The Serpent and the Unicorn: Book I and II

by Susan Skylark

  Chapter 5

  Syre was a large and prosperous country. Its main city, Dara, was located on the Eastern Sea; much of its prosperity came from fishing and trade. The University was housed in a rambling manor that had once belonged to an ailing Lord who willed it to the institution on his deathbed after being assured that it would then be named after him. The manor house had been divided into various sections for student housing, teaching, and rooms for the faculty to live and work in. The place was buzzing with activity. Students, mostly young men in brightly colored robes, zipped about in a hurried frenzy; faculty (in even more colorful robes) strolled importantly on some vital errand or other. As Tristan and Pallin rode across the campus, they drew many strange looks, not only were they riding but they also wore swords. While many things were taught at this strange institution, violence was not one of them. If all ‘truths’ were correct, then how could you resort to violence over differences in opinion? Did not the other person have as much right to his ‘truth’ as you had to yours? Horses were simply considered a luxury or an extravagance. Why ride when your own feet worked perfectly well (and all the money that went to support the horse could then be used to support some other worthy cause, like the University!)?

  Many of the students were also the second, third, or fourth sons of farmers, merchants, and nobles who did not expect to inherit much from their fathers and thus were forced to seek gainful employment elsewhere. Not wishing to become apprentices or soldiers, they opted to come to the University, and thus were not able to afford so extravagant a thing as a horse (therefore anyone riding a horse was wasting resources). Tristan asked directions, seeking whoever was in charge of the University and received a very confused look. It appeared no one was in charge of this miasma of activity. There were various people who oversaw certain aspects of the day-to-day operations, but there was no particular person who managed everything. Then he asked who was in charge of admitting new students and finally received a useful answer. They approached the small cottage indicated by their informant and left the unicorns ‘loose’ outside as there was nothing to pretend to tie them to, and unlike real horses, they were not prone to wander. They knocked on the door and someone inside yelled, “come in!”

  They entered and found an old, but lively man inside sitting at a table with a stack of papers in front of him and a quill pen in his hand. He smiled as they entered, “what can I do for you?”

  “We have heard much of this University of yours and have come hence to learn more about it,” said Tristan.

  The man laughed, “it is not ‘my’ University or anyone else’s for that matter. It belongs to everyone. What would you like to know?”

  “Anything you can tell us of its origins, requirements, educational programs, and mode of operations would be helpful,” said Tristan.

  “That is quite a list,” grinned the old man, “may I ask why all the questions?”

  “We are just very curious about this place as we have never encountered anything quite like it before,” said Tristan.

  “It is quite an impressive accomplishment if I may say so,” said the man proudly, “let me see, yes…the University was started a few years ago by a group calling themselves the Philanthropic Society. They wanted to leave something behind, make their lives meaningful and all that I suppose. They convinced some of the richest men in Syre to give generously to their little fund and soon had enough to establish the University. We are supported by contributions from whoever feels moved to give, and also by donations from former students that have achieved some semblance of fiscal success. Admission is open to anyone and everyone, except girls, they would be a distraction. However, we are hoping to start a similar institution for women, but it is still very much in the planning stages mind you.

  Students must sit in on five hundred hours of lecture, spend six months traveling and sharing their wisdom or furthering their education, and then must write a two hundred page manifesto on a subject of their choice. After they have completed these requirements, they are granted the title of Scholar and are encouraged to spend at least three years teaching, furthering their education, or conducting research in their area of expertise. After such a time, they may return to us and claim the post of Professor. One can also become a Professor by donating generously to our University. The University itself is overseen by a number of men who manage various aspects, such as I oversee enrollment and student development. If a problem should arise, the various department heads get together and try to solve the problem. The faculty also vote on certain matters if need be. There really is not an administrator or oversight committee. We like to allow things to develop as naturally as possible over time; a president or other leader might force things into a direction biased by his personal prejudices. Doing it this way, no single person has too much influence over the University as a whole.”

  “Fascinating,” said Tristan, “could we explore the campus a bit and perhaps listen to a lecture or two?”

  “Of course,” laughed the old man, “do whatever you like, the University is open to all. And if you should decide to enroll, just come back and let me know. Though just between ourselves, you may want to pack away your weapons. Some of the students may find them distracting.” Tristan nodded his thanks and they left the small cottage. When they stepped outside and looked for their mounts, they encountered quite a scene. A ring of students had formed itself around the two ‘horses,’ and all were intently watching one young man trying to interact with the animals. He stood at Taragon’s head, and was slowly trying to get in reach of his bridle. Anyone who had ever spent any time around horses could easily read the signs that Taragon was not happy. His ears were laid back and he kept lifting his head out of reach or backing up. His tail swished furiously, but the boy would not (or could not) read the signs and did not desist in his current objective, which seemed to be grabbing the bridle and getting Taragon’s head under control.

  “What are you doing?” queried Tristan of the persistent boy.

  “I am an expert horseman,” said the boy smugly, “I am simply trying to demonstrate my skills by catching these wandering animals. I have perfected the technique of Positive Horsemanship.”

  “And what would that be?” Tristan asked skeptically.

  “If you project positive thoughts at the animal, he will sense your good intentions and allow you to do whatever you would like with him. It makes for a very tractable horse and a more humane training process,” said the boy.

  “I see,” said Tristan, “and exactly how much experience have you had with horses?”

  The boy grinned, “oh lots, we lived next door to a blacksmith and I got to watch horses all day long. We also had a pony when I was a child. I have had more experience than most people.”

  “And why did you decide to ‘practice’ your technique on our mounts?” asked Tristan patiently.

  “They were wandering loose,” said the boy, “and as the local expert in all things horsy, I felt it my duty to capture them before someone got hurt or they got lost.”

  “I thank you for your help,” said Tristan, “but they would not have gone far nor hurt anyone who was not directly confronting them.” He walked forward through the crowd and patted the neck of the great stallion. The boy was irritating, but harmless. The mare walked quietly up to Pallin. Tristan turned back to the boy, “is there somewhere we may stow our gear temporarily?”

  “Oh yes,” said the boy, “I will take you to the storage office.” They followed the excited youth towards what looked like it had once been some sort of shed, but now housed the central storage area. The boy said, “you can check your items in here and retrieve them whenever you decide to leave.”

  “Thank you,” said Tristan. The boy beamed. They unsaddled the unicorns and handed their tack, supplies, and weapons to the man behind the counter. He looked skeptically at their paraphernalia but secured it anyway. They then
let the unicorns loose, much to the astonishment of the boy.

  “What are you doing?” he squawked.

  “They will be here when we need them,” said Tristan as he watched them buck and frisk a bit now that they were free of their harness. They quickly disappeared into the distant woods. “Now,” he said turning to the boy, who still stared off in the direction the creatures had fled, “we would like to sit in on a lecture or two. Can you help us?”

  “Huh,” said the boy, “oh, there is a list of lectures posted every day right over here.” He showed them a piece of parchment tacked to the wall of the storage facility. On it was a list of about twenty topics being discussed during the course of the day. Some of the topics included:

  Goats: a psychological analysis.

  Kerfluffle the Ogre: a study in prejudice and misconception, and its implications for society.

  The Socioeconomic impact of large-scale turtle farming.

  In the eye of the beholder: the unreality of evil.

  A forest of feeling: how the trees suffer from the exploitation of man.

  Dragons: myths, monsters, or gods?

  Going Buggy: the social interactions of dung beetles.

  The Brethren: an expose on world domination.

  The futility of achievement: why the world would be better off if everyone was mediocre.

  The influence of lobsters in art and music throughout history.

  Flatulence as a form of self-expression.

  It was a long and tedious list, and would have been funny had not the people who were giving such lectures been very serious about their topics. Tristan looked at the boy, “how do you decide which lectures to attend?”

  He smiled proudly and said, “we are encouraged to attend classes on a wide variety of subjects, but we try to pick the lectures most relevant to our own area of study. I have a green robe, which means I am interested in the natural sciences. Black is undecided or general studies. Red is the philosophical and logical disciplines. Yellow is the arts and history. Blue is the social and economic fields.”

  “What is your next class?” asked Tristan.

  “I am attending the lecture on the Brethren, though the dung beetle class also looks interesting,” said the boy.

  Tristan was not sure what he felt about the Brethren being ranked so closely to dung beetles but he said, “we would like to go with you if that is not a problem.”

  The boy grinned, “I would be pleased to escort you. Are you enrolling in the University?”

  “We are thinking about it,” said Tristan. Pallin looked at him in concern; he was not eager to enroll in this nonsensical place, but they would do as Tristan felt they must. They followed the boy across the campus and into the sprawling manor house. He led them into a large room packed with eager students. There was just room enough for everyone to stand, albeit uncomfortably close to everyone else. “Are all the lectures this full?” asked Tristan.

  “Oh yes,” nodded the boy proudly, “except maybe the flatulence lecture. There are so many students and the number of lectures is limited, so we must crowd into whatever space is available.”

  Shortly, a tall, stuffy man walked proudly into the room in a flowing robe of yellow and blue. Tristan asked quietly, “what do the colors of the instructor’s robe mean?”

  The boy looked horrified that Tristan would talk once the Professor was in the room but mumbled back, “they wear whatever they want.” Several of the surrounding pupils stared at them in disbelief that they would even think about talking. The boy was cowed into silence by his peers. Tristan smiled in amusement; they certainly took their studies seriously. The professor glanced around the room sternly, as if trying to locate the source of the offensive noise, but found no one to blame so began his lecture. The man spoke for a full hour on the Brethren and their evil plot to force the world to submit to their version of ‘truth,’ and their willingness to use whatever means necessary. Tristan was amazed to learn that he was a member of a militant organization that was planning the overthrow of free choice, rational thought, and common sense. Why had not over a century in the service of the Brethren revealed such a fundamental truth about the organization?

  Pallin struggled valiantly to contain his laughter and spent most of the hour with a haphazard grin on his face. Once the instructor finished his tirade against the Brethren he looked directly at Pallin and said, “do you find something funny? What I have just said is of the utmost importance and is not to be laughed at.”

  Pallin bowed (or tried to in the crowded room) and said, “no offense to you sir. Your lecture was quite enlightening on many counts. I simply cannot contain myself at being amidst such learned men.” The professor looked at him skeptically but seemed mollified.

  They filed out of the room. “What did you think?” asked the boy.

  “It was definitely an eye-opening experience,” said Tristan, “I had never thought about the Brethren that way.”

  “That is what is so wonderful about the whole University,” piped the boy, “it opens your eyes to so many things you would otherwise never think about.”

  “I am sure it does,” said Tristan dryly, “what happens now?”

  The boy said, “that was the last lecture before lunch. I must help with dishes today. After that there are several more lectures before the evening meal.”

  “We shall go with you today,” said Tristan, “if we are not an inconvenience.”

  “Oh no,” said the boy, “I would love to act as your guide and you can help me with the dishes.”

  “The dishes?” asked Pallin glumly.

  “Yes,” said the boy, “we are all assigned chores. It keeps costs down if we all help out around the University.”

  “Lead on,” said Tristan, vastly amused at Pallin’s lack of enthusiasm for helping with the dishes. After a light lunch, the boy led them into the kitchens where several young men were at work cleaning up. Tristan and Pallin rolled up their sleeves and pitched in. Tristan said quietly to Pallin, “nothing like washing dishes for the glory of the Master.”

  “This was not,” said Pallin, “what I thought I would be doing when I took my Oath.”

  “There are many things we must do in service to the Master, even if we would rather not,” said Tristan with a smile, “besides, you missed a spot.” Pallin gave him a sharp look but it was in mock-sternness, and he resumed his scrubbing with a lighter heart. There were far worse things he could be doing.