The Book of Miranda | gxg | ✔︎

(41) A Time To Clean Up Things We've Burned

The shelter our scouts have found is just another hollow between the hills. I can convince myself it has more grass than the rest. Still, none of us have more than the clothes on our backs, so grass will likely be nicer than sleeping on a hard dirt floor of some shack somewhere, stacked two deep because there's almost a hundred of us here.

Or rather, there would be if everyone was still around. When I get everyone to sit still long enough to run a headcount, me and Exie both come up with a number in the seventies range. I try not to think too hard about what might have happened to the rest. Anyone who didn't escape the school in time is either boiled chicken by now, or waiting to dash through a sinking gap in a burning wall if they're exceptionally lucky. I hope the missing students simply took off across the fields already. There were some talking about climbing the school gate last time I was inside.

I run both hands down my face and look up to find Haven and a scout-friend standing expectantly in front of me.

"Should we try and find a town?" Haven volunteers before I need to make words work.

I hesitate. It's mid-September, and the nights out here aren't exactly warm. We also have no water and no food. I have the means to light a fire—anyone willing to run a taper to the burning school and back would—but the barren hills mock us with their lack of fuel. If we stay a night out here, someone's liable to get murdered in a resource battle before we ever reach civilization again.

Still, something in me balks at the prospect of turning up at a town's doorstep. We're a pathetic-looking bunch, and this cohort has more than proven its capacity for trouble. I'm none too keen to assume command of an army that will sooner get itself arrested than look pitiful for long enough to wheedle food and lodging out of townsfolk. Especially given the chances that such people are already aware of this school's reputation. And the fact that I could be tried for arson for having lit the school's fire.

I rub the bridge of my nose and sigh deeply. "How many people here are fit to scout?"

"We've got about five." Haven flags down a couple more students, who join us. "We are at your service."

"Thank you. Circle the school. See if you can round up any students who've escaped in other directions, and bring them back here. If you see townsfolk coming, don't make contact yet; we don't know how they'll react to us. Report back on how they respond to... that."

I gesture broadly towards the church-sized bonfire still blazing merrily away across the fields. Haven nods and begins to divide up their scouts, sending them off in different directions. I'm happy with this sort of delegation, and not inclined to question right now whether any of the scouts might have the flaws of a pathological liar. You never quite know what you're getting with students whose parents sent them to this school.

When the scouts are gone, I leave my post on the hilltop and return to the hollow where the rest of the students are sitting or milling or comparing bruises. It doesn't take long to spot the one I'm looking for.

"Barnabas," I say. "Can I get your help here for a moment?"

Barnabas and Gilbert glance up from their conversation on a nearby hillside. Barnabas still looks shaken.

"Sorry," I say, joining them both. I should really give judged students a break here; they've been through a lot. "Just one thing. You're a local, aren't you? Where are the nearest towns from here? And should we avoid any of them?"

"Don't go south." Barnabas points around. "There's more there, there, and somewhere around there that should be a little friendlier, but I'd go north if anyone's trying to reach a city."

"How far to the first town in that direction?"

"About an hour's walk? Maybe an hour and a half. I normally rode, and never near the school."