Read A College of Magics Online
Authors: Caroline Stevermer
A College of Magics (2 page)
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he following afternoon, Faris Nallaneen arrived at the door of Greenlaw College. The night before and most of
the morning, it had snowed. Faris had to step carefully to keep the worst of the dampness out of her worn shoes. Just inside the door, at the bottom of a flight of stone steps, lay a pool of water. Faris skipped across the snow melt in an unladylike fashion and deduced she was not the first visitor the proctors had for the day. Nor, probably, was she in the first one hundred.
he following afternoon, Faris Nallaneen arrived at the door of Greenlaw College. The night before and most of
the morning, it had snowed. Faris had to step carefully to keep the worst of the dampness out of her worn shoes. Just inside the door, at the bottom of a flight of stone steps, lay a pool of water. Faris skipped across the snow melt in an unladylike fashion and deduced she was not the first visitor the proctors had for the day. Nor, probably, was she in the first one hundred.
At the top of the stairs, Faris found a great hall, furnished only with the simplicity of its design and the fine gray stone of its construction, illuminated only by a large window at either end.
Mindful of the tales of Greenlaw College, Faris did not try to find another door, nor to leave the room. Scholarship at Greenlaw concerned not only natural philosophy and social ingenuity, but the workings of magic. It didn't seem wise to meddle beyond the precincts the proctors opened to her willingly.
An hour passed. It was not unusual for Uncle Brinker to keep her waiting for an hour. She passed the time by pacing. Twenty-five steps forth and twenty-five steps back, in and out of the pallid shafts of light slanting through the great windows. On the tiled floor her steps were silent. The only sound she made was the rustle of petticoats.
Another hour passed. Faris kept pacing. Despite her activity, the room seemed as cold as if the floor had been carved of ice. When she had memorized the pattern of the tiled floor, she turned her attention to the carved beams of the ceiling. They were strap and garter work, picked out in gilt and polychrome, the details difficult to appreciate in the fading daylight.
The late afternoon light was just on the point of fading all colors into gray when the outer door opened and a young woman of about her own age climbed the stairs to join her.
Faris paused in her pacing to inspect the newcomer, who returned her scrutiny with interest.
“You aren't a proctor, are you?” asked the newcomer.
Even in the failing light, Faris could see the young woman was barefoot and wore a shabby dress, soaked at the hem with melted snow. She was very thin. Her black hair was pulled back and tied at the nape of her neck. Her hands, though the knuckles were chapped red, were long and narrow. At her wrists blue veins showed through milk pale skin. Despite her apparent poverty, she bore herself with straight-backed grace, head high and gaze direct.
Faris met the barefooted girl's fearless look and felt an instant, irrational rush of inferiority. “No, I'm Faris.”
“I'm Odile. Are you a student here?”
“No. Are you?”
“Not yet.” Odile came toward her across the stone flags. She left bare footprints from the puddle but seemed untouched by cold. “I hope to be.” She looked around at the great room, filled with blue twilight. “I was to come this summer but harvest delayed me. I couldn't leave until the crops were in. I hope the proctors understand that.”
“They should. Crops are important. Did you have to travel far?”
“All the way from Sarlat. I walked.”
“Oh.” Faris felt renewed inferiority. She had come almost fifteen hundred miles, by riverboat, train, and carriage.
There didn't seem to be much virtue in that, certainly no topic for conversation. Faris stood silent, angry at her own embarrassment.
There didn't seem to be much virtue in that, certainly no topic for conversation. Faris stood silent, angry at her own embarrassment.
After all, what was there to be awkward about? This girl wanted to attend Greenlaw. Faris did not. The proctors could hardly honor an agreement with Brinker if she didn't give them a chance to do so. All she had to do was leave and let Odile have her place at college. If Gavren insisted, she could return the next day when Odile was safely accepted. There was not an unlimited supply of openings for applicants.
Faris eyed the stairs. As she did, the outer door opened again. This time the newcomer had an attendant, who bore a lighted lantern. A word at the threshold and the door closed. Alone, the newcomer climbed the steps, lantern in hand.
With a sweep of velvet the color of the sky outside the great windows, a golden-haired girl of their own age joined Faris and Odile. She wore slippers of the same deep velvet and ignored the puddle that had ruined them. She ignored Faris and Odile too, and walked straight across the great hall to an open door, where firelight shone against the failing of the day.
Faris and Odile exchanged stares.
“Was that door there a moment ago?” asked Odile.
“It's probably been there all along,” said Faris glumly.
They followed the girl in the velvet gown.
In the next room was warmth and golden light, age-faded tapestries, and a marquetry table with a chair behind it. In
the chair sat a plump woman with mouse-gray hair and tired eyes.
the chair sat a plump woman with mouse-gray hair and tired eyes.
“You're the proctor,” said the girl in the velvet gown. Her voice was melodious but her intonation made the words an accusation. She put out the lantern and placed it on the floor in front of the table. “I'm Menary Paganell.”
Faris's eyes narrowed. Her mouth set in a hard line.
The proctor put her chin in her hand and gestured at Faris to close the door. “Stand over there, all three of you. That's better. Winter's just here and I'm already sick to death of drafts.”
Unwillingly, Menary fell back to stand between Faris and Odile. Next to Menary's elegance, Odile's poverty was manifest, but she did not appear to notice it. She stood with the same proud carriage Menary displayed. Beside them, Faris knew herself to be graceless. More, she knew that next to Menary's determination and Odile's dedication, her presence was a sham.
The proctor sighed. “You know there's only one opening left, don't you? Officially, admission closed at Martinmas.”
“I was afraid I was too late,” said Menary, relieved. “We had ill wind for the voyage and a storm delayed us. We didn't put in to St. Malo until this morning.”
The proctor opened her eyes a little wider and Menary fell silent. “I said we had only one opening.” Her tone was polite but her weary gaze rested on Menary without interest. “You can count, can't you?”
“My family arranged for me to attend Greenlaw when I was four years old,” stated Menary.
Faris recognized the intonation of the words “my family.” It was similar to her own when it became necessary to mention her uncle Brinker. She regarded the proctor with pleased expectation. If there was only one opening, there was the certainty that someone's prestige would be insufficient, either her uncle's or the family Paganell. Either prospect promised entertainment.
“Then if I were to ask you to recommend someone for this single opening,” said the proctor, “you would choose yourself.”
“Well, of course.” Menary glanced at Odile, then at Faris, then back to the proctor. Her beautiful gray eyes, the exact shade of her velvet gown, narrowed. “Unless it's a trick question.”
The proctor stifled a sigh and turned her attention to Odile. “And you, Odile Passerieux?”
Odile's eyes widened. “How did you know my name?”
“We've been expecting you for some time.”
Odile's eyes fell. She clasped her hands before her and twisted her fingers. “I know I'm late. I couldn't help it. My family needed me.”
The proctor inclined her head graciously. “One opening, Odile. How would you have us fill it?”
Odile's eyes held the proctor's. “Choose me.” Her voice was soft but ardent. “Oh, please. Choose me.”
Faris altered her stance so that the toe of her left shoe was visible beneath the hem of her dress. She studied it for a long moment, until the quality of silence in the room told her the proctor had finished staring at Odile and had started staring at her.
“Well, Faris Nallaneen?” The proctor sounded very tired. “What have you to say?”
“Good afternoon. I didn't get your name.”
The proctor sniffed. “We have one opening. How would you have us fill it?”
Faris took a deep breath. “Choose Menary Paganell. Let Odile stay on and scrub floors or something until Menary loses interest and goes home to marry someone better dressed than she is. Then let Odile take the vacancy.” She let out what was left of her breath and looked at the toe of her shoe again.
“And what will you do, Faris?”
“I will go home.” Faris was still inspecting the toe of her scuffed shoe. “And plant oats.”
“Wild oats?”
Something in the proctor's tone brought Faris's head up swiftly. “All kinds. The one thing I could do here, I can do just as well at home in Galazonâget older.”
The proctor laughed at Faris.
“I won't stay here, no matter what he's paid you to accept me.”
“It seems he ought to have paid you.” The proctor sobered slightly.
“He's tried,” spat Faris.
The proctor made no effort to conceal her amusement. “Menary shall have the opening, what do you say to that?”
Faris's eyes widened as her thoughts raced. If Gavren could be persuaded to believe in her failure without consulting the proctors himself, she could leave in the morning. She could be home before the turn of the year. She looked
from the proctor to Menary, who was triumphant, then to Odile, whose knotted fingers were the only sign of her distress.
from the proctor to Menary, who was triumphant, then to Odile, whose knotted fingers were the only sign of her distress.
“Will you take my advice about Odile?” she asked the proctor. “Even scrubbing floors is better than walking home barefoot in the winter. If you let her go, they'll only keep her home for lambing season, or some other chore. Let her have the next vacancy.”
“What do you say to that advice, Odile?” asked the proctor.
Odile unclasped her hands and took a step closer to the marquetry table. “A fine idea. But what matters is what you say. Is Faris accepted?”
The proctor sniffed again. “Despite her uncle's best efforts, she is.”
“Waitâ” Faris looked from Odile to the proctor and back. “
I'm
accepted? What about you?”
I'm
accepted? What about you?”
“What about
me
?” Menary gave Faris a look of pure dislike.
me
?” Menary gave Faris a look of pure dislike.
“Oh, fear not,” said the proctor. “You're both accepted. Along with the students who came on time. Allow me to introduce you again to Odile Passerieux. She is in her third year here.”
“I'm glad that's settled,” said Menary.
Faris fixed Odile with a cold stare and spaced her words deliberately. “Oh, please. Choose me.”
“Contemptible, isn't it?” Odile replied affably. “I did walk here though, two years ago.”
“Did they make you scrub floors?”
“They made me wear shoes.” She pulled the ribbon from
her hair, shook her head and let her black hair go free around her shoulders. “I humored them. You can humor them too.”
her hair, shook her head and let her black hair go free around her shoulders. “I humored them. You can humor them too.”
“Do they make you relive your dramatic past for every applicant?”
Odile shook her head. “I volunteered. Your uncle's efforts to assure your admission made you sound fairly odious. And then your arrival confirmed the impressionâyour grace.”
“I thought that might rankle.”
“It made you seem like an ass.”
Menary looked bored.
Faris said darkly, “My uncle is going to be very pleased about this.”
“He should be,” said the proctor. “He's rid himself of a minor nuisance for three years.”
“If he gets a major nuisance back, will he still be pleased?” Odile asked.
“I wonder.” Faris turned to the proctor. “I'd like to send word to my traveling companions. I don't have much baggage but I need to collect it from them before they return to Galazon.”
“Your bodyguards will be notified,” said the proctor. “They can communicate the news to your uncle for us. Perhaps they can also convey your uncle's letter of credit safely back to Galazon.”
“Oh, the bribeâ” Faris shook her head. “Don't do that.”
The proctor's brows lifted. “Aren't they trustworthy?”
“Gavren and Reed are entirely trustworthy. My uncle isn't. You'd better keep the money.”
“Hardly,” exclaimed the proctor. “Greenlaw College would be perceived as having taken a bribe.”
Faris smiled bitterly. “The damage is done. You've accepted me. No one will think for an instant that I got in on merit alone. This way, when my uncle is late paying school fees, Greenlaw needn't be inconvenienced.”
“We could hold it in escrow, I suppose.” The proctor looked amused. “Merely a formality, of course.”
“Of course.” It was a small thing, an inconvenience Brinker might not even notice, but it cheered Faris.
“Your escort will be notified and your baggage brought here at once. Menary, we have made arrangements for you, as well. In the meantime, Odile, will you show them both to their quarters?”
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