by C. M. Hayden
Taro spoke up. “Excuse me—”
“Kyra.”
“Kyra. It’s not their fault. Me and my sister heard the Sun King was here, and I wanted to have a look at him.” Taro held up his lock pick. “I didn’t break any enchantment, I picked the lock. You might want to upgrade those.”
Kyra tapped her foot and gave Taro and Nima a significant look. “I see. And you are?”
Taro told her their names.
“Have you been through admissions yet?”
“Not yet,” Nima said.
“And this will be your first year?”
Taro nodded, trying to look as humble as possible.
“I guess we can’t expel you, if you haven’t even been accepted yet. But here’s a piece of advice.” She glared at Ven and Pipes. “Stay away from these two.”
Ven and Pipes snickered the whole way down to the ground floor.
Ven spoke first. “Look at Taro, melting the Ice Queen’s heart.”
Taro shoved him. “Shut up.”
“She’s an instructor?” Nima said.
“Not quite,” Ven said. “She’s a tribune. The highest ranking artificer. They’re a bit power-mad.”
In the envelope the registrar had given them were smooth ivory tablets the size of a coin. On them was their position in line: 34th. Nima’s was 57th.
Nima pulled Taro aside. “Tell me you’re thinking what I’m thinking.”
“It crossed my mind,” Taro said, peeking over his shoulder. “But if we’re caught up there again, we’re screwed.”
“And if we don’t, the magisters might not accept us. What would Mathan do to us then?”
Taro knew she was right. They needed any advantage they could get. The other recruits had the luxury of trying again next year, but he and Nima certainly didn’t.
Lines of recruits snaked through the foyer. Quietly, Taro and Nima slipped out of line and returned to the shaft overlooking the Curia. Further in, it overlooked a smaller antechamber. In the back was a raised dais with three high seats that overlooked a single chair in the center. Suri sat below, with her legs crossed and her head lowered, like she was waiting to be called on.
The three department heads sat, conversing with one another. The plaques in front of them denoted their name and position. Amelia Ross was the head of templary and sat in the middle. To her left was Torran Briego, head of magistry, and to her right Auden Veldheim, head of alchemy.
Ross shuffled through some papers in front of her and tilted her bifocals. “My records show that this will be your third time attending this academy as a recruit.”
Suri’s voice barely squeaked over the rustling of pages. “That’s correct, Imperator.”
“Based on that, we can be sure that you can answer any question we ask. You’ve done so twice before.”
Suri looked up. “Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment,” Ross snapped. “Tell me, why should we allow you another chance? You’ve failed twice, why will this year be any different?”
Suri seemed to shrink at the magisters’ stares. “I’ve studied hard. I’ve learned new A-Class inscriptions, and my sponsor thinks I’ve improved markedly in magistry.”
Briego was a tall, thin man with a hook nose. He was probably the oldest of the lot, and his long, gray beard sat coiled out on the desk. He wasn’t Endran, and had a slight accent that Taro couldn’t quite place. Whatever it was, he’d lived in Endra for some time, as he spoke perfect Amínnic.
“If I recall, your sponsor is Mr. Varinius, a tribune?” Briego said.
“Yes, sir,” Suri said.
“Is he here today?”
Suri shook her head, no.
Ross scoffed. “If he can’t bother with you, why should we?”
“He’s away on business.”
Ross’ voice was thick with sarcasm. “I’m sure he is.”
Veldheim spoke up. “You said you know A-Class inscriptions. Which would those be?”
Suri counted off on her fingers as she spoke. “Vishio, Acrion, and Linseer.”
Ross raised one of her thin eyebrows. “You know Linseer?”
Suri seemed proud of her skepticism, as if she’d been expecting it. “I can, Imperator.”
“Show us,” Ross said.
Suri fished out her inscriber. “May I use this chair?”
Ross nodded. Suri knelt beside her chair and snapped a glass cylinder full of greenish ink into her inscriber. She scratched letters and long lines across the legs, over the back, and around the sides. When she was done, she took a deep breath and pressed her fingers to the chair. The lines and letters pulsed white.
“Done,” she said proudly.
The chair didn’t seem any different. Magister Briego leaned down to Suri and handed her a pen. When Suri placed it on the floor beside the chair, it stirred for a moment and dragged toward it until it touched the wood.
It seemed a curiosity to Taro, but the magisters were very impressed. Briego clapped his hands together. “Remarkable. Don’t you agree, Amelia?”
Ross reluctantly nodded.
Briego winked at Suri. “I make a motion for her acceptance.”
“Those in favor?” Ross said. She was the only one who didn’t raise her hand. Suri thanked them and hurried out, as if she was worried they’d change their minds before she could make it to the door.
It took five more students before Taro figured out the pattern. The line of questioning always went the same way. Returning recruits were asked completely different questions than the new recruits. The former went along the same lines as Suri’s—why should we take you back?—while the latter were all academic.
How many inscriptions do you know?
Recite the Deific alphabet.
If I wanted a zero-loss heat enchant, what combination of inks would I need?
How much material is lost in a transmutation of iron to copper?
Over the two hours that Taro listened in, he’d heard them all. And each of the magisters seemed to have ones that were their favorites.
By the time he and Nima returned to the ground floor, Taro’s head was filled to the brim with answers.
There was only one thing that worried him. In all cases, demonstrations were more impressive to the magisters than answering questions. Regardless of whether or not he could remember certain inscriptions, neither he nor Nima had any idea on how to perform them. If Aris’ plan didn’t work, or worse, if they saw through his deception, it could be a disaster.
The line dwindled, until it was Taro’s turn. The chamber seemed larger from the floor, and the magister’s dais much more intimidating. The light from the window behind them shined into his eye, making it hard to see. The magisters chatted amongst themselves for what felt like ages, until Ross acknowledged him.
“Taro, son of Talthis?” she said, running her finger down a ledger.
“Yes, Imperator.” He’d learned that Ross didn’t like to be called miss or ma’am. And using either of those would earn a swift rebuke.
“It says here that your sponsor is Magister Locke. His seal and registry seem to be in order, and a sponsorship by a full magister is impressive. Is he here today?”
Before Taro could speak, Aris’ voice called from the chamber doors. “I am indeed.” His voice was much less condescending than normal, and he was even smiling. Nima followed closely behind.
“If you will permit it, Imperator, I’m pressed for time. I request that my apprentices be considered together.”
Ross checked her ledger. “Nima, is it?”
“Yes, ma—eh, Imperator,” Nima said.
“Any objections?”
None came. Taro pondered Miss Craiven’s forgery skills. Did she invent a magister whole-cloth? Or had there once been a Locke? Or was there still? If they could invent an entire magister, then why did they need Taro on the inside?
Magister Veldheim spoke up. He was a tiny man with thin, blondish-white hair and smooth features. He had to stand up just to see ov
er the podium.
“Would you please summarize the children’s education?” he said. “I noticed you’ve given the boy a gold aurom. That’s quite a vote of confidence.”
“Taro is quite the prodigy. Proficient in all twelve base enchantments, solid knowledge of second-level alchemy and its application to magistry. Rudimentary work in transmutation.”
Taro felt like a hand had gripped around his heart and throat. Propping them up like this could only lead to serious disappointment.
“He can transmute?” Ross said. “I’d like to see that.”
Aris held a black sphere up so the magisters could see it, and placed it in Taro’s hands. “A stones-worth of iron.”
Taro’s hand shook as he took out his inscriber. He drew an array of lines and nonsensical letters along it, small enough that he hoped the magisters couldn’t actually see what they said. He took a deep breath and tapped the sphere. Light burst out of the lines and enveloped the metal. It morphed and twisted into a rod of grayish-black material. As a reflex, Taro dropped it and it shattered on the floor into a dusty pile.
The magisters seemed impressed by this.
“Iron to carbon, a fairly basic transmutation,” Aris said. “But I think you’ll agree the lad shows promise. I see the same potential in Ms. Nima as well, once her templar is opened.
They asked several more questions, most of which were directed at Nima. All of them were retreads of questions they’d asked previously, and while Nima was just parroting answers she’d heard earlier, she did so with such conviction she almost made Taro believe her.
Briego raised his hand. “I call for a motion of admittance. All in favor?”
Even Ross raised her hand along with Veldheim. Apparently, they’d made a good impression.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Woodcroft & Leek’s
TARO EXITED THE CURIA more than a little shell-shocked. Nima followed close behind and read through the note Magister Ross provided her.
___
Attn. Ms. Nima:
Over the next six months you will be trained to survive and pass your first trial. To facilitate this, please purchase the following:
Books
- Numerology: How Numbers Make the World Turn, by Horatio Graigen, Mgr.
- 104 Inks and Enchantments, by Gavin Daldrich
- Advanced Celosan Trigonometry: Revised Edition
- How To Keep Your Enchants From Killing You, by Varia Finn, Mgr.
- The Compendium of Magical Monsters, by Auden Veldheim, Mgr.
Equipment:
- One base alchemy kit, glass.
- One telescope and astrolabe.
Your first class will be Monday, 0900. Our records show that you have not yet paid your tuition. This must be handled before you will be permitted to attend class.
Imperator Amelia Ross
Magister-General
___
Taro’s was the same, and both included a lesson schedule. It boiled down to one thing: more money they couldn’t afford. The relief Taro felt from passing his admissions faded into a sickening ache in the pit of his stomach.
“We need to find Mathan,” Nima said.
“He’s probably still in Ashwick.”
“Then we need to get a message to him.”
“By tomorrow?”
There was only one way through this. Taro wasn’t proud of it, but it had to be done. Despite his grim mood, when he saw Suri bolting toward him with a wide smile, he did his best to look happy too.
“I did it!” She dangled her freshly stamped silver medallion from a steel chain.
“You must’ve really impressed them.” Taro was genuinely happy for her, but had to force himself not to sound as terrible as he felt.
Suri’s eyes widened and she grabbed the hand Taro clutched his medallion with. “This is yours?”
“Sure is.”
“You have a gold aurom?”
Taro made a swooshing motion over his head. “Amínnic, please?”
She held her medallion beside his. “These determine your standing in the Magisterium. You only get a gold aurom if you’re sponsored by a commissioned magister. Maybe we could study together, sometime?”
Taro scratched his cheek. “Definitely.”
Ven wasn’t far off. “Congratulations!” he said as he approached.
“Thanks,” Taro said.
“I’m headed downtown to pick up some supplies for class. Want to come with?” Ven said.
“You can get stuff cheaper in Lower,” Suri said.
“I’d prefer not to get mugged,” Ven said.
“We’re actually staying in Lower,” Taro said sheepishly.
“All three of you?”
“At her father’s inn,” Taro said. “I’m up for going downtown though.”
_____
Despite the cold, downtown Endra Edûn bustled with life. Thousands of people packed the cramped, freezing market streets browsing high-end shops and restaurants.
There was Wulfric’s Cold Fire, which sold lanterns containing flames of various colors. Each flame was cool to the touch, and was advertised as healing ailments from arthritis to hives.
A large minority of the stores proudly displayed signs proclaiming NO MAGISTERS. Even in the upper city, they were not well regarded.
The sign above the next shop said WOODCROFT’S ARTIFICING EMPORIUM. It was cramped and disorganized; metal sheets and machinery hung from the walls and ceiling, and the entire place smelled of smoke. Woodcroft was an aged man with gray hair slicked back and tied into a ponytail.
He was busy examining the insides of a steam engine when they entered. It sprayed oil out, at his face, and he frantically tried to plug one of the valves.
“Ven! Suri!” he said as he wiped his face with a dirty rag. “Is it that time of year already?” He shook each children’s hand. “Who are the newbies?
“Taro and Nima,” Suri said.
“Brother and sister?” he asked, shaking their hands. They nodded. “Here for first-year supplies?”
“Yes, sir,” Taro said.
“Let’s see your list.” Woodcroft snatched their papers and mumbled as he read them. “Pretty standard.” He grabbed a piece of chalk and added out some numbers on a black slate. “For both of you...two crowns, four nobles should cover the lot.”
Taro considered it. “Two even and it’s a deal.”
Woodcroft burst out laughing. “No recruit has ever tried to dicker with me before. Sorry, I’m not making any money at two. Two and a half and we’ll talk.”
Taro hummed and glanced sideways at Ven. “Are there any other artificing shops nearby?”
“A few,” Ven said. “We could check out some of them, first.”
“Hold your horses,” Woodcroft said hastily. “Negotiations have just begun. Two and one, and we’ll call it a deal. At that price, I’m giving it away.”
Taro pretended to hesitate. “Sounds fair.”
He shook Woodcroft’s hand and paid him. While the elderly magister was getting his order copied down, Taro took stock of what money he had left.
“All right,” Woodcroft said, after a long moment. “Your sister will get hers first.”
“Why’s that?”
Woodcroft pointed to Nima’s schedule. “She has a lesson earlier that you don’t. Pre-templary with Magister Ross, nothing a golden boy like you needs to worry about.”
Taro looked over his own schedule. “Magister Veldheim—Atramancy,” he said. “What does that mean?”
“It means we’d better add some bandages to your order.”
When their order was done, Woodcroft showed Ven some of his newer merchandise. Ven was like a wide-eyed child amongst all the tools and engine parts.
When they were out of earshot, Taro pulled Suri aside. “Is there a pawn shop nearby?” he asked.
Suri looked more than a little surprised at the question. “Pawn shop?” She crossed her arms and thought. “You’d have to go to Lower to find one. Leek’
s shop on the south row, maybe? It’s the place you’re least likely to get robbed.”
“Can you keep an eye on Nima for me?”
“I guess, but we should probably come with you. There’s strength in numbers.”
“No, I don’t want her to know. Make up some excuse for me, could you? We’ll meet up at the inn.”
Taro didn’t give her a chance to disagree and left quickly. He didn’t leave Nima because he was afraid for her safety, but because he was about to do something he wasn’t proud of.
There’s something visceral about a pawn shop. In some ways, it’s like visiting a graveyard full of strangers. The shelves in Leek’s were the tombstones: an engraved wedding ring, a mother’s necklace, a grandfather’s cufflinks. People only part with items like these when they have no other choice, and doing so leaves a piece of themselves behind.
Leek’s reminded Taro of Craiven & Boors: the smell of rotting wood, the creaking floorboards that bent under his weight. But where Craiven & Boors dealt with magical items, there were few of those here. These walls and shelves were stuffed with ornate crystal work and jewelry.
“With you in a minute,” a haggard voice called from the other side of the room. He was the thinnest man Taro had ever seen. His arms were like toothpicks, and each of his ribs showed through his shirt. His clothes hung off him like a wet rag, and he held a spoon-like instrument over a furnace. Inside were flakes of melting gold.
While trying to keep his wobbling hands steady, he hacked into his sleeve and a bit of the gold spilled from the spoon.
“Damn it.” He set it down onto a scorched block of cedar. “Can I help you?” he said forcefully.
“I’m looking for Leek.”
He pulled his furnace gloves off. They were much too large for his bone-thin fingers. “You’ve found him.”
Taro sat The Witch of the Well on the countertop and slid it toward Leek. The man spun it to face him and ran his fingers over the binding.
“I need a loan,” Taro said simply.
“And you want to use this book as collateral?” Leek mumbled to himself, as he looked over the book in greater detail. “It has some value,” he said, after a pause. “Is it stolen?”
