“Let’s get moving,” Delmin said. “Don’t want to keep anyone waiting.”
They were greeted by a low whistle when they exited the building.
Jiarna Kay stood just outside the entrance to Almers, decked out in her own dress uniform. She looked nowhere close to silly. In fact, the uniform seemed to flatter her far more than the standard uniform, and she was already a fairly comely girl in that.
“Very nice, boys. I am impressed.”
“Our valets did a fine job primping us up,” Veranix said.
“My compliments indeed.” She gave a quick twirl in her skirt. Unlike the typical girls’ uniforms, this went all the way to her ankles and was restrictive enough not to rise significantly when she spun. “I wasn’t displeased by the work mine did either.”
“They paint your face?” Delmin asked bluntly.
“They did,” she remarked. It was subtle, but her cheeks were flushed and her eyes lined. Not as heavy as Bluejay’s eyelining, but certainly noticeable. She flashed a smile at Veranix. “How is it?”
“It’s fine,” Veranix growled. “By the way, Delmin knows everything about me, so I’m not going to pretend to like you as we walk over.”
She crooked her arm into his. “I don’t need you to like me, dear hero. I just need you to get me in the door.”
“This smart, cap?” Tooser was asking.
“I doubt it,” Colin told him. Hiding two knives in his boots, he went on. “But the preacher set the rules. One person each. I’m the captain, I take the risks. Besides, we need to thicken our grease or the bosses will ask questions. So the rest of you better be busy.”
“You want us on the gates?”
“Work ’em smart and clean. Pair off. You and Theanne, Jutie and Deena. At least half the Uni brats are done with their exams and they are going to want to stoke their fires tonight. That’s coin we can’t pass up.”
“No argument, cap,” Tooser said, grabbing a hat off the back-room shelf to cover his scarred head. Tooser never talked about what had happened to his head, and Colin never asked, but he had known Toos since they were both thirteen, and he had always had the scars. And no hair. Wearing a hat made him look less frightening, but he only bothered when he worked the gates. “Just wish you were being safer.”
“I’ll be fine, Toos,” Colin said. “But I need you to keep things smooth out there for me.”
“So let me ask you, who’s your right hand right now? Is it me? Or Deena?”
Colin stopped. “A man has two hands, Toos.”
“That ain’t an answer.”
“You haven’t made a rattle over this for the past month.”
“Yeah, well, respect to Hetz. It was just the three of us, so it didn’t matter. But now you bring in two birds—”
“I was told to take them—”
“I got no guff with that, cap! Theanne’s a good kid, and Deena’s sharp as any blade I’ve held.”
“She is, and she was Dennick’s right hand in his crew. You know as well as I that girl should probably have stars on her arm.” Colin was real glad it was only the two of them in the flop right now.
“And not me? My ink is as old as yours.”
That was a surprise. “You want your stars? You ready to run your own crew without me?”
“I think I could.” Tooser shrugged.
“I tell you plain, Toos. If the bosses ask me who should get them, you’re who I’m gonna say. But they don’t ask me.”
“But for Deena . . .”
“I ain’t said anything about either of you yet, and you know why? Because I’ve been hip deep in sewage from the Rabbits and bosses and who even knows what else. Let things cool, hear?”
“Heard,” Tooser said.
Pounding on the door. The sort of pounding that means the person there was sent.
“Who’s at it?”
“Bosses want you, Colin!”
“And what’s the word?”
“The word is rutting come!”
That was word enough, and Colin knew the voice was one of the bosses’ private heavies. “Hopefully this is nothing,” he told Tooser. “Run it smooth and clean, hear?”
“Heard.” Tooser sounded scared. “Be safe.”
Colin gave Tooser a wink as he threw open the latch. “Always am.”
High Table was held in Shalinar Hall, the central building in the hub of faculty apartments, near the western wall of campus. This part of campus wasn’t off-limits to students, but there was an unwritten code that one shouldn’t come over here without a specific request from a faculty member. Most of the professors lived within this cluster of buildings, with the exception of those who held Chairships that included residences. Professor Alimen, holding the Egracian Chair of Magical Studies, lived in Bolingwood Tower near the southeast corner of campus, far from the rest of the faculty.
Veranix always wondered if that distance was intentional segregation of the head magic professor, and who was the one who decided to do that.
Shalinar Hall was one of the oldest buildings on campus, and like most of the faculty-centered buildings, it was very well maintained. The stonework still gleamed white, hardly a crack or chip in the mortar. The high double doors shone, freshly oiled and still smelling of cedar and citrus.
The two cadets at the doors were dressed in military regalia from nearly a century back, which matched the era and style of the dress uniforms Veranix and Delmin were wearing. The main difference in theirs were the wide leather belts where their swords hung, cinched so tight they could be tourniquets. No wonder these boys were standing at full attention; they probably couldn’t slouch if they wanted to.
“Approach if you have invitation,” one of the cadets shouted as they came up the wide stone steps.
“We do,” Veranix said.
“Then identify yourself!” shouted the other. Both the cadets faced straight ahead, not even looking to the side to properly see Veranix and the others.
“Veranix.”
“Oh, saints, do it right,” Jiarna said. “There’s a sense of ritual to all of this.”
“Clearly,” Veranix muttered. So he’d do it properly. Matching the cadets in tone and volume, he said, “Veranix Calbert, Third-Year Student in Magical Studies, in attendance by express invitation of Gollic Alimen, High Professor in Magical Studies and holder of the Egracian Chair. I bring in escortment Miss Jiarna Kay, Fourth-Year Student in Natural Sciences.”
“Well done,” Jiarna said under her breath.
“Um, Delmin Sarren,” Del said. “Third-Year in Magical Studies, under express invitation of Professor Alimen. No escortment.”
The first cadet pulled a cord, ringing a bell that signaled someone inside to open the wide doors. As they slowly moved, the cadet spoke. “Mister Calbert, with escorted Miss Kay. Mister Sarren, without escortment. Your invitations are recognized, and you may proceed to the hall of the High Service.”
They entered the hall, lit with scores of candle-filled chandeliers, following a carpeting path to the dining hall.
“Where did you get that speech?” Jiarna asked.
“You wanted ritual and pageantry? Born and raised in a circus. I may not know all the rules of dining in High Service, but if there’s one thing I can give you, it’s showmanship.”
“Good on that,” Delmin said. “Speaking of rules on the dining, I’ve got some experience. So follow my lead there.”
“Will do,” Veranix said. They approached the outer hall, where several professors and a few students were milling about, presumably waiting for the moment to enter the dining hall and take their seats. Veranix wondered what would be done to indicate the proper moment.
Among the prospective diners, one person stood out above all others, mostly because she was the only one not wearing a student’s dress uniform or professorial robes. Instead she
wore a brocade dress of yellow and purple, which looked like it had been made for a baroness. Her black hair had been styled into a cascade of curls down one side to rest on a bare shoulder of sienna skin.
Kaiana was a vision of grandeur and elegance.
And she was standing with her hand on the crooked elbow of the young man escorting her: Phadre Golmin.
“Well,” Delmin said under his breath. “That’s showmanship.”
One of the bosses’ goons—a near seven-foot mountain by the name of Hucks—half shoved Colin all the way to the offices under the Turnabout.
“Somebody mad at me, Hucks?” Colin asked once the meathooks the man called hands grabbed him a time too many.
Hucks shrugged. “They sent me to get you. That usually only happens when they don’t expect the bloke to come easily.”
“Fine, fine,” Colin said. “But I’m coming, and unless someone actually told you to smack me around, I’d prefer if you stopped.”
Hucks thought about it for a moment. “Fair enough. It was more habit than instruction.”
“I respect that.”
“Then we’ll give each other respect.” Hucks placed a hand on Colin’s shoulder as they finished their walk to the offices. Not rough, but certainly sending a message.
They were waved through the first door with little more than a nod from Hucks. Colin was led to the table room, usually populated by the minor bosses wasting time with card games. None of them were there. Hucks knocked on the next door. Gently, with respect. After a moment, the door opened, and a whole passel of bosses filed out: Giles, Nints, Hotchins, Frenty, and Bottin. They all gave Colin a regard that sent a chill up his spine and took seats at the table.
Hucks held open the door and waved Colin to go through, into Old Casey’s office.
Casey wasn’t the true head of the Princes, but he was the most in charge that a captain like Colin ever saw. Somewhere on Rose Street was a house called the Palace, though almost no one knew which one it was, where Vessrin lived. The King of Rose Street, he called himself.
Colin hadn’t seen Vessrin since he was nine. The man had come to give respects to Colin’s father on his deathbed. It was the least the man could do. Way back in the day, Colin’s father, Veranix’s father, and Vessrin had been a tight crew. Before everything went to blazes.
Really, Colin and every other Prince had it only on rumor and Old Casey’s word that Vessrin was actually still alive and running things.
Until right now. The old man himself sat behind Casey’s desk, Casey standing off to the side like a flunky in his own office.
Seeing Vessrin alive and relatively healthy—he certainly seemed like he could still throw a scrap or two despite his thinning white hair—wasn’t the biggest shock. That was reserved for the item lying on the desk, Vessrin’s hand casually resting on it.
Veranix’s bow.
Chapter 11
CONTRARY TO VERANIX’S EXPECTATIONS, there was not just one table to sit at, but four long tables. One of them was up on a stage—the literal High Table—while the other three completed a square on the floor below. Several table footmen, dressed in old-styled regalia, were at attention inside the square. Veranix wondered where these footmen came from. Were these also students in the School of Protocol, or staff of the University? The High Table was only a weekly event, so what did they do the rest of the time?
They were gently guided to their places on the far side of the square. Veranix was seated between Jiarna and Delmin, with Phadre and Kaiana on the other side of Jiarna. With two people in between, it would be nearly impossible to have any sort of private word with Kai, unless he simply ignored protocol and got up to speak to her. His first attempt to do that was met with a scowl from more than one of the valets, so he let it go and sat back down.
Jiarna, on the other hand, had no such compunction about talking over Phadre.
“You are not a student,” she said bluntly. “So where did you come from?”
Veranix couldn’t make out exactly what Kaiana said, but it sounded like she responded with good humor. She was smiling at Phadre and Jiarna, that much was certain.
Delmin, on the other hand, was already talking in Veranix’s ear. “Do not be freaked out by all the utensils on the table. Each one has a function.”
Veranix actually took a look at his place setting. There were three plates—fine porcelain—stacked on top of each other, and a series of forks, knives, spoons, and other devices bordering the plates on three sides. There was a card on the plate, with Veranix’s full name written in rich calligraphy, and it was about the only thing he fully understood. Several blank cards were also stacked in a small receptacle at the right side of the place setting.
A small bell on the High Table was rung by an old professor—or perhaps this was someone higher on the academic hierarchy. The various ranks above professor and chair danced around his skull: Deans and provosts, and above them the board of vice headmasters, and finally the headmaster. If Veranix had any clue what the heraldry of the various stoles and colors and badges on the man’s robes meant, he could figure it out.
“Who’s that?” he asked Delmin.
“Vice Headmaster Ballford,” Jiarna answered him. “You really don’t know that?”
“I don’t have the administration memorized,” Veranix said. Until this moment, he didn’t think he had even seen any of the vice headmasters before. Up at the High Table he only recognized a few of the faculty. Alimen, of course, at the end of the table, plus a few other professors he had had over the years, including his history professor, Besker, near the other end.
“This is who I need you to know,” Jiarna said directly. She was now in mercenary mode. She pointed to the female professor two seats over from Besker. “That’s Professor Nontiss. Natural Philosophy. Next to her is Professor Hester.”
“Astronomy,” Veranix said. “I have a friend who is going on summer study with him,” he added upon her questioning look.
“Good for your friend,” she said woodenly. “Here’s how this works, since you’ve never done this before—”
“You have?” Veranix asked.
“Of course,” Jiarna said, giving him a bit of a sneer. He had a feeling this whole event was going to be excruciating.
Three seats over, Kaiana laughed at something Phadre told her. Veranix’s gaze darted over to her, prompting Jiarna to grab his chin and force his focus back to her.
“There will be ten courses served. First the Morsel, then the Mussel, then the Curd.”
“What does that even mean?” Veranix asked.
“It doesn’t matter right now. The point is, after those three, there is the First Engagement.”
“And that matters why?”
“It matters because the professors up there”—she indicated the table—“will come down here and engage with the invited students and their escortment. Three Engagements total. That means you have the opportunity to give me an audience with Nontiss, Hester, and your beloved Alimen. An audience which they, as a matter of tradition, will stay in until Engagement is finished. They cannot ignore me here.”
Veranix took a moment. “You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?”
“Explicitly.” A server came and poured small amounts of wine in each glass. Jiarna picked up her glass and took a sip. “Now, that means you need to put in your request for audience, and quickly, please. Those blank cards. You will find that case there is equipped with pen and ink. There, next to the salt box.” She simply nodded her head in the direction of the ornate box to Veranix’s left.
Another peal of laughter from both Kaiana and Phadre.
“So Morsel, Mussel, and Curd?” Veranix said, desperate to latch on to some element of this experience that was concrete, that he could relish. Food. Meal courses. That was something he could handle.
Delmin interjected. “The Mors
el is a small but elaborate dish, which can be eaten in just two or three bites. The tiny fork all the way to your left is for that. Mussel is usually, but not always, some form of small shellfish, most likely Maradaine River mussels. That tool above your plate.”
“That’s enough for now, Del,” Veranix said.
“Pen and ink.” Jiarna almost sang the words out. “I would actually like to speak to Hester in the First Engagement. I think he would be most open to the possibilities I’m suggesting.”
“What possibilities would that be?” Phadre asked, leaning over to look at the two of them. “What even are your disciplines, Miss Kay? Especially that would be of interest to Professor Hester?”
“I really don’t think it’s worth explaining my work to you,” Jiarna said.
“You’d be surprised,” Veranix mumbled.
Phadre shrugged. “Well, I did some consulting with Hester, and he’ll be sitting in on my defense.”
“Why the blazes is he sitting in on your defense?”
“Well, I will be discussing lunar and planetary positions and their influence on numina.”
Jiarna quickly turned to Veranix. “Hester, Nontiss, Alimen. Be on it.” Then she turned back to Phadre. “I presume you’ve some way to demonstrate numinic flow to professors who aren’t magically gifted.”
“I’ve devised several instruments for exactly that purpose,” Phadre said. “Veranix and Delmin there have been helping me calibrate them.”
“Of course, you would have magical helpers to calibrate instruments, you would get whatever you wanted. I suppose you even have samples of napranium to be sensitive elements of your instruments.”
“Napranium, like I could even get my hands on that. I had to use crystals of varying sensitivity and align them perfectly in each device.”
“Crystals?” she asked. “I didn’t even think of that. I had been concentrating my efforts on aqueous solutions of dalmatium and thalinium salts.”
The Alchemy of Chaos: A Novel of Maradaine (Maradaine Novels) Page 14
