Love Crafted
Chapter Forty-Three

The professor who teaches Eugenics, Etiquette and Ethics is a tall woman in a very tight set of blood-red robes. Instead of having a weird professor hat, she has a sort of wide-brimmed floppy hat that Abigail called a cavalier. You don’t know what that means or what it’s supposed to tell you about the professor’s rank. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ NʘvᴇlFɪre.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of nøvels early and in the highest quality.

Really, if these mortals want to tell rank apart with hats they should put numbers on them, or maybe write the rank on the hat and give friendly people from the void like you a chart to tell them apart. It’s quite rude. Maybe you should get your own, better hat, to remind them that you're better than all of them. And you could get one for Abigail too.

Abigail settles into her seat next to you, and as is appropriate Charlotte takes the seat on your other side. This way you’re surrounded by friends, even if they’re not in a cuddle pile. It will have to do for now.

The professor stands at the front of the class and smiles at everyone. You narrow your eyes. There’s something sinister about the lady. “Ethics, the study of what is and isn’t morally acceptable. Etiquette, the art of social decorum and societal procedures, and Eugenics, the science of breeding and assisted evolution. Three subjects that are vastly different on the surface but, as you will soon learn, are actually linked at their core.”

The professor begins to pace. “Some of you will aim your careers towards the healing arts, others will wish to become tamers and genetic manipulators in the hopes of one day becoming the next inventor of the goblin or orc. Others will wish to join the illustrious Inquisition as I myself have done and will want to know why the many rules and regulations of the Inquisition exist. And all of you who wish to become a proper mage needs to know how to address another mage in society.”

She stops at the very front of the class again, and this time you think you’re not the only one who noticed that there’s something wrong with her smile. “We will begin with the most complex and controversial subject. Eugenics. The art of breeding and creating new species. Starting from human stock has long become both illegal and taboo, but that doesn’t prevent the art from thriving. From creatures bred of Familiar stock meant to work in dangerous conditions to warrior species built for combat to new and interesting pet-like creatures. We may be the apex, the greatest species on this Earth, but as we experiment and elevate more creatures we may soon find ourselves with new neighbours and new adversaries.”

The professor picks a book from one of the student’s desks and gestures at it. “Please open your textbooks to page seven and complete exercise one A.”

There’s a lot of scrambling for books and such, not that Abigail needs to do that because you’re the best and you already slipped her textbook onto her desk before the weird professor lady had finished.

“Abigail,” you ask. “You’re not going to do breeding stuff, right?”

“What? No, of course not, that’s--”

“Miss Abigail Normal,” the professor’s voice snaps across the room like a whip crack. “I do not recall giving anyone permission to speak. If your Familiar will be a distraction it can be removed from the room.”

You glare at the lady but all she does is perk one eyebrow at you. Maybe she’d react more if you smacked her around with some tentacles?

“Am I understood?” she asks.

“You’re very mean,” you tell the lady. The class goes quiet, people stopping halfway towards getting their books to stare between you and the professor.

“And you are distracting my class,” the professor says.

“No, you are by being a big idiot.”

There’s a gasp and quite a few stifled giggles from all the students and the professor’s face begins to match the red of her robes.

“Dreamer, sweetie,” Abigail says quickly. “There’s a nice room right next to this one where you can wait. It’ll be a lot more fun. Don’t you want to go wait there? Just for a bit?”

“Miss Normal, control your Familiar or I’ll have you suspended!” the professor says over the chuckles and laughs.

You look at Abigail, then at the still red-faced professor. “Fine,” you say. “But I’ll still be here with you,” you say as you get up. Then, in a louder voice so that the professor can hear. “And that old lady is still a meanie. She’s just what I would expect from a mortal species backsliding into idiocy.”

If she suspends Abigail then you’ll suspend her.

With a huff you leave the classroom and let the door smack close behind you. It sucks not being near Abigail, but you still have a bunch of tentacles in the room, a whole lot of them with eyes and mouths and ears and other things that let you know what’s going on.

The professor doesn’t try anything after making a big lecture about proper behaviour, which is good because Abigail would be upset if you broke her teacher.

You cross your arms like Daphne and Abigail do when they’re upset and stomp over to the room next to the classroom. It’s a small place, meant for Familiars to wait around while their Summoners are in class. It’s filled with platforms at different levels, little plush beds, and a corner box filled with sawdust that smells like poop. A huge window at the back lets in a bunch of light that’s splashing onto the familiar form of Wuffles who is laying down on a carpet.

You stomp over to the dire wolf. “I’m using you as a pillow,” you tell her before letting go of your body and flopping onto Wuffles with a whump.

“Bad day?” someone asks.

You’re currently buried in a thick pile of grumbling, growling fur. But Wuffles is being too lazy to bite you out of her sides and you’re in too soft a spot to move, so you sprout a tentacle out of your neck and make it grow an eye.

There’s a squirrel on a desk nearby, a big one. It’s wearing a small blue vest and has a pair of glasses tied to its face by some twine. There’s a big book opened below it.

“Who’re you?” you ask.

The squirrel chitters a little, then clears its throat. “Siegmund Squirrel, at your service milady. May I ask who, and what, you are?”

“I’m Dreamer, and I’m Abigail’s.”

Siegmund nods a few times. “Wonderful, truly. What brings you here, Dreamer?”

“The professor’s an idiot,” you explain.

“Ah, I see,” the squirrel says. “How unfortunate. Say, miss Dreamer, if you tell me what happens in greater detail I may be able to trade that knowledge for more knowledge.” Siegmund reaches into his vest and pulls out a tiny notebook, no bigger than your thumb, and then a teeny-tiny pen that fits in his little hands. “I’m something of a gossip psychologist, you see.”

“Oh, that’s neat. I could tell you all sorts of stuff in exchange for other things,” you say.

“Excellent. So, please, tell me what happened in class just now.” Siegmund pushes his glasses up, the lenses flashing as they reflect the room’s light. “And tell me how it made you feel?”

You nod into Wuffles’ side then begin to recount your adventures in the Ethics, Eugenics and Etiquette class.

“How awful,” Siegmund says. “And how interesting. That’s worth some gossip. What do you want to know about?”

“I don’t know, what’s interesting?”

“Oh my, oh my,” Siegmund says. “There’s plenty of interesting things going on, but perhaps nothing as interesting as the Old Faith’s Club debacle. It seems that something happened, but no one quite knows what. There’s lots of speculation. All that is known for certain is that the Inquisition came and when they left it was with most of the students from the club and something else.”

“Something?” you ask.

“Something big, in a crate, something that smelled of gravy.”

You narrow your eyes. That might need investigating.

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