Fantastic Schools: Volume One (Fantastic Schools Anthologies Book 1)

by Christopher G Nuttall

  He smiled and nodded approvingly.

  I had several hours before the Entrance Hall opened. There was time to do something useful. I started by casting a full set of housecleaning spells on all four floors. Yes, I remembered the ceiling and the spaces within the walls. Finally, I levitated my trunks to the upper floors and began to unpack. By and by, I would walk over to Ellwood Hall, then find a refectory for lunch. The rules said we were expected to eat in a refectory, unless we joined an eating club or moved into a residential house. I did take the minutes needed to reinforce the house wards with a full set of my own wards. They could be broken, but not without me knowing.

  Time for entrance interviews arrived. Dorrance Academy was covered with paved walks. Almost every student was perfectly able to gate from building to building, but there were simply too many people in too small an area for gating to be safe. Taking the trail toward the Campus Martius, I soon encountered a another, slightly-confused-looking, first-year student going in the same direction.

  “I’m Dairen of Charlemont,” he announced. He looked nervously back at his map.

  “Adara Triskittenion,” I answered. “Are you heading to the Entrance Hall?” He nodded. “It’s down this path.” I pointed. “Do you have a course of study in mind yet? That seemed to be the safest question.

  “First time for my family here,” he answered. “I’m from Almasi, way south. I’m supposed to study General Magic.”

  I’d vaguely heard of Almasi, had no idea how to get there, but had the vague impression that it wasn’t well-to-do. Someone might be straining to send him here.

  I smiled. “General Magic? That’s my planned course, too,” I answered.

  “I already have my major research project in mind,” he announced. “I’m going to measure the size of the Purple Sea.” He went on at some length. The Purple Sea is where you go when you shallow-gate. You gate to the sea, walk not very far, and gate back, considerably away from where you started. There’s this great debate about whether the Purple Sea is actually the surface of some enormously huge sphere or saddle, or whether it’s flat and goes on forever. He wanted to settle the question. Listening to him, I realized he had no idea how to do it. He just knew what he wanted to do.

  Halfway down the walk, three fellows emerged from behind a hedge. They were more than a bit noisy. I’d say they were singing, except they made yowling cats sound melodic. I told myself they surely couldn’t be drunk at this hour of the day, but their gait said that I was wrong. Then I recognized the one in front. It was Harold Fourbridge.

  “Ooh, firsties,” he crooned as we approached. “No armor, no sword, so you each get a paddling.” Dad had warned me about that custom. Upperclassman to some extent harassed lower-class students, meaning in particular first-year students like me. “You cooperate, or you get paddled twice,” the jackass continued.

  “That rule,” Dairen stammered. “We’re not students yet, we haven’t registered.” He was already terrified. The bullies could, I think, smell the fear in his voice.

  “That nonsense,” I said firmly, “was eliminated by the University Council a century ago. You three can take a hike.”

  This was a truly lousy way to start off my academic career, but Dad had warned me that these things still happened, but they should very certainly not happen to an heir of House Triskittenion. Dairen looked around, hoping for rescuers that were nowhere to be seen. I stepped in front of him, blocking the trio’s paths.

  “I guess you’re first,” Fourbridge announced. He reached for me. I called my travel wards. A flare of light filled the space between us. His next several words were quite impolite. “Okay,” he announced, “you get to do this the hard way.” He started to pull a short sword. I could see some not especially impressive enchantments floating across it.

  He began his draw first, but I finished my draw before he finished his. OK, he was sloshed, and I am always stone-cold sober. My gnothdiar was in my right hand, my right leg forward. My left leg was back, braced, with my left hand above it in a casting pose. I could feel the tingle of the readied void node in my left wrist.

  “Be a good boy,” I said, very slowly and quietly, “put away your butter knife and be on your way.”

  Dairen was now hiding behind me. I’d have preferred he stayed to my side, so if something completely stupid happened, the odds would be three to two rather than three to one. All three of them attacking me would be even more completely stupid than this idiot pulling a sword, assuming that was even possible. I suspected that if Dairen were at my side he would have just been in my way when I wanted to move. I’ve been trained on one-on-several combat, but these three were all a head taller than I am, and proportionately heavier. On the other hand, they were clearly drunk. I could smell the beer on their breath. The two in back were not moving to support their friend.

  “Listen, you...” he started. He knew a remarkable number of impolite words.

  “You drew on me. Continue or put your toy away.” I was now thoroughly annoyed. His face was ruddy. The fingers of my left hand now held a stack of combat spells, one extremely powerful. His two friends stepped behind him and grabbed his arms. One of them looked at me, smiled, shook his head, and rolled his eyes. They assisted him from the scene.

  “This was supposed to be a nice place, a wonderful place to study,” Dairen said, barely able to remain coherent. He was in tears.

  “It is a nice place, especially once classes start,” I said. “There are supposed to be proctors and lictors to keep the peace.” I sheathed my gnothdiar and lowered my combat wards. My hands were shaking. I’d ramped up to combat mode without even thinking about it. And I’d done it right. Muscles and spells were at the ready, but I was completely calm. “When we get to the Entrance Hall I’ll have to chat one up.” I tapped the hilt of my gnothdiar. Yes, one of the miscellaneous spells had stored images of the event, so there’d be no doubt about who the jackass was. That minor enhancement actually had a useful purpose, namely it sorted out who started what if I got into a fight, not that I had any interest in fighting.

  The Proctor at the door to the Entrance Hall was entirely fascinated by the images I’d captured. He took Dairen off to recover. I looked at the signs near the entrance. Apparently, you simply went to the next available faculty member and discussed your plans with him. I was early. There was no line. Dad said most people had very tentative ideas about what they wanted to do, let alone what subjects they needed to take. We hadn’t talked about my interests, he and I, but I had a pretty clear idea of where I should start.

  I headed down a corridor, passing offices holding new students chatting with faculty members, finally reaching the office of an available professor. Indeed, there was a young man sitting at a small desk, looking out the door at me and smiling. I smiled back and made a polite bow. Dad said that was usually good etiquette with faculty and that I would eventually learn who I should treat differently.

  “I’m Junior Professor Jackson,” he announced.

  “Adara Triskittenion.” I repeated my bow.

  “Please come in. There’s a coat hook for your cape and whatever else you are carrying. Umbrella, carryall, whatever.”

  I slipped off the cape, lifted my gnothdiar’s belt from over my neck, and hung it over my cape on the wall. Jackson stared at my sword.

  “That’s substantial armament for campus,” he said. “Most students satisfy the always-armed rule with cloth for armor and a penknife for a weapon.”

  “I just got here,” I answered, not quite defensively, “and the admission instructions were real emphatic I should be here immediately, even before I unpacked." OK, I’d ignored that instruction. This Hall wasn’t even open when I arrived on campus. “Besides, I’ve already had to draw it once.”

  “You’ve what?” he said, dismay showing on his face.

  I let my gnothdiar replay my encounter on the walk.

  “The Four-Fold Way protect us,” Jackson said. “You reported to a Proctor?” I nodded. “Good
. I really thought we’d gotten rid of that behavior, but it seems to come back every so often. The fellow who waved his sword at you will soon face the stark fist of removal. In any event, I’m supposed discuss with you your course of study, at least your preliminary course direction. The commonest choices are Governance, Trade, Medicine, or the Church. Though, with your speed, you might be welcome in the Armed Host.”

  I’m not that fast, I told myself; they were drunk. “Actually,” I said, “my interest is General Magic.”

  “Construction?” he suggested.

  I shook my head. Construction is the major application of General Magic, setting up spells to build things, notably things that we trade with unmen in other places. Setting the spells to make really good lenses sounds interesting, but after a while it gets very dull. I should know. I’d spent hours a day doing precision spellwork, preparing to pay for my stay here. It’s amazing how many places think font blocks are valuable. Admittedly, learning to replicate accurately type for odd syllabaries took a lot of work, especially when the individual type stamps were to be formed from hardened steel, but it was still dull.

  “No,” I said, “I’m actually interested in General Magice—how magic works. I sort-of had a schedule laid out.” I pulled from my satchel a sheet marking subjects for this year and later directions. Construction spells, after all, I could perfectly well learn at home, with an occasional visit here by some House member to find out if anyone had created something really new, an event that had not happened in centuries.

  Jackson looked at my chart, nodded politely to himself, then compared against a checklist. “You’re certainly well organized,” he finally said. “Much more so than most students. Half of them wouldn’t know a graduation requirement if it bit them in the ass.” I decided to ignore his language. “There aren’t many students actually headed for General Magic.” He looked at a schedule. “Indeed, most of you share a table at Miller’s Refectory, a not extremely large table, often with the General Magic faculty advisor. That’s about two hours from now.” He wrote a couple of notes on a scrap of paper. “That’s the refectory and table. You may or may not be interested in an Eating House, but House Way is a reasonable path to reach Miller’s.”

  I bowed myself out of his office.

  On House Way, my first stop was Gray House. It did not live up to its name. Whatever stone it had been built from, it was now painted in bright colors. If some color had been overlooked, it must’ve been an accident. The balusters on the porch railings were milled spirals, no two the same. You could easily tell that the cross-section was a hexagon, because the six sides of the spiral were painted six different colors. Dad had warned me that repainting the outside of the house was viewed as an important task for the House’s new members. The grounds were surrounded by a low fence, the front gate having an arch and two formal iron latticework doors. The walk to the front door curved left and right, its stone pavers surrounded by a deep green ground cover I didn’t recognize. Crossing the threshold, I felt a gentle ward probe me, probe me enough to reveal I wore enchanted armor and had something fairly potent across my back. The House’s front doors swung open before I reached them. Okay, someone inside was actually paying attention to their House’s wards. Two people, a fellow and a gal who were obviously in the middle of passing from young adult to adult age, came out.

  “Peace be unto you,” I said, “and to the house of social wisdom.” The latter was not a secret password, but it was supposed to establish I was related to a house member, namely my father.

  “And to you also,” the fellow said. “I’m Adrian Chalmers, and this is my fiancée, Rebecca Stone.”

  “I’m Adara, Adara of House Triskittenion,” I explained. “My father once lived here. He asked me to stop and say hello as soon as I reached the Academy. My father said to say he was Eats Always Slowly. But he refused to tell me the story behind the name.”

  “Your father?” Rebecca asked. “Eats Always Slowly was House Rector for a decade. Are you here to claim his place?”

  I shook my head. “My two older brothers are already going into governance. That only works because Heath prefers provincial studies and Moore prefers financial operations. No, I’m just here to say hello and promise that Dad still remembers this House.”

  “Did you have a House in mind already?” Adrian asked. “We couldn’t turn you away, but Gray House really is focused on people looking to rise into governance.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” I said. “No, I’m interested in General Magic. So far as I can tell, there isn’t a House with that focus. Or is there?”

  Rebecca shook her head. “I read there was, once upon a time, but not in recent millennia. The closest you can get is one of the Army Houses, but at the moment they’re all in a commotion. One of the less-well-advised members of Violet House decided to revive the ancient forbidden custom of beating up freshmen who aren’t properly armed. Apparently his first victim pulled an enchanted sword on him and had a couple of spells set on her left hand, ready to launch. His friends say if they hadn’t intervened, she would have flattened him. Now the Proctors are preparing to send the fellow on his way, at least for a century or two.”

  “This morning?” I asked. She nodded. My father said that gossip is the only form of communication that can travel through space in negative time. Here I was seeing it. “This fellow from Violet House? Harold Fourbridge? Tall, black hair, loud voice, already into his beer, shoulder patch that looks like a very stylized flower, light-weight sword with a not-very-good sharpness spell, and two friends who stopped him?”

  “You heard about it already!” Adrian’s nodded enthusiastically. “That’s wonderful! It’s really good to know that we have new students who plug themselves into the gossip network that quickly. That’s an important aspect of being a successful governor, after all, cultivating sources. Are you sure you aren’t interested in Governance? As was written by Arminius the Lesser in his thirty-six volumeShorter Essay on Proper Governance, the cultivation of...”

  At some point in that paragraph, Adrian had lapsed from the One Tongue into Elder Speech without slowing down or losing track of his phrasing. His command of Elder Speech was truly impressive.

  “Adrian, love,” Rebecca said, “I think you just missed the point. The young lady facing the Fourbridge idiot was you, Adara, wasn’t it?”

  “My father warned me about freshman hazing attacks being covered by the unlimited self-defense rule,” I said. “He also taught me the legal definition of riot. That applied if all three of them attacked me, which they did not. Also, it was not an enchanted sword, it was a gnothdiar, and I had considerably more than two spells at hand, not to mention the ward the character walked into.”

  “Gnothdiar? You could have killed him,” Rebecca said, “and his friends if you weren’t careful.”

  “He deserved it,” Adrian said. “That fellow has been a permanent nuisance as long as he’s been here. He keeps using his family — his mother is a High Justiciar of the Great Court — to get away with things. We finally set our house wards to treat him as a hostile barbarian. After his first experience with the new wards, he hasn’t been back.”

  “My sister is in Violent House,” Rebecca added. “Next door to the Violets. Yes, Violent House. The serious Army House. She’s looking forward to becoming an Imperial Guard. She said that one of the guys who did not attack you had a complete record of what the idiot did, everyone except the idiot agreed that he got what he deserved, only not enough of it, and several of the Army Houses hoped you would join them.”

  We talked a bit more, and I went on my way.

  It was still early. Miller’s Refectory was close to empty. I picked up a tray and worked down the serving line. The unmen cooks had done a fine job. There was a long table, nearly every space taken, roughly where I had been told to find the General Magic people. A much older man in scholar’s robes sat at one end of the table. Dairen Charlemont was at the far end, shoulders slumped, head down. I stared
at him and remembered something that Grandfather Worrow said, describing an unman army trudging into battle.You looked at them and saw they’d clearly lost the battle and surrendered, before they even started to fight. Dairen had had a terrible introduction to the Academy.

  I marched up next Dairen, where an empty chair awaited. “Is this the General Magic table?” I asked, not that I wasn’t sure of the answer.

  “It is indeed,” the Academician at the head of the table answered. “I am Serene Master Courtenay. And these are a fair fraction of our students interested in General Magical Studies.”

  “Adara!” Dairen interrupted. “You saved my life!”

  “Hardly,” I responded. “At worst, you would have been roughed up a bit. But it shouldn’t have happened, and didn’t. Good to see you again, under happier conditions.”

  “Dairen?” A boy near the head of the table asked. “Is this the girl you claimed pulled a peldiar on three Army House thugs? And chased them off? With a child’s toy?” Peldiar? Oh, right, the training tool, the one that barely holds two spells. Sort of. If you’re careful you can do more. I once got four into mine, but it had been a real chore, and I’d selected the spells carefully. “Her?” His last question was accusatory, not believing what had been heard.

  “Her. I said gnothdiar,” Dairen mumbled.

  “I’m Adara, Adara of House Triskittenion. I’m pleased to meet you, Serene Master, and all the rest of you, too.” I set down my tray. Spaced around the table were a series of coat racks, solid vertical posts with heavy brass hooks. I released the throat clasp on my cape, hung the cape on the neighboring rack, and followed with my gnothdiar. Mom had taught me how to hang a long cape so that the family seal showed. In our case, it was three kittens sleeping, wrapped around each other in a trefoil. The gnothdiar scabbard was translucent white spider silk, through which shone the light from a few of the embedded spells. The fellow at the head of the table stared and bit his tongue.