15. Flint

15

FLINT

I trudge across the MistHallow grounds, my boots crunching in the snow as I make my way towards the infamous bat cave. It's dark near the back edge of the campus grounds where few tread and less so when it's snowing. The fallen snow is unmarked save for the footprints I'm leaving in my wake. It would be beautiful if I weren't dreading what's waiting for me.

"Bat shit," I mutter. "Of all the punishments Blackthorne could have come up with, it had to be bat shit."

The cold air nips at my face, and I pull the collar of my long black coat up higher, wishing I could just transform into my Dragon form and fly away from this whole mess. But no, that would probably land me in even more trouble, and as much as I hate to admit it, Blackthorne was right. I'm no good to Violet if I'm not here.

As I approach the cave entrance, I spot Professor Almida, a short, wiry man with wild grey hair and thick glasses that magnify his eyes to comical proportions. He's bustling about, organising an array of cleaning supplies that look like they belong in a medieval torture chamber rather than a cleaning cupboard.

"Ah, Mr Flint!" he calls out cheerily, even though I have never met him before. "Right on time. Are you ready for a late night of subterranean sanitation?"

I force a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. "As ready as I'll ever be, Professor."

"Excellent attitude!" he beams, either oblivious to or choosing to ignore my lack of enthusiasm. "Now, let's get you properly equipped."

Before I can protest, he's shoving a variety of tools into my arms: a long-handled scraper, a bucket, several scrub brushes of varying sizes, and what looks suspiciously like a hazmat suit that I saw once on a human-made film that Caine made me watch about infectious diseases and monkeys. It was horrifying.

"Um, Professor?" I say, giving the suit the serious side-eye. "Is this really necessary?"

He blinks at me owlishly through his magnified eyes. "Oh, absolutely! Bat guano can be quite hazardous, you know. Histoplasmosis is no laughing matter!" Yet he lets out a large guffaw that echoes ominously through the cave.

"Histo-what-now?" I mutter, but he's already waddling into the cave, leaving me no choice but to follow.

The smell hits me like a physical force as soon as we enter. It's a pungent, acrid odour that makes my eyes water and my nose burn. I gag involuntarily, thankful for the mask that's part of the hazmat suit.

"Oh, isn't it marvellous?" Professor Almida exclaims, inhaling deeply. "The complex bouquet of ammonia and organic decay. Truly fascinating from a biological standpoint!"

I stare at him in disbelief. Either his sense of smell is completely shot, or he's genuinely excited about the prospect of cleaning up literal shit. I'm not sure which option is more disturbing.

"Right," I say, trying to breathe through my mouth. "Where do we start?"

"Well, we'll begin with the main chamber," he says, gesturing to the vast cavern before us. The ceiling is barely visible in the dim light, but I can hear the chittering and rustling of thousands of bats. "We'll need to scrape down the walls and floor, then disinfect everything."

I look around at the sheer scale of the task before us. The cave must be at least fifty meters across and twice as high. Every surface is coated in a thick layer of bat poop.

"This is going to take forever," I groan.

Professor Almida chuckles. "Oh, nonsense! With a strapping young Dragon like yourself helping, we'll have this done in no time. Now, let's get scraping!"

Dropping the tools on the floor, I don the hazmat suit over my coat even because there is nowhere to put it where it won't get shat on. Next, I pull on the gloves, and with a grimace, I get to work. Better to get it over with and rather this than apologising to that twat, Xaxis.

Digging in, I plunge the scraper into a particularly stubborn patch of guano, my muscles straining as I chip away at the hardened muck. The stench is overwhelming, seeping through the suit, and I have to fight the urge to gag with every breath. I'm going to have to burn my clothes and possibly my skin after this.

"Did you know," Professor Almida chirps, seemingly oblivious to my discomfort, "that bat droppings were once used as gunpowder in the mortal realm?"

"Fascinating," I mutter through gritted teeth, flicking a glob of guano off my glove.

"Oh, it is!" he exclaims, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm behind those magnified lenses. "The high nitrate content made it quite explosive. Of course, we won't be setting off any of this batch. That would be quite messy, not to mention a terrible waste of valuable fertiliser!"

I grunt in response, focusing on the task at hand. Scrape, scoop, dump. Scrape, scoop, dump. The monotony of the work is mind-numbing, but at least it gives me something to concentrate on besides Almida's endless trivia.

As I move to a new section, my foot slips on a slimy patch. I windmill my arms, barely managing to keep my balance. "Fucking gross," I curse.

"Careful there!" Almida calls out. "Oh, now, did you know that some species of bats use their own saliva to make their roosts more hospitable? Quite ingenious, really!"

I bite back a retort, instead channelling my frustration into my scrubbing. The brush in my hand becomes an extension of my arm as I attack the filth with renewed vigour. Sweat beads on my forehead, and my arms ache from the rare form of manual labour, but I press on, wondering why we can't clean this up with a simple spell, or incantation.

Time passes in this surreal nightmare of bat facts and endless cleaning. By the time we finish one section of the cave, I'm covered in a fine layer of guano dust, my clothes are sticking to me with sweat, and I've learned more about bat excrement than I ever thought possible.

And we're not even halfway done.

As we work, I find my mind wandering to Violet, wondering what she's doing right now. Probably something far more pleasant than this. Maybe practicing her Morgana powers with Amara or attending regular classes. I'm starting to rethink my choice, and maybe apologising to Xaxis in front of the entire of MistHallow for kicking his arse isn't the worst idea I've heard.

Pride before the fall is a resounding theme of this adventure, and quite frankly, it's starting to piss me off that I put my pride over this nightmare. I clench my jaw, scrubbing harder and faster, desperate to get this over with.

"Mr Flint," Professor Almida's voice cuts through my thoughts. "You've missed a spot. "

I look where he's pointing and have to resist the urge to bang my head against the wall. The ‘spot' he's referring to is a section of ceiling at least three meters up.

"How exactly am I supposed to reach that?" I ask, exasperated.

He blinks at me. "Well, you're a Dragon, aren't you? Can't you fly up there?"

I stare at him, dumbfounded. "Professor, I'm over thirty feet tall. If I transformed in here, I'd crush both of us and probably bring the whole cave down."

"Oh," he says, looking momentarily disappointed. "Well, I suppose we'll have to use the extendable scraper then. Much less exciting, but it'll do the job."

I reach for the tool, staring up at the cave ceiling, wondering how my life has come to this. I'm a Snow Dragon, son of the Dragon Emperor, covered in bat shit. It's almost funny, in a horrifically disgusting sort of way.

Professor Almida peers up at me, his magnified eyes blinking rapidly. "Get to work then."

I open my mouth to reply, but before I can, I hear familiar voices echoing from the cave entrance.

"Flint? Are you in here?" It's Violet's voice, followed by Caine's and Thorne's.

Oh, for fuck's sake .

My friends round the corner, and they stop dead in their tracks, taking in the scene before them.

There's a moment of stunned silence, and then Caine bursts out laughing. "Oh, my ice goddess," he wheezes, doubling over. "You look like you've been rolling around in a sewer!"

Thorne is trying to maintain his cool Dark Fae composure, for which I'm grateful, but then the corners of his mouth start twitching. "Let me guess, Blackthorne's idea of punishment?"

"You heard?" I growl.

"It's the talk of MistHallow," he confirms. "Well, not this . Not yet, anyway."

Violet, bless her, at least tries to look sympathetic, but even she can't quite hide her amusement. "Are you okay, Flint?" she asks, her voice trembling with suppressed laughter.

I sigh, resigned to my fate. "I'm fine," I say, attempting to maintain some dignity despite being covered head to toe in bat droppings. "Just enjoying some quality time with our flying friends."

This sets them off again, their laughter echoing through the cave. Even Professor Almida is chuckling, his eyes twinkling behind his enormous glasses.

"What was the alternative?" Caine snickers. "Blackthorne likes to give options, so what was the other thing? I dread to fucking think."

"Apologising to Xaxis," I grit out.

"Ah, I see," he says, pressing his lips together. "And somewhere in your little Dragon brain, you thought this was the better course of action."

"Obviously," I growl and then shake it off, trying to salvage what's left of my pride, "I'm glad you're all finding this so amusing. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to finish cleaning and then take about a hundred showers."

Caine, still grinning, says, "Oh no, please, don't let us interrupt. This is the most entertainment we've had all week."

I give him the finger, but then Thorne says, "We need to talk when you're done here. It's pretty important."

I nod, wishing Almida would give me grace, but he doesn't.

As they leave, still laughing, I turn back to the task at hand. Professor Almida is beaming at me, clearly delighted by the whole situation.

"Wasn't that nice?" he says. "Your friends came to check on you. Now, shall we get back to work? We've still got the west chamber to tackle!"

I groan inwardly but nod. "Lead the way, Professor. The sooner we finish, the sooner I can get clean."

As we head deeper into the cave, I shake my head at the absurdity of it. It's not exactly how I pictured spending my evening, but I suppose it could be worse. At least I've given my friends something to laugh about for the next few weeks.

Professor Almida chatters away as we work, seemingly oblivious to the disgusting nature of our task. "You know, Mr Flint," he says, scraping away. "bats are truly remarkable creatures. Did you know that they're the only mammals capable of true flight?"

"Enthralling," I mutter, trying to focus on the task at hand and not on the overwhelming stench that is worse the deeper we go.

"Oh, indeed!" he continues, undeterred by my lack of enthusiasm. "And their echolocation abilities are simply astounding. They can detect objects as thin as a human hair in complete darkness!"

Despite my best efforts to tune him out, I find myself grudgingly impressed by some of the bat facts. Who knew these little flying rats were so complex?

As we work our way through the cave, I start to develop a rhythm.

"Mr Flint?" Professor Almida's voice breaks through my reverie.

I blink, realising I missed what he said, having been lost in thought. "Sorry, Professor. Just thinking about stuff."

He nods sagely. "Ah, yes. Manual labour can be quite conducive to deep contemplation. I often find my best ideas come to me while I'm elbow-deep in bat guano!"

I chuckle at that. "I'll take your word for it, Professor."

As we continue working, I find myself oddly grateful for this punishment. Not for the disgusting task itself, but for the time it's given me to think. Maybe Blackthorne knew what he was doing after all.

Minutes later, Professor Almida declares our work is done. I step back, surveying the surprisingly clean cave with a sense of accomplishment I never thought I'd feel about scrubbing bat shit .

"Well done, Mr Flint!" Professor Almida beams. "I dare say this cave hasn't been this clean in centuries. The bats will be most appreciative, I'm sure."

"Thank you, Professor," I say, peeling off the disgusting hazmat suit. "It's been an experience."

"I shall be sure to tell Professor Blackthorne about your work ethic on this task. Most impressive I've seen from a student… ever." He looks slightly surprised.

"Well, never let it be said I'm a slacker."

"Oh, no. I could not."

We exchange a smile, and I find I quite like the weird little creature.

In desperate need of a shower, or ten, I make my way back to my room, stripping off and setting the clothes alight with a contained Dragon fire that reduces them to a pile of ash in no time before I duck under the shower and stay there for a long, long time.