Blood of Schmeden

Ship took a deep breath, opened the door of her hybrid, and stepped out into the school parking lot. Happyvale Middle was a standard muddle of bland, locker-sided corridors, and she stalked through them like a soldier preparing for combat.

A familiar sight awaited her at her destination. The school principal, a young be-suited woman with immaculate hair and rectangular wireframe glasses, sat across the desk from Ship’s son and only child. She could see it all - his disarray, the dirt on his clothes, the swelling on his lip.

“Thank you for coming, The Ship That Made The Kessel Run In Less Than Twelve Parsecs Naheya Heya Na Yanuwa Bring A Bucket And A Mop,” said the Principal, with a suspiciously neutral expression. “Please take a seat.”

Ship sat - a grey chair, spaced a full two feet from the child’s - and said, “Ship is fine.” The Principal nodded and continued.

“Ship, I’m afraid little Carthago Delenda Est Father, Father, Father Help Us Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Batman here has had another incident. This is the second time this year he’s been in a serious fight.”

Ship swiveled. The twelve-year-old boy was slouching, arms crossed, glaring at the leg of the desk in front of him like he was trying to ignite it with his brain.

“Carthy, is there something you want to tell me?” said Ship.

“He started it,” grumbled the child, barely moving his lips.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened,” she prodded.

“He said horrible things. He said not all necromancers are that bad. He said we shouldn’t even be fighting them.”

“You’re right, that is horrible,” said Ship. “I’m sorry you had to hear that, but we’ve already talked about this, haven’t we, Carthy? Violence is never the answer. Except with necromancers and magicians.”

“He kept talking about this old book, Harry Notter. He says it’s cool.”

Ship’s eyes narrowed, and she swiveled back.

“Principal By The Pricking Of My Thumbs, Something Wicked This Way Comes Whatever We Do To The Web, We Do To Ourselves Strange Things Are Afoot At The Circle K,” she snapped. “You allow children to read wizard-glorifying filth in this school?”

“We discourage it, of course, but unfortunately our hands are tied. The children have freedom of expression-”

“Typical equivocation. Frankly I’m not sure that Carthy is the only one at fault here,” Ship cut in. “You know what my son is going through, you know that my wife was killed on the front. And you continue to allow him to be exposed to this kind of behaviour.”

“The Ship That - sorry, Ship. Please. Children say things. The issue here is your son’s growing record of violent behaviour. I’m afraid that if this happens again, I’ll have no choice but to suspend him.”

“Let me deal with my son,” said Ship, standing. “You deal with your job. If I learn of any more pro-magic propaganda tolerated in the halls of this school, you can be sure the Board will be hearing from me. Let’s go, Carthy.”

Mother and son trooped back through the corridors and sat heavily in the front seats of the hybrid. There was an anxious silence.

“Am I in trouble?” said Carthy, quietly.

“You’re darn right you’re in trouble,” said Ship, turning to face him as he hastily tried to wipe away the tears at the corners of his eyes. “But I’m sorry too. I know this isn’t easy. And I’m not mad that you stood up for fighting against necromancers who pervert the very essence of life. I want you to know I’m proud of you. And - she would be too.”

Awkwardly negotiating their seated positions, mother and son reached across and hugged each other. Three suns set over the horizon behind them.