Once Professor Nutleiss was standing behind his lectern, the Chancellor nodded towards Tralnis. “Doctor Granitestaff, you have the right to speak first,” he stated, proud of himself that he remembered the procedures he had read about so many years ago.
“Thank you, Chancellor, now sit down before your knees give out. I know how your arthritis is bothering you,” Tralnis said with a friendly smile. This was greeted by light laughter from the crowd, and a sneer from Nutleiss.
“Skamp,” the Chancellor chuckled as he shuffled over to his chair, and did as the Dwarvish doctor ordered.
Once the Chancellor was seated, Tralnis slowly looked around the room, giving off an aura of confidence. He decided to go ahead with the speech he prepared, despite the unexpected challenge by Nutleiss. “My fellow Conclave members, I stand before you to recommend that Professor Gareth Mintel be granted tenure with the University Arcanum. Once I list his accomplishments, I believe you and the Dean will agree with me,” he assured them.
“Professor Mintel has set many records since he arrived at the University Arcanum. He was the youngest student ever admitted at a tender age of 12 years old. When he reached 16, he was given his first position as a junior professor, making him the youngest professor in University’s history. A year later, Professor Mintel was certified as a Master in Languages when he demonstrated his fluency in 10 separate languages. Since then, he has gone on to become fluent in 8 more,” he told them. The Head of the School of Languages nodded his head, and beamed in pride at his star pupil turned favorite professor.
There were appreciative murmurs from the Conclave members when they heard this. None of the other candidates that morning had even remotely the same level of qualifications. The Conclave wasn’t expecting Tralnis to give them even more to think about.
“Not only is Professor Mintel a valued member of the School of Languages, but he is also a valued member of two other departments as well. Professor Mintel’s skills in ancient languages have been invaluable to the Archeology Department” he stated.
The Head of the Archeology department, Professor Darla Rand (or Diggin’ Darla as she was informally known), nodded her head rapidly in agreement. She was a middle-aged woman, with long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her face was tanned and prematurely wrinkled from exposure to the sun, since she always preferred to be running a dig site rather than a classroom. She had fought long and hard to get Gareth to consider switching disciplines. In the end, Gareth had stuck with ancient languages, but still joined Darla out on dig sites whenever he could squeeze it into his schedule. He also volunteered to teach her classes when she was out of town on an expedition.
“Now those of you in the front rows might notice that Professor Mintel is wearing not one, but three colored bands denoting where he works. Along with the blue of Languages, he wears the green of Applied Magics, and the brown of the Archeology department. While Professor Mintel does not teach any classes with Applied Magics (mainly due to his complete and utter lack of any magical abilities), his uncanny grasp of runes has made him a very valuable researcher. This ability has led him, and the rest of the Applied Magics team, to come up with several innovative theories about how to expand the use of runes on mechanical devices,” he informed the Conclave. This drew less appreciative murmurs, and several looks of scandalized shock.
The Head of Religious Wizarding Studies, Reverend Nearwell, stood and glared at Gareth. “Professor Mintel, need I remind you, that it is the consensus of most of the religions of the 12 sentient species, that it was the arrogance of the ancients in their melding of magic and science that was responsible for the Second Great Apocalypse,” he lectured.
Gareth and Tralnis’ simultaneous snorts of contempt angered the pious professor. “Sorry, Reverend, but the only higher power I believe in is the Universe itself. I can see it and touch it. I believe finding out its rules is a truly noble pursuit. Any other deities will have to give me irrefutable proof of their existence before I acknowledge them,” Gareth challenged.
Reverend Nearwell was about to shout something back, but the Chancellor rose from his chair, and interrupted him. “I’m sorry, Reverend Nearwell, but Professor Mintel’s religious views are not what we are here to discuss. If you had such reservations about him, you should have stepped forward when I asked for people to argue against him being granted tenure,” he stated, steering the discussion back on track. “Doctor Granitestaff, do you have anything else to add?” he inquired.
“No Chancellor, thank you for the opportunity to speak on behalf of my son,” Tralnis replied.
The Chancellor nodded and turned to face the Head of Political Philosophy. “Professor Nutleiss, the floor is yours,” he said before sitting back down.
“Thank you, Esteemed Chancellor,” Nutleiss said, his voice dripping with the artificial charm he taught his students. “Fellow Senior Professors and staff of our wonderful University, Doctor Granitestaff has painted a picture of a young man who has accomplished much in his short life. While I will not dispute matters that are of public record, I will firmly dispute the significance of these so called accomplishments. Yes, Professor Mintel is the youngest professor on record, but is that a good thing? A proper professor will be able to contribute to our beloved University with their wisdom based off of years of life experience, something Mintel clearly lacks,” he said. “As for the number of languages he speaks, that high number is irrelevant. There are only 12 sentient species on Hadronus, and all but a few speak our common language, Trade. What good does it do for the University if Mintel can read languages that no one else uses anymore?” he questioned.
Tralnis stepped back up to his lectern as the Head of Languages shot out of his chair in anger. “Professor Nut-lice, are you suggesting that an entire other school of our great University is of no worth at all?” Tralnis challenged.
“What did you call me?!” Nutleiss yelled.
“Tralnis, I don’t think that’s how you pronounce his name. I’m pretty sure his family name is Nutless,” Gareth offered, causing a wave of poorly suppressed laughter from the Conclave members.
“It’s pronounced Noot-lease you cretins!” Nutleiss snarled, ignoring the lessons he taught on keeping your composure at all times. This caused another wave of laughter at his expense. Nutleiss took a deep breath, and centered himself before going on. “As we all know, during a Tenure Argument, the candidate is to remain silent. Mintel is showing the disregard for rules that has plagued his time at our great institution. While he was a merely a student, Mintel was responsible for at least three experiments in the Applied Magics lab that resulted in severe property damage. As he has demonstrated today, Mintel refuses to show the proper respect due a senior professor. And lastly my dear fellows, Mintel and his miniscule mentor, Doctor Granitestaff, routinely engage in behaviors unbecoming of a professor – namely drinking and carousing,” Nutleiss accused.
The Dean stood, his red velvet robe rippling when he moved. “Ah yes, we get to the matter at hand. Professor Mintel, would you care to explain why a rather influential merchant was in my office first thing this morning, irate, and smelling strongly of horse flatulence?” he inquired.
Gareth shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not really sure what to say, sir, since a gentleman never kisses and tells. The only thing that I am willing to share is the fact that the merchant in question has demonstrated the proper pronunciation of his family name with his inability to keep his wife satisfied. A trait I’m sure he and his brother share,” he said, baiting Nutleiss.
Nutleiss took the bait, and lost control again. “Why you little…” he started to scream, before the Dean raised his hand for Nutleiss to be silent.
“Peace, Professor Nutleiss,” the Dean ordered, and then stared at Gareth. “Professor Mintel, were you aware that Deek Nutleiss has recently donated a great deal of money to the University for the purpose of building a professor’s only spa on the grounds?” he asked. The announcement of the pending spa set off the crowd as they talke
d among themselves about the prospect of such a place. “Quiet please, I would hear Professor Mintel’s response,” the Dean called out. The room instantly quieted.
“No Dean, I was unaware of such a gift,” Gareth replied. After a brief moment, Gareth turned at looked at Professor Nutleiss. “Did your parents actually name your brother Dick Nutless?” he taunted.
Nutleiss ground his teeth in anger before his expression relaxed, and he gave a smile that made everyone suddenly feel dirty and in desperate need of a bath. “Dean, I think it goes without saying that my brother will withdraw his extremely generous offer if Mintel is granted tenure. Oh… and I forgot to mention, the staff my brother is planning on hiring provide excellent manicures,” he said, sweetening the pot.
“Manicures you say?” the Dean asked for clarification. Nutleiss nodded his head. “Well that does complicate matters doesn’t it?” the Dean asked rhetorically. “On one hand, we have a promising young professor that, despite what Professor Nutleiss says, has the potential to be a great asset to our University. On the other hand, we get a professors’ only spa. It would seem that the scales are well and truly balanced in this argument,” he summarized. After a moment of introspection, the Dean snapped his fingers. “I have it. We will let the precedents of past Deans guide us. I believe we shall enact a Trial by Discovery for Professor Mintel,” the Dean announced. “Since the young man before us holds tremendous potential, I believe the trial should be a true measure of his skills. Yes, that is what we shall do. Professor Mintel, I hereby place you on indefinite sabbatical and charge you with finding the Lost Island of Mascal,” he decreed.
“What?!” Gareth and Tralnis shouted in unison.
The Dean’s smile gave Gareth and Tralnis a hint that his Tenure Argument had been a setup all along. “I have given Professor Mintel a task. Do you doubt that he is capable enough to complete this quest, Doctor Granitestaff?” the Dean challenged.
“If his task is finding an island that most people believe is only a myth, and is rarely even spoken of in the oldest records, then yes I do. I doubt anyone could do this,” Tralnis spat. “Well at least since you, our illustrious leader, have decreed that this is a University sponsored expedition, by the University charter, you will be forced to both fund it, and provide University personnel to staff it,” he pointed out, confident he had found a loophole.
“Of course… and thank you for volunteering to go with him, Doctor Granitestaff. We have set aside the equivalent of a year’s salary for both of you to fund this expedition,” the Dean said smugly. “Also to aid your quest, gentlemen, I have a clay tablet that Professor Dunst has assured me has something to do with the Lost Island of Mascal. It is yours to do with as you wish,” he said, confirming that yes, the whole thing had been a setup. Professor Dunst and reality hadn’t been on speaking terms for quite a long time, and he was the butt of many jokes around the campus.
A staff member walked forward, and presented a brown clay tablet to Gareth. Once he took possession of it, the Dean made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Now as per the ancient precedents, I command you, Professor Gareth Mintel and Doctor Tralnis Granitestaff, to be off on your quest, and to not return to the University Arcanum until you have proof of the discovery we have sent you to find. Mintel, you have two hours to clear out your office before security escorts you off campus. The same goes for you, Granitestaff. Oh, and take that smelly beast with you,” the Dean ordered while pointing at Henry.
Henry snarled, showing his sharp teeth. He reached behind himself, and raised the back of his kilt a bit. Gareth ran over, and put a hand on his friend’s arm to stop him. “Not now, Henry!” Gareth hissed. “You can fling poo at the Dean and Nut-less when we return with proof we found the Lost island of Mascal, I promise,” he assured his friend before herding him towards the exit.
Without looking back, the three of them walked out of the Conclave Hall with their heads held high. Right before they were out of earshot, they heard Nutleiss tell the Dean, “Thank you for getting rid of Mintel, and that creepy little pervert.” Careful not to let his friends know what he was doing, Henry held up a hand with one finger extended behind his back in a universal gesture of contempt.
Chapter 5
Tralnis and Henry followed Gareth to his small office in the basement of the School of Languages. They were the only ones there at that hour, so Gareth let his shoulders slump as depression set in. “I’m sorry for dragging you two into this. It’s not fair that you get banished with me,” he apologized.
“When I signed the guardianship papers for you at the orphanage, I promised that I would look after you. You’re my son, Gareth, and Dwarves take care of their own, no matter what,” Tralnis replied.
Henry hooted and snorted to tell Gareth that he felt the same way.
“Thank you,” Gareth whispered, letting go of some of his guilt.
Tralnis gave Gareth a crooked smile. “Look at it this way. We weren’t sacked, just put on indefinite sabbatical. Soon we’ll be off on a grand adventure, or a Frentguin as we Dwarves call them,” he said optimistically.
Gareth snorted, and shook his head in amusement. Henry cocked his head to the side to ask what that word meant. “The Dwarves have a unique way of looking at things. Frentguin means a chance to visit faraway places, meet new people, and then have sex with them,” he explained. Henry rolled his brown eyes and shook his furry head. This caused Gareth to chuckle slightly. Tralnis was glad he could distract Gareth from the downward spiral of guilt he had been headed towards.
The Dean had only given them two hours to clean out their offices, and Gareth had a tendency to be something of a packrat. Luckily for Tralnis, he never used the office that had been assigned to him at the School of Medicine. He preferred to use the office at his private practice instead. As such, Tralnis was free to help Gareth pack up what they could in the short time allotted.
When they reached Gareth’s office, the young scholar held the door open for the other two, and then rotated a disk next to the door frame. Rotating the disk realigned the rune array that sent magic to charge the trapped Aetherium gas in the clear glass tubes that ran the length of the ceiling. Once the gas was charged, it gave off a strong, slightly blue tinted light that was perfect for reading and staring at tiny details for hours on end. Once inside the office, Henry let out a long, low whistle as he looked around.
Tralnis looked over at Henry, and nodded his head. “While I don’t speak Chimmish, I’m pretty sure I know what you mean and I have to say I agree completely,” he stated. Tralnis turned to look up at Gareth, and waved his arm around the room. “Gods of rock and ore, Gareth, how do you manage to find anything in this mess?” he asked.
Gareth looked around the room, trying to see it through his family’s eyes. Except for the space left out for the door, the walls were completely obscured by floor to ceiling bookcases. The bookcases were jammed so full, that some of the books had to be stacked on top of others to get them to fit. Stacks of boxes littered the room with contents ranging from ancient books and scrolls to small statues covered in runes. A plain wooden desk sat in the middle of the floor, surrounded by stacks of books that reached four feet high in some places. On the desk itself were several journals open to the last page Gareth had written in them. Pencils and fountain pens lay strewn among the journals. A set of goggles with interchangeable magnify lens hung on a hook set in the side of the desk.
“My filing system may not look like much to you, but I know where everything is,” Gareth replied.
Tralnis rolled his eyes skeptically. “All right, prove it. What’s in the second box from the top in the stack over there?” he challenged as he pointed to a stack to the right of the desk.
Gareth looked at where Tralnis was pointing. “That box contains a collection of Issian works that were halfway between a book and newspaper. Unlike the newspapers we have today, those were only published once a month instead of daily,” he stated.
Tralnis walked over to the stack, and
took down the first two boxes. He opened up the box in question, and pulled out a stack of papers that were twice as wide as a normal book and joined in the middle by copper staples. Tralnis didn’t need to read Issian to get the general gist of what the pamphlet was about. Most of it was devoted to very realistic illustrations of various specious in the nude. He was extra impressed by the fold out section in the middle. After staring at the fold out with a grin on his face for a few moments, Tralnis folded the extra-long page back into the pamphlet, and then tucked the whole thing into his jacket. “I’m just going to borrow this to… uh… study later,” he muttered.
Gareth chuckled to himself as he made his way to his desk. He placed the clay tablet the Dean had given him on one of the taller stack of books near the desk. After sitting in his chair, Gareth opened the bottom drawer. He pulled out a leather satchel that was only large enough to take a few essentials from the desk. With a sigh, he put the magnifying goggles, three blank journals, and a handful of pens and pencils into the satchel.
Henry walked behind Gareth to get to the box Tralnis was still digging through. On his way past, Henry glanced at the tablet which was eye level to him, and froze in place. He put his hand on Gareth’s shoulder, shaking it slightly while hooting excitedly.
Gareth frowned, and spun in his chair to face Henry. He held up two fingers on his right hand. “Two questions for you Henry. The first is what are you talking about saying the tablet has a rune that looks just like the one I have tattooed on my butt? The tablet is just covered in nonsense scribbles. The second question is how did you know I have tattoo on my butt in the first place? I’ve never shown it to you,” he asked sharply.
Tralnis stepped next to Gareth and leaned his elbow on the desktop. “Lad, pretty much the whole campus knows you have a tattoo on your butt,” he told him.
Gareth and th Lost Island Page 4