by Duncan Pile
“We’re going to live in the tower?” he asked. He’d never given much thought to where the older students lived but he wouldn’t have guessed it would be the tower itself.
“After the first year, all students live in the Warren,” Jaim said. “It takes up the entire fourth floor. In the past, there used to be a lot more trainee magicians, but these days there are plenty of empty rooms.”
“Oh right,” Gaspi said. He was pleased to find out where he’d be living; the tower was a fascinating place full of magical mysteries and secrets.
Jaim led them to the receptionist, a compact woman in her fifties dressed in scrupulously tidy clothes. She peered at them over thick glasses as they approached. “Yes?” she asked with the brisk efficiency of someone accustomed to dealing with too many people in a single day to take individual notice of.
“I’m taking these three to their rooms,” Jaim said.
The receptionist appraised them briefly, glancing down at her list. “Names?” she asked.
“Gaspi, Emea and Lydia,” Jaim answered.
The receptionist ran a finger down her list, placing three, hard ticks against their names with a short, stubby quill. She opened a draw and pulled out three keys, placing them on the top of the desk, indicating which key belonged to whom. “Fourth floor, Eastern Annex.”
Clearly dismissed, they thanked her and followed Jaim towards the transporters. “Don’t pay any attention to Dorys,” he said when they were out of earshot. “She’s been here longer than most of us can remember. She’s a bit of a dry old stick but she’s harmless enough,” he said conspiratorially.
“Is she a magician?” Lydia asked.
“No, just a local citizen,” Jaim answered. “They say the place would fall apart without her though,” he added. “Magicians can be a bit…messy.” Emea laughed.
“Okay, step on,” he said. He waited patiently while they arranged themselves on the platform. “The Warren,” he said, and they were all swept up in the discomforting sensation of transportation.
“Welcome to your new home,” he said as he led them through the exit from the transporter room. The broad corridor they were walking along was lined with large, white-painted doors, many of which were open, spilling smoky, incense laden air from within. Glancing through the doorways as they passed, Gaspi could see groups of students gathered in the rooms, lounging on the beds, or even on the floor. The sound of soft chimes came from one open door, and a gently plucked string instrument from another, causing Lydia to linger behind them for a moment before catching them up.
“Jaim, we’ve got a game going,” a voice called as they passed another room.
“Hold on Pita,” Jaim called back. “Just showing these guys to their rooms, then I’ll be back.”
“K,” the voice replied.
They passed through a large set of double doors and into another corridor. Jaim stopped by one of the rooms, comparing the symbol on the door, a kind of snaking S, against the one on Emea’s key. “Okay this is you Emea,” he said.
Emea nodded. “Come back here when you’re done?” she called to Gaspi and Lydia as they were led away.
“Sure,” Gaspi answered. “See you in a bit.”
Jaim led them round the corner and delivered Lydia to her room, which was marked with a teardrop. Gaspi’s room was through another set of doors.
“Here you go,” he said, indicating a door marked with a flame.
Gaspi compared it to the symbol on his key. “Thanks Jaim,” he said.
“No problem,” Jaim responded. “Let me know if you need anything but I reckon you’ll be fine,” he said, smiling warmly. “Okay, I’ve got a game to go to, so see you later.”
“Thanks again,” Gaspi said, turning back to his door as Jaim walked away. He put the key in the lock and turned it, pushing the door open. It swung inwards, revealing a large, rectangular room with a wooden floor made up of hundreds of small slats of timber, polished up to a fine sheen. A long shaft of light fell brightly across the glowing floor, beaming through tall windows that stretched almost the full height of the far wall. Gaspi looked around with pleasure at the oaken bedstead, wardrobe and desk, smiling broadly at what was to be his new home. It was much nicer than he’d expected. He walked over to the desk and ran his hand over the hundreds of carvings etched into the wood, cut into it over the years by students who’d sat there and studied in the past. The whole place gave him a warm glow, and he only hoped Emmy and Lydia’s rooms were as nice.
Content that he was going to very happy there, he left the room to go and find them, pulling the heavy door shut behind him.
…
Taurnil slammed his swords back into the weapons rack, frustrated by another humiliating practice. Drillmaster Trask said he was improving, but it was happening far too slowly for Taurnil’s liking. He didn’t understand how he could use a staff like he was born to it, and yet the swords still felt like clumsy weights in his hands. He could execute the most basic manoeuvres, the blocks and thrusts that every swordsman could do by the end of their first month, but against a skilled bladesman he was hopeless.
Erik had sparred with him today, and the experienced guard had stretched him at every turn, trying to tease some skill out of the young fighter, but it just exposed the weaknesses in his technique, leaving him feeling humiliated. Not that he didn’t appreciate it; he wanted to be stretched, but couldn’t help feeling frustrated when he failed to rise to the challenge.
Erik slid his own blades into the rack and clapped him on the back as he walked off. It was a friendly gesture but Taurnil didn’t trust himself to speak in case his anger made him sound childish. Lydia had come to watch him spar today, which made him feel his embarrassment even more keenly. He could feel her eyes on his back.
As the other guards left the arena, Taurnil made his way over to her. She swung her bag over her shoulder and ran a hand through her hair, smiling warmly at him as he approached. “Are you done for the day?”
“Yeah,” he answered, trying to hide his frustration.
“Good. I want to show you my room,” she said with a secretive smile.
“Okay,” he responded, trying to summon some enthusiasm.
“Are you alright?” she asked, picking up on his despondency.
Taurnil knew better than to try and hide anything from her. Once she was onto something she was like a dog after a bone, though he wouldn’t use that comparison to her face! “It’s the blooming swords,” he said, slumping down onto a bench. “I’m hopeless,” he said.
“You looked alright to me,” she answered.
“That’s because you’re not a fighter,” Taurnil answered, glancing up to see if he’d said the wrong thing. Sometimes things like that could annoy Lydia, but she didn’t seem bothered this time. “Erik was trying to stretch me, so he kept the fight going, but he could have ended it anytime he wanted.”
“Oh,” Lydia said. “I didn’t realise that.”
He was grateful that he never had to justify how seriously he took his weapons training to Lydia; she knew about the prophecy and unequivocally supported his belief that he was destined to be Gaspi’s protector.
“Why do you have to be good at every weapon?” she asked. “Why can’t you just stick to what you’re best at?”
Taurnil thought for a moment. “It’s to do with range,” he explained. “The staff is great when you’ve got room to swing it, but what if you can’t or you get disarmed? I need to be good with a close range weapon too.”
“Alright,” she said thoughtfully. “How about knives? Gypsies always carry a knife on them in case they get cornered.”
He brightened a bit. “That’s actually a good idea. Although there’s no guaranteeing I’ll be any good with them either. But I can give it a go.”
She must have sensed his foul mood lifting. “Right, time to show you my room,” she said, springing to her feet.
He let himself be pulled up. “I’ve got to wash first,” he said, glancing down at th
e drying sweat on his arms.
“Okay, go and wash,” Lydia answered, pushing him towards the exit from the practice arena. “I’ll wait here, but be quick!” Taurnil smiled wryly to himself as he walked off. When it came to giving him orders, Trask didn’t have a patch on Lydia.
…
Lydia pushed open the door to her room and led Taurnil inside. He looked around in surprise, appreciating how nice it was. It was spacious and well furnished, and Lydia had already added her own touches to it; gauzy drapes hung over the window, plants bloomed in several large pots in the corners, and the floor was strewn with colourful rugs. She’d thrown a richly woven blanket over her bed sheets and strings of bells hung in front of the window.
Taurnil sat down heavily on the bed, bouncing on the complaining springs. “It’s nice in here!” he said. “You’ve made it feel like home already.”
“Thanks,” Lydia said, sitting down next to him and placing a hand on his leg. “Gypsies are good at that.”
Taurnil looked at her, taken aback by the intensity in her eyes. She was often intense but there was something different about her today - something he couldn’t identify but which nevertheless made him feel very nervous. She leaned in and kissed him, her soft lips urgent in a way he’d never experienced before. He could barely catch his breath. Something primal was stirring deep in his belly. Lydia’s hand snaked round his neck, pulling him even closer, and as she pressed her body against his, Taurnil could feel where she was both soft and firm at the same time, amazed by the contrast of those two things. His breathing became ragged in his throat as he felt her hand close over his, drawing it upwards over her stomach.
“Stop!” he said breathlessly, pulling back and placing both hands on her shoulders. “What are you doing?” he asked, swallowing noisily.
Her eyes lost none of their intensity. “What do you think I’m doing?” she said, weaving her hands around his wrists and pulling him towards her again. “I’m giving myself to you.”
Taurnil pushed her back again. “You’re what?” he squeaked. “But we’re not married.”
“Why does that matter?” Lydia asked, her pupils wide. “For gypsies this comes first, and marriage after. I’m at the right age Taurnil, and I want it to be you.” She pulled him towards her once again.
“No!” Taurnil said, firmly this time. “It’s not right, I can’t.”
Lydia stiffened, her eyes widening even further, but this time in anger. “If I’m not good enough you can leave,” she said.
“Lydia, of course you’re good enough,” he pleaded, placing a hand on her arm, but she pulled away.
“Leave!” she said fiercely, rising swiftly from the bed.
Taurnil stayed where he was, dumbfounded. “But Lydia,” he said feebly.
She glared at him. “I said, LEAVE! GET OUT!” she shouted, pointing a trembling finger at the door. A glass lifted from the desk and floated menacingly above her head.
Taurnil didn’t know what to do. He’d never seen her like this, and he instinctively knew he had no chance of making things any better. Besides, he was terrified! He stood up slowly and backed towards the door.
“I’ll come back later when you’ve calmed down,” he said, but that seemed to be the wrong thing to say too. Her eyes widened and her nostrils flared. “Right I’m going,” he said, not giving her another chance to shout at him. He yanked the door open and stepped out as quickly as he could. Something collided with it as he pulled it shut behind him, and he heard the sound of smashing glass. Taurnil turned tail and fled as fast as he could.
…
Having escaped Lydia, he went looking for Gaspi. He asked anyone he could find, and eventually someone knew where his room was, and showed him the way. His heart was in his mouth when he realised how close they were to Lydia’s room. This was definitely not safe territory. He knocked loudly, and when Gaspi answered, he practically dragged him to the Rest, where he explained what had happened over a beer. Gaspi sat open-mouthed for the entire story.
“So I got out of there and legged it,” Taurnil finished, running a hand down his face. He sat hunched over the table, staring at his drink with a furrowed brow. He looked up with pleading eyes. “What should I do?” he asked.
Gaspi barked out a laugh. “Don’t ask me!” he said, holding up both palms as if to ward off the question.
“So you’ve not had this problem with Emmy?” Taurnil asked.
“Good grief no!” Gaspi answered. “We think like you do mate. I mean, sometimes when we’re kissing…” He trailed off, flushing bright red. “But no,” he recovered. “I don’t think it’s crossed either of our minds. I’ve always just assumed you wait till you’re married.”
Taurnil frowned. “Well apparently gypsies don’t think that way,” he said.
There was a long pause. Gaspi cleared his throat. “So, what are you going to…do?” he asked meaningfully.
“Do?” Taurnil asked, and then he realised what Gaspi was implying. “Well I’m not going to do that!”
“Are you sure mate?” Gaspi asked. “I mean, I don’t get a choice about this. Emmy will want to be married first, that’s for sure. But if Lydia wants to, er…you know, well maybe you shouldn’t argue.”
Taurnil’s expression was incredulous. “No way!” he insisted. “We should be married first, and we’re too young for that!” He took a big swallow of his drink, spilling some over the rim of the glass and down his shirt. “Damn!” he cursed, rubbing at the wet patch with the back of his hand. He looked up at Gaspi. “Why did she have to go and complicate things?” he implored. “What was wrong with things the way they were?”
“I really don’t know what to say mate,” Gaspi answered. “This is out of my league.” Taurnil grumbled incoherently into his pint. “You’d better make up as soon as you can though,” Gaspi added. “You know what girls are like if you leave stuff lingering.”
Taurnil didn’t look very confident. “You should have seen her Gasp. She was furious!”
“Let her sleep on it then, but I reckon you should talk about it tomorrow,” Gaspi responded.
“You’re probably right,” Taurnil said moodily, and slumped back in his chair.
“Another beer?” Gaspi asked, rising to go to the bar.
“Sure.”
Three
Gaspi stood at the reception desk, waiting to speak to Dorys. It was time for his appointment with Hephistole. He hadn’t seen the chancellor since getting back from Aemon’s Reach, and he couldn’t wait to find out what had been happening while he was away. How many weapons had been enchanted? Had they made anything really exciting? Had there been any news of Sestin since the battle?
“Yes?” Dorys asked officiously.
“I’m here to see Hephistole,” he said.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asked, eyeing him up and down with a dubious expression.
“Yes,” he answered, taken aback by what seemed to be rudeness.
“Name?” she asked, peering at him through thick spectacles.
“Gaspi,” he answered.
She pulled a sheaf of parchment towards her and peered at it suspiciously for long moments.
“Twelfth plinth; the command is “Observatory”,” she said eventually, jabbing her quill in the appropriate direction.
“Er…thanks,” he answered, walking towards the plinth. He felt a surge of annoyance at her manner, but he shook it off as he stepped onto the transporter. He was about to see Heppy again, and there were much more important things to be thinking about.
“Observatory,” he said, and disappeared.
When he came to his senses, he was standing on the plinth in the Observatory. Hephistole stood up, grinning from ear to ear.
“Gaspi!” he enthused, walking around the desk and approaching him with long strides, hand extended. Gaspi automatically offered his hand in return, staring dumbfounded at the chancellor’s outrageous appearance as his hand was mercilessly pumped. A smirk pulled at the corners of his m
outh as he tried to contain himself, but in the end he gave up and burst out laughing. Hephistole was dressed in lustrous robes of midnight blue, heavily embroidered with shining silver thread. His long, dark hair had been tied into thick locks that hung around his head like ropes, each of which was braided with silver and blue thread to match lustrous robe. He wore an extravagant necklace of blue river stones strung together with silver wire.
Hephistole glanced down at his robes, and looked up, smiling. “You like?” he asked with a wink, spreading his arms wide to give Gaspi a full view of his magnificence.
“They’re very you,” Gaspi responded between chuckles.
“Ha! Well said,” Heppy responded. “Take a seat,” he urged, leading Gaspi across the office to a small cluster of comfortable chairs, arranged around a small side table.
“It’s good to see you,” Hephistole said once they were seated, his green eyes twinkling with fantastical energy.
“It’s good to see you too,” Gaspi responded sincerely.
Hephistole sprang up from his seat and busied himself making them some tea. “So how was your summer?” he asked over his shoulder.
Gaspi harrumphed.
“Not so good then?”
Gaspi told him all about it as the tea was being prepared. Hephistole carefully carried the ornate silver tea set across the room on a matching tray, and lowered it gently to the table.
“Well, all things considered, I imagine you’re glad to be back,” he said, taking his seat.
“Definitely! So what’s been happening while I’ve been away?” Gaspi asked.
Hephistole eyed him knowingly. “You mean have we heard anything about Sestin?”
“Yeah, and how many enchanted weapons do we have now? Did you make anything good?” Gaspi asked.
“One thing at a time!” Hephistole admonished with mock sternness. “We’ve enchanted about thirty weapons,” he said more seriously, “and although none of them are as powerful as the staff you made for Taurnil in terms of pure power, we have laid some sophisticated enchantments on them that may prove useful.”