Continuing . . .
En route to Shujin Academy
April 11, 2016
In general, Galen had a fondness for subways; they recalled childhood shopping trips with his father and sister, convention trips with his friends, and similar experiences.
The Tokyo subway was a very different experience. The trains, for example, were cleaner, not to mention high-tech, almost futuristic. Not quite magnetic levitation—he still heard the familiar sound of wheels clattering over rails—but a lot quieter than he was used to. It also happened to be crowded beyond belief. In this instance, he was glad of that convention remembrance; it made dealing with the experience of being packed in like sardines much easier to handle.
He was dressed reasonably well, he thought: a charcoal-grey suit, black shirt and Gryffindor scarlet tie for colour—and luck. It seemed to match the school’s colours as well, so he thought it would be appropriate attire
. . . Sadly, he hadn’t counted on the rain.
But he was aware of the way the magical sensors in Japan worked, after his last stay here, which meant that discreetly Conjuring an umbrella wasn’t too difficult—just a matter of sleight-of-hand with his briefcase. Still, the effort slowed him down enough to make him worried about being late, so he checked his phone as he dashed across the sidewalk, ears open for potential collisions as he moved.
That odd icon was back on his phone, Galen noticed. He hadn’t deleted it, true—it was obviously connected to the test, so he probably wouldn’t be able to, even if he’d been inclined to—but he hadn’t called it to the forefront, either.
Why on earth would—?
“Damned Kamoshida,” a teenage boy muttered ahead. “Who does he think he is, the king of the castle . . .?”
“Destination found,” Galen’s phone announced suddenly. “Beginning navigation . . .”
En route to Kamoshida’s Castle
April 11, 2016
“What—the HELL . . .?” the teen demanded. “Where’s the school?!”
An excellent question, Galen mused silently, even as he noted the sign in front of the giant castle that proclaimed it was Shujin Academy.
Obviously, it was the app’s doing; just as obviously, this was a part of the “other side” that places like Tartarus, the TV World and the Velvet Room belonged to. Less obvious was the reason that the kid had been brought here with him, and why he was getting an odd sense of feedback—like the Legilimency equivalent of an ice-cream headache.
He shored up his Occlumency defences to reduce the effect, wondering about it. Neither Shirou nor Takara had ever mentioned this before—then again, they weren’t really all that adept at Legilimency. Takara had some talent, but aside from learning what little remained of the knowledge of the Nanaya family techniques in the art, little interest in it; and Shirou had even less of both. It was possible that neither of them had ever noticed the effect, he supposed . . .
Oh, hell—the kid was gone!
Cursing himself for getting distracted, the wizard ran toward the still-closing door, opening his briefcase as he moved to summon his gun. He’d deal with the consequences later; if he was going to be dealing with Shadows then Galen wanted every weapon he could get his hands on, bar none . . .
He burst into blue fire, suddenly, causing him to stop—and stare.
It looked not dissimilar to his typical combat outfit: a long coat, albeit black instead of grey, and cow leather over dragon’s hide, with similar gloves added. The really curious part was the additions of a black Musketeer’s-styled hat, and full-faced mask—and the sense of something, darkly amused and waiting, coiled in the back of his mind.
This was obviously significant, but Galen didn’t have time to figure out how or why; depending on the behaviour of the Shadows around here, that kid could be killed literally any second now, so he simply continued on, bursting through the doors—
There were four of them—three masked knights holding the kid, and a man in royal robes (and not nearly enough else) holding a sword, about to run him through. There wasn’t time to think, only react . . . And to his own surprise, Galen didn’t raise his gun or his wand, instead obeying an entirely new, but compelling instinct.
He reached up, and lifted the mask free, even as the invocation left his lips in sharp, searing words.
“Come—GUY FAWKES!”