Dalquist liked the sound of the Quest less with every second. Thorn made it sound so surgical and neat, but Dalquist might have to cause a great deal of destruction to prove his, or rather Burres', point, and he pointed this out to Thorn.
"That is precisely why I need a young, strong Questor, to show both Burres and the people of Shelt that we have youth and zest on our side, as well as power. We must appear as a young, virile, vigorous House."
Thorn waved his right hand in an airy manner. "Now, Questor Dalquist, I am sure that you will want to read up on the customs and geography of the area, so I will not detain you further. You are to leave for Shelt in three day's time. I have faith in you, Dalquist. See that it is not misplaced."
A dozen objections fluttered like sun-intoxicated mayflies in Dalquist's brain, but he knew that they would not sway Thorn one iota. Worse, some other Questor might be given the Quest. He bowed respectfully and left Thorn's room.
Pouring himself a large amount of brandy, Thorn knew Dalquist might face considerable danger in Shelt but, on the other hand, he would be well rewarded with gold and status. Thorn was happy that he would be able to present a full-blooded young Questor to the attention of High Lodge, and he thought of the revenues accruing to the House from all the new Students he would be receiving from the grateful or cowed people of Shelt. This, he thought, was good. It seemed that this Questor Dalquist had been well trained. A few surreptitious Spells of Compulsion and the odd Geas or two might help, but the Prelate felt that the hunger for his first ring might prove all the encouragement the young man needed. In any case, Thorn could always claim that Dalquist had exceeded his orders if things went wrong.
Chapter 8: The Refectory
Doorkeeper chivvied Grimm along the corridor and past his cell. At the far end of the corridor was another walkway, whose entrance was almost hidden in shadow. This corridor was as dimly-lit as the first, but bright light lay at the end of it, and as they approached the exit it opened into a large, well-lit quadrangle, from which further passages led off at various angles, like the legs of some gigantic insect.
Doorkeeper stopped for a moment and spoke in the dull monotone of one reciting a speech that had been delivered many times before. "To the left, here, is where the paying Students live. That corridor just beside it leads to the study areas. The classrooms are to the right of that, and the refectory is ahead. To our immediate right is the passage to the Assembly Hall, and off to the left is the recreation area. You may enter the wealthy Students' area only when you are invited, but you may use the other areas whenever you have free time. The corridor over there leads to the West Wing, where the mages and Adepts live and study, and that is closed to all Students."
Grimm had initially thought that, when told that he would be confined to the Scholasticate, he would be incarcerated in his miserable cell, but now that he caught a glimpse of just how large the Scholasticate was he began to think that his imprisonment might not be so bad after all.
One fly in the ointment was the fact that the sound of the luncheon bell in his head was unpleasantly dissonant, and Grimm cared little for the realisation that he should hear this exquisitely irritating noise three times a day for the rest of his spell in the Scholasticate.
"If you want to explore further after luncheon, feel free to do so except where I told you not to. Now we must eat; I am absolutely famished after such a long, busy morning. We must hurry, or we will be late."
Moving straight on, they proceeded through a further quadrangle, well lit and decked with a tasteful display of large and colourful flower bowls, and Grimm saw further passages leading into the distance as they passed into the corridor directly ahead. The Scholasticate seemed even larger to the young boy than the village of Lower Frunstock where he had spent his whole life!
At the end of the corridor was a broad opening with a pair of open, metal-barred gates. Doorkeeper raised a hand and the gates swung open with a slight creak. With an expansive gesture, he led Grimm into an enormous room, bigger than any the boy had yet seen. At one end of the room was a small, cramped, terracotta-tiled section with four long stone tables bearing dull but clean cutlery, each table with a wooden bench on either side and equipped with a wooden salt mill and a small pot of what looked like mustard.
The rest of the Refectory consisted of a much larger and more spacious area with alternating black and white marble floor tiles and tasteful murals on three walls, broken only by a large door and a hatchway, which were cunningly decorated to blend into the mahogany-panelled wall. In this area, there were neat rows of round tables with varnished and polished parquetry tops in varying sizes, ranging from small and intimate to larger tables suitable for a group of about ten persons to dine in comfort. The chairs bore faded but comfortable-looking cushions.
Each table was furnished with gleaming knives, forks and spoons in a bewildering number of varieties, a tasteful, fresh arrangement of flowers, fine linen napkins neatly folded into silver rings, delicate fingerbowls and an assortment of sauces and condiments.
Grimm did not need to ask which area was reserved for the charity Students, and he unconsciously edged towards the rude stone tables.
"This is the Refectory, Grimm," the mage said. Grimm thought this statement somewhat superfluous, but he held his tongue. "The larger area is, of course, reserved for mages and wealthy Students. I will sit with you here, in the area allocated to charity Students."
Doorkeeper spoke with an uncharacteristic, pompous air, as if bestowing a great honour. He sat on one side of one of the tables and Grimm sat opposite him.
The boy was about to ask how one obtained food in this deserted place, when the large door opened and a boy of maybe fifteen years of age emerged. He was clad in a starched white kitchen suit, and he wore a clean apron and a white cap that struggled with only partial success to retain a mass of unruly, greasy black locks. He sauntered across the floor with no apparent urgency, his head bowed.
Then, he noticed Doorkeeper and hurried across the room to arrive at the table, almost breathless. Bowing his head, he brought a card from his uniform pocket and smartly presented it to the mage. "Lord Mage, what is your pleasure?" he recited in a singsong manner, as if parroting a rote phrase.
Doorkeeper examined the card at some length, yawned and stretched luxuriantly. "I think the roast pheasant stuffed with truffles would be rather nice with wild mushrooms, new potatoes and asparagus spears."
He handed the card back to the boy, who performed an obsequious bow and made to leave. Doorkeeper caught him by the sleeve. "Where are you going, boy?" He spoke with a commanding tone that surprised Grimm with its power. "My companion is also hungry."
The boy stammered, "But Lord Mage, he is just a charity boy, by the look. I assumed that he would be having the standard fare."
"A charity boy he is but, for today only, he dines with me as my guest."
The boy bowed clumsily, handed the menu to Grimm with a perfunctory gesture, and stood before him, arms akimbo… a picture of contempt. Grimm scanned the card with nervousness that approached panic. Turning to Doorkeeper, the boy whispered urgently in the old man's ear, "Doorkeeper, I can't read this; not any of it!"
Doorkeeper nodded, and whispered, "Goodness me; of course! I'm sorry, yes indeed. The menu is written in High Darian, which you will learn soon enough. The rich boys are taught it almost from the time they leave their mothers' knees, as soon as they learn to talk their own languages. It is the tongue of the educated, and I have been familiar with it for so long that I can't remember when I couldn't speak it. As a charity boy, you will have no menu to consult, as there is usually only a single choice."