Chapter 151: 151: Academy Life Starts VIII (Birthday celebrations part one)
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Night came down like a soft lid on East House. Lamps in the corridor burned low. The wall painting’s river went dark and slow. John checked the latch, checked the slate with his schedule one more time, and sat on the edge of Bed B to unlace his boots.
The door opened hard.
Ray Flame slipped inside, tried to close it gently, failed, and winced at his own noise. He looked wrecked. Hair wild. Collar wrong. A red line of warden ink across his slate token that said "SEE OFFICE" in tidy letters. The fake mustache was mostly scrubbed off, but the mushroom shadow still haunted his cheek like a ghost who refused to leave the party.
He did not look at John. He kicked off his boots and missed the corner; one boot hit the wall, bounced, and landed under the desk. He stared at it like it had insulted his mother.
Fizz rose slowly from the pillow, eyes bright in the dark. "Well, well," he whispered. "The prodigal candle returns. What did the warden give you? Mop duty? Stair-kissing patrol? Public apology to mushrooms?"
Ray gritted his teeth. "None of your business." His voice came out hoarse, like he’d argued with doors all day.
Fizz hovered closer, enjoying himself. "I can make it my business. Tell me. I must feed the gossip birds. They will starve without me."
Ray shut his eyes, breathed in through his nose, and spoke in a level tone like a noble who has read a book called How Not to Throw a Fit. "Truce," he said. "You do not poke me; I do not poke you. I do not talk to you; you do not talk to me. That is fair. I already have enough shit to deal with on my plate."
Fizz opened his mouth. "You started it. You—"
"Fizz," John said, and the one word cut the air clean. "Enough. Truce is fine. Do not disturb us; we will not disturb you."
Ray flicked a grateful glance at John. He did not say thank you. He pulled his blanket up hard enough to make the mattress squeak, turned his face to the wall, and went silent.
Fizz floated there another second, full of unused roast, then let it go with a tiny huff. "Fine," he whispered to nobody. "Fine."
They slept.
Morning came honestly and cool. A thin bar of sun slid across the floorboards and found John’s boots. Bells rolled from the tower, soft and steady. John woke with the first bell, the way he always did. He washed, combed, and set his token on its nail.
Fizz popped up in the air and stretched until his back made a little crrk. "Today," he said, pleased. "Good day. Busy day."
"What plan," John asked, pulling on his coat.
Fizz spun once, smug. "I will be gone. The whole day. You can do whatever you want. Walk. Read. Count grass. I am planning a thing."
"What thing," John said, though he already knew the answer.
Fizz clasped his paws behind his back like a little lord about to announce a festival. "A party. Tomorrow is your birthday. We must do it right. It will be your first birthday celebration. There will be cake. There will be honest stew. There will be Penny’s loud laugh and Pim’s small crimes. There will be..." He stopped himself before the list became the sky. "Trust me."
"Can you leave," John said. "Rules."
Fizz puffed. "I will ask. Politely. From the hat man. I will not break any rule. I will bend one with his hand on it so it is not a bend. Stay in the walls. Read the library. Do not fight cabbage knights."
John eyed him. "Do not steal anything."
Fizz put both paws on his chest. "I am insulted. I will only borrow forever."
"Fizz."
"Fine. I will not borrow forever. I will borrow briefly. And I will bring receipts."
John sighed, but there was a smile in it. "Go. I will walk the grounds. I will find a good water tap again."
Fizz zipped toward the door, then stopped, zipped back, and hugged John’s head with both paws for one second like a hot towel. "Do not forget to be happy," he said in a rush. "It is practice."
He was gone before John could answer.
Ray rolled over and squinted. "He’s always like that?" he mumbled.
"Yes," John said, and left.
Fizz did not waste time. He took the corridor fast, slipped down the stairs while they were in a good mood, and flashed through the east courtyard like a spark with a job. Three first-years turned their heads as he passed and then pretended they had not because pretending is a school skill too.
He reached the north hall side door and found a proctor there with a clipboard and a nose that could smell excuses. Fizz straightened in the air, put on his polite face, and said, "Headmaster Snake asked for me."
The proctor looked unimpressed. "Name."
"Lord Fizz," he said, and waited, deadpan.
A pause. Then, to his small joy, the proctor actually checked a little list in the corner of the board and found it there: ’FIZZ — always welcome to meet me.’ She gestured with her chin. "Up. Third floor. End of the long hall that makes you doubt your legs."
Fizz saluted like a soldier in a play. "You are a treasure," he said, and went.
The third–floor hall did indeed do something odd to a person’s legs. It was long and straight and somehow did not get closer as you flew down it; it was the kind of space that made you want to apologize to geometry. Fizz refused to be mocked by architecture. He flew faster out of spite and arrived at the old door with the iron latch a little breathless and pleased with himself.
He knocked. Once, twice.
"Come," Snake’s voice said, warm and old and hard to read.
Fizz slipped in. The room was the same, and not. The hat looked darker in daylight. The hookah bubbled once as if it were listening. The books had moved three inches to the left all by themselves. Master Hale would have had opinions about that.
Snake smiled from behind the desk. "Professor Fizz," he said. "Welcome."
Fizz hovered at dignified height. "Headmaster Snake," he said. "Beware. I am here to be useful and to ask for things."
"Perfect," Snake said. "I have use for you, and I have things to give." He gestured at the corner sofa. "Sit if you like sitting."
Fizz sat because it made him look more important. He crossed one leg over the other the way men on councils do. His foot did not reach anything. He swung it anyway.
Snake folded his hands. "First matter. We spoke last time. Guest teacher. Elemental basics. You will teach how elements love and hate each other. You will make them laugh so they remember. You will not set bowls on fire."
Fizz glowed. "I accept the throne," he said. "I will be a terror to fools and a patty-cake to clever ones."
"We will start small," Snake said, amused. "A trial lecture next week. If the walls do not complain, we give you a list. Do not scare the quiet ones."
"I only scare the loud and the bully," Fizz said. "And men with cabbage on their souls."
"Second matter," Fizz went on, paws already rubbing together, "I ask for a gentle permission. Tomorrow is John’s birthday. He is eighteen. I will throw him a party. The best party. But small. Very small. At a certain tavern where the stew is honest and the owner’s heart is high. May we leave the grounds?"
Snake leaned back, eyes narrowing in pleased thought. "Ah," he said. "My apprentice’s birthday." He let the word apprentice sit in the room with the windows closed. "Yes. You may. I will issue a gate paper for the two of you. You will go in the afternoon. You will come back before the tenth bell. If you are late, the stairs will tell on you."
Fizz slapped his paws together once, a tiny firework. "I will bribe the stairs with compliments," he promised.
"I cannot attend," Snake added. "You understand why."
Fizz nodded vigorously. "The secret," he said. "I will not tell. I will merely hint in very vague terms in my own head, and even then I will interrupt myself."
Snake pulled a small square card from a drawer and wrote on it with neat, old handwriting. He stamped it with a curious seal that did not quite resolve if you looked at it too long. He slid it across the desk. "Gate pass," he said. "Name of event: ’family errand.’ This is not a lie if you think about it wrong."
Fizz pocketed it in the mysterious pocket that he uses for things. "Third matter," he said. "I must invite people. I must move in the city like a small, noble storm. I will need to contact a certain person with a certain stone."