Urel raised his eyebrows. "Afelnor, you say. Surely it cannot be his son?"
"His grandson, in fact," Thorn drawled, as if such an event happened every day.
"He has power within him, of course, or I would not have accepted him into the House. You know the rules, Urel. Under such circumstances I could scarcely have rejected him, whatever his antecedents."
"Of course, Lord Thorn, I understand completely."
"How very perspicacious of you," Thorn replied acidly. The earlier communication with his mother had left him somewhat dyspeptic; or, perhaps the drink he had consumed the night before had had more effect on him than he had thought.
Collecting himself, he apologised. "I am sorry, Urel, I should not have spoken to you in that manner. I have a lot on my mind at present."
"No apology is necessary, Lord Thorn. We all know the responsibilities of your position place a great burden upon your shoulders."
"Thank you for your understanding, Senior Magemaster. I wish it understood that young Afelnor is a Student like any other, and I do not wish him to be victimised for the acts of his grandfather.
"He is here to learn and, good fortune permitting, to progress to the limits of his abilities and skills. He seems intelligent and respectful, and I do not imagine that you are likely to find him problematic within the Scholasticate.
"Doorkeeper is with him at present. Kindly assign the boy a cell in the Charity Wing and ensure that the Magemasters are all aware that he is to be treated as any other charity Student. He belongs to you now, and I trust that, one day, you will have cause to be proud of him."
"Lord Thorn, I would never tolerate victimisation of any of my young Students. I will ensure that he is treated according to his abilities and achievements and not according to his ancestry."
Apparently realising he was speech-making, Urel cleared his throat and returned to the matter in hand. "I will put him in Cell 17, Lord Prelate. I would be grateful if you could relay that to Doorkeeper. I will inform the Magemasters of the new arrival immediately upon leaving your office."
Thorn put his hand to his temple and muttered a phrase. "It is done, Senior Magemaster. Now, will you sit for a while and accept a glass of Lurian brandy? I have here a particularly good example of its type. I receive so few callers here in person."
"I would be delighted to share your liquor with you for a while, Lord Prelate. I have not tasted that particular beverage for a decade or more."
Thorn poured Urel a generous portion of the golden liquid, which the Magemaster accepted with a nod of gratitude. Thorn poured himself an even larger quantity and settled back comfortably in his chair, on familiar territory now.
"I always liked Afelnor, ever since we were Students together," Urel said, the fire of the expensive brandy seeming to loosen his tongue. "Whatever possessed him to attempt to murder Lord Prelate Geral? We all loved Geral, and I had often heard Loras speak highly of him."
Thorn had handled similar questions many times before, and he was not fazed. "Loras was my firmest friend within the House as you know, Urel. I would no more have expected him to attack Geral than to assault me. I suspect that he despaired at the old Prelate's illness, as we all did, and sought to relieve him of further suffering. It was with a heavy heart that I exposed his act to the Presidium and watched him stripped of his powers. Yet the rules were clear. Justice, no matter how painful, had to be done."
"He took his punishment with great dignity, and I was pleased to see that."
"He did. Let us see that his chastisement does not extend to his grandson." Noticing that Urel had finished his brandy, Thorn wanted to refill the Senior Magemaster's glass, but he did not move to do so. The Prelate was often lonely and maudlin, but he knew this was the price that had to be paid if he was ever to rule the Guild and get his hated mother off his back. He recognised, only too well, the demon of depression as it hopped onto his shoulders, and he resolutely dismissed it.
"Thank you for your company, Urel. I have enjoyed our little discussion. However, I am afraid that I have some urgent matters to attend to. Would you excuse me?" Urel bowed and left, and Thorn was alone again with his papers and his problems.
Chapter 5: Cell 17
Doorkeeper led Grimm through an iron gate, and the colourful opulence of the Great Hall was replaced by a dull green and grey; a musty smell filled the air.
"This is the Charity Wing of the Scholasticate, Grimm," intoned the major-domo. "You may stay here for a long time, but the years will soon fly, believe you me! Sometimes, I wish I was back here as a Student. It would free me from all my obligations; they seem so hard at times. So hard…"
He sighed mournfully in self-pity and assumed his official manner once more. "The normal term doesn't begin for another two weeks, and so there will be very few Students here for a while, just other charity boys. The paying Students are allowed home at the end of term, although you, as a charity boy, will not be allowed leave unless granted special permission by your Magemaster or by Lord Thorn.
"I think there are a few other charity Students within the House at this time, so there should be a few other boys of your own age for you to make friends with. Here, this is your cell."
They had stopped in an ill-lit corridor outside a door bearing the number 17. "This will be your number as long as you are a Student here. Your clothes will bear this number, and the Magemasters who teach you may address you as number 17. Some of the Magemasters don't have such a good memory for names as I do."
Doorkeeper opened the door to show a clean but dismal room. The walls were painted in cabbage-green with off-white tiles up to knee height. The small room's accoutrements were few: a brass bed with a thin mattress and a neatly-folded but threadbare bedroll; an off-white, crazed ceramic washbowl; a rickety chair set beside a small, round, wooden table; and a warped bookshelf bearing a single volume.
The major-domo moved to the shelf and handed its sole occupant to Grimm: a weighty tome bearing the title Rules and Regulations of the Scholasticate in black on a battered brown leather cover. "Read this book carefully, Grimm. It's very important, yes, very important, and you may be tested on it.
"It contains all the rules and regulations for charity Students, for the Guild in general, and for this House in particular. The Magemasters and seniors may ask you questions about it at any time, and you'd better be able to answer them without a moment's thought, or you may be punished. We don't want that, now, do we?"
Grimm shook his head, mute in his encroaching misery.
"There's a similar book for the paying Students," continued Doorkeeper, "but the rules aren't as strict. The House needs money, and most of it comes from the parents of the rich boys. Make sure that you know all the Rules by heart, and be sure to obey them all."
Grimm nodded wordlessly, his heart too full to speak. "I will be back to take you to luncheon in a few hours," said Doorkeeper. "Don't try to get back into the Hall; you won't be able to. But I think the Scholasticate will be a large enough world for you, even over the long time to come.
"Be strong, Grimm; the loneliness will pass soon enough once your studies have begun, and you will find your days full to bursting with new knowledge, new friends and new experiences. Be strong for me."
Doorkeeper left, closing the door of the cell with a thump that sounded to Grimm like a knell announcing the death of his old, familiar, life in Granfer's smithy.
Cell! The word echoed and rebounded through the boy's head; it sounded as if he were a criminal to be locked up.
Although the door was unlocked, the green walls of the cell seemed to close in on Grimm. He felt a swift, cold shiver of fear run through him. His lungs seemed to have turned to stone, and he felt unable to breathe properly.