Before I knew it, I was in Room 94A. After Victoria left, a nurse came three hours later, shoved a pair of crutches into my hands, and discharged me.
She called me a student.
Not knowing what in the world was happening, I went to the only place that made any sense. I didn't bother to take in the Academy grounds. My gaze stayed low. Ever since my encounter with Victoria I feel too many eyes on me. Eyes hungry for the truth about me.
The room... my room smelled of hot metal and the damp breath of old boilers. One wall bore smudges of soot, shaped almost like footprints. Above the bed hung a small brass clock that displayed the time. It was late evening, close to midnight.
I sat down on the only chair, beside the table – no more than a metal plate set into the wall.
And then I just sat there. Still do. I don't feel tired. They gave me something for the pain. Thoughts rush through my head like gas through pipes.
I think of Vasht, one of my tutors. He taught me to think clearly in moments like this. To draw a thread through events, follow it. And it turns out simpler than I expected. Because this isn't really about me.
I am Arth Carter, trainman. A powerful figure named Victoria Blackwood was traveling to the Academy when someone tried to kill her. An event I know all too well about.
But I wasn't always Arth. Arth is the one who saved Victoria. Alaric would have let her die. And smiled while he did it.
My mouth goes dry again. I look for water, find a washroom and faucet. I want to rinse the taste of guilt from my mouth. The guilt that I feel no hatred. Not enough for my family's death.
I am as empty as those cursed words from the assassin.
"Redsong," I whisper, as if the name were foreign to me.
That man told Victoria he acted in the name of the Redsong. In the name of my family.
Even if I no longer feel hatred, I will not let their name be dragged deeper into the dirt. If I hate anything, it's radios and assassins. No assassin will murder in the name of my dead father and mother.
The assassin lied, and by the look of things, he wasn't working alone. Others will follow. Victoria might not even be the only target.
A rebellion in the name of the last fallen noble house...
I nearly laugh. Shake my head, laugh at myself. These are thoughts I summon only because a small part of me wants them to be true. No, this isn't rebellion. Someone is using my old family for their own treachery.
It almost worked this time. And next time?
I won't allow it.
Now Victoria is inside Gearford Academy. From what I've heard, it's unlikely anyone can infiltrate here. But the fact that Victoria is a target is my only lead.
If I want to learn who kills in my family's name, I have to stay close to Victoria. Somehow. Because just a few hours ago, I could've never answered the question: How do you stay near the steel princess? It seems impossible. Almost.
If not for the little slip of paper in my pocket.
I read the words again.
Victoria Blackwood vouches for the potential of Arth ..... Hereby this document confirms the admission of Arth ..... to Gearford Academy.
She left the surname blank. And if not even a Blackwood is hunting my true name, then no one else here at the Academy will either. Cameras have only existed for a year. By now almost no one alive knows or remembers my face. My house is dead, the Singing Raven sleeps in Red Rest City, and for a year no bounty hunter has crossed my path.
I start to plan. Maybe, after all, this really is a new chance. I can't forget my goal, but something stirs within me. Stirs again. The thrill of living, perhaps?
First, I need information. From what I know, Gearford Academy uses a class system for its classes... amusing. Here, you don't buy rank with money, but with talent.
Or so they say. In the end, those talents are auctioned off to the highest bidder once they graduate.
Victoria Blackwood will land near the top. I have no idea what's tested, how it's tested, or what's valued. Others have spent a lifetime preparing for this. My Redsong education gives me a solid foundation, but I know nothing of the modern world.
Who can I ask? Not Victoria. She might be the ideal solution, since she brought me here for some reason – gratitude, perhaps – but I wouldn't trust a Blackwood with anything but destruction. I'll stay close to her, but that doesn't mean contact.
She's still a Blackwood.
I realize my head is spinning plans faster than my body could ever keep up. I need to get up and walk, but crutches won't take me far. And it's late anyway.
My leg twitches. I lean off the chair, try to stand, but pain sears through me at once. The drug is wearing off.
A knock at the door gives me the strength I couldn't find before. I manage to rise, refuse to touch the crutches. A mistake.
After two steps I collapse, crash to the floor.
White spots dance before my eyes. Another knock.
"Coming!" I groan, dragging myself up with effort and pain.
When I open the door, at first I see no one.
"Arth... what is your surname?" asks a voice from the floor.
I blink the white spots away. Before me is a talking rat.
A talking rat of metal, springs, and gears.
"Carter," I answer the Steambeing. What else could it be?
"Arth Carter, then. Follow us. Director Gearford wishes to speak with you."