Fall 1870
Minerva Academy
Chapel Town, Province of Maryland
The floor-to-ceiling windows were open, and the tired whirring of the upper fans could not compete with the incessant drone of Red Cloud Hesper, second son of the Marquis of Sheshewa. It didn’t matter that his hair was dark and glossy, his eyes exotic and cat-like. He and his twin sister, White Feather, had gone to London for the summer and upon their return were more insufferable than ever.
“And, thus, the similar technology of the local peoples deterred the invasion agenda of the original settlers.” Red Cloud finally shut his pretty mouth.
Bosco pulled his cravat. History was the most boring subject ever, and what could have been a two minutes exposition turned into a twenty-minute pre-battle speech in Red Cloud’s hands.
“Thank you, lord Hesper.” Mrs. Wellington’s tone was one of unnecessary praise. “Who wants to continue?” Her chubby cheeks moved upward as she smiled at Bosco’s twenty-four classmates.
Several hands shot up, waving for Mrs. Wellington’s attention. Bosco didn’t even try; their teacher usually dotted on the pupils belonging to the peerage. Bosco’s family was probably wealthier than many with a title, and he was a prince amongst his people, but his status wasn’t matter of public knowledge— along with his kin promoting clandestine endeavors throughout the land.
On second thought, History wasn’t that boring, it was their teacher’s preference for some students what made it a drag; she wouldn’t have allowed any commoner such a lengthy expansion of a simple topic.
“Lady Seer, please pick up where Lord Hesper left.”
Helena stood up. Bosco liked her; she wasn’t stuffy like some of the others, and the pretty blond ringlets around her face made her look like a beautiful porcelain doll. She started reading her homework. “For a hundred years there was peace between the European settlers and the locals, but what technology kept in check was pushed forward by religion. Many of the settlers had come to this area of the New World to be able to worship their god in their own way, but, in time, they forgot they had been prosecuted and turned against those who didn’t worship their solitary deity.” Helena made a pause as if this part of New Englalonde’s history affected her the most. “The Massachusetts Witch Trials (1692-93) triggered The Sacred Conflict, a seven-year war. The English Crown, even if Polytheist itself, decided to leave the resolution of the conflict in its New World dominions to the residents because they didn’t want to deal with another Monotheist uprising, which was what prompted the original immigration wave. Luckily for New Englalonde, the Polytheists won.”
Bosco knew luck didn’t have anything to do with that outcome. His own family’s mills and factories had greatly helped to ensure the Polytheists’ success. Religious prosecution would have jeopardized the existence of his people in the New World; therefore, his family and all others of his kind had helped with resources (and in many cases their own powers) to guarantee a favorable outcome for the followers of the ancient ways.
“Excellent, Lady Seer,” Mrs. Wellington chirped. Bosco was expecting another round of shooting hands when their teacher unexpectedly said, “Mr. Rogers.”
Startled, Bosco thought she was calling him out because she saw his index finger on its way to his right nostril. His whole body sprang upward like the pesky hands of those eager to ingratiate themselves with their teacher. He entwined his fingers behind his back, unconsciously putting away the almost offending digit. “Yes, Mrs. Wellington?”
“Would you care to tell us what happened after The Sacred Conflict?”
A lock of white hair had fallen over Bosco’s eye. This white section of his abundant hair had always been a source of amusement and intrigue amongst his fellow classmates. After all, Bosco was only fourteen years old. In his still startled state, he blew it instead of fixing it with his hand. Giggles wafted around him. “Well, the Polytheists won,” he said, trying to gather his thoughts and forgetting his homework was right before him on his desk.
“That detail has been established already.”
“Um, there was no persecution of the Monotheists at the end of the war. Pretty sure that wouldn’t have been the case if they had won,” Bosco said, voicing a thought frequently observed by his grandfather. The giggles became riotous laughter.
“Please focus, Mr. Rogers.” Her disapproval was clear after he had altered the rhythm of her class with his commoner’s views of a long-ended war.
“Well, many Monotheists started to sell their properties, and an almost twenty-five-year exodus toward the Catholic-centered Spain dominions ensued.” Bosco scrunched his nose, trying to remember more of his homework. “Oh, and as those left, two northern chunks of New Spain seceded and joined New Englalonde. That’s how we got the Duchy of Texas in 1730 and the Principality of California in 1735!”
Bosco stood there stoically as the classroom crumbled around him. The guys were doubled forward, holding their bellies and cackling, while the girls— keeping a little more restraint, laughed loudly behind their unfolded fans.
“Such a crude summarization of fifty years of history.” Mrs. Wellington’s face had acquired a very unbecoming shade of purple. “Please, bring your homework forward, Mr. Rogers.”
Bosco hadn’t read from his homework. Nevertheless, he knew she was going to destroy him because he saw the red ink coming out of the upper drawer of her desk.
Bosco Rogers Senior, Alpha of the Central Pride and Ruler of the Prides Syndicate, usually started reprimands with “Your ancestors didn’t come from Italy and changed the illustrious Rogeri surname to Rogers to fit in a new world just to have their descendants fail their education!”
Oh boy.
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