Besides, he was a modern independent man who intended to have his own interests and circle of acquaintances, even if he had found his soulmate young.
One day when he was not too tired, he came to mapmaking class—the last class of the day—early and carefully studied the maps everyone was working on. There were not that many. The council-training course was far, far smaller than the war-training course. Apparently they needed ten swords to every brain.
The other students seemed disturbed to have their work surveyed and commented upon.
“Do you mind?” snapped a boy from Elliot’s cabin who had already taken against Elliot because of his “endless whining” over “central heating or whatever.”
Elliot beamed. “Not at all.”
That boy’s map was distinctly substandard. Elliot let him know.
Then he stationed himself at two desks pushed together, where the two best maps in class lay on proud display. The owners of the desks were cadets Elliot vaguely recognized—a human boy called Peter, and a girl called Myra.
There were not many girls in the Border camp at all, and Myra was special. Elliot had wonderful suspicions about Myra. She was very short and had dark hair on her upper lip. Elliot had seen dwarves on the day people had signed up for training camp, and never after: it made sense to him that they had been seeing off someone who had signed up.
Also, Myra had an elaborately carved axe under her desk. Not that Elliot was making any judgments based on that fact. Elliot did not judge.
“Hiiii,” Elliot said ingratiatingly as they approached.
Myra and Peter looked surprised to see him, but—Elliot thought—not unhappy. Elliot was an expert in people being unhappy to see him.
“Can I sit with you guys?” Elliot asked.
“Of—of course!” said Peter.
Elliot felt his winning smile widen into a real grin. He had not expected this to be so easy. He’d always had to chase the kids down the road to make them keep him company.
“I’m Elliot Schafer,” he added.
“Oh, I know,” said Peter mysteriously. “I’m Peter Quint.” He seemed to feel his introduction needed further explanation. “I was born in the otherlands, but my dad is from your world across the Border. He kept his name.”
“Why shouldn’t he?” Elliot asked.
“Most people don’t,” said Peter. “My mum hates it, thinks it’s really embarrassing.”
“In my world,” said Elliot. “Surnames like Waggletwig are embarrassing. Let me tell you that.”
Peter nodded eagerly. “I bet in your world, your name is really cool.”
Elliot examined him for signs of sarcasm, and found none. “Yes,” he said at length.
“I’m Myra of the Diamond clan,” Myra said. Her chin was raised, and she had drawn herself up to her full height. She might be the only person in the camp shorter than Elliot.
“So you are a dwarf!” Elliot said. “I mean, dwarves—the species with axes and mines and so forth—I’m not being offensive, am I?”
Myra studied him. “My mother’s a dwarf, and my father’s human,” she said in the same defiant tone.
“And you have a clan system!” Elliot said rapturously. “How is it different from the elf clan system? Wait, let me take notes.”
He dragged a desk over to join the other two. Its legs squeaked on the floor. His classmates regarded him with expressions of exhaustion that Elliot found hurtful. They had only known him for a few weeks. People as young as they were should have more stamina.
“Before I take notes about the clans,” said Elliot. “I have a few quick suggestions about both of your maps.”
He was interrupted by the arrival of their teacher, Mr Dustlaid. Teachers in the council-training course did not have any military rank, and Elliot had heard the war-training cadets call them “Mister” and “Miss” with a sneer. Teachers in the council-training course had the sad desperate look of old biscuits dunked in tea, who wanted to crumble but were too soggy. All the councilors Elliot had seen so far had the same defeated look. Elliot wondered what that was about.
“Cadet Schafer,” Mr Dustlaid said in a sad, wet voice. “To your desk.”
As soon as class was over, Elliot leaped up to resume sharing his thoughts with Peter and Myra.
“Sorry,” he said at length. “Am I boring you?”
He usually was, and he usually realized it about now: twenty minutes too late.
“No,” Myra told him. “It’s really cool that you want to hang out with us.”
Elliot beamed. “Really?”
“Usually you pal around with Luke Sunborn,” said Peter.
Elliot stared at Peter in shocked betrayal, then transferred his gaze to Myra, who he now felt was his favorite of the two. Myra was also treacherous: she was nodding, her dark eyes shining.
“To which of the students in this learning establishment do you refer?” Elliot asked haughtily. “I am not familiar with that name.”
Myra and Peter stared at him. Elliot stared challengingly back.
“You know, Luke Sunborn!” Peter said.
Elliot shook his head firmly. “Not ringing a bell, sorry.”
“He’s famous!” said Peter. “His whole family is famous!”
“How nice for him,” said Elliot. “Whoever he may be.”
“And he’s very handsome,” Myra said softly.
“I don’t know anyone handsome,” Elliot lied, and demoted Myra from her position as favorite.
“He’s the tallest boy in our year, and he’s the best at everything in the war-training class, and he’s . . .” Peter, already babbling, descended into an incomprehensible mumble.
“Satan line dancing?” Elliot asked. “Peter, are you drunk?”
“Standing behind you,” Myra said in a low, clear voice.
“What—oh my God,” said Elliot, turning to find Luke lurking behind him like a terrible blond iceberg. He almost fell out of his chair. “Don’t do that! Why would you do that?”
“Hi,” Luke said awkwardly.
A terrible thought occurred to Elliot. “Is Serene all right? Has she been injured in one of your reckless training exercises?”
Luke frowned. “She’s fine. Captain Woodsinger offered to give her extra lessons, to smooth her transition in taking on two courses.”
Elliot had thought he saw a trace of sympathy in Captain Woodsinger’s face during their interview with the commander. If the captain was on Serene’s side, he decided to forgive her impatient attitude toward Elliot himself.
If Serene was fine, though, that raised the question of what Luke was doing here. Surely he would prefer to be doing something sporty with his terrible sporty friends.
“Where’s Dale Wavechaser?” Elliot demanded.
Luke blinked. “Who’s Dale Wavechaser?”
“Your friend!” said Elliot.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Luke. “Which is life as usual, I guess.”
Just because Luke, Serene, and Elliot had fallen into something of a routine did not mean that Luke had the right to describe that routine as “life as usual.” He was giving Elliot’s new friends entirely the wrong impression.
“Dale’s about this tall,” Elliot said, waving a hand haphazardly far above his own head. “Very good-looking.”
“What?” said Luke.