by Cat Rambo
Sebastiano’s cheeks burned as Giralamo contemplated him. “The Beast required exercise and it was the fastest way of transporting valuable cargo to the College,” he managed in his defense.
“How many Dryad logs did they bring this time?”
“Ten.”
“Ten?! That will barely carry us through a white month.”
“If we were not powering so many of the aetheric lights around the College, it would cut that back substantially,” Sebastiano pointed out, not for the first time.
“We will need more logs,” Faustino declared. “Fortunately, the Southern Isles seem to have rich stores of them, at least according to Giralamo.”
Giralamo stared down a sun-reddened nose at Sebastiano. The study in which they sat was lined with leather-bound books. The weight of their knowledge pressed in at Sebastiano, each author sneering down his or her nose at someone who’d chosen to be a Merchant Mage rather than a pure, unalloyed Mage like the two men who sat with him.
Still, he took mean, petty pleasure in noting that the southern Mage’s collar was worn, that he’d spilled chal on his front this morning, and that the cut of Giralamo’s robe was at least a decade old and made from second-rate cloth to begin with. Another ten seasons and it might come back in style, but the fabric would remain cheap and shiny.
“Sebastiano is a Merchant Mage, which you may not have seen in your newer southern branch,” Faustino said. “Sebastiano combines his Merchant background with his knowledge of the College’s requirements in order to conduct financial matters on our behalf.”
The slightest sneer touched his tone. By reputation, Merchant Mages were Merchants who had tried and failed to become Master Mages. Given that few Merchants were drawn to magic in the first place, Sebastiano had found himself the only example of his kind. He knew that many Mages in the College felt that he should have gone back to Merchanting and not persisted in his studies.
“What Master Mage Faustino means, I believe,” he said, feeling the words stiff and informal and not at all the stinging rebuke that he longed to deliver, “is that I have a facility for seeing how a situation may be spun to yield coin for as many people as possible.”
Faustino snorted and the burn in Sebastiano’s face intensified. By now, he knew, even the tips of his ears would be red. He touched the purple and silver cockade, symbol of the Order of the Rune, that all three of them wore pinned on their lapels, then leaned forward and adjusted the wick on the desk lamp, trying ineffectively to keep the flame from flickering.
“Stop fiddling with that!” Faustino snapped. He gathered up the papers on the surface in front of him, a medley of tangerine-colored broadsides, white sheets covered with figures and reports, and a sheaf of the crude bark paper used in the South. Sebastiano tried to read one upside-down, but caught only a fragment, “As to the matter of the bill,” before it was shuffled away.
Trying to bring the shapes and sizes into some semblance of order, Faustino looked to the Southern Mage but continued to speak.
“Sebastiano has given an accurate account of the Beasts here and how we have best negotiated with the city to tend and feed them. But I like the reports of your Beast uprisings not at all,” he said. His eyebrows met like amorous caterpillars, combining to convey the depth of his concern. “How many islands have experienced them? Do you think they are coordinated in some way?”
“How would they get messages to each other?” the Southern Mage said, shrugging. The skin along his forearms and face was reddened and peeling, unlike the Winter pale that Faustino and Sebastiano both wore. “You act as though they possess Human intelligence.”
“Some do,” Sebastiano pointed out, undeterred by their side-by-side sneers, like a pair of peppershakers, both darker than his own admixtured skin. “A Dragon is acknowledged as the match of any Scholar … or so the textbooks say,” he added.
“Merchant Mage Sebastiano,” Faustino said to the Southern Mage in a condescending tone, stressing the first word of the title even harder this time, “has made a particular study of Beasts. His mother’s family has traded in them for decades.”
“A few kinds,” Sebastiano said, nodding in acknowledgement, “but I do not pretend to know all of their thought patterns.”
The Southern Mage laughed. “As though they had personalities, more so than a dog or plow ox!” He stood. Ignoring Sebastiano, he bowed to Mage Faustino before exiting.
Cheeks burning, Sebastiano focused on the nearest book. He was irritated to note it was one of the specially bound penny-wides that the well-pocketed preferred to the cheaper orange sheets, which left their readers with carboniferous, ink-smudged fingers. Another Bella Kanto extravaganza. What accounts for the public fascination with the Gladiator? he wondered. It irritated him to see the older Mage was another of the Gladiator’s adherents.
As Giralamo’s robe vanished through the doorway, Faustino scowled down at Sebastiano. “You speak too much or not at all, Merchant Mage. When will you learn to act gracefully in our doings? Will you do better with this Circus I have asked you to liaise with?”
Sebastiano dropped his gaze to his hands as he composed his answer. He studied his nails and noted that he needed to trim them soon. Since the first day I walked through the College’s iron gates, the place where I had desperately, for so long, wanted to be, it has been triumph and frustration together, he thought.
His classmates snubbed someone from a Merchant, rather than Scholar, House while at the same time they wore robes so far outside fashion that they might as well have wrapped themselves in blankets. Worst, they refused to acknowledge Beasts a worthy subject for study.
They continue to treat the raising and training of Beasts as Trade—plague-tainted with ideas of commerce. And it is just as bad on the other side of things. A Stable Keeper, father called it. The old man would have felt justified if he’d heard some of the names for it that I’ve heard other students use over the years.
He was tired of it, tired of everything. Tired of Faustino’s habit of thinking the younger man could read his mind. Not literally, since that would have been prosecutable by law, but able to guess his intentions.
It was the latter habit of the elder Mage’s that forced Sebastiano to gather as much information as he could before starting any project. Too many had been derailed by the last-minute injection of requirements he had not anticipated. What did Faustino want from him now?
“Your earlier message said we had agreed to host them here in return for their Manticore’s body when it dies. That there was some reason, moreover, to study it?”
“By all accounts it is uncommonly intelligent,” Faustino said. “And Manticore flesh is scarce and yet needed for many studies.”
“I thought I was supposed to evaluate all Beasts entering the College.”
Faustino snorted and fluttered a hand dismissively. “Of course, of course, but sometimes there will be shortcuts. You must learn to look below the surfaces that present themselves, my boy. The Circus will draw folk to their grounds, and in the process, they will be signed to the Order of the Rune, which has presented them with such good entertainment.”
Sebastiano found that avuncular, condescending tone the most grating of all of Faustino’s affectations. It was not a terrible plan. Aside from the fact that every single party was already using it, and much more effectively than a Circus. His jaw clenched. Words bubbled in his throat. He choked them back.
Faustino peered at him for a few breaths as though expecting more, and then went on into the silence. “We were speaking of the Southern uprising to a purpose. Mages concern themselves with the Forces Unseen. Uprisings are signs of disturbances in such.”
Not for the first time, Sebastiano wondered how different the Forces Unseen were from the forces of the Trade Gods. The news of the uprisings did not surprise him. The Islands were a mint, making money as fast as any spot in the world ever had. Every unscrupulous trader in the Old and New Continents, along with far too few scrupulous ones, was sailing t
here to take advantage of cheap Beast labor and the rich climate, suitable for limes, sugar cane, and cotton. A place of wild flux, where fortunes could be made or lost in sugar, or fruit, or cloth, or spices, or gems like midnight opals and the dark butterfly pearls in fashion this season.
Wealth and lack of law brewed violence. The Mages would continue to ignore that basic Merchant tenet, attributing the riots to the movement of stars or the sigh of psychic winds.
But he only nodded again and prepared to go off into his own head, where he had calculations with which to entertain himself.
He let Faustino drone on as the older Mage pleased while he figured out what was needed to feed the Manticore. The massive creatures ate raw meat as well as more civilized food. Most were greedy for cheese, but the trick was keeping it lean.
“I’ll want to contact the Beast Trainer who works with it,” he said, interrupting Faustino mid-maunder regarding the early governors of the isles and the institution of Beast labor.
Faustino looked annoyed. “Why?”
“Well, for one, he or she may have insights into the engines of its intelligence. I’ll need to know its diet. Some Beasts require special things. Dragons, for example, which need magnesium and chunks of iron.”
Faustino shook his head. “The man disappeared two days ago, just as they entered town.”
Sebastiano sighed. Another thought struck him. “What about the Fairy hive in the Great Hall? I need more honey to maintain its population.”
The Fairies were the College of Mages’ most beloved institution. The public loved coming to see the huge hive, and many student artificers had made their thesis work some furnishing or adornment for it. By now, most of the Fairies had their own tiny magic swords and bits of gilded armor.
In the Spring, when the hive swarmed with the birth of a new Queen, clouds of them would engage in aerial duels, sending showers of sparks or snowflakes or glass darts down on the bystanders, depending on each weapon’s attributes.
The students and some faculty would bet on the outcome. Sebastiano found that savage. He’d urged introducing soporific smokes to minimize the casualties, but had been voted down, in some cases angrily. The Spring Fairy War had been a tradition for almost two and a half centuries.
“Can’t you substitute cane syrup?”
“That’s nearly as expensive. Once again, if you’d start charging admission to see the hive, they’d more than cover such a cost.”
Faustino ignored the suggestion. “Turning to the matter closer at hand, inform me, Merchant Mage, as to one would investigate the Manticore’s intelligence?”
“I have no previous experience with Manticores,” he said, and was rewarded by an infinitesimal nod. More came to him and he said, “I would do my best to ascertain the cause of its intelligence. Some have claimed that eggs can be influenced by bathing them in the light of certain salubrious stars or introducing fluids designed to increase intelligence into the egg. I have a clutch of Basilisk eggs that I have been trying such experiments with, by use of a thin needle, but with no success so far.”
“Very well, you are in charge of investigating this strange Beast and discovering how its intelligence has grown so. You may go now,” Faustino said, so abruptly that a wave of fear ran through Sebastiano that he’d offended the older Mage. He rose.
“I was wondering if the question of my stipend had been raised among the Upper Scholars, sir,” he ventured.
Faustino scowled up at him. “Raised and squelched in a matter of seconds, boy. General feeling—and I’m one of those agreeing—is that the Silvercloths can well afford to bankroll you, in order to maintain the prestige of your association with the College.” He pointedly turned his attention back to the papers in front of him.
Taking the hint, Sebastiano exited, ducking his head under the low, rune-carved lintel.
HE RESORTED to an old strategem to calm his spirit; he went to watch the Fairy hive.
It was housed in the entrance chamber of the Hall of Curiosities, which stood between the Hall of the Arcane and the Hall of Stars, on the western side of the main quadrangle.
In the center of the immense, airy space sat the massive glass-sided cage that housed the enormous hive, taller than Sebastiano himself, which had lived there since the early days of the College, one of the first things Mages like Sebastiano had studied.
As he drew close, the Fairies noticed him and came swarming to the glass, a whirling mass, patting their hands against the clear surface to catch his attention. He fished through his pockets and found another paper bag, half full of hard candies, the sort not allowed Fewk.
He went to the little feeding hatchway set unobtrusively into a corner. The mass of Fairies followed him along the glass, bumping into it as they shrilled and buzzed anticipation. He opened the sliding door without the precautions many of his fellows would have taken, and put his hand in with the candies in the palm, holding his fingers flat.
Immediately the Fairies descended. One of the tiniest of the species, it took two or three of them in tandem to carry away a single candy. Each round was contested by multiple pairs.
Two Fairies clung to his sleeve, but he shook them loose and withdrew his hand, closing the hatchway.
“You handle them fearlessly,” someone said beside him. “Aren’t you worried they will sting you?”
“No,” Sebastiano said shortly. He was tired of tourists and their ways. They always tapped on the glass and sent the Fairies into frenzies that were difficult to calm.
“I apologize,” the man said. He was slim and well-dressed, with unremarkable features of upper-class blood: dark eyes and hair, clean-shaven and well groomed. “You are clearly in contemplation. I will leave you to your thoughts. We will see each other soon.”
“What?” Sebastiano said.
“My name is Murga. You’ve been assigned to talk to me about my Circus, I think?”
“Ah,” Sebastiano said, still flustered.
Murga bowed. “Another time. I have an appointment.”
Sebastiano watched him exit, frowning. The man seemed too well spoken for a commoner, but entertainers often picked up such ways.
A flicker of movement caught his eye. The Sphinx, another of the College’s mascot creatures permitted by special license, following after Murga.
The first time he had seen her, she had been at the College for fifty years at that point, and he had panicked, because he knew how dangerous such a creature could be. The instructor had laughed at him for it, poked fun at his willingness to believe that the College could expose its students to such risks.
Why would she follow after Murga? he wondered. Was there some magic that Sebastiano hadn’t sensed? Perhaps an odd charm or cantrip that drew her?
Who knew why Sorcerers ever created such things, let alone what they thought? The Sphinx was one of the combination creatures, Human and lion together, but she had magic in her, the kind that meant when she died, her body would be worth its weight in gold to the College. She understood Riddles, and that was the one of the deepest and most unexplained magics, because they were bound entirely by words, and no science backed them.
The students had been terrified of her and fear of her midnight patrols kept most from any nighttime mischief or escapes.
She had been a gift from the Rose Kingdoms, one of those impractical diplomatic gifts that cost more in upkeep and maintenance than they are worth, and the Duke of the time had been glad enough to hand the Sphinx over to the College.
A few students always loved the Sphinx to the point of worship, as though something about the creature met some primal want in them. Those students never went on to study Beasts, but rather would study what Sebastiano thought of as the scaffolding, the spells that seemed to do so little, but in truth held everything else up and running smoothly. There were fundamentals to the world, he knew that, but personally he thought that sort of work must be very boring, since you could never actually do anything with it.
I have told them t
ime and time again, they should contain her better, he thought. Sphinxes consumed magic, which is why their possession was forbidden to commoners; while this one had magics laid on her to prevent it, he could not help but think sooner or later she would break free.
Great marble steps, carved to mimic the terraced pattern of the city, rose to the front of the Administration Building, known among the students as the Turnip in honor of the great silver dome atop it. Sebastiano made his way down the stairs at a trot, thinking.
Certainly the Silvercloths could afford to bankroll him, as Faustino had noted. Unfortunately, the Silvercloths were at odds with the College in regards to the amount of prestige association with it brought. Corrado had been trying to discourage Sebastiano from the College and back into the family business for years now. He’d laugh at the thought of paying to keep his son able to stay out of his clutches.
As he stood at the foot of the broad white steps, he thought for the first time, I might not have the option to continue my studies if the College stops paying my stipend.
He shook his head, reassuring himself. He would go see his parents, sound them out, find out how the winds blew.
And, he thought, pleased, I can get a better breakfast in the process.
CHAPTER 14
A delina had never seen Emiliana in such a state: hair ruffled instead of its usual skull-hugging smooth shine, eyes bare of the cosmetics that normally intensified her stare, cheeks flushed with anxious effort. Her mother didn’t stand with her usual calm, but twitched, hands seeking each other to twist as though to comfort and console.
“What’s happened?” Adelina said. Around them, portraits of past Nettlepurses peered down from the walls, stacked three, sometimes four, layers tall, as though looking down from the world’s smallest apartment house.