All that work I spent writing the posters wasn't in vain, after all. I had to scour through multiple art supply shops until I found a brush thick enough to paint the posters with the right brushstroke. I know — spending that much work for a small history club presentation is wasteful. But I never half-arse my work, and it paid off today.
5
After three hours of intense questioning — my throat was getting a little sore, but show weakness? — not my style — grandpa came to the rescue.
"Gentlemen," then, looking at the dean of Practical Magic, “and lady”. As strange as it seems to pedestrians, there are fewer light female magicians than dark ones. Mind control seems more effective at subjugating people than strength — especially considering dark females are strong too. "I think it's time to wrap up. While we are thankful for your helpful comments and suggestions about my student's work, this is not the finished work. You will be able to present your questions — in writing — once we hang the thesis."
Theses were hung by a nail on the wall, at least a week before presentation, even the ones for a minor. They usually languished there, untouched and unread. Who wants to read another student's trite re-imagination of the same literature? There wasn't going to be much interesting work students could do, especially considering the limited time. I always intended to shine in my thesis. I've already started experimenting in the lab — Prof. Fran let me start initial experiments, although I haven't chosen a supervisor for my major thesis yet.
I guess my minor will be a success. It seems all of them will do their best to find mistakes in it. I was going to have to do a great job. Insulting light magicians by suggesting their magic is not just unnecessary, but a nuisance — that was going to cost me.
Prof. Bedwen approached me.
"Miss Bedwen," he said. "I see you've really started working on your thesis already. Good work. But, as your supervisor, I would really prefer that you limit public engagement until your work is more… polished. Some of it is quite controversial."
Was he trying to quiet me or censure me? That wasn't going to happen. The Inquisition's gone, and nobody can censure books anymore. We've got freedom of speech.
"Prof. Bedwen, while I really respect your work, I won't allow the quality of my work to be affected by the controversy. Whatever the results I find are, I will stand by my results, and if you attempt to tone it down, I may need to find another supervisor." I really didn't want to do that, as I would need to find another excuse to be close to him. But academic integrity trumps convenience.
He seemed a bit startled, but laughed, tilting his head backward.
"Miss Bedwen," he said, still smiling, "never, in a million years, would I think I can silence you. Especially after today's presentation. But as your supervisor, my reputation is on the line, and while I am willing to be controversial, I will not, I repeat, I will not, allow mediocre work to be associated with my name. So, as you chose me as your supervisor, you should be prepared. Come Monday morning to my office with your notes — we'll begin with your thesis plan." He then pointed at Joe, who was standing there with all the posters he collected while I was talking to Prof. Bedwen. "And now go talk to your young man, he seems to be waiting for you."
"Joe's not…" — my boyfriend, I tried to say, but Prof. Bedwen was already heading towards the door and exited before I could finish the sentence.
Joe heard the last part, and nervously asked:
"Did he say anything about me?"
"Oh, no, he just thought you were my boyfriend. Why would anybody think that?" I asked him, taking half the posters and heading outside. "By the way, do you want a drink? I feel like I need a bit of beer after this."
"Sure."
"You know," Joe said, holding a beer in his hand, in the pub we went to after the talk. "You should be careful about Prof. Bedwen. He's not a man you should anger. I've heard things about him. He doesn't take insults to his reputation lightly."
"Don't we all?" A high-status man who cares about his position is not really surprising. Many of the professors in the university were known to be vindictive when their professional reputation was at stake. It's not something I wasn't used to.
"No, it's not like that." Joe drank his entire glass and put it on the sticky table I'd been avoiding touching all evening. "In his case, they say he goes beyond the reasonable. That he breaks the law. There are even stories about his family…"
I perked up, suddenly interested. Was this the reason why mother had broken all contact with her father?
"His family?"
"Well, after you chose him as your supervisor, I asked around. My uncle, who lived in Ecton for a couple of years when he was growing his business, heard stories about him. It's all rumors, you know. Nothing certain."
Joe usually wasn't a gossipy guy. If the rumors were bothering him, it must be something serious.
"Spill," I said, looking at him straight into the eyes. "I need to know how serious this is. I am going to spend a lot of time working with him, after all."
"Well, my uncle told me — that the Bedwens were a very distinguished family. Many generations of light magic, they were linked with the Inquisition in its heyday, had a good position there. Anyway, during the Reformation, Mr. Bedwen must have felt the change and left the sinking ship. After studying in the College of the Holy Inquisition, he refused to join the Inquisition and started a law firm where he defended dark arall. This was quite dangerous back then — the Inquisition hadn't been disbanded yet."
"Every magical family had something to do with the Inquisition, Joe. You were either in it or you got caught by it. It's quite logical Prof. Bedwen had something to do with the Inquisition. Studying in their College? Half of our faculty probably did. The Inquisition had some of the best schools, after all. What matters is what he did afterward."
"That's not it. That was just the intro, you need to hear the rest. So Mr. Bedwen then spent many years clearing the family name (or dragging it through the dirt, depending on who you ask), and making some money in the process. He then got married, to a non-magical, and had two kids, both non-magical. Everything was good, but then his son started to be associated with anti-Reformists."
"Those losers?" Anti-Reformists are still around, demanding the return of the Inquisition, harassing magical children, all that. Nobody really listens to them, and they don't have the guts to attack real magicians. Gosh, my uncle was one of them?
"They weren't losers then. They still had a few of the old Inquisitors among them, and they made some trouble back then. So, apparently, Mr. Bedwen was furious. He'd spent all those years restoring the family reputation and fortune, which had been confiscated from all Inquisitors. And now his son was trying to destroy all that. And then his son went crazy."
"So what? It's not like mental illness is a crime." So, I have a crazy uncle. I'll leave grandpa to take care of him. I wouldn't want to be in charge of a pro-Inquisition crazy guy. "Or did he abandon his son?" That wouldn't be good. The last thing I need is another worry. Even with the scholarship and the part-time jobs, I needed the money my parents sent me. And now that the oldest among my brothers is twelve, we need to start thinking about schooling options. Which is why I need a job, a good job, right after university. My parents won't be able to afford to help me and send my brothers to decent schools.
"No, he didn't. But the rumors say — that him being the son of an Inquisitor, that he knew banned magic. And that he used it on his own son. And mind control magic can turn people crazy."
Of course it does. Forcing somebody to do stuff by programming them to do it is going to turn them batshit crazy. That's just natural. That's why I consider dark magic more humane. Torturing and killing somebody's body is less cruel than doing it to their mind. It's all banned nowadays. The more extreme forms of dark magic always were, unlike light magic. I've heard they still practice it in Yllam.
"Any Healer who sees a person with mental illness will examine for mind magic first. It's standard protocol. No w
ay could he have gotten away with it." Whatever pedestrians think, getting away with mind control is not that easy. It's quite detectable, and anybody who does that goes to the gallows.
"That's the thing. There wasn't an official Healer report. Apparently, it was all under a gag order from the government. So, the report is secret. And Mr. Bedwen had many contacts in the government."
"OK. I will make sure to meditate to avoid being mind-controlled."
Joe detected the sarcasm and looked at me.
"I'm serious, Dan. You may think that as a dark arall you're immune, but you're not. The Inquisition managed to control even the strongest among you."
Rituals required to mind-control a dark arall existed, that's for sure. But you had to bind them and starve them first to weaken their magic's protection. For strong mages, it's usually easier to kill them than to control them. No way Prof. Bedwen can do that to me.
"Yeah, yeah. Thanks for your concern. If I disappear for a week, you can report Prof. Bedwen to the authorities."
Joe seemed disappointed.
"So you're going to work with him?"
"Yes, I will." I stood up and patted his shoulder. "Don't worry, man. I'll be fine. Now, do you want another beer? Round's on me."
In order to dig into the matter Joe told me about, I did one of those things I rarely did. I called one of my exes.
Dark arall women are usually not considered conventionally pretty. We're strong and broad-shouldered, and our facial features don't tend to be very feminine. Because we like competition and status games, dark men don't suit us — because everything becomes a competition, and who wants that in their partner? I knew one married couple of dark arall — they were certainly passionate, but they also had the biggest fights I'd ever seen. In one of them, they ended destroying their house.
No, dark magicals with any sense always date and marry non-magicals. Light magicals do marry among themselves, but the methods they've traditionally used to solve conflicts were even worse. Now that women are equal, and mind control is banned, a whole bunch of them are getting divorced. One magical person per family is enough, thankyouverymuch.
Dark men don't usually have many problems. They tend to be ambitious and have good jobs, so they find some quiet lamb and marry her. Women like me, though… Let's say we have our difficulties. Most men find physically strong, really competitive women scary. And we're not conventionally attractive, either.
Which is why, when, during my first year, I started receiving male attention for the first time in my life, I was quite flattered — and surprised. Nobody had ever so much as hinted that they found me attractive in Caerland, an area full of dark arall women. I first thought it was because I was exotic, there not being many dark women around, but then I noticed a pattern (or rather, Joe pointed it out to me).
All the men I dated, even briefly, were linked to the government. Police, army, some kind of federal bureau — all were in the enforcement branch.
The Inquisition, during its last, milder era, didn't kill powerful dark mages. If somebody was powerful and talented enough, they got a commissar — somebody who accompanied them, made sure the mage was comfortable, solved issues for them.
All the men I dated were incredibly helpful. They also volunteered advice — and were good at coaching. Once I'd realized that, I kicked the one I was dating — Jack, the one I invited today — out and never dated again. It's not like I was traumatized or something. I wasn't. I just wanted somebody who wasn't working for the government, and ordinary men didn't seem to like me much. And I wasn't going to do one-night stands. Sure, men do that. But one-night stands would affect my reputation. I wanted to be perceived as strong, smart, going to places. Being seen as a promiscuous woman wasn't going to help me, so I just gave up. It wasn't worth it for me.
The hotel room where I saw him in the past was the same. I couldn't bring guests to the dorm (strict no guest policy), and when we dated, I never went to his home, so we met in this hotel room.
It was old, but clean. They changed the sheets before every guest, and the cleaning staff did a superb job. It was the cleanest place in the price range I could afford. I always paid half; even when my exes offered, I couldn't deal with a man paying for me — although as a poor student, it sometimes really stretched my budget. And to think the bills may have been paid by the government! If I'd known it before, I'd have chosen the most expensive hotels. But then, once I learned, I stopped dating, so whatever.
The room smelled a bit of bleach — I opened the window to let some air in. The smoke of the coal from the trains came in. The whistle of the train and the clacking of the axles relaxed me. I always slept well in this place, with the windows open, feeling the alchemical wonder near me.
When he knocked, I opened the door. He tried to hug me, but I wouldn't let him. I may want his help, but I was still angry at him.
6
Sergeant (at least he was three years ago — he's probably been promoted since) Taylor was the same as ever. He had the same confident, beautiful smile — the one that made me wonder if he could be my companion. Alas.
I escorted him inside, and we sat at the sofa, and I poured some coffee into the cups on the coffee table. This was a business meeting, the hotel room had been chosen for privacy.
"You look good," he said, still smiling. "You're in your fourth year, right? How is it going for you? Is that old fool, Prof. Derwen, still bothering you?"
Of course he remembered. I'd complained to him — perhaps oversharing way too much — about everything back then. Being strong, doing double the work — none of my peers accepted me or wanted to work with me, and I always ended up doing group work alone — meant I sometimes needed some comfort. And he was always available. Of course, a busy, ambitious, masculine man always being emotionally available and present should have been enough of a warning sign, but I was an idiot then.
"No, not anymore. I've learned to deal with people like him. And you? Are you still a Sergeant?"
He smiled.
"No, I'm a Detective now."
"Wait, Detective? Isn't that a big jump — in three years? Don't you have to do something exceptional to get promoted out of the typical timeframe?"
"Well, I worked very hard after we broke up. You did break up with me very suddenly. You didn't even listen to what I had to say."
"Well, there wasn't anything you could have said that would have made it OK for you to spy on me."
"I wasn't. Not anymore. Not by the time we broke up."
"Oh, and that somehow makes it OK. You were spying on me before we slept together! And then you told your superiors you were in a relationship."
"It was exactly like that."
"Look, I wouldn't have had sex with you if I didn't trust you already. And you were screwing me before we had sex. I don't like that. You were fake from the beginning. The relationship was fake. I'm not sure I even ever got to meet the real you. Because that's the thing, isn't it? Once you spent months managing me, as if I was an asset or something, you had created a certain image of yourself. And you had to keep it up. So, even when you stopped reporting, you were still fake. You didn't tell me the truth — instead you waited until I figured it out. How could I trust you?"
I had been thinking about it, over the years, too much. Why did he do it? Did he report everything? In the end, I just decided none of the possible scenarios would have been OK for me. I didn't want a spy in my bed.
"By the time I realized I had been wrong, it was too late,” he said, slumping in his chair. "And you wouldn't give me a chance."
"A chance for what?"
"To start over again. This time, no management, no psychology tricks, no reports, just you and me."
I was skeptical.
"If you wanted to start over, why didn't you come to me, explain everything, tell me all of that? Why did you wait until now?"
"Because you wouldn't have listened to me. And this time, you called me. And it seems you aren't over me." He tried to take my
hand, but I didn't let him.
"Which reminds me. The reason I called you. Have you looked into Prof. Bedwen?"
"I did. I won't ask you why you're curious about him, although I have my suppositions. Prof. Bedwen was quite a successful man in Ecton. With a lot of contacts. I couldn't access the documents under the gag order — when I checked in the police archives, they were just gone. No trace."
"Ah." That was disappointing. I would have to discover more by observing the old man. Trying to find out everything by using my ex may have been too lazy. "Well, I guess that's it. Was there anything else you found?"
"I didn't find out much about him. But I did recently find out something about you."
"About me?"
"I recently saw your name relating to a project by the Intelligence Corps."
"Don't you work for the police?"
"I do. They were running a background check on you. A really thorough background check."
"Ah." I didn't think they would do that before I accepted the job. But then, I guess that's expected. It's not like they would find anything compromising. Other than my father coming to Kalmar illegally, there weren't any relevant facts in my family history. And my parents' marriage had legalized his status ages ago. He even became a citizen; swore an oath to the Republic too.
There was silence. There wasn't much else to say, and I was about to stand up. He'd been musing something, because he also stood up.
"When they offered me to watch you, I received training. They told us all about dark arall, how magic shapes your character, which weaknesses it creates. I won't use them on you anymore. I promise you that."
"They're not that effective when the subject's aware, aren't they?" I asked.
He shook his head.
The Apprentice's Path: The Alchemist #1 Page 5