Copyright J.B. Norman
“And,” the man behind the table says, counting out the coins, “that’s one-ninety-eight, one-ninety-nine, two hundred marks. Congratulations, you’ve been accepted into the Matthias Cursor Academy of Grappleology.”
“I see,” Amara says. “And when will I be meeting Mr. Cursor?”
“About fifteen seconds ago,” the man behind the table says.
“You’re him?” Amara asks. “Goodness. I must say I was expecting you to have rather more staff. Or, well, any staff at all…”
“I’ll have you know,” Matthias Cursor says indignantly, “that the Matthias Cursor Academy of Grappleology is the only institute of higher learning in Realmgard officially endorsed by Matthias Cursor.”
“But aren’t you Matthias Cursor? That’s not really much an endorsement is it?” Amara asks.
“That just means I personally stand behind everything I teach,” Cursor protests. “And not only that, but the Matthias Cursor Academy of Grappleology is also sanctioned by the Doge of Valico.”
“If it’s sanctioned in Valico, why is it in Porthaven?” Amara asks.
“There was some unpleasantness,” Cursor says bashfully. “A whole big thing with a patrician’s daughter and an unexpected grand-patrician we don’t have to get into.”
“Confound it all, Katherine,” Amara mutters.
It has been her best friend’s idea for Amara to start training in unarmed fighting to complement her magical abilities. It had seemed like a good idea to Amara at the time, despite largely considering the prospect of unarmed combat uncivilised and clumsy, but she’s beginning to suspect that the Matthias Cursor Academy of Grappleology is not quite as legitimate as it first appeared.
“Training starts now,” Cursor says, pushing himself up from his table and heading to the ring in the middle of the room.
“Come on, come on, come on!” he calls to his other students. “Hustle, people! Jenkins, get your butt in the ring so I teach New Girl how to wrestle!”
“Wait,” Amara says, blinking in confusion. “What?”
“Pay attention, New Girl,” Cursor tells her. “Lesson One: The arm drag.”
Cursor does something that Amara’s brain can’t quite process, but the result is that Jenkins is groaning on the mat.
“Lesson Two: The arm bar.”
Cursor does something that Amara’s brain can’t quite process, but the result is that Jenkins is groaning on the mat.
“Lesson Three: belly-to-belly suplex.”
“Wait,” Amara says vainly. but how did —”
“Lesson Three: belly-to-back suplex.”
“Poor Jenkins,” Amara mutters.
“Come on, Jenkins!” Cursor cries to his student as he once again lies groaning on the mat. “On your feet. There is no crying in Wrestling, Jenkins! Unless you’re Valeria Vazquez, the Weeping Woman of Campo del Rey, because that’s sort of her whole thing…”
“I’m ready, Coach,” Jenkins says, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet.
“Right,” Cursor says, beckoning Amara into the ring. “Your turn, New Girl. You’ve seen how to do it, now you do it?”
“I’m not sure I quite follow,” Amara says. “I don’t really understand how to do the things you just did.”
“You learn by doing, New Girl. And, well, just think of it this way,” Cursor tells her. “If Jenkins is still on his feet and not in some kind of novel new physical pain, you’re doing it wrong.”
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