“They broke the Arclight, a year ago. At least, that’s what people say.” She plucked a key from a slot marked 12B. “It’s good for business down here in Lower, not so much for everyone else. Bedrooms are one noble a night.”
Taro set a crown on the counter, enough to cover the first ten days. The bell hanging over the door chimed again, and Aris entered with Nima.
“You still here?” Aris looked at the reception girl, then back at Taro. He motioned his hands toward the stairs, like a museum guide showing off a display. “I hate to interrupt, but we’ve got some preparing to do. I’m sure you two can get acquainted later.”
Taro thanked the girl and followed Aris and Nima up the stairs. “Could you try to be a bit more subtle?” he whispered.
“Oh, did I interfere with your flirting? I’m so sorry. I’m just trying to keep you from getting killed, but by all means, ladies come first.”
Nima grinned at Taro. “To be fair, she was pretty.”
“She’s going through admissions,” Taro said defensively. “We’ll need friends for our trial.”
“Friends. Sure. This way, lady-killer,” Aris said.
“We’re going to study?” Nima asked.
“If by study you mean find a way to cheat and bullshit your way through, then yes.”
Room 12B was the furthest door on the top floor. The key was hardly necessary, as Taro could’ve broken the wobbly handle off without much effort. The room was tiny, and the bed alone took up half of the floor space. Its single window overlooked the Lower City. It was strange having a window that he couldn’t see the sky from; however, he could see that the underground went on for miles.
Aris set his pack against the wall and sat cross-legged on the floor. He carefully removed a glass cartridge from his coat and ushered Taro to hand him his inscriber. He wedged his finger in a groove and the handle popped open. He placed the vial inside and wrote a single word onto a floorboard. The end of the inscriber glowed red as it seared the letters into the wood.
Aris blew on the ink and looked over his penmanship. “I don’t have much use for my old inscriber, so I don’t mind you having it. It’s top-of-the-line.”
“Is that a rune?” Taro asked.
Aris nodded. “Basic magistry.”
Taro sat on the bed, and it almost caved in under his minor weight. “What exactly is magistry?”
“There are three types of magic. Alchemy, you should be familiar with. Potions and such, ink-making too. Templary is more complicated, but is essentially magic formed from pure willpower. Magistry is templary made solid; it’s used to modify physical objects to do things they normally couldn’t do. For example, there are runes to decrease the weight of an object; this is essential in airship design. Or the runes on your leg.”
“Mathan had a set of parchments. Whatever you wrote on one was mimicked on the other.”
“That would fall under magistry as well. The possibilities are endless, but it’s not a zero-sum gain. There are subtle rules, and failure to follow them can be disastrous.”
“The notes Miss Craiven gave us say we’ll be evaluated tomorrow,” Taro said. “Are they going to test our knowledge of magic?”
Aris shrugged. “Probably.”
“Probably?” Nima said. “Don’t you know? Aren’t you a magister?”
Aris tapped his temple. “Burned memory.”
Nima raised her voice. “But you remember where Endra Edûn is, you remember what magistry is, you—”
“If I could explain it, I would,” Aris said testily.
“So, you’re basically useless,” Taro said. “Couldn’t you have told us that earlier?”
“Depends on what you mean by useless. I have an idea that might give you two a leg up.”
“What kind of idea?”
They planned the next day well into the night. It was two in the morning when Aris finally left. Nima took the tiny bed (which was missing sheets and pillows) and Taro took the floor.
Again, sleep wasn’t forthcoming.
The tiny room had no bath of its own, so Taro reasoned that there must’ve been a communal washroom somewhere. He went to the front desk, but the girl from before was gone and replaced by an older, grizzled man with a thick beard and two silver earrings on one ear. He was sleeping, facedown, beside a half-empty bottle of Celosan whiskey. On the wall by the room keys was one marked Bath, which Taro took.
“That’ll cost you a penny,” a soft voice called from behind him. It was the girl from before.
“I have to pay to take a bath?” Taro said.
“I think it would be a worthy investment,” she said.
It took a split second for Taro to realize he was being insulted. “I’ve been on the road for days.” The girl stifled a laugh, and Taro trailed off. He reached into his pocket and placed an iron penny on the desk. “Fair enough.”
“And another to rent soap and a towel.”
Taro waited to see if she was joking, and when her expression didn’t change, he placed another coin on the desk. “Well, umm...”
“Suri.”
“Suri. Any other expenses I should know about? Is there a fee to use the toilet?”
“Don’t give my dad any ideas.” She nudged toward the sleeping drunk.
“Did you finish your book?”
“I’ve read it, cover to cover, three times already.” She hushed her voice and waved Taro toward the front door.
The air outside was cool, but occasional rushes of warm air blew in. Taro and Suri sat on the creaking stoop. Most of the shops and merchant carts had closed for the night.
Suri handed him the book from before. It was filled with magistry symbols that Taro couldn’t begin to understand, and half the words weren’t even in Amínnic.
“Do you think it will impress the Imperator?” Suri asked.
Taro hesitated. “It impresses me.”
“Gravidic magistry is advanced stuff. If I succeed in demonstrating it, I’ll be guaranteed a spot. If I fail...well, I may never get another chance. This’ll be my third try at term one.”
“You’ve tried twice before? Is that normal?” He quickly realized how insulting he sounded, but if she was offended, she didn’t show it.
“Plenty can make it through admissions, but only a handful can get through the trial. They’re brutal, almost cruel.” She stretched her arms. “I’m going to bed. You should too, once you get cleaned up. The Magisterium doors open at oh eight hundred.”
“Hey, wait,” Taro said as she stood in the doorway. “There were no sheets or pillows on my bed.”
“Oh, you have to pick them up from the front desk.”
Taro sighed. “Let me guess. They’re gonna cost me.”
Suri grinned impishly. “You catch on fast.”
Chapter Six
The Girl in the Iron Shackles
The morning sun didn’t do much for the cold. In the upper city, wind swept up snow and lashed Taro’s face as he and Nima stepped out of the wagon and onto the paved courtyard.
“Stick to the plan,” Aris said, before riding off.
Before them was the circle of runes carved into the pavement. Recruits passed over it, and when they did, there was a momentary flash as though they’d hit something intangible. When Taro passed through it, the aurom in his pocket became hot.
They followed the crowds of recruits through the massive stone double doors. The older recruits had their luggage and textbooks floating a few feet off the ground and were casually talking to friends.
“What do you think?” a boy, with scrolls tucked under each arm, said.
“Pitiful bunch by the looks of it. Ven’s opening a betting pool on the first ones to crack.”
The foyer was packed with more recruits; most were between Nima’s and Taro’s age, but some were well into their thirties.
Near the entrance was a boy, hugging his parents. Both were in full magister garb: dark blue robes covered in straps and silver buckles. Over the robes were thin plates of
steel on their shoulders, sides, and forearms.
“No matter what happens, we’re proud of you,” the boy’s mother said.
The boy’s father rubbed his hand into the boy’s hair. “Try not to blow anything up this year, Ven.”
“That wasn’t my fault,” Ven said indignantly.
“Excuse me,” Taro squeaked.
“Yes?” the mother said.
“We were wondering where to go from here.”
The woman had a bright, warm smile. She reminded Taro of his own mother. “It’s no bother. Ven, be a gem and show them to the registrar.”
Taro and Nima introduced themselves and followed Ven into the Magisterium. It was like stepping into a giant clock. Gears clicked and twirled in the walls and ceiling, while heat and steam bellowed out from grates in the floor. Much of the structure seemed tacked on to the original; most noticeable were metal walkways bolted to the sides of the stone walls. Overhead, thousands of tools and books flew in zig-zagging lines.
“Don’t worry, they’ll never hit you,” Ven said, hopping over a missing floor plate. “It’s the tower mechanisms you’ve gotta watch for. Not from around here?”
Taro’s prosthetic got momentarily caught in one of the gears, and he tugged it free. “That obvious?”
“A bit. At least you got through the Midway just fine.” He answered Taro’s next question before he could ask it. “That’s the barrier around the tower, keeps civilians out.
“From the get-go, the biggest problem you’re going to have isn’t the lessons, it’s navigating this place. Doors like to disappear, hallways shift and turn.”
They stopped at a desk so tall, Taro could barely see over the top. A portly, balding man with a hooked nose stared back.
Ven sat his inscriber and iron aurom on the desk. The man looked over them and scratched a name off his list. “Ven, your tuition has been paid in full.”
Taro’s ears perked. He looked at Nima; Nima looked at him. “Tuition?”
“For two recruits, it’ll be fifty crowns sterling,” he said.
“Six more than last year,” Ven said. “It’s robbery.”
Taro felt a stabbing fear run through him. It might as well have been a million.
“But—” Taro began.
“Take it up with the Imperator, if you have a problem,” the registrar said, waving them off.
Taro checked his pockets and picked through the eighteen crowns and change. Normally, it would feel like a fortune.
“Could we talk, alone?” Taro asked Ven.
Ven gave them some space. Taro and Nima set their auroms and inscribers on the desk.
“Do we have to pay the tuition right now?” Taro asked.
The registrar scratched their names out on his ledger and handed them two sealed envelopes. “No, but you won’t be able to start the term until you do.”
The registrar ushered the recruit forward. It was Sikes, looking incredibly smug. He sat his inscriber and wooden aurom on the desk, and when the registrar mentioned tuition, Sikes handed him a furled-up piece of vellum with a thick wax seal.
Taro pulled Sikes aside. “What is that?”
“None of your business.”
Taro plucked it from his hands.
NOTE OF MARQUE AND CREDIT
FIRST MONARCH TRUST
IMPERATOR, REGISTRAR, ET AL
HEREWITH the bearer of this note is authorized to draw upon the coffers of VICTOR J. MATHAN, undersigned, for their debt to HIS MAJESTY’S MAGISTERIUM in perpetuity until their expulsion or matriculation.
V. Mathan, Holder
S. Laren, Chequer
Sikes snatched the letter back. “It’s a promissory note from Mathan, to cover my tuition.”
“Where’s ours?” Nima said.
“There was only one, and it was for me.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Nima said.
Sikes started for the hall. “Believe what you want.”
Taro and Nima caught back up with Ven, who didn’t seem to notice how flustered they were.
“You two can keep a secret, right?” Ven asked.
They nodded.
“I overheard my parents talking yesterday. Supposedly, there’s a super-secret meeting they’re attending before heading back to Tyrithia. Want to come with?”
Taro’s first instinct was to say no. They’d only just arrived, and getting into trouble on his first day probably wouldn’t go over well. However, Nima answered for him.
“Lead the way,” she said.
Ven motioned them along. “Stay close. See, the odd-numbered floors change clockwise, every hour, and the even-numbered floors have a windmill pattern that changes, depending on the season, and...”
Ven kept talking the entire way. Most of it sounded like nonsense, but he did seem to know the layout perfectly. The walkways pivoted, the floors moved, and gigantic gears grinded in every corridor. The primary source of light were thousands of glass orbs hanging from the ceiling by chains. They were various sizes, but none much larger than an arm’s length around.
Their destination was a narrow corridor with a door at the end. A black-haired boy was scratching at a handle with his inscriber.
“Taro, Nima, meet Pipes,” Ven said.
Pipes gave them a quick nod and went back to scratching at the door. “They upgraded the locks. I’ve tried every dispel I know.”
Taro looked over the knob. In a circle around it were glowing magistry symbols carved into the wood.
Taro pulled a thin metal pick out of his pocket. “Let’s try the old-fashioned way.” He stuck the pick into the keyhole and rattled it around the tumblers until the door creaked open.
Ven slapped him on the shoulder. “I think you and I are going to get along.”
On the other side of the door was a maintenance shaft. The shaft got smaller the further they went, until they had to crawl. At the end was a dusty hatch that opened into a sheer forty-foot drop to a marble floor.
The room below was an octagon, with seating on five sides and a throne opposite them. The floor was decorated with red and yellow spirals that looked like rays of the sun.
The throne was empty, but at the base of the dais was a smaller seat. On it sat a female magister with bifocals and furious eyes. Taro could actually feel her gaze dart around the room like a searchlight.
Despite the dozens of magisters inside, there was complete silence as the woman scribbled onto a length of parchment.
“Who’s she?” Nima whispered.
“Magister Ross,” Ven said. “Charming lady. Not sure why she’s in Briggs’ chair.”
The door on the end opened and four warders entered, dragging a blonde Helian girl by her shoulders. She was covered, head to toe, in chains and shackles, and an iron mask was bolted around her face.
Magister Ross set her pen down and cleared her throat. “Vexis stands accused of the murder of Magister Briggs.”
Murmurs erupted from the room. “Impossible,” an elderly magister said.
“An artificer kill a magister? It’s absurd,” another said.
A single hand gesture from Ross quieted them. “Vexis isn’t what she appears to be.”
Taro had heard the name Vexis before. Mathan and Halric mentioned her, but who was she?
Vexis struggled in her chains, and tears streamed down her eyes. She keeled forward and sobbed.
“Stand her up,” Ross said.
While the warders did so, the door beside the throne opened and a white-haired man in blue and gold robes entered. He was older, perhaps in his late sixties, but moved like a younger man.
“That’s the Sun King,” Ven whispered.
The Sun King was an imposing figure, tall and sharp-eyed. He was the absolute ruler of Endra, Ashwick included, but it was well-known that the Magisterium had more practical power. You’d never know that from the way the magisters reacted to his presence, though. Their backs straightened, and the chattering amongst them stopped altogether.
The
Sun King looked Vexis over. “Remove her mask.”
“Your Majesty, for your safety, you should allow us to handle this,” Ross said, in much the same tone that one speaks to a child.
“Please, do as I command.”
The warders unscrewed the sides of the iron mask, and it fell to the floor with a clank. Vexis’ face was red and soaked with tears.
“Your Majesty,” she cried. “I’m innocent!”
The Sun King rapped his fingers on his armrest. “What were you doing to the Arclight?”
“I wasn’t doing anything,” Vexis said.
Ross handed the Sun King a piece of parchment. “Miss Vexis is a practiced liar. Her credentials were false. Her letter of recommendation, forged. Her sponsor doesn’t even exist.”
The Sun King stepped down from his throne and started toward Vexis. Every magister stood at once, to try to stop him, but he waved them off. “Magister Briggs was a dear friend of mine, and an exceedingly gentle man.”
Vexis stopped crying. She now looked more annoyed than anything. She feigned like she was trying to remember something. “So, eh, was he the fat one or the crippled one? Or the fat, crippled one? Y’know, it was just so much fun, watching them hobble toward their body parts, I didn’t think to ask for names.”
The Sun King took a deep breath. “You think this is funny?”
“I think it’s hilarious. The greatest minds in Endra, all the magic in the world, and you can’t see what’s right in front of your face. You’re all going to die.” A devious grin passed her lips. “You want to know why I was up there? Come closer, it’s super-secret.”
The Sun King leaned in and Vexis whispered something in his ear. Whatever she said made the Sun King recoil in horror. As he did, Vexis spat in his face.
Vexis struggled as the warders tried to clamp the mask back onto her. “Come on, Your Majesty, it was just a question. I’m sure your whore wife wouldn’t mind. Oh, wait, she’s dead, isn’t she?”
The Sun King wiped the spit off with his sleeve. “Get that thing out of here.”
Chapter Seven
The Council of Magisters
The Reach Between Worlds Page 5
