bodies over as thoroughly as he could, while being very careful not to touch anything. Their eyes were open, dark and unseeing, not a breath of movement anywhere, not a mark of violence on any of them.

  “Not predators,” said Hawk.

  “Not natural predators, anyway,” said Fisher.

  “It’s almost like someone’s gone out of their way to give us a sign,” said Hawk.

  “They didn’t have to shout,” said Fisher.

  “I’ll send some of the witches out here to take a look,” said the Administrator, straightening up again with a minimum of fuss. Exaggerating his various infirmities seemed small-minded in the face of so much casual death. As though some force or power had reached out and slapped the birds out of the air. Just because it could. He looked out across the plain, at the city of tents grouped around the Tree. “It could be one of the students, I suppose, showing off, but . . .”

  “Yes,” said Hawk. “But.”

  “Let some of the more advanced magic students investigate,” said Fisher. “Be good practice for them. If nothing else.”

  The Administrator looked around him, at all the dead bodies scattered across the stony ridge. Dozens of the things. And then he looked sharply at Hawk and Fisher.

  “Is there any chance this could be connected with your decision to leave so suddenly?”

  “I don’t see how,” said Hawk. Which wasn’t really an answer, and they all knew it.