Path of the Magi (Tales of Tiberius)

by Stuart, Richard J

  Tiberius gave a good account of himself. He was getting older and stronger, and he was faster than Marcus. The battle was furious and energetic, but he wasn’t fast enough. Marcus parried his staff out the way and swept his legs off of the log, sending him plunging into the creek. The water actually felt good in the heat of the day, but Tiberius was still annoyed. One day he was going to beat his brother at quarterstaves, if it was the last thing he ever did.

  Thus it was that early the next Saturday, Tiberius rode into the forest.

  Michael Okubo was also out that day walking among the woods, looking for quality wood for his shafts. Mostly he was there to think, for he had been though troubles of his own of late. But as he walked along thinking, he saw his young friend, Master Tiberius, in the forest, swinging a large clumsy tree branch around. He watched for a moment, wondering what the lad thought he was doing. Then, at last overcome by curiosity, he stepped forward and greeted him.

  “Well met, young Master Tiberius. What are you doing out on this fine morning?” Michael asked.

  Tiberius did not seem overjoyed to see him, but he answered politely, trying to hold the enormous branch inconspicuously at his side.

  “Oh, Mr. Okubo. I … well, I was just trying to get in a little quarterstaff practice this morning.”

  It was all Michael Okubo could do to stop from laughing. “But what are you doing with that?” he said, pointing at the tree limb.

  “Oh. That. Well, I thought I would try something different. I’m tired of losing to my brother. I’m old enough to beat him at staves. I must be doing something wrong.”

  “Ah. So you want to learn how to use a quarterstaff, do you? So you can beat your brother?” Michael said smiling. “He’s older than you. Naturally, he’s a tough opponent.”

  “That’s not the only reason,” Tiberius explained. “Marcus isn’t that great. If I can’t beat him, how am I going to beat a goblin or northern raider? A quarterstaff is supposed to be a good weapon, isn’t it? I’ve got to be doing something wrong.”

  “It’s an excellent weapon,” Mr. Okubo said. “The more so because people underestimate it. An expert with a staff could hold off a small army. Have you heard of Musashi? He was the greatest swordsman in the history of Japan. The only person ever to match him in a duel used a jo staff. If you wish to slay goblins …” Mr. Okubo was strangely silent for a moment as he studied Tiberius carefully. “Yes. An excellent choice. I’m surprised your father hasn’t given you lessons with the axe or sword.”

  “He says he’s training us to be officers and gentlemen, not common soldiers. He won’t let us have swords.”

  “As an officer you will make better use of a staff. Most officers in the regular military carry a short pike. They use it as often to make sure the troops are in proper lines as to fight, but it can also be a deadly weapon. Quarterstaff moves are similar and would serve you well. Instruction in any weapon is beneficial. You plan to follow your brother into the military?”

  Tiberius nodded in agreement. “Marcus really loves the print shop. He just wants to do a bit of service and then set up shop with Dad. I want to travel though. I’d like to try and get into the military academy and become a career officer.”

  “I see,” he said. “A career officer should know how to fight and fight well. I have some slight skill in the quarterstaff, and now that you are in my command I think it would be wise for me to give you some lessons.”

  “Really? Gee, Mister Okubo, that would be really great.”

  “Do you think so? I won’t be an easy master. I take pride in my craft and I will expect no less from you,” Michael said.

  “Yes, sir. Dad always told us to finish what we start.”

  “Come. I will talk to your father. We must put the proper time into this. And put that thing down,” he laughed, pointing to the huge branch Tiberius was holding. “You need speed from a staff, not power. The first thing I must teach you is how to breathe.”

  “How to breathe? Don’t I do that already?” Tiberius wondered.

  “Address me as Sensei. You must learn to breathe as a proper warrior. Proper breathing controls the body. It controls fear itself. Let me show you…”

  Michael and Tiberius presented the plan to Julian. Ti’s father clearly thought training in personal combat was highly overrated for an officer and a gentleman, but he couldn’t deny that it had value, if only as a way for his slightly bookish son to get more exercise. As he had placed him under Michael’s command, he had no objection, providing that Tiberius didn’t let up on his studies.

  ∴

  For the next few months, Tiberius Fuller was quite busy. True to his word, Sensei Okubo’s lessons were demanding, but rewarding. For the first time in his life, Tiberius was getting some serious instruction in the arts of fencing and combat. He thought he might have gone soft with the departure of his brother, but now Mr. Okubo was urging him to run and exercise more than ever. Between his lessons, his chores at the print shop, the occasional Saturday evening dance with Marybeth, and his schoolwork, Tiberius was keeping quite a busy schedule. He worried that his father would make him stop his quarterstaff lessons if he dropped behind in his schoolwork, so he worked extra hard. He worked on his math lessons in particular, as that was one of his better subjects, and his father had hinted that it would be especially important in any possibility of his getting into the military academy.

  So, it was with some trepidation that Tiberius observed his schoolmaster, Mr. Johnson, dropping by one evening unexpectedly. It was the end of the term, just after the Christmas holidays of the year 297 in the Steward’s Reckoning. If he’d had a problem with his grades, this was the time that Mr. Johnson would be by to talk it over with his father. Mr. Johnson came into the print shop, but he didn’t have any orders, and he didn’t seem eager to place one. He just stood by as Tiberius was just finishing up with a customer.

  “There you are, Mr. Kozlowski,” Tiberius said, handing over a package of freshly printed leaflets. “One hundred copies of A Beginners Guide to Esperanto,” he said.

  “Bone, dankon Sinjoro Fuller,” Mr. Kozlowski answered.

  “Estas plezuro. Ĝis la revido!”

  “Adiaŭ!” Mr. Kozlowski said, waving cheerfully.

  Mr. Johnson cocked an eyebrow at Tiberius as Mr. Kozlowski left the shop, pamphlets in hand. “Who was that, Master Tiberius? And what language were you speaking?”

  “That’s Esperanto, sir. Mr. Kozlowski’s the head of the Esperanto Society of Sherwood City. I printed a few English-Esperanto dictionaries for him. You remember that I did a report on the language for you?”

  “Oh, yes, I remember now. An artificial language invented by a Polish mathematician, back in the Old World. Trying to bring peace to the world with a common language. Is he having much luck with that?” Mr. Johnson asked.

  “Not really,” Tiberius said. “Pity, it’s a pretty language.”

  “He’s got you speaking the language,” Mr. Johnson observed.

  “I sort of have to don’t I? I print all his papers for him. I have Mr. Kozlowski in all the time, checking things over. I like him though. He’s a good man and a good client.”

  “Quite interesting. Still, it’s your father I was really looking for, Master Tiberius. Is he about?”

  “Yes, sir, he’s in the back,” Tiberius said with some internal trepidation.

  “I’ll just pop around to see him, if I may,” Mister Johnson said, smiling.

  Tiberius watched him go. So far as he knew, he hadn’t done anything wrong at school lately. He had been working extra hard, and Mr. Johnson didn’t seem displeased with him. Still, there had been that math test, and he hadn’t seen the grades yet. That last problem had been rather tricky. He would have continued wondering, but he heard the dreaded voice of his father calling him.

  Rubbing his hands on his apron and jogging quickly to the back, he stood facing his father and the schoolmaster.

  “Mr. Johnson’s just been telling me here about your last
math test. Says he’s been giving you some advanced math.”

  Oddly, neither Mr. Johnson or his father seemed especially grim. “I knew young Master Tiberius was interested in a career in the army. I thought some trigonometry might serve him well,” Mr. Johnson said, smiling.

  “Yes, sir,” was all Tiberius could think to say.

  Mr. Johnson continued on with his curious tale. “I was just telling your father how I was grading your last test. I had a little trouble with your solution on the last problem. At first I was going to mark it off, but then, when I studied your answer, I realized something quite odd. You were right and I was wrong.”

  “Sir?” Tiberius said.

  “You had the answer right, and I’d gotten it wrong,” Mr. Johnson explained. “Every teacher faces this some time. We always expect to learn from our students, but it told me something has to be done.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t follow, sir,” Tiberius replied.

  “He’s telling us he’s got no more to teach you, Tiberius. You’ve gotten too far ahead of the class. You’re going to need some sort of tutor,” Julian Fuller explained.

  Tiberius stood and blinked. This wasn’t what he had expected.

  “I was just telling your father that I thought if we played our cards right, we might just get you into the Military Academy in the Engineering program. You’re certainly bright enough, and while I know your father doesn’t like to exploit his military career, I think a word or two in the right ear wouldn’t be inappropriate for a student of your ability.”

  “The Engineering corps? That would be great,” Tiberius said. Any way into the army would suit him.

  “I thought you’d like that,” his father said, giving one of his rare smiles. “Good, honorable military career. Not something flashy like those knights who go around jousting. This is what wins wars. Checking supply lines, reducing fortifications, building bridges. I know you’re not much interested in printing, but this is a career for a gentleman.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tiberius said, happily.

  “It will make that girl of yours happy, too. Good respectable career being in the corps of engineers. You get tired of the army moving you around all the time, you can always settle down and start your own firm. Good engineers are always in demand.”

  “It will require just a bit more work, I’m afraid,” Mr. Johnson said. “You need to keep up with your mathematics. But not with me, you need an advanced math program. A specialized program, or better still, a tutor.”

  “I’m going to have a word over at Standbury’s Academy, first thing next morning,” Julian said.

  “Well, actually, I’ve taken the liberty of making a few inquires on my own,” Mr. Johnson said.

  “Oh?” Julian said, slightly pleased and surprised.

  “Yes. I thought of Standbury’s of course, but I had the good fortune to run into Mr. Dallen this morning. He said he’d be happy to tutor the lad. On full scholarship, too. Very generous of him, I might say.”

  Julian nearly started out of his chair. “What?! Are you mad!”

  Mr. Johnson started in turn. “Why, whatever is the matter, Julian? I thought you’d be pleased?! Mr. Dallen’s the finest mathematical mind in the nation. He’s written a number of treatises on mathematics. He hardly ever takes on students, but as you’re an old friend of his…”

  “Friend is hardly the word! I forbid him to study with that madman.”

  “Yes, well, if you feel that way about it,” Mr. Johnson stammered.

  Tiberius was wondering, what, if anything, he should say. Standbury’s sounded just fine to him. But they all had an even bigger surprise when his mother walked into the room. She hardly ever interfered with any family business matters, but from the look on her face, Tiberius could see she was bent on interfering now.

  “Julian, don’t be ridiculous. Tiberius will take his math lessons from Dallen.”

  “But … Don’t you see the danger?” his father stammered. “You of all people…”

  “You know Dallen is a good man. He’s going to teach Tiberius math. Ti’s a bright, good, churchgoing boy. He knows to stay out of anything unholy.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “I won’t hear of anything else. We’re not going to send Tiberius to Standbury’s when there’s better and free education waiting for him with Dallen, just because we’ve both seen our share of witches and magic.”

  “But dash it all…”

  “Julian!”

  Julian faced both an immovable object and the realization that he was in the wrong. Whatever prejudice and distrust he had of Dallen and his sorcerous ways, he couldn’t deny the man had done great good and was in position to help his son. Defeated, he turned to face young Tiberius.

  “Oh, very well. Your mother is right, son. You start with Dallen when he’s ready. But mind you, you stick to your math lessons and don’t get involved in any of his wizard tricks, you understand me, boy?”

  “Yes, sir.” It was all he could say.

  The next morning, Tiberius found himself mounted on one of the family horses, dressed in his Sunday best, and riding down the road. What bothered him was that he only had the vaguest sort of directions from Mr. Johnson. He thought he’d gone right, but his directions stopped at a crossroads just a bit out of town. He looked about, puzzled, when he spied a small mechanical bird fluttering around in the intersection. The bird flew over towards him and perched on the head of his horse.

  "You’re Tiberius, I suppose,” it said, much to his astonishment. It was a small silver bird about the size of a robin, yet it spoke with perfectly clarity.

  “Er, yes,” was all Tiberius was able to say.

  “Well, come on then, follow me.”

  The bird flew off a bit in one direction, but Tiberius just stood still in shock. After a moment, the bird returned and landed again on the horse.

  “Do you want to see Dallen or not?” the bird asked.

  “Well, yes, I’m supposed to take lessons--- ” he tried to explain.

  “Right, get moving then. Haven’t got all day,” the bird said, and then flew off again. This time, Tiberius motioned his horse to follow.

  The bird led him through a long gently winding pathway though a small woods. Tiberius had the odd feeling that he’d been by here before, but never noticed this path. Before long, the pathway opened up into a large clearing. Here was a fine Georgian manor of red brick. Two golden dragons were perched on either side of the steps at the entrance. Fortunately they did not speak or move. A man came up, identifying himself as Fredrick, the groundskeeper. Tiberius was relieved to see there was apparently nothing at all magical about him. He simply took the horse, mentioned that Master Fuller was expected, and pointed him to the front door. The little mechanical bird popped on his horse again.

  “Right. My work’s done here. Good luck,” it said, and flew off.

  Tiberius stepped up to the door and knocked. A moment later the door was opened by some sort of mechanical man. He seemed to be made of bronze and copper.

  “Master Fuller?” he said.

  Tiberius had been warned by the bird, so a mechanical man didn’t seem so preposterous. Still, he was a bit surprised.

  “Yes, er, you’re…”

  “I’m Mr. Eumaios, sir. Mr. Dallen’s butler. I’m an automata, sir, a sort of wind-up doll if you will.”

  “A wind-up doll?”

  “Yes, sir. A rather sophisticated one, but an automata all the same, sir. If you’ll just step inside and have a seat, I’ll inform the master that you’ve arrived.”

  Tiberius did as he was told. The front hall didn’t seem anything so extraordinary. There was a desk, a mirror, coat racks and hat stands, a place for umbrellas and a desk for the mail. There was also a rather large grandfather clock placed prominently in the middle of the hall. A brass chandelier was dangling from the ceiling. Tiberius stepped over to look at the clock. As he did so, the clock struck nine and a little bird popped out.

  “Coo-coo ... Coo-C
oo ... Coo-Coo” it said eight times. The ninth time it said “Coo-ack!” and seemed to cough. Tiberius looked at it in surprise.

  “Sorry about that,” said the little bird. “It’s not easy doing the same thing over and over again, every hour on the hour. I try and mix it up now and then, just for variety, but people complain. They say I’m supposed to be a coo-coo clock, not a bird of paradise clock. Still, if you’re going to put a magical alarm clock in your front hall, you may as well get your money’s worth, say I. You're new here, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I’m Tiberius Fuller.”

  “Oh, yes, we’ve been expecting you. The master will be along in a minute, I suppose, unless Singh’s gone and blown something up again. Well, nice meeting you, but I’ve got to go and rest. Big performance coming along at quarter past the hour. Think I’ll do a macaw this time. Just remember, I take requests. I do an excellent rooster if you’d like to place a wake up call some time. Just let me know.” With that, the bird disappeared inside the clock, the little door closing shut tight behind him. Was it just his imagination, or could Tiberius hear a faint snoring behind the steady tick-tock of the clock?

  A moment later, Dallen emerged from the side room and came up to greet Tiberius. He was still wearing fashionable business attire. This time it was green with costly embroidery on the front.

  “Well, young Master Fuller, I’m so glad you accepted my invitation. Come in, come in, and get acquainted with everyone.”

  Dallen led him into a front room that had been set up as a sort of small classroom. There were a half dozen medium sized desks facing one side of the room. The walls were lined with bookshelves. There were three other men in the room. One was a young man like himself that Dallen introduced as Ian. The other two were strange looking gentlemen.

  There was a bald, serious looking fellow that Dallen called Singh Greentree. He was quite young, in spite of his baldness, and Ti guessed he wasn’t much older than himself. Tiberius had the sense that he was vaguely foreign somehow, but he couldn’t quite say why. A drop of Indian blood perhaps? Maybe it was just the name; his skin was fair enough. Singh was a man dressed mostly in some sort of apron covered with various stains. He paid no attention to Tiberius, other than to give a half-hearted polite wave. He was focused upon a small vial of green liquid which seem to be forming some sort of precipitate. Singh was furiously taking notes as this occurred.