The door opened with a weary-sounding creak, to reveal a tall man of maybe twenty-five years. Long, dark hair tumbled down over the visitor's shoulders, and his calm face was framed with a neatly-trimmed, brown beard.
He wore simple, brown, homespun robes like Grimm's, but he bore an ornate, blue metal ring on his marriage finger and a six-foot, brass-shod staff, which the boy now recognised as the outward marks of a mage. Grimm expected a thundering bass voice to issue from the man's lips, but he was pleasantly surprised by the gentle tones he heard.
"Doorkeeper told me there was a new charity boy; we're few and far between in this august establishment, so I thought I would take the opportunity to introduce myself: I am Questor Dalquist Rufior."
Chapter 6: Two New Friends
Grimm gave a deep, stiff bow.
"Lord Mage, I am Grimm Afelnor. I am pleased to meet you, sir."
The words were stiff and grave, betokening the formality of a rote-learned phrase. Dalquist noted the telltale, grubby spoor of tears extending from the lower margins of the boy's eyes. It was plain to the Questor that Grimm was still struggling to control hot, roiling emotions.
Dalquist smiled warmly. "There's no need to call me either 'Lord Mage' or 'sir', Grimm Afelnor. In truth, I have been a Mage Questor only a month and, since I have no Quests to my name yet, I am still a Questor only in name. Please call me Dalquist, and only that.
"Doorkeeper asked me to visit you because I was once a charity boy like you, and I know just how you feel. You feel betrayed and impossibly alone, don't you, Grimm? All those rules and regulations that apply only to you seem too much to bear-am I right?"
Grimm nodded, and the ghost of a faint smile began to creep across the boy's face before being suppressed.
"It's all right, Grimm," Dalquist said. "I don't remember any rule in the book about charity Students either smiling or enjoying themselves. I know everything seems horribly unfamiliar and forbidding to you now, but I promise you that this will change."
Dalquist pulled himself to his full height, cleared his throat and opened an imaginary scroll. "Rule 17.4.3, paragraph C," he boomed. "Charity Students will smile and enjoy themselves whenever the mood takes them, even if they think it looks better if they wallow in misery instead."
A genuine smile began to emerge on Grimm's face. "It doesn't say that in the book, Dalquist. You're teasing me!"
"That's one of my rules, Grimm, not the Scholasticate's. You can be miserable if you really want to; there will be plenty of time for that later on. Even the Prelate and the Presidium have no power to stop you from going around looking like a dying duck in a thunderstorm if you're determined to suffer. Feel free to mope and grizzle if you wish, and then you will find that nobody wants to be your friend.
"I can't pretend you'll be happy all the time here, but you must make the effort not to take depression as your only companion. Believe me, I know that fellow of old. After a while, depression becomes almost a comfort; when that day comes, you'll find he soon becomes a stricter and more domineering master than anyone in the Scholasticate.
"When you wake in the morning, don't expect the day to be dull and miserable; just take it as it comes. You may believe it or not, as you choose, but the simple fact is that even some of the paying Students will be as unhappy as you are at being sent away. It's true they can go home twice a year, while you will have to stay here, but they have left their friends and families behind, just as you have.
"You may find you have more in common with those boys than you think, and some of them will become your friends, as unlikely as it appears right now.
"In a few days, the other Students will begin to arrive, and the Magemasters and the other mages will return from their retreats. I know then you'll begin to find this a busy and interesting place."
Grimm proffered only a faint smile, although he could feel a real, wide grin trying to emerge. He knew what self-pity was, and that, unwittingly, he had been wallowing in its depths.
"I'm sorry, Dalquist. I will try to be happy."
The mage shook his head slightly. "No, Grimm, you don't understand. Trying to be happy never works. Sometimes you will be happy; sometimes you won't. Just don't ever, ever, try to be sad. Sometimes you won't be able to avoid misery, but that will happen much more often if you go looking for it.
"There, now, could that really be a genuine smile on that boy's face? Surely not; our new Student, Grimm Afelnor, isn't allowed to smile, is he?" Dalquist punctuated this last with a mock-stern stare.
Grimm giggled and his mouth, overruling his self-imposed misery, crumpled into a genuine smile at last. "That's silly. Nobody wants to be sad."
"Well then; in that case, we don't need to talk about it any more, do we?"
The small boy vigorously shook his head, the point taken. Then, with an abrupt change of subject, typical of a child his age, he asked, "Why aren't you old, Dalquist? I mean really, really old?"
The mage knit his brows for just a moment, and then his face cleared.
"If you mean I'm very young to be a mage, that's true, Grimm," he said. "That's because I'm a Mage Questor. Questors don't take as long to learn as other magic-users because they make their own magic. We aren't so much taught as… encouraged to develop.
"Other types of mage take much longer to win the Staff, because they have to learn a separate incantation or thought pattern for each enchantment."
"I didn't know there were different sorts of wizard… mage, that is," Grimm said. "I think I'd like to be a Questor, too, if it's that quick. My Granfer was a Questor," he added with a tinge of newfound pride.
Dalquist laughed. "Most Students feel the same way once they find out about Questors, for that reason above all," he said. "But I'm afraid it's not up to you, Grimm. Only the Magemasters can determine what sort of mage you'll become, if any. A lot of Students never become full mages at all, mostly because they give up."
The mage's expression darkened a little. "In your case, Grimm, failure to become a mage isn't a very appealing option, believe me. As a charity boy, you have to work off the expense of your tuition before you can leave, either as a mage or as a House servant. I really don't think you'd enjoy life as a House servant at all.
"On the other hand, I wouldn't worry too much about that prospect if you work hard and apply yourself to your studies. The Prelate doesn't give charity scholarships very often, and you can be sure that he only does so when he can see the glimmerings of some sort of talent."
The Questor smiled again. "I'm sure one day you'll be a mage, Grimm, but neither I nor anybody else could possibly say which kind. Still, I mustn't tell you too much about the training. The Magemasters will explain all to you in good time. Is there anything you'd like to ask me that doesn't involve becoming a mage?"
Grimm thought for a minute. "You said that you were a charity boy like me. Did you have lots of friends here? Are they mages, too?"
"I never had a lot of friends, but the ones I made are good friends still. They're still here as what we call Neophytes or as Adepts, except for two wealthy boys who left. I've promised the others I'll make a point of being present at their Acclamation ceremonies if I can, and I make the same promise to you, Grimm; if I can, I'll make a point of coming to your ceremony; whenever it happens."
"I'd like that, Dalquist. I'll work hard, I promise. Thank you for talking to me; I really feel a lot better now. Are there any other boys like me around?"
Dalquist shrugged. "I'm afraid I don't know, Grimm. The next term starts in two weeks; there'll be plenty of other boys around then."
Grimm's face fell. "Will I be all on my own for two whole weeks?" Cold fingers of loneliness began to play again along his spine.
Dalquist looked a little lost. "There's a yard where you can play," he suggested.
Grimm felt close to tears again. "But I can't play by myself, Dalquist!"