The older Herald nodded, looking oddly pleased. Mags had a nagging feeling of familiarity; he was sure he’d seen this man before somewhere. Unfortunately, he realized he was at that awkward point in the conversation where stopping to ask a name seemed a little odd. He groaned inwardly. Proper manners were very hard. Would it be wrong to ask now?
His hesitation cost him his chance. The older Herald smiled. “Well said, and a fine idea. I’ll have a word with the right people. I am even more pleased now to have run into you.”
Mags flushed a little. “Eh, I jest say things. Don’ mean I’m right. Jest say things ’cause I’m too dumb t’ know I shouldn’.”
The Herald laughed. “And there is a very wise saying that only the young are unsophisticated enough to see past the mask to the truth and brave enough to speak it aloud. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other soon.” With that, he opened the door and went into the stable, leaving Mags staring after him, still trying to pin down why he was so familiar.
Then he shook his head and pelted for the Collegium at a dead run, vaulting the fence around Companions’ Field rather than taking the time to open the gate, and scrambling up the path with his book-rucksack banging on his shoulders. Fortunately, his next class was at the nearer end of the building; he wasn’t the last person to dash in through the door, though he was the last to fling himself behind his desk. Still, Mags managed to arrive without being late, getting into place mere moments before the teacher entered the classroom.
The class itself took all of his concentration, and managed to drive all thought of the odd encounter right out of his mind. It was one of “those” maths classes, the ones where he was supposed to figure out angles and the like. It made his head hurt, he was concentrating so hard, and feeling altogether like the stupidest person in the class. Sums were so easy, but this... there were so many things he had to keep track of.
Thank goodness the next class was history. He was always ahead on history. It was—well, not logical, exactly, because history was people, and people weren’t always logical. But it was like stories, there was a beginning, a middle and an end.
But as he was going into the door for his last class, he was approached by a page boy and handed a piece of paper. It was a note from Herald Caelen, the head of the Collegium, asking him if he’d come by after classes were over for the day.
His first thought, immediately, was what did I do wrong? His second was to think back to that encounter at the stable with the Herald. What if the Herald had been offended at his forwardness? What if he’d insulted the Herald by not addressing him by name? What if the Herald was one of those who didn’t approve of the new system? What if he did, but was offended by Mags’ implied criticism? His head spun, and he felt that all-too-familiar old reaction. Back in his old life, the only reason someone in authority would want to see him would be because he was in trouble or that someone was looking for a scapegoat to punish.
He reminded himself that he wasn’t in his old life. He’d never had that sort of thing happen to him here.
But it was hard to break his old ways of thought. He could all too easily imagine a hundred things he would have done or said wrong. As he worried them all through, the class dragged along.
He tried to reason with himself. Maybe Caelen wanted to see him for a good reason rather than a bad one. Probably Caelen wanted to see him for a good reason. Maybe that Herald had told Caelen he had a good idea, and Caelen wanted to ask him about it. Finally he managed to convince himself that this was the most probable—a sign that at least, if he had not overcome his instinctive reactions, he could finally reason his way past them.
Regardless, everything about the impending meeting kept him distracted during a lesson that was not one of his best subjects. This was the language class, and language, with all of its rules about grammar and spelling—made no sense to him. Nothing about it was logical, and just when he thought he’d gotten a rule straight in his head, it all went out with some exception or other. And as for his spelling, well, it was... creative.
This generally made for a long lesson at the best of times, and being preoccupied made it longer.
At last the teacher dismissed them, though unfortunately with a writing assignment. Just what he needed, with his head all of a muddle. Mags wondered if Lena would help him put it together, and then wondered if he was going to be too busy trying to make up for what he’d done wrong to ask her.
Once again, his mood dropped, and he had convinced himself that he was in trouble. He pulled his books together into his shoulder bag, suddenly wishing the lesson had been even longer. What could Caelen want?
As he walked along the corridor, feeling as if he was under a dark cloud, and wondering if he should pretend he never gotten the note, he felt a familiar presence in the back of his head. :It’s probably not bad, you know,: his Companion assured him, :I would have warned you if I’d seen you doing anything that was that bad. But you aren’t going to find out unless you go.: There was an amused chuckle. :No matter what, you’ll muddle through. Besides, how do you know Caelen isn’t going to thank you for coming up with a good idea?:
That was enough to lift his mood, at least a little. And give him enough courage to head for Caelen’s office and knock tentatively on the door.
“Come in,” called Caelen through the door.
Mags pushed it open. The block-like Herald was, as usual, rather buried in things on his desk. There were sheafs of papers stacked precariously around him, and it was impossible to tell which were things he was done with and which he had yet to work on. Mags blinked owlishly at the piles. How did Caelen ever get through all the work that was piled on him? Every time he thought that he was piled high with work, he would get a glimpse of what Caelen faced, and know that the work of a Trainee was nothing.
Caelen looked up and gave Mags a warm smile, and then followed his gaze, and made a wry face. “Budgeting,” he sighed. He waved vaguely at the piles. “I have to account for every penny spent in Herald’s Collegium, and my procrastination has come back to bite me. Again.” He stabbed a finger at the paper in front of me. “It doesn’t help that I have no idea sometimes what I’m signing for. Here it says we ordered a bale of dried marrow root.” He rolled his eyes. “I have no idea what marrow root is, or, since this order is missing half of its information, where it came from. And yet, I have to sign to say it’s justified. And if someone comes to ask me what in heaven’s name I was thinking when I signed for it, I will be sitting here looking like a fool.”
Mags peered at the paper. “Bear would prob’ly know,” he suggested, trying to be helpful.
Caelen laughed. “Well, since he’s the one that put in the request for it, I sincerely hope so. I gather it is something that he feels would do you lot good in the winter.” He put aside the piece of paper, and looked Mags over. “You’re growing,” he noted, nodding approvingly. “It’s good to see you filling out, considering the size you were when you arrived. I won’t say you were the smallest Trainee we have ever had, but you were certainly the thinnest, and certainly the shortest for your age.”
Mags looked down at himself. “Can’ really help it,” he said, shrugging. “Sorta happens all by itself.”
The Herald rubbed his greying temples. “I suppose it does,” he replied with a nod. “Well, that brings me to the reason I brought you up here. I was reminded today that you are in a room that is usually used for the grooms that care for the Companions, and I thought, now our building work was getting closer to completion that you might like one of the newly built rooms that are free. It would get you out of the stables and in with the other trainees.”