Fearsome Dreamer (18 page)

‘Not much,' she said at last. ‘They used to tell us at school that a lot of it was just wastelands, and they were all a bit backwards in other countries.'

‘It's not
quite
like that,' said Frith. ‘Their way of life is simply very different to ours.'

‘Our history teacher's said some things.'

‘Such as.'

‘He said that everything I'd learned was wrong. That Angle Tar is some small country that no one cares about.'

‘It's not quite like that, either. But you must understand, Rue, that you will never get the truth as you want it about this. Everyone has their own idea of the world and how they want to see it. Your history teacher tells you how he sees it. I tell you how I see it. Both are true. You will decide how
you
see it. Facts can be wrong, and one person's opinion influences everything.'

‘That's complicated and annoying.'

‘Such is life. So. Tell me what you think of the world as you have seen it so far.'

‘In my dreams?'

‘If you wish.'

‘Grey … and waiting, like the skeleton of a place instead of a real place. And people fall down. Something attacks them all together and they all fall down.'

‘What?'

Rue stopped, feeling suddenly foolish and a little scared.

‘Please, go on,' said Frith, seeming only interested.

‘They … They have something I don't, and when they get attacked they fall. I don't fall. I watch them fall around me. And there's nothing there. Everything is grey. I feel like they're there with me but somewhere else at the same time, as if they can see things that I can't.'

‘Yes … that's quite accurate,' said Frith after a pause. ‘How interesting that you see it that way. You'll learn about that place, and others too, soon enough.'

Rue shifted nervously.

Frith smiled. ‘You'd best just ask me,' he said. ‘Never be afraid of asking questions, even if you don't get your answer straight away.'

Rue played with a fingernail.

‘Why do they tell everyone there's nothing much outside, then?' she said at last. ‘If there is?'

It's not nice to be lied to, was what she wanted to say out loud with a cold edge to her voice; but she didn't dare, not to Frith.

‘Have you learned about the Territorial Wars in your history classes yet?'

‘No. I mean, I think we talked about them one time when I was younger, but I stopped school young, see. Because of the prenticeship.'

Frith spread a hand. ‘When you learn of the Wars, you'll understand why.'

‘I spose it's why it's illegal to travel outside Angle Tar, and all. I always got told that it's because it's really dangerous.'

‘It is,' said Frith. ‘The world is a dangerous place. And the beauty of you, and the others like you, is that you'll never have to leave Angle Tar to see it. You can make your mind travel thousands of miles from the safety of your own room. You can dream.'

Rue digested this.

But it was all so vague. Her dreams felt real when she had them. But were they? Was she living two lives instead of one? What did her dreams mean? Her Talent? What about those beautiful creature humans, with silver antlers and rainbow-coloured fur and neat, perfect bodies? She burned to know. She burned for secrets.

‘So,' said Frith. ‘As Mussyer White possesses likely the most knowledge on the Talent of anyone in Angle Tar, and his first impression of you was not, shall we agree, the best, try to consider this for your next lesson: he holds the keys to your potential. You cannot afford to lose him as a tutor if you wish to be all that you could be. Powerful, and special. Be a little more polite.'

‘I'm already special,' she said boldly, then flushed at it.

‘Yes, you are, my dear. But not powerful. Not yet.'

Rue smiled.

White couldn't remember the last time he had felt so apoplectic with rage. And all over a girl he didn't even know.

He was not an emotional being, displaying his insides for everyone to see and judge – he preferred to keep his secrets. He tolerated the behaviour his demeanour and his youth caused from other university staff because he knew, according to the standard social expectations here, that he deserved them.

When Frith had asked him to become a tutor, it had been his golden ticket. He could stay. More than that, his stay had been made more official. And more than that, he had been given a purpose. A direction.

It hadn't been without some uproar. He was to be the first ever foreigner to teach at Capital University. Not only that, but some of the more creakingly old staff had protested at how young he was. It was a farce, they said. There had been a petition. Nasty things said, but only over brandy and cigarettes in the head tutors' studies. Nothing overt. Petty things said under petty breaths and all with a veneer of politeness. That was how things were done here.

Frith had handled it. It was to be expected, but not worried over, he said. And he had been right. White still wasn't sure exactly what Frith did, but whatever it was, it carried weight. The petition had gone away. The grumblings had stopped.

And White had hidden himself, curling his life up into a ball, pulling his radiance inwards, building cold and careful walls so that no one could notice him or find fault. He could eat in his rooms instead of having to go to the tutors' canteen, and he could turn down the mandatory invitations to the social balls and the dances and the whiskie and card nights. He went only to those he couldn't possibly get out of, and then only because when Frith asked him if he was going and he said no, he would do anything to avoid that raised brow that his answer got him. It didn't do to displease Frith. The man with the power, who could take all of this away from him in an instant.

They had had an uneasy relationship, to begin with. But over time it had grown into something of White being his subordinate, his charge and responsibility; and just maybe even something of his friend. He would visit White in the evenings, sometimes, ostensibly to hear him report on the progress of his students, but often just to drink, and to talk. He was the only person White spent any kind of time with, and only because at first he felt that he couldn't possibly refuse Frith's visits. And then because it was tiring, deliberately being lonely all the time. Sometimes it was good to have someone, anyone to talk to.

He had made his peace with his life here. It wasn't perfect, but it was a life. It was fine. Everything had been fine, until that girl had walked in his door.

It had only taken her minutes, but she had done what he'd sworn no one would do again; make him show the world how vulnerable he really was, inspiring in him an emotion so profound, he had trouble stopping himself from visibly trembling when he thought about her.

That little country
nothing
.

She was supposed to have behaved as expected – raw, young, nervous. She was not an aristocrat – they were born knowing they were better than everyone else, and acted accordingly, Lufe being a case in point. Rural students were always timid and overwhelmed. Not this one. So she was Talented and therefore naturally a bit wild, but even taking that into account, he had expected a measure of respect.

When she had walked into the room, he felt that he had been right. She moved uncertainly, looking suitably awed, and there had certainly been nothing that struck him as out of the ordinary. True, there was something in her face that was immediately pretty and quite sweet, but all in all she was a country girl in over her head.

But when she opened her mouth; the bored, lazy insolence in her tone had shocked him, so much so that he hadn't reacted. When she looked at him, her eyes barely concealed a whole year's worth of contempt. For someone she didn't even know. He ran silently through all the cutting remarks he should have made, just to watch her face change.

But instead all he had managed to do, like a bratty little child, was order her from the room. He had ordered her out and out she had gone, as if nothing had happened. He had watched her leave incredulously, and it had not been until much later on that his shock had turned to rage.

There was a knock at his door.

‘Come in,' he said, pouring himself more Grenadon and diluting it with water. Everything just so on the platter, the water jug sparkling in the light, calmed him somewhat.

Frith eased his way around the door and shut it, making his way to the empty chair.

‘I presume you have heard about it,' said White. He tried for casual, but it came out mangled.

‘I heard a version of it. Would you care to tell me what happened?'

White took a sip of the Grenadon, giving himself a moment.

‘She was rude and ignorant,' he said eventually.

‘Aren't they all?'

‘No,' said White, ‘they are not. Because they understand the privilege of having a place here.'

‘Rubbish. Some of them are here because their father is well connected in government and Eldest Pride and Joy hasn't quite yet worked out exactly how he's going to waste his inheritance and his life.'

‘I talk about the poor ones,' said White with delicate emphasis.

‘The poor ones expect little in life and are therefore amazed when they get an opportunity such as this,' said Frith cheerfully. ‘Now, the Talented ones … that's a different story.'

‘Rudeness does not equate to Talent.'

‘No. But Talented are often rude. Or lacking in social graces, if you prefer.'

White was silent.

‘Let me put it this way,' said Frith. ‘What was it exactly about her manner that offended you?'

White tried to push his irritation aside, like a grown man should be able to do. He tried hard not to show the immaturity of the adolescent he worried was still inside him.

He thought about Rue. ‘She was arrogant. She should have been eager. She mocked me. What good is a tutor who allows his pupils to do that?'

Her face flashed in his mind. Her pretty eyes, narrowed at him.

‘Not much good at all,' Frith agreed. His face was utterly neutral.

Even White, who thought he now knew Frith more personally than he knew anyone else, had trouble a lot of the time working out how Frith felt at any given moment. He was reactionless to a casual observer, and it seemed like a natural thing, but White thought privately that it had probably taken a lot of practice for Frith to acquire that level of skill in thinking one thing and demonstrating another.

‘This conversation is theoretical, in any case.'

‘How do you mean?' said Frith.

‘I mean that I could not stop teaching her, if I even wanted to.'

‘There is always a choice,' said Frith. ‘In this case, you could continue to teach her, or tell me that she possesses no useful Talent, and so stop teaching her.'

And there it is, thought White. Said in the friendliest of plain ways. Teach who we tell you to teach. Tell us if we have mistakenly seen Talent where there is none. Stop teaching if we agree. Don't develop any free will. Or personal agenda.

‘You're currently the only one here who can teach them,' said Frith. ‘That's why we need you so much. But your situation means that you are more indebted to us than we are to you.'

‘I am aware of that. I am always aware of that.'

‘Very well,' said Frith. He unfolded himself from the chair. ‘I have dropped in on our impolite student and impressed upon her the importance of manners. But perhaps you could also try something.'

White waited.

‘Vela Rue is after the truth in any given situation. If you wish to gain her focus, tell her what you're really thinking.'

‘I do not understand.'

Frith leaned on the doorframe.

‘Instead of being silent or dismissive when something is not going well or she speaks out of turn, say what you are thinking out loud.'

‘But that,' said White, ‘is what you do when you are trying to anger a person.'

Frith smiled. ‘Try it.'

Rue pushed open the door, saw the same dimly lit view as before, and just managed to stop a short sigh escaping into the room beyond.

She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, and she grew annoyed at herself.

He was only a tutor.

‘Please come to the table at the end,' said the irritating voice that had been echoing in her head for the entire week.

Rue began to walk. This time around she gave the surroundings her most penetrating stare. It was so stark. Apart from her tutor's table and chairs, lamp and bookcases pushed in to the far end, there was nothing of anything much in the room at all.

‘Why is this room so empty?' she asked when she reached White. ‘Wouldn't it be better if you had a smaller room, if you only teach one student at a time?'

She was determined not to be embarrassed or angry by what had happened before, and tried to appear as she always did. She thought her voice sounded a little cooler than usual, but otherwise she had done all right.

White was sat in his chair, the lamp throwing stripes of shadow across his face. It was difficult to read his silence.

‘The nature of the Talent means that we require much space to work within,' he said eventually. ‘Please sit.'

Rue sat, folding her hands on her lap.

She realised he would think her rude, but she couldn't help staring at him. Everything about Mussyer White was unsettling. His face was the face of a marble statue. He avoided eye contact, but would occasionally favour her with a glance, and whenever it fell on her it was so intense that she felt as if he had actually touched her, not just looked at her; but the way he would touch a piece of furniture, not a living thing. His disinterest was what galled her the most.

He talked in his stilted fashion about what was expected of her, about what she would learn and how grateful she would be. Remembering what Frith had said, Rue tried to concentrate on the words, the keys this strange boy-man held to power.

He talked about hooks, about what he called ‘like-to-like' threading and resonance of place. A hook was a feeling that you created out of yourself, a thing that was inherently you. With it you reached out to another place and gripped yourself there, and then used it to find your way back to where you had started. Resonance of place meant that you would more often be able to find another place that was similar to the one you knew best, that felt like your childhood home, for example. Like-to-like threading meant that you could move yourself more easily between places that were similar. If you were sat in a room made of stone, you could find another room made of stone somewhere else, much more quickly than you could find a meadow, or a street.

Gradually she began to understand what the Talent was.

It was moving.

It was peeling apart all that stood between you and a thousand miles, and treating it as nothing more than smoke. It was easier, apparently, to move your mind across distances, which is why most Talented people dreamed of other places they had never been. It was much harder to move your entire self to another place, which was the thing that they were really looking for, and that hardly anyone could do.

His words were complicated and fascinating and Rue thrilled to hear him talk like that about something she possessed. But he spoke with a dryness, even a disdain she found bewildering. What he spoke of, to her, was nothing less than magic, yet he seemed to have little taste for it. Perhaps it was because he was jealous? Perhaps he couldn't actually do it himself, only teach it? That would certainly make her mad if she were in his position.

‘Now,' said White, ‘I would like you to tell me in detail about your dreams of the past week. We will be talking of these in every lesson, and so you may wish to become familiar with noting them down yourself to report them to me.'

Rue thought about it.

‘I had a dream about carrots,' she said at last. ‘I kept trying to eat them but more would come up on my plate. I started feeling sick.'

‘I think we can ignore that dream,' said White. ‘Carrots do not tell us much of interest.'

‘You said all my dreams. I don't know which ones are important.'

She waited to see how he would take this.

‘That is true,' he conceded eventually. ‘I ask you to tell me all of them because you would not know which is of importance. I apologise.'

Rue grinned, delighted. ‘I accept your apology.'

White shifted, looking uncomfortable. ‘Your dreams, if you please.'

‘I'm sorry about the carrots,' said Rue. ‘I said it to annoy you.'

‘I know,' said White. ‘Your dreams, if you please.'

Rue sighed.

As Vela Rue had opened his door, White took a breath and ran through the mechanics of his behaviour one last time.

It was a general assumption that those with Talent were all the same and therefore understood each other on some cult-like level unattainable to ordinary people. This attitude he knew too well, but it was simply not true. People were people, which included the Talented, and were as varied in temperament as any other set of individuals.

Frith was not in any way ignorant and couldn't be accused of lumping all Talented together in such a fashion, but even he had sometimes assumed that they would understand each other and band together.

That was, of course, before all the trouble with Wren.

That whole thing was a knife in his heart. A continual ache there to remind him of how unaccountably, humiliatingly stupid he had been. Frith had never gone into the specifics, but after the first week of searching for the boy had turned up nothing, he had stomped into White's room in a frighteningly foul mood one evening and told him flatly that Wren had defected to World.

It was easy to isolate himself after that. No more friends who could hurt. No more girls who could cause such trouble. No more disappointments and no more reasons for him to lose the precious gift of being allowed to stay.