The Plan (2)
"To put it plainly, Sir Lancelot, there is something I would like to ask of you."
"Please, speak freely. If it lies within my power to grant, I shall see it done upon my honor as a knight."
She was the living embodiment of a knight's ideal—one who stood against evil and shielded the weak. Every noble quality seemed gathered into a single person, so it was only natural that she would stake her honor as easily as drawing breath. And of course she would.
The only things Sir Lancelot would refuse were those that ran contrary to honor, those that would harm another, and those that violated a knight's principles.
Those categories are pretty broad, sure—but she'll go along with just about anything that isn't one of them.
Need money to rebuild the poorhouse? She would funnel support through a foundation. If the project were large enough to qualify as a national undertaking, she even had the clout to put it on the agenda.
Worried about the crime in the Back Alleys? She would expand the city watch and tighten enforcement. If that still wasn't enough, she was the sort of person who would station her own retainers there until the streets were safe.
So long as the intent and the outcome were good, she was a woman who would grant nearly any request. That was the nobility she aspired to—the ideal she lived by.
She might be speaking so freely because she assumes a child's request won't amount to much… but watching her, I doubt that's all it is.
"I would like you to give the talented children of the poorhouse a chance at an education."
"Do you mean a scholarship to the Academy?"
Her eyes asked whether he simply wanted the foundation that already existed for sending children on to school. Kane shook his head.
"I would like to make this request of a member of the Round Table."
"Are you asking me to take them into the knighthood?"
Her gaze cooled, settling into something that bordered on wariness. In her mind, this fell under a violation of a knight's principles: the undeserving becoming knights. She clearly had no patience for so-called parachute appointments.
"No. An order has its regulations and its procedures, and I would not ask you to set those aside. What I mean is that there are people of extraordinary talent who have never been given the chance to shine—and they need an education worthy of them."
"But talent of that caliber would blossom at the Academy as well, would it not?"
"A lotus may bloom even in the mud—but not every flower is meant to."
"Could you explain a little more clearly?"
She was taking a child's request seriously, turning it over with genuine care. Kane took that as the first hurdle cleared.
"The Academy exists to polish standardized talent. It is a form of military training, in essence."
In practice, most commoners went on to the army, while nobles attended for the sake of social connections. It was a typical academy in that sense—a place that took 1-Star or 2-Star material and raised it as far as 3-Star. A higher education institution, yes, but one whose various systems made admission easy even for commoners, because its true focus was producing talent for the nation.
"For a gifted student shaped to fit the institutional frame, it would be the finest cradle of growth imaginable. The talents at the poorhouse, however, are of an entirely different grain."
He was saying, in other words, that for those born with innate genius, that kind of education would only get in the way. A gleam entered Sir Lancelot's eyes. The argument had landed, no doubt, because Sir Lancelot herself had been the overwhelming first in her class at the Academy—an unbridgeable gap between herself and everyone below, eyes that held nothing but awe, lessons that offered her nothing, and four long years of tedium. In a place built to mass-produce standardized prodigies, a true genius was bound to grow bored.
"A Child of Nature. A genius tactician. A fairy archer. A Giant Soldier. Raw gems, born with talents that fall outside the ordinary."
He left himself and Edith out of it. His own so-called talent amounted to little more than copy-and-paste, and Edith was in no position to have her identity casually revealed.
"If children like these were given systematic training and proper guidance, they could each acquire Unique skills—and perhaps even reach for the Pinnacle itself."
The Pinnacle: the apex of technique, a mark of the truly strong. In the system, those born as 4-Star or 5-Star could not obtain a Third Skill—the equivalent of a Pinnacle art. But this world was not merely a game, and all manner of things had already begun to change. Most of those changes had come about because he had been dropped into it, of course. If they leaned in a hopeful direction, he intended to use every last one of them.
He bowed his head and made the plea with everything he had. Between the earnest force of the appeal, the memories it would have stirred of her own years at the Academy, and a request that was, by any measure, the awkward sort—hard to refuse without looking ungenerous—he had shaken her resolve as far as rhetoric could take it.
And then he added the secret sauce.
"Hah. I'd be lying if I dismissed it as a child's flight of fancy. Even to my eyes, the children's talents look exceptional."
Sir Hector, sprinkling MSG over the lot. It was the same reason people fell for a prestigious journal, a reliable sample, or the word of a distinguished professor. And besides, 4-Star and 5-Star talent was exceptional. That much was true.
I didn't lie. Not a word of it was a lie.
Sir Lancelot's violet eyes sank deep in thought. She held her silence for a moment, then spoke, choosing her words with care.
"As I said, I cannot take them into the knighthood directly. That would run contrary to procedure and to discipline."
She held fast to the principles a Knight of the Round Table was bound to keep—and yet she was the sort of person who would still open a path, one step at a time. She paused again, as if searching for the right phrasing, then continued, not without difficulty.
"However. If members of the Round Table were to see them and judge for themselves, there would be nothing improper in that."
"…Those members being?"
"A spirit user, a strategist, an archer, and a warrior, you said?"
"That's right."
Sir Lancelot murmured under her breath, as if ticking names off on her fingers.
"In that case… I shall have to ask Lady Vivianne, Sir Tristram, Sir Myrdin, and Sir Bedivere to make the time. That said…"
Thank god. It's the same lineup I was hoping for.
Inwardly he let out a breath of relief, but he let none of it show. Sir Lancelot's gaze turned strict and unyielding as she added her condition.
"I am grateful for the chance itself, Sir Lancelot."
"Think nothing of it. Those who possess such gifts are Britannica's future."
Kane placed a hand over his heart and bowed with due courtesy. Robert's expression turned faintly uncomfortable at the sight; Sir Lancelot, for her part, smiled a small smile.
"I shall send a letter to Sir Hector at the earliest opportunity. As members of the Round Table, each of us has duties of our own, so the schedules will need to be arranged."
"Very well."
"Then I shall take my leave. Sir Hector—and you as well, Kane."
Watching her smiling figure recede, Kane knew it was time to set the next plan in motion.
Persuasion.
Persuade whom? The kids. He hadn't even mentioned it to them yet. If he had failed to convince Sir Lancelot, he would only have gotten their hopes up for nothing.
I'd better start with Mor and Mote.
He found the two of them in the dining hall. They had picked every bean out of their rice and every carrot out of their soup, and the instant Edith had caught them at it, they had gone on eating with the most dejected little faces. It was, he had to admit, extremely cute.
"Hey. If you two could become better than you are now… no. Are you interested in training?"
"Mor doesn't like it when Mor's body hurts."
"Mote doesn't like weird stuff either. Kane and Edith are always collapsing and sleeping in the shelter."
"Okay, that's pretty funny—but you don't actually want to, right?"
"Pffhihi."
"You thought it was funny that your big sister was so worn out she collapsed?"
"Cancel."
"Mote didn't say anything."
He could almost swear flames were flickering behind Edith. Must have been his imagination. That said—so that was the image they had. Kane and Edith: the ones who always passed out from overwork.
Maybe we should at least make it to our rooms instead of sleeping in the common room…
"It's not hard on your body. Mor would be learning tactics, and Mote would be learning about spirits."
"What's tactics?"
"Spirits! I love spirits! Sparkle sparkle!"
Mor looked doubtful. Mote already looked sold. So there was only one of them to persuade.
"Tactics is about distributing your people, reading the terrain, and using the information you've gathered to—"
"Boring. Pedantic."
How had she picked up a word like that in the Back Alleys? He needed something simple, brief, and catchy enough to stick…
"It means when you grow up, you can sit in a really high position."
"What's so good about a high position?"
"You make a lot of money."
"I'll do it!"
Okay. Persuasion complete. She already understood that money could do a great many things.
So this is how a genius thinks.
He turned to Mote, who was already gazing up at him with shining eyes.
"What about you, Mote?"
"I'll do it!"
He hadn't needed to persuade her at all. Just showing her how Healing Water let you draw droplets from your own lips had sent her into squealing raptures.
That leaves Marigold and Eric. Marigold should be easy. Eric, though…
Would he even go for it?