Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 169943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 850(@200wpm)___ 680(@250wpm)___ 566(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 850(@200wpm)___ 680(@250wpm)___ 566(@300wpm)
I scoff. “No.”
But it’s true that Magpie takes in all kinds that don’t pass. There have been women who showed up on recruitment day but didn’t last a week. Most didn’t make it through the training, either from harassment from the male fledglings or simply because the job itself is too dangerous and unpleasant. Magpie is a sucker for a female student, but the truth is that most can’t hack it like she does. Or did. The current Magpie wouldn’t get ten steps underground without sucking on a bottle of liquor.
“Bad, bad idea, my friend” is all Raptor says, arms crossed.
I know it’s a bad idea. I don’t need him weighing in on it. I ignore his headshake of disappointment, pretending interest as Master Finch brings his five chosen fledglings to the front of the room so they can be inducted into the book of names. The five names are recorded at the beginning of the year, and when the students graduate, those names are crossed out and replaced with their chosen guild names. It’s all very pompous and self-congratulatory, but that might be the Taurian side of me speaking. We hate fuss. Finch guides his students to the book of names and watches as they sign it. My students are toward the back of the hall, in one of the last rows, so I’m hoping things are cleared out before I have to go up there with them.
It should be Magpie doing that, but she hasn’t yet appeared. She swore she’d dress and show up in time for the ceremony, but we’ve been here for hours now and there’s no sign of her. Something tells me that she headed for the nearest bar instead, and I tamp down my feelings of frustration. She’ll show up. She has to.
I eye the doorway, but it’s empty.
Class after class heads toward the book and signs their names in, receiving their official fledgling pin from Rooster as they do. As the room clears out, the smirks and nudges become more obvious, and they’re all directed toward my students. I know what they see when they look at the bench for Magpie’s house. They see four women in varying degrees of softness—led by Aspeth, who has her chin in the air as if she rules the place—and a slitherskin (who is still wearing his house, much to my irritation). We’re a joke to them.
I can’t even be mad at the snickers they make. I look at them and I see another year that we won’t have a passing class. I see another chance for commissions going up in smoke. I look at them and I wonder which one is going to peel off first, ruining the season for the others. A passing class must have five.
“The fledgling class of Master Magpie,” Rooster calls out.
My students get to their feet, and despite the fact that the room is nearly empty, the whispers grow louder.
Raptor grunts. “Mmm. I’m starting to get it now.” I huff, torn between amusement and sheer annoyance at Aspeth again. She’s wearing her guild uniform, but it doesn’t fit her the way it fits the others. Her ample backside pulls the fabric tight, outlining her rump right down to a dimple in one plump cheek. When she turns to the side, her tits strain against the guild blouse, and Raptor makes another fascinated sound. “Maybe you can gag her when she talks.”
I elbow him. “That’s my wife, you clod-brain.”
“Rut her good, my friend.” He claps me on the back so hard that I stagger past him and the other Taurians remaining at the back of the hall.
They chuckle as I move forward, crossing the long hall to stand at my students’ side.
“Guild Master Magpie?” Rooster calls again, searching the room as he stands behind the massive book. “Is Guild Master Magpie here?”
I clear my throat, moving to stand in front of the podium. “Guild Master Magpie is sick. I’ll sign the book in her place.”
Rooster’s lip curls at me, as if he’s offended by the sight of a Taurian standing in front of him. “You’re not a guild master. Where is Guild Master Magpie?”
“Like I said, sick.” His lips thin further, and I have no doubt he’s thinking of the last two classes, when I presented them, too. I continue on. “I’ll present her class and she’ll be here for graduation.”
Even if I have to haul her bodily in front of the guild itself, she’ll be here.
He takes a deep breath, as if considering, and then holds the feathered quill out to me. I sign the book with Magpie’s name, the quill ridiculously small and fragile in my too-large Taurian hand. I manage not to snap it, and then turn to hand it off to the first student in line.
It’s Aspeth, of course.