Bidet

Bidet

They spent the next hour sitting shoulder to shoulder on the edge of their narrow wooden cots, gently rubbing their stinging cheeks while plotting a revenge that would be perfectly proportional to their suffering... and spectacular in its execution.

Jabar's mind raced with angry ideas. Most involved bruises, broken noses, or accidental falls down very long staircases.

But Zelnard—"Z" as Jabar affectionately called him—was the true architect of the masterpiece.

Rather than fighting Dunstor's strength, they decided to exploit something far more predictable.

Every single evening, without fail, Dunstor visited the upstairs water closet immediately before lights-out.

Every.

Single.

Night.

It was the perfect opportunity.

During the previous few weeks, Zelnard had secretly been practising an advanced water-spout spell. Master Borna, his elemental instructor, had commented several times that the young boy possessed an unusually powerful connection to water magic.

"Your magic doesn't simply move water," Borna had once remarked thoughtfully. "It listens to you as though you were calling an old friend."

The academy's oldest upstairs water closet had been built in a remarkable way. It occupied a small stone room that projected beyond the cliff face itself, suspended over the crashing ocean below. A wide stone chute dropped directly into the sea, allowing everything to disappear into the endless water beneath the monastery.

It was a clever piece of engineering.

Tonight...

...it would become a weapon.

The following evening, after the final call for bed, Zelnard and Jabar climbed beneath their blankets and pretended to fall asleep.

Their eyes remained firmly open.

Hearts pounded as they listened for the familiar sounds of the older boys climbing the stone staircase toward their dormitories.

Then they heard it.

Creeeak...

One particular floorboard above them always groaned beneath Dunstor's heavy footsteps.

Zelnard sprang silently from bed and hurried to the small window overlooking the moonlit ocean below.

He gripped his water crystal tightly.

In his mind he pictured every movement.

Pants undone...

Sitting down...

Three...

Two...

One.

Zelnard's eyes snapped open.

A brilliant blue light reflected within them as he reached deep into the ocean below and summoned every ounce of water magic he possessed.

He did not merely create a stream.

He called upon the sea itself.

The result was explosive.

A roaring column of seawater blasted upward through the ancient stone chute with the force of a geyser. The vaulted room instantly disappeared inside a cloud of spray, foam, and thunderous noise.

Dunstor didn't simply get wet.

He was launched completely off the stone seat, his gangly teenage body soaring briefly into the air in a spectacular explosion of seawater, foam, utter surprise...

...and several substances best left undescribed.

The enormous pressure of the water blasted straight through the stone fixture, scrubbing it sparkling clean before the foamy torrent crashed back onto the floor and poured beneath the door into the corridor like a muddy river.

Then came the scream.

It echoed through every corridor of the monastery.

Zelnard and Jabar collapsed onto their beds, both desperately stuffing blankets into their mouths to stop themselves laughing.

Moments later, furious shouting echoed through the halls while frantic footsteps thundered overhead.

Neither boy dared move.

They simply breathed slowly and pretended to be fast asleep.

By breakfast the following morning, every student in Zouken had heard some version of the story.

The tale followed Dunstor from classroom to classroom almost as persistently as the faint smell that, despite several determined washings, seemed unwilling to leave him.

Thy Quests
Why was this act of revenge measured and fitting for Dunstor? Explain why Zelnard's plan reflected the way Dunstor had treated others rather than simply trying to hurt him.