Again, Kargan produced his broad, infectious smile, implying that some great fun was in store for the shell-shocked Students.
"It may interest you to know that I have a small pet bird who can recite them all. He is no captive Mage Shapeshifter, I assure you, but a true representative of the avian persuasion! When you have thoroughly absorbed these runes at least as well as my feathered companion, we shall move on to the manner in which these are coupled together to make spell syllables; the basic vocabulary of the craft. Later, we shall consider the written forms of the runes and the methods of joining them into fluid script. Thank you, gentlemen. That will be all."
The boys trooped out of the class, with little conversation, as each looked at his slate. There was much to be done before the morrow. Grimm breathed a deep sigh of relief as he left the room. Kargan was a strange, complex, emotional man, and the boy thought it would take a little while before he became used to the Magemaster's mercurial moods.
Chapter 13: Class Enemies
In the refectory that evening, Grimm was sitting alone at a plate of cold salt fish and boiled cabbage when he was joined by Madar and the tone-deaf Argand Forutia, who were brought sumptuous meals which had been prepared for them. Others in the hall had similar fare but had snubbed him, and Grimm had caught the chilly words "rotten pauper" and "guttersnipe" from some.
"Grimm, may we join you?" Madar asked in a friendly manner. Grimm nodded, wary of a prank, despite the boy's frank, open face. The fact that these rich boys wanted to join him at the poorer end of the Refectory put him on his guard.
"You talked of your grandfather. Wasn't he a mage here?" Argand asked.
"Doorkeeper said he was, but Granfer never talks… talked of it."
Argand swallowed a mouthful of roast meat with some difficulty. "Some other boys were saying that he was quite a senior mage, is that right? Don't worry, we're not going to blab or set you up."
Madar gave his head a vigorous shake in apparent disavowal of any intended treachery.
"I was told that he was a Questor, whatever that is," Grimm said.
Madar whistled, impressed. "Crohn said that they were one of the best kinds of mage."
Grimm continued with difficulty. "He… they don't like him here. He… he did something bad. I don't really want to say any more." His heart full, he looked down at his meagre meal, but his hunger had vanished.
Argand put a meaty hand on Grimm's shoulder. "Don't worry, Grimm, we'll look after you, won't we, Madar? Your secret's safe with us. Here, have some roast lamb. I'm stuffed." Madar and Argand piled Grimm's plate high with delicacies, and Grimm stammered thanks, with tears in his eyes at their generosity. After a moment's hesitation, he began to attack the pile of food before him, discovering that he was hungry, after all.
"Don't mention it Grimm," said Madar. "Argand and me know what it's like to be nobody. Both our Das had to earn their money instead of being given it, and the boys who were born rich don't like that. You'll soon see that there're class differences, even among rich boys."
"And I like you 'cause you didn't laugh at me like the others did," Argand said, raising a dismissive hand as Grimm opened his mouth to reply.
"Oh, I know you wanted to, but you were nice enough not to join in. Not like that stuck-up lot over there." Argand stuck a contemptuous thumb towards a cackling knot of well-dressed boys.
"That slimy toad Shumal Tolarin over there's the worst of them," Argand said. "His father's a magi… magistrate or something, and he doesn't like my Da because he had to borrow money off Da when things were tight. He treated me like a leper at our first school until I got bigger than him and gave him a good thrashing. He knows he'll get it again if he tries anything funny. He always goes around with that soppy limpet, Ruvin Terruren, but Ruvin runs away like a scared rabbit if anyone threatens him when Shumal isn't around to look after him."
"And Shumal doesn't like me 'cause my Da grew up in the slums but earns more now than his Da," chimed in Madar. "'Cause he grew up poor, he-my Da, that is-knows how to fight. He taught me, too, 'cause I wasn't very big or strong. Shumal knows whatever he gets from Argand, he'll get from me, too." Madar's voice held no trace of boasting. He spoke with a confidence that spoke of experience.
Grimm gasped. "You mustn't fight-it's in the rules! They'll throw you out!"
Argand laughed. "That's only if you're caught doing it, you idiot," he crowed. "You don't fight out in the open where anyone can see, silly! Anyway, I hear they don't press the rules too much here if you've got money."
"I've heard that, too," said Grimm. "But what if Shumal tells on you?" He felt concerned for his bold new friend, fearing that lessons learnt in a primary school playground might not apply quite as well to the austere Guild House.
Madar spoke up. "Not even Toady Tolarin would dare to peach," he said. "His life wouldn't be worth it, I promise you. Me and Argand've been at lower school with most of these boys since we were little, and ratting on other boys is one thing you don't ever, ever do. He might try to get even with us somehow, but even he wouldn't dare tell. He knows his life wouldn't be worth living if he did."
Grimm felt dubious, but he kept his counsel. These two boys' confidence seemed in stark counterpoint to his own complete ignorance.
"You'd be surprised how many boys come into class with black eyes they got from falling down stairs or walking accidentally into doors," Madar said. "I've had my share of them, but I always got even on the quiet."
"But not telling doesn't apply to us," Argand said, and Madar nodded in agreement. "If that pig, Shumal, or anyone else starts on you, don't you be scared to tell us; just never, ever tell any of the Magemasters. And if you ever do come here with a black eye and say you walked into a door, I'll give you another one." Argand flourished a large, admonitory fist. "You must always, always tell your friends the truth."
"But I'd rather tell everybody the truth," Grimm said, "I was always told not to lie, and I really don't want to lie to the Magemasters. They'll know if you don't tell the truth, anyway."
Madar sighed, as if confronted by a rather stubborn and doltish pet. "Of course they know, and they know that you know they know… you know?" he got out with some effort, as if his mouth were running ahead of his brain.
"It's all part of the game-it's not lying to them, Grimm. Those old fools'd rather stay in their cells with a bottle of wine at night and let us sort out everything among ourselves. The Magemasters here might wear wizards' cowls and big beards and carry their big mage staffs-staves, is it?-but they aren't any different to the teachers at our old school.
"They want you to keep trouble away from them, not come running every time you get a bloody nose. And they still tell you to say who did it to you, even though they don't want to know. They'll despise you if you do squeal, even if they ask you to your face. Lying about fighting is about the only lie you can get away with to a teacher… or a Magemaster. We know, we really do.
"They all make a big thing about how important telling the truth is in this place, but it's just like Lower School, really. We'll make sure you don't get any nasty black eyes to explain."
"I can fight, too," Grimm said, with a touch of defiance, "I can fight my own battles."
The two other boys were no taller than Grimm, but much broader and more muscular, and they proffered him identical, indulgent smiles, as if listening to the babble of a feeble-minded relative. "Well, let's just forget about that for the moment, shall we? Call it a trade: I'll fight for you, and you can try to teach me this singing thing."
"And I'll fight for you and you can teach me how to see this aura thing Crohn talks about," Madar added.