Small Magics (39 page)

As soon as they were ashore, Thomas restored the purse of gold to George’s possession, then led his friends north and east, away from the city walls and towards the stone towers of the Academy.

The streets were filled with people, most moving quickly and not looking at one another. Some stood in the street and talked, ignoring the rush of bodies that dodged around them. A few wretched, scabrous individuals, some missing limbs, sat on corners or at the edge of the street, calling for alms. Men on horseback or driving carts cursed and shouted their way down the road, forcing those on foot to scatter to the sides or risk being run over. The streets narrowed and became more crowded as they went further. Buildings rose on all sides, blocking the view.

“Is it always like this?” Eileen asked.

“It’s worse on market days,” said Thomas, raising his voice to be heard above the crowd. “Today, it’s just those who live here. On market days, the population doubles.”

“Awful noisy,” George observed.

“Aye.”

“And dirty,” Eileen added.

“Aye.”

“And you love it, do you?”

Thomas grinned at George’s reproachful tone. “Aye, I do. Come on.”

He led George and Eileen forward and deep into the crush of people, slipping in and out of the moving bodies and down twisting side streets until he found the thoroughfare he wanted. George and Eileen’s heads were turning constantly back and forth, their eyes wide as they tried to catch all the sights and sounds. By the time they’d gone half a mile both wore stunned expressions, as if the noise and movement had hypnotized them. Thomas, remembering the day he had arrived, knew exactly how they were feeling.

They moved up the street, and Thomas began seeing familiar places. He pointed out the buildings he knew and was a bit embarrassed when he realized that the majority of them were taverns. The closer he got to the Academy though, the more he could expand on the list. Soon he was pointing out booksellers, clothiers, and bakeries. There was a theatre that was the favourite of the students, and a nearby hall where prize-fights were held and where he’d won his rapier. He told them which streets were safe to walk down at night and which weren’t. One side street, wider than the others, held the grand houses and spacious apartments of wealthy merchants that lacked the connections to buy similar dwellings within the city walls.

The street ended at the Academy’s gates. The wall that stretched off to both sides wasn’t greatly impressive in comparison to the walls of the city. The Academy wall was only twelve feet high and certainly no more than two feet thick. It was nothing that would keep out anyone determined to get in, but it was high enough to separate the Academy from the city that surrounded it. The wide, wooden gates stood open. Through them Thomas could see the clean lawns, neat paths, and well-manicured trees that surrounded the school’s buildings. A pair of young men dressed in the black livery of the scholars with steel helmets and long staves stood a casual and bored watch just outside the gates. Several students, robed in black, passed in and out while the three friends watched.

Thomas waved an arm, taking in the gates and the buildings beyond, “This is it. This is the Academy.”

“It’s huge,” said George, alternating peering through the gates and staring up to the buildings that rose above the wall. “It’s bigger than Elmvale.”

“Why are there guards?” Eileen asked.

“The Academy is owned directly by the crown, not by the city’s government. The wall reminds us that we are separate, and the guards are supposed to keep the king’s peace among the students.”

“Do they succeed?”

“Not often. But they do try.” Thomas smiled. “Actually, these days guard duty is punishment for students who break the Academy rules.”

“Are we going in?” George asked.

“Not yet,” said Thomas. “We’ll go to my apartment, first.”

“You have your own apartment?” Eileen’s eyebrows went up. “Isn’t that expensive?”

“It’s not just mine. There’s two others who stay there as well.”

“All in the same room?” George sounded appalled. “The poor folk in the village have it better.”

“That they do,” Thomas agreed. “But we’re not all in the same room. Come on, I’ll show you.”

He led them a little way down a street that ran parallel to the Academy wall, then turned up a short, narrow alley, ignoring the debris on the ground. A tall, thick gate stretched the width of the alley, attached to the edges of the buildings on either side. Thomas lifted the latch, opened it, and ushered his friends through.

On the other side of the gate, the alley opened wide into a shaded, cobblestone courtyard. The tall brick and wood walls of the two buildings that enclosed it not only blocked the sunlight, but also most of the city noise. They were four stories high, with balconies running the length of each building on every floor. A few were bare, but most were adorned with plants and wind chimes and furniture. Several lines of laundry were strung between the buildings, filled with black robes and white linen. There were young men out on many of the balconies, talking animatedly about classes or books or girls, or playing heated games of cards or chess. A small fountain with two short stone maidens in flowing robes pouring never-ending streams of water from jugs into the pool below stood in the centre of the courtyard. On one side of the fountain a dice game was keeping a half-dozen young men busy. On the other, two students were deep in discussion with a pair of young ladies who were giggling and obviously refusing to go to the young men’s rooms.

“This is it,” said Thomas, smiling at the chaos. The sense of relief it gave him was amazing. For the first time in weeks Thomas felt that he was somewhere that he belonged. “I’m home.”

From above, a voice called, “Thomas?!”

Chapter 18

Thomas looked up. A familiar and startled face was leaning out over the edge of one of the balconies. Even as Thomas wished that his name had not been called across the courtyard, the face and the body it attached to vanished into the building. “He’s back!” Thomas heard faintly. A moment later, the same young man and another rushed onto the balcony. Thomas grinned, waved at them, and led George and Eileen across the courtyard and up the outside stairs of the building.

“What in the name of the High Father are you doing here?” demanded the first of the young men as Thomas reached the balcony. He was a big man, almost as large as George, though somewhat heavier around the middle, with a shock of black hair that looked as if he’d just gotten out of bed. He was in breeches and a white shirt and barefoot. “You’re not supposed to be back for three months at least.”

“Change of plans,” said Thomas.

The big man narrowed his eyes. “Good or bad?”

“I’ll explain after we get the bags inside.”

“Which you won’t be doing until you introduce us,” said the second student. He was several years older than Thomas, and his clothes were both of better material and more finely cut than anyone else’s in the room. His pale blond hair was immaculately coiffed, his face and nose thin and long and marred with a scar that cut diagonally across them. He stepped in front of George and Eileen, the move simultaneously casual and elegant. “Well?”

Thomas sighed. “Can’t I put the luggage down, first?”

The blond man waved a finger at Thomas. “Manners before everything. Introductions, please.”

“Right,” Thomas dropped his bag directly on the toes of the elegant young man’s shiny boots. “George, Alex, these are my room-mates. Benjamin—” he pointed at the big student—“and Henry—” his finger moved to the elegant one. “Benjamin is studying Theology, Henry studies Law. Ben, Henry, these are George and Alex, friends of mine from home.”

“Welcome,” said Benjamin, extending an arm. Visiting, or joining the Academy?”

“Uh, a visit,” said Eileen, stepping forward to take the large man’s hand.

“And are you merchant’s sons like your friend here?” asked Henry.

“No,” said George, also shaking Benjamin’s hand. “Blacksmith.”

“Ah,” said Henry, nodding as if he’d had a guess confirmed. “Tradesman, then.”

“Lower your nose,” growled Benjamin. “Half of us are tradesmen.”

“And I hardly hold it against you at all,” assured Henry, grandly.

Benjamin sighed. “You’ll have to forgive Henry. He was raised to think of himself as our better and occasionally it goes to his head.”

“He’s the son of the Duke of Frostmire,” explained Thomas. “It gives him delusions of grandeur.”

“The youngest son,” corrected Henry, cheerfully, “and therefore worthy to receive an education, instead of land or money. Nice cut on your face, there, by the way,” he added. “Story behind it?”

“Aye.”

Henry scooped up Thomas’s bag with an easy motion and bowed a deep court bow. “Come in, come in. The prodigal student has returned, and this calls for a drink!”

A cheer rose from several nearby balconies, to which Henry called, “Not for you, peasants!” before turning and leading the others inside.

The apartment had a single, central living space, with four doors in the walls.

Three rooms and the back exit, Henry explained. The big room served as kitchen, dining room, meeting room, and occasional bedroom for those who were too drunk or tired to go home.

“And this,” said Thomas, leading them to one of the closed doors, “is mine.”

He stepped in and threw the shutters open, then turned back to his friends. Their expressions were carefully neutral. Thomas couldn’t blame them. The room truly wasn’t much to look at. The walls and ceiling, once white, were now yellow from smoke and blackened in places from candles burning. The sole window, just above the desk, was small and looked out over the roof. There were no curtains. The desk itself was old and splintery and had a piece of wood under one leg to keep it level. The stool before it was no better. The bed beside the desk was rumpled, the sheets unaired since Thomas had left. A shelf above it was overflowing with books, and more lay in stacks on the floor beside it. Everything was coated with a layer of dust.

“You like it here?” asked George as he took in the room.

“It’s a place to sleep,” Thomas said. “And to study.”

George looked dubious. “I suppose, it is.”

“I like it,” said Eileen, stepping in and taking a closer look at the books. “Are they all yours?”

“Aye.”

“Hey,” called Henry from the main room. “Put those bags down and get back here! We have drinking to do!”

Thomas took George and Eileen’s bags and tossed them on the bed before leading them back to the main room. Benjamin smiled and told them to grab a cushion and a place on the floor.

“It’s far more comfortable than the table,” he explained, “and much less distance to fall, once you pass out.”

Benjamin pulled a bottle of wine from one cupboard and Henry brought a loaf of bread and block of cheese from another. Cups were hastily rinsed from a pitcher of water, the excess liquid dumped off the balcony to the protests of those below. Soon all of them were seated on the floor, cushions against their backs, nibbling on the food.

“So, what we want to know,” said Henry, after polishing off half of his first drink, “is what you are doing here, what your friends are doing here, how you got your face cut, and did you bring back anything for us?”

“Hear, hear!” said Benjamin.

“All right,” Thomas agreed. “Do you want the short story or the long?”

“Short,” declared Henry. “If you tell the long story, we’ll be here until midnight.”

“Right,” said Thomas. “My father had me beaten, kicked out of the house, and charged with stealing his money, the bishop has put all three of us up on charges of witchcraft, my face was cut fighting his men, and I didn’t bring anything back for you. So, dinner on me?”

After a long silence that was thick enough to cut and serve, Henry spoke. “You’re buying dinner?”

Benjamin glared at him. “You’re wanted by the bishop?”

“And the magistrate,” said Thomas, enjoying the appalled look on Benjamin’s face.

“
Why?
”

Thomas shrugged. “You asked for the short version.”

Benjamin’s brow furrowed and his eyebrows came down. “Fine. You want to make a story out of it, we’ll listen. But you
are
buying dinner. And the longer the story, the better the dinner.”

“Make it as long as possible, then,” said Henry, starting to rise, “after we get to the
Broken Quill
.”

“Wait!” Eileen blurted. They all turned to look at her, and she blushed. “I mean, I don’t think we should talk about this in public.”

“Sh—” George stopped and corrected himself. “He’s right. Loud talk in a tavern gets around.”

“True,” said Henry, sitting down again. “Thomas, go out and fetch us supper.”

“Me?” Thomas protested. “I just got here.”

“You have the money,” said Henry. “Still, one of us can go with you, to help you carry.” He turned and looked meaningfully at Benjamin, who shook his head and started to rise.

“Subtle, Henry.” Benjamin extended a hand to George. “Come on. If we both go, we can probably manage a keg of ale between us.”

“We’re not getting a keg,” warned Thomas, getting to his feet.

“I’ll go, too,” Eileen said, also getting up. “I want to see more of the city.”

“And leave me here all alone?” asked Henry, mock-hurt in his voice.

“It’s not our fault you’re lazy,” said Thomas.

“You are a rude little burgher,” declared Henry, “and so to punish you, I will stay here and drink.”

“Fine,” Benjamin opened the back door of the apartment, revealing a dark hallway on the other side. “We’ll buy better and keep it for ourselves.”

He led them out the back door and down a dim hallway to an equally dim flight of narrow, worn stairs. What light there was came from above, shining in from an opening in the ceiling. It was a common design, Thomas explained, since landlords in the city refused to pay for more roof than absolutely necessary. The hole was too small to provide any real illumination and the stairs were steep and treacherous. Thomas and Benjamin took them with practiced ease. George and Eileen each slipped, barely catching themselves on the rail before falling headlong down the stairs.