Chapter 13
Lesson of Poisons

 

He entered the room after Joel and looked around the class with interest. His gaze was immediately captured by the pair of black, intrusive eyes staring at him as if Master Varis had been waiting for him. The sensation was so overwhelming that Darren stopped abruptly, unsure whether to go on or to run away.

"We'll sit over there, all right?" suddenly he heard Joel's voice, which gave him good reason to free himself from that piercing gaze and move his eyes to the Brunnite, who was placing his things on the tabletop.

Darren's stomach groaned in protest. Only two desks away from Master Varis' black desk? It must be a joke. It's too close! He looked back, but all the other desks were already occupied. It seemed that all the students wanted to stay away from the teacher as far as possible.

Darren bit his lip and slowly walked over to Joel, feeling those black eyes following him closely. There was a small oil burner on each table, attached to an oil vial, and on top of it there was a small black cauldron, presumably for making poisons. There were no windows in the room, only small, dark outlets just below the ceiling probably used to air poisonous fumes out. Beneath them there were holders for enormous iron candlesticks in which the candles burned. On the raw stone walls, there were several engravings depicting the most famous poisoners and the poisons they had created, and under them, there were placed two vats with water and an empty table. At the very end of the classroom, there were two pairs of wooden doors. Darren surmised that there must be some kind of a storeroom behind one of them, but what was behind the other one? Maybe a cupboard or something?

At the far end of the classroom, there was a huge black desk where Master Varis was sitting in a chair with a tall, spidercow-shaped backrest. There was a blackboard on the wall next to him.

Darren sat down next to Joel on the left side of the room. The entire right side was occupied by black-clad adepts of the Assassins Guild, while the left side was occupied by the forest-clad Scouts. The red-haired Emeralde girl was sitting at the bench next to Darren, with Namir. He vaguely remembered that she must have been called Laryssa. The girl looked at him with her emerald eyes and smiled kindly as if to cheer him up. He smugly smiled back and reached into his bag, taking out a textbook, a few sheets of parchment, a quill, an ink, and... what else would he need? Guess nothing else. He looked sideways at Joel's belongings and decided he has everything. He put the bag on the ground and stared at the wooden patterns on the desktop, not daring to raise his head so as not to expose himself unnecessarily.

When the door had been closed, all the students had unpacked their belongings and a velvety silence had descended in the classroom, Darren heard a heavy chair move away from the desk and long steps which stopped in the middle of the classroom, between the first benches.

"The recognition and preparation of the poisons are one of the most sublime and precise arts you can learn within the walls of this school," Master Varis said in a perfectly composed, deep voice. Darren saw that Laryssa draw the parchment and began to take notes, so he immediately followed her, though he still found it extremely difficult to write. Each letter seemed to be lopsided and incorrect, so his whole mind was focused on delineating them correctly while trying to follow Master Varis' words. "In today's lesson, you will learn one of the most dangerous, deadly, and least detectable poisons known to mankind called Arsen Mortis. The person who will write down the recipe and preparation of this substance on the blackboard... is Mr. Hayden."

Darren jerked his head up and looked in surprise at the man, who was staring at him.

Him? He's got to write down the recipe of that ars-something? How would he know it?

"Stand up and go to the blackboard, Mr. Hayden. You will be able to demonstrate in front of the entire class your knowledge and preparation for today's lesson," the man added with perfectly composed voice.

Darren swallowed and slowly got up from his seat, feeling the eyes of everyone in the classroom focused on him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the red-haired girl's hand raised, but Master Varis seemed to be completely ignoring her.

Feeling as if he was going to be executed, he walked over to the blackboard and stared at its dark surface, his head blank. He didn't even know if such poison existed. How would he write the recipe and how to prepare it? Did Master Varis expect him to repeat material from the last two weeks in one day? He couldn't imagine confess it to this terrifying man, he remembered his words from their first meeting very well. So, he was only standing in front of the dark blackboard, staring at it as intensely as if the recipe and dosage were about to appear on it, trying to think of anything that would help him get out of this humiliating situation. The worst part was that yesterday was full of so many events that he didn't even look at the Poisons textbook for a moment. If he did, maybe he could get something up while he was waiting, but all he could do was to stand and... wait for...

"Well..." he heard Master Varis' deep voice after a long, tense silence. "Apparently, according to Mr. Hayden, not a single ingredient is needed to prepare this poison."

Darren heard amused chuckles coming from the Assassins' side of the classroom. "In that case maybe you should explain to the other students how they are supposed to make this poison from the air alone."

This time the whole class laughed, and Darren felt his cheeks begin to flush, and a choking noose tightens around his throat. Slowly he turned toward Master Varis - who was standing beside the desk with his arms crossed - then moistened his dry throat and said quietly. "I'm sorry, but I don't know this recipe."

He felt as if there was a flash of vindictive satisfaction in the depths of the teacher's dark eyes.

"Am I to understand that despite my clear instructions, you haven't prepared for today's lesson?"

Darren bit his lip and immediately opened his mouth to excuse himself. "I haven't had--"

"Am I to understand that you chose to completely ignore my words and hope that you will be able to come to my class unprepared and avoid discovered this fact by me?" Master Varis interrupted him, emphasizing every word he said.

"But I don't--"

"Am I to understand," Master Varis lowered his voice even more, stabbing the boy with his sharp, intense gaze, "that you expect to be indulged because you joined two weeks after the classes had commenced?"

Darren felt anger rush in his stomach, fueled by a sense of humiliation and injustice. This man won't even let him get a word out!

"No, it wasn't like--"

"Do you think everyone will be waiting for you to catch up to the class level? Do you consider yourself so special that the rules that apply to all the students do not apply to you?"

Darren clenched his fists. He was shaking with indignation and couldn't control himself. He had the impression that the man's eyes watching him narrowed with perfidious pleasure.

"Please, just list--", he tried again.

"Am I to understand," Master Varis interrupted him again, and Darren gasped in irritation, "that you are so dumb that you cannot comprehend that ignorance and lack of preparation will not be tolerated in my class?"

Darren felt sizzling bile rise to his throat. It was too much! Nobody will insult him like that! In front of the whole class!

"Then I'll pack and leave!" he exhaled, then quickly came back to his school desk and - with trembling hands - he began packing sheets of parchment and other items into the bag. He was aware of the stunned, puzzled stares of a dozen pairs of eyes, but the suffocating fumes of rage obscured his mind and prevented him from seeing anything around him except the hot, steaming red.

He grabbed the bag to toss it over his shoulder and leave the place as quickly as possible when something dark flashed before his eyes and he felt a leather-gloved hand clamping on his fingers with the crushing force. Something inside him jerked violently, responding to the sudden touch with the escape instincts instilled over the years, but the grip was too strong and too unexpected. The bag fell from his hand, and the pain from his fingers crushed in a ruthless grip pierced his whole body, making a whine escaping from his mouth and buckling his legs. He fell to the knees, trying to open the crushing grip with his other hand, but then he felt the man's hand grab his jaw, digging the fingers painfully into Darren's face and forced him to look up.

Darren saw flaming black eyes, which were consumed by something uncontrollable.

"Go back to your seat and unpack your things immediately." A low commanding voice poured into his ears.

Darren squeezed his eyes shut, escaping from that piercing glare that was tearing his soul into pieces. Something inside him was quivering, trembling in the grip of the gloved fingers. Fingers that shouldn't even come close to his skin. He was feeling pain in the places, where they were digging into his jaw and clenching on his hand. Everything about him was trembling, wanting to escape from what that brutal touch had brought him, but he had no chance. The man was too strong.
"Understood?" he heard a short, impatient snarl.

Fighting the throbbing pain, he nodded slightly.

"I haven't heard the answer." Master Varis snapped, crushing his fingers even stronger.

"Yes," Darren said, almost silently.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Master," he repeated hoarsely.

"You opposed me for the last time. I will not be so indulgent with you next time." Darren felt Master Varis' ruthless hands release his fingers and jaw from the iron grip and he was pushed violently to the floor. He sat on the stone floor, pressing a battered hand against his chest as he heard the man straighten and give an order to one of the students. "Mr. Mortimus, please go to the blackboard and write down the recipe and the dosage of the Arsen Mortis poison. We've wasted enough time on Mr. Hayden's immature antics."

"Of course, Master!" Delemiar jumped up and was at the blackboard in no time, giving Darren a look of malicious contempt.

The boy slowly got up from the floor, feeling so crummy, as if he had just been trampled over and slopped with the pigwash. He tried to ignore it, but he could see the Scouts' shocked, frightened faces anyway, Joel's jaw tightening with fury, and Laryssa's disbelieving, indignant gaze. Even the Assassins were looking at him with dread and bewilderment.

With a heavy sigh, he sat down at the desk, and with his sore, trembling fingers, he pulled his things out again, putting them out on the table, feeling the bitterness of humiliation stick his throat like poisonous syrup, preventing him from breathing. He didn't even try to look at the tall, dark figure who stopped at the black desk and leaned against it with crossed arms, watching Delemiar write down the list of ingredients on the blackboard. He knew that if he tried to do so, those black eyes, filled with a venomous sense of triumph, would surely look back instantly, and he would not be able to bear that gurgling, hot feeling of disgust that would fill him for sure.

Joel was right, this man was unpredictable. Yes, the Assassin was wearing gloves, but the mere fact that he touched Darren so freely - as if he was completely unaware of the consequences and what might happen - was too terrifying for Darren not to feel disturbing discomfort. Nobody ever...

After all, the Headmaster must have told the teachers about Darren's condition. He couldn't put them at such risk, could he?

When the young Assassin had returned, Master Varis told them to simply go get the ingredients and start making the brew. He didn't explain how to do it, or in what order they should add the ingredients, nothing! Did he think they should learn this by themselves first? Apparently yes, because Laryssa began to work with such verve as if she used to prepare this poison every day before breakfast.

Darren had brought a chopping board and knife from the cupboard, along with the leaves of the spit, dried tarantula carcasses, honeysuckle fruit, and a jar of small red berries that turned out to be nothing less than the wolf gulps. He filled the cauldron with water, which he had taken from one of the two vats standing against the wall, lit the flame of the oil burner from the candle, and set to work, observing all the actions Laryssa was doing and repeating them.

His hands were still trembling and the fingers of his right hand were painfully stiff from the Assassin's crushing grip, but he chose not to show this man his weakness anymore and worked as fast and precise as he could.

Master Varis was sitting at his desk most of the time, jotting down something on parchment, but occasionally he got up and walked around the classroom, watching the students' progress. His long strides, echoing strangely hollow in the silence of the classroom, distracted Darren so much that his hands stopped listening to him and his throat clumped with this bitter, hateful feeling again.

He could hear the man making short remarks to the Assassins, treating the Scouts' decoctions with contemptuous snorts only. After another circuit, Darren heard the footsteps heading toward his seat, then stopping at the desk where he was working.

The boy involuntarily cringed, preparing for everything, from verbal tirades to unexpected strikes, but nothing happened. The man was just standing there and... watching.

Feeling his heart begin to flutter restlessly in his chest and his hands tremble with nervousness, he glanced at the dark figure in front of him to read his intentions, but the man's face was completely blank, his mouth, framed by delicate dark stubble, was severely pursed and the black eyes were hidden in the shadow of thick, furrowed eyebrows.

Not knowing what to do now and not being able to look at Laryssa lest Master Varis accuse him of cheating, he reached for a jar of wolf gulps, unscrewed it, and, with trembling fingers, reached for... how many of them he supposed to add?

He glanced nervously at the blackboard, then at the man watching him, and swallowed. He took some berries out of the jar but he was so nervous being watched by this terrifying man that he was unable to hold them in his shaking, ragged fingers, and the berries scattered onto the tabletop. He put down the jar in an instant, trying to pick the berries up with his hand and keep them from falling to the floor, but he had placed the jar on the very edge of the cutting board and the vessel toppled over, scattering berries all over the table. He cursed silently, picking them up with difficulty and glancing nervously at the man standing next to him.
He couldn't help the feeling that Master Varis was watching him as if he was watching a worm writhing under a magnifying glass.

When he finally had gotten his workstation tidied up, he reached into the jar again, then took out... one, two, three... twelve berries and tossed them into the broth. He glanced at the man again and saw his eyebrow rise. Did he do something wrong? He looked immediately at the blackboard. Twelve, after all, it was written that it should be twelve berries...

...peeled and ground in a mortar...

Damn it!

He grabbed the strainer and lunged to fetch the berries back, but there were so many different ingredients in the cauldron that he couldn't locate them at all. He sighed in resignation, put the strainer down, and pursed his lips, feeling as if the man's gaze was pressing him against the ground with a heel.

After this fatal mistake, he preferred not to look at the man anymore, even if he had to stand there for the rest of the lesson. Fortunately, after a few more minutes, Master Varis turned over and slowly returned to his desk. Darren breathed a sigh of relief and looked sidelong at Joel who was watching him uncomfortably and at Laryssa, who was looking at him sympathetically.

He only dreamed about this lesson being over at last. Now he understood why he had such a strange feeling before entering the classroom - because it was a torture chamber indeed.

The last ingredient of the poison was... a venom of a living toad, which had to be added at the very end after the burner was turned off so that the temperature of the brew would not weaken the effect of the venom. So that was what the caged little toads he had seen in the warehouse were supposed to be used for.

The students put on the leather gloves and slowly, one by one, began to go to the storeroom to bring the toads. Darren followed Joel, Laryssa, and Namir, hearing the mighty Hyacinthe mumble under his breath that he hadn't expected he would have to choke frogs at school. Joel pulled four toads out of the cage, one for himself, one for Darren, and one for Namir and Laryssa, whose face was unusually pale and her lips were trembling and pressed together as she picked up a little red frog and returned with a strangely stiff step back to her desk.

Once everyone was back in their seats, Darren looked around the room. Master Varis was wandering among the students, watching them ineptly trying to squeeze the venom from the frog's glands into the cauldron. The classroom filled with terrified croak of the toads - as they were trying to escape, slipping out of untrained grips - and with the shouts of surprise when venom spewed out of the way it was supposed to, which is into the cauldron.

Darren looked at Laryssa, who was explaining to Namir that the toad's venom glands were on its head, just behind its eyes, and that he should turn it upside down and bring it as close as possible to the surface of the brew. Darren followed the instructions and tried to squeeze the little toad, which was squirming slightly in his hand. He saw a small drop forming on the surface of the amphibian skin and drip into the decoction. He glanced at the blackboard. Should he use venom from a whole toad? The recipe didn't specify a dose, only the size of the toad. He squeezed again, disgust building up in his stomach as he saw the frog's bulging eyes grow even more, and he heard a high cry from its throat. Slowly, drop by drop, the venom was oozing from the amphibian skin, landing in the poison, and when Darren decided he couldn't take it any longer and that it should be enough, he lowered his hand to carry the toad back to its cage.

Then a black-clad hand suddenly grabbed his forearm, lifting his arm back and gliding toward his wrist. Long, spider fingers clenched around his hand and squeezed with such force that Darren felt the animal's bones crack in his fingers, and the venom trickled down into the poison. Before Darren could react, the long fingers released the grip and pulled out, and the boy saw a crushed carcass in his hand, its insides streaming down between his fingers, along with the blood and mucus.

Shaken to the edge of his soul, he stared wide-eyed at the man standing in front of him, whose face was so perfectly composed it resembled a mask. Only in the deep darkness of his eyes - like in the depths of a frightening dark forest - something restless was moving, something that made Darren shiver.

After a moment, however, the man turned and walked away without a word, leaving Darren with his heart fluttering down his throat, waves of cold shivers running through his body, and a feeling as if someone was stabbing his stomach with something sharp as he was staring at the remains of a frog in his hand, remembering that a moment ago it was writhing in his grip, and he could feel its beating heart under his fingers. Catching with his open mouth the air filled with the suffocating fumes of poisons, he stepped back and released the remains of the toad's body onto the tabletop, having the unpleasant feeling that he was about to throw up. He knew Joel and Laryssa, and most of the students who were not busily extruding the venom, were watching him, but he didn't care. He rested his hands on the tabletop and bowed his head, trying to calm his breathing and the trembling in his stomach, which was tormenting by the haves. He squeezed his eyes shut, silently pleading to gods not to let him throw up in front of the whole class.

"I'll help you clean up this mess," he heard Joel's comforting voice. He heard bustle, he heard the voices of the students whispering, he heard the shuffling of the chairs when the others were pulling them back and carrying the frogs to the cages, or to the garbage can, depending on whether their toads survived the procedure or not, and then returning to their places. It came as no surprise to anyone that Scouts' toads had ended up back in their cages and Assassins' toads had been thrown into the bin.

Despite the uproar in the classroom, Darren could also hear Master Varis' long footsteps, returning to the desk. He could hear his own heavy breathing and heartbeat in his ears. Now he knew that everything they said about Master Varis was true. He's not a human being. He's a demon.

An order was slowly returning. At the teacher's instruction, they all poured their poisons into specially prepared bottles and signed them, although Darren did it with such obvious aversion that at the last moment he refrained from spilling the content on the floor and pretending he'd done it by accident, but surmising that the consequences of this action would be very painful for him, he corked the bottle and carried it to a special table against one of the walls, then returned to his place and sat down with a heavy sigh.

At the same moment, he heard the distant sound of bells tolling on the tower, announcing the end of the class. Though unlike the rest of the lessons, no one got up, no one started packing their things, no one rushed to the door, no one even glanced at it. All the students' eyes - filled with relief and hope - fell on Master Varis. The man didn't make the slightest gesture to suggest he had heard the bell. He was sitting still and writing something on the unrolled parchment. After a few moments, he slowly put down his quill, rolled up the paper, and slowly got up from the seat, then looked around at the waiting, strained faces of the students.

"Your level of knowledge turned out to be so embarrassing today that for the sake of balance, I should place detention on all of you, but I chose the worst of you. A person, devoid of both knowledge, abilities, and basic intelligence," he sipped with a sinister voice, looking at the faces of more and more terrified students.
Darren swallowed, having the terrible feeling that the gaze was moving relentlessly toward him.

"A person," Master Varis continued, "who has not only shown complete ignorance and zero preparation but has also horrendously lowered the level of the entire class." Master Varis' gaze lingered on Darren, and for a moment the boy felt as if he saw a flash of perfidious satisfaction in the black eyes. "So, you may not pack your things, Mr. Hayden, because for the next hour or so you'll be scrubbing all the cauldrons, all the tables, and every tile in this room."

Darren bit his lip, feeling something icy sank into his stomach. Is he going to stay with that demon for another hour? Will this horror never end?

"Others can pack their things and leave the classroom," the man added after a moment. "I announce the end of the lesson."

Only now did the usual uproar settle in the classroom, though still cautious and filled with sighs of relief. Darren could feel the sympathetic looks of Joel and Laryssa, but he didn't return it. He was sitting stiffly in his chair, staring at the wall and trying to calm down and relax to prepare for what lay ahead.

The classroom slowly emptied while Darren was still sitting motionless at the desk, trying to ignore the amused and scornful looks the students were giving him while trying to contain the flow of bad foreboding, which, however, grew worse with each passing moment. He wasn't looking at the teacher's desk, but he knew the man was still standing there watching him. It was only when the door behind the last apprentice had closed with a soft slam that Darren dared raise his head and look at his Master.

"Did you understand the reason for your punishment?" the man asked brusquely.

Darren nodded slightly and almost silently replied. "Yes, Master."

"Get up when I'm talking to you."

Darren sprang to his feet abruptly, jerked by the strength and harshness of Master Varis' voice, grunting hastily. "I'm sorry, Master."

"You'll start by taking all the ingredients back in their places and scrubbing every cauldron in the classroom. You have to do it quickly and properly. Cleaning products can be found in the cupboard. Get started." After these words, Master Varis turned with a flap of his cloak and sat down at the desk.

With a heavy sigh, Darren set to work. After placing the ingredients in their places, he started scrubbing the cauldrons. He had not expected it to be such tedious and hard work. It didn't help at all that Master Varis got up from time to time, walked over to him, and - folding his arms behind the back - scrupulously watched his work, then walked around him and returned to the seat.

Every time Darren felt that black eyes wandering over him, his hands began to tremble with nervousness, and the cauldron almost slipped from his hands.
After about half an hour, when his hands were swooning from the effort and sweat beaded on his forehead while scrubbing an extremely burnt cauldron, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that the man was getting up again and approaching him. He groaned inwardly and focused with all his mind on cleaning the scorch, determined this time not to let the man distract him. The man studied him for a moment again, then disappeared from his sight. Then a black-clad arm suddenly emerged from behind his back, and a slender hand with long, spider fingers gripped tightly on Darren's gloved hand. heard the deep, quiet, and firm voice right next to his ear.

"Harder," he heard the deep, quiet, and firm voice right next to his ear. Darren widened his eyes, having a terrible feeling as if the air had suddenly thickened so much that it was impossible to breathe. The man was standing right behind him, leaning in slightly, and Darren felt his hot breath on the nape of his neck as Master Varis instructed him, guiding his hand up and down the dirty cauldron wall, pressing against it much harder than Darren had been doing it, and nearly crushing his fingers. "Put more strength into it, unless you prefer to stay here with me until tonight."

After these words, the man released his hand and sharply backed away, making an impatient huff. Darren - instead of scrubbing harder - was only able to look at his trembling hand and tried to make it move, but he would have to start breathing first...

Did he just...? Did he...?

Only after Master Varis had returned to his seat did Darren regain his composure to obey his instructions. Why couldn't the man just let him scrub those damn cauldrons by himself? Why did the Assassin have to constantly poison his mind with his overwhelming presence? Why was he doing all these things without any restrain, as if he wasn't afraid at all?

After cleaning all the cauldrons and polishing the benches, Darren was already so tired and sweaty that - without thinking - he sat down to rest for a moment, catch his breath and relax his exhausted muscles.

He was more and more sure that Master Varis hated him for some reason, but before he could think any further, a tall shadow rose next to him, and Darren heard a scathing voice.

"Did I ask you to take a rest?"

Darren took a deep breath, lowering his head and pressing his lips together to keep his mouth from saying something he couldn't control and that he might very much regret.

"I haven't heard the answer," the man snapped.

Darren licked his lips and said in a hoarse voice. "No, Master."

"Look at me when you're talking to me." The voice crackled in the air like a whip, forcing Darren to straighten up immediately, lift his head, and look straight into those black, icy eyes. He had the strange feeling that something flickered in them indistinctly for a moment, but he couldn't pinpoint it. Instead, he recognized the cruel satisfaction in the man's voice very clearly when Master Varis muttered. "Get on your knees and start with the floor."

Pressing his lips together so hard they almost turned white and fighting the rebellion which was rising in him with each passing moment, Darren managed to grunt indistinctly. "Yes, Master."

He struggled to get up and went to get a bucket and a rag. In the time being Master Varis had returned to his desk and Darren could feel the man's gaze from a distance as he knelt at the far end of the classroom and began cleaning the stone floor. After a long time, when he had finally reached the other end, his hands were no longer obeying him, and his spine was stung excruciatingly. Fortunately, Master Varis didn't get up from the seat even once until Darren was done. The only distraction was the black eyes that followed him closely all the time and more and more intrusive.

After the laborious work, when the stone floor was already shining clean and Darren was relieved to throw the hated rag back into the bucket, he saw the man get up from his seat and walk across the freshly cleaned floor. At one point he stopped in the center of the room and beckoned Darren with his long finger. Darren picked up the bucket and, barely on his feet, shuffled toward the man, vowing to himself that if Varis had him clean the walls, he would pour the bucket over his head.
The man was standing motionless in his proud, upright pose and waiting for him. As Darren came closer, Master Varis pointed his hand at the patch of floor at his feet and hissed contemptuously. "Is it clean in your opinion?"

Darren looked at the indicated location. There was a faint smudge on the stone floor. A smear that Master Varis might as well have left with his shoe. Darren clenched his fists, feeling it might be the last straw for him in a moment.

"I've just cleaned this place Master. I don't kn--"

"Don't argue with me," the man interrupted sharply. "I'm not going to listen to your pathetic excuses about your ineptitude and laziness, and--"

Darren felt something hot melt in his stomach, curling up into his throat and tightening the noose around it.

"I wasn't going to--" he began, his voice trembling with suppressed anger.

"You've just purged your guild of ten points," Master Varis said, not letting him finish.

Darren's eyes widened in disbelief, and the molten heat in his stomach formed into something hard and stinging.

How could he...? After all of this...? How could he?!

"I'm sorry for interrupting you, Master," he said with difficulty through gritted teeth.

He saw the fleeting expression of vile satisfaction appear on the deeply scarred face of the man. The shadow in the black eyes deepened even more as he spoke quietly. "Excellent, Hayden." Darren winced as he heard his name almost spit out of the man's mouth. "Now clean this up."

Darren stared at the granite face of the man for a moment, looking for any crack that would tell him that this nightmare must have its limits somewhere, but Master Varis' face remained unwavering and unforgiving.

Darren knew he couldn't oppose him. He looked down, whispering with difficulty. "Yes, Master."

Then he knelt at the man's feet and - trying not to pay attention to how much his clenched fists were trembling and how painfully the hot stream was rising in his gullet with bitter lava - he began to wipe a smudge inches from Master Varis' high leather boots. Darren's shoulders were shaking uncontrollably with the anger and injustice boiling within him. Unable to help himself, he looked up along the whole figure of the man standing above him and fixed his sparkling with fury gaze straight into the man's black eyes filled with dark elation. He had the overwhelming feeling that Master Varis was getting sadistic pleasure out of this situation.
Unable to bear that dominant, triumphant gaze, Darren tugged his shimmering crystal eyes away from the man and looked down at the black boots right in front of his face, trying to calm the maddened heartbeat and tame that strange something that was pouring in his veins in hot, stirring lava.

He struggled to get up from his knees, straightened, and brushing wet strands of hair from his sweaty forehead, he declared "I'm done, Master."

Master Varis looked at him for a moment longer, then with an inexplicable vehemence turned away from him to study the effects of his work. Darren, staring with uncontrollable aversion at his black-cloaked shoulders, heard the words uttered with a scornful huff.

"What a messy job. But what else should I expect..." Darren pursed his lips and waited. After a short, tense moment of silence, he finally heard a harsh, composed voice. "You are dismissed."

Darren felt inexpressible relief. He turned and walked toward the desk to gather his things and leave this cursed place as quickly as possible, and when he was almost at the door, he was stopped with the words.

"Haven't you forgotten something?"

Darren groaned inwardly and slowly turned away, ordering himself to be calm and composed.

"I don't think so, Master," he replied quietly, looking around the classroom to see if he had picked up all his belongings. "I think I have everything."

There was a sharp ice flash in the man's black eyes.

"When the Master lets you go, you should show him your gratitude for the time he had to spend for you," the man drawled coldly.

Darren widened his eyes. Was he going to thank the man for all he had done to him?

He pursed his lips, trying to control himself. It was the last trial. The last test, he told himself.

Without looking at Master Varis, he bowed and said in the most impassive tone he could. "Thank you, Master."

Then he turned and hurried out of the classroom, slamming the door a little too hard and as he was making his way back down the long, cold, dim hallway to his guild wing, only two distinct thoughts rattled in his head.

Now he was sure that Master Varis hated him... but Darren reciprocates this feeling completely. With interest.

**********

"I told you that you shouldn't mess with him," Joel muttered as Darren flung onto his bed with a sigh, hiding his face in the pillow. "He's a sadistic bastard, and he hates Mongrels even more than Delemiar. I can't believe he made you stay and scrub the whole class. It was certainly too far."

"Why?" Darren asked, his voice choked by the pillow.

"Because it's the castle Mongrels' job. They are the only ones that always clean up after classes. Even if I got detained sometimes, the worst I had to do was copy some boring parts from the textbook or sort the ingredients or something."

Darren felt the bitter bile of humiliation and bitterness pour down his throat.

Yeah. He's a Mongrel, so Master Varis decided to show him where his place was. On his knees, at the man's feet. He didn't have to throw hateful words at him - like Delemiar - to make Darren feel like a piece of shit the man could crush on at any moment with his long leather boot. He was just a Mongrel for him, who shouldn't be accepted into this elite school at all, and he showed it to him from the very first meeting. Darren felt at the bottom of his trembling soul that it would only get worse with each lesson. As if the man had set himself the goal of honor to trample him completely.

"You're fine?" Joel asked after a moment when Darren was silent.

"Uhm..." he muttered softly. He didn't want to talk to him. He didn't feel like talking to anyone. He just wanted to stay in the darkness. To calm down in it. To calm his quivering nerves in it. To forget about everything that had happened to him in the Poisons classroom. To rest finally.