"Greetings, Questor Grimm; it seems that my patient instruction has, at last, borne some fruit. Your appearance and bearing appear appropriate to the occasion. I am pleased to see that the spoils of your Quests have been put to good use."
What patient instruction was that?
Faffel's mode of tuition had consisted of little but slaps, insults and acidic rebukes. These had been directed, in particular, at boys from less wealthy families, like Grimm. The man fawned over richer, titled Students, schooled in deportment and court protocol since they were weaned, and he had never tired of mentioning that he had been received at the King's court on several occasions.
Grimm detested snobbery, and he now had sufficient confidence in himself to take the conceited Magemaster down a peg or two.
"Magemaster Faffel, it is good to see you," he lied. "However, these fine silk robes were not purchased with proceeds from my Quests, but from funds voted to me by the High Council of Crar when I was declared Baron."
If anything could sway Faffel's self-importance, it was a noble title, and Grimm felt pleased to see that it had the desired effect. He saw an immediate change in the Magemaster's manner at the Questor's very mention of the glittering title: 'Baron'. It seemed that Faffel was impressed by a noble cognomen, no matter how it had been bestowed.
"Lord Grimm, I apologise without reserve. I had no idea that you had been elevated to the nobility, and I congratulate you."
Faffel executed a perfect court bow, sweeping the ridiculous hat from his head so that the peacock feather brushed against the floor. Grimm toyed with the idea of extending his hand for the Magemaster to kiss but restrained himself, acknowledging the gesture with a brief but courteous nod. He could not act in such a contemptuous manner, even to such a shallow and conceited man, and he decided instead to be gracious. After all, the unpleasant Magemaster had managed to turn a clumsy blacksmith's boy into a competent dancer and an ambassador for the House who would not disgrace it, even in the most elevated company.
"Thank you, Magemaster Faffel. Thank you for educating me in the ways of the court. Without your diligent guidance, I am sure I would have dishonoured my title in many ways, with lapses of protocol or inappropriate speech."
Grimm felt revolted to see how the simple five-letter word, 'Baron', had turned the Magemaster into a fawning fool. It might have been better not to attempt to upstage the vain, snobbish man in this way, after all.
As Faffel's stream of sycophantic trivia became unbearable, the Questor felt relieved to note the arrival of the earthy Magemaster Kargan, whose face lit up at the sight of his erstwhile pupil.
Grimm knew Kargan would not bother with mindless chit-chat, and Mage Speech would go out of the window. Although Kargan wore robes of excellent quality, they seemed somehow loose and ill-suited to his spare, wiry frame, and his blue-tinted spectacles added an air of mystery.
"Well; if it isn't my old Student, Questor Grimm! My, aren't we a fine young popinjay these days?"
Kargan cast a disapproving glance at Faffel. "Hmm… I can see where you got the idea from, although I'm pleased to see that you, at least, chose to keep your apparel within the bounds of reasonable taste," he added, his voice dripping with contempt for the other Magemaster's ludicrous outfit.
Grimm opened his mouth to acknowledge Kargan's greeting, but Faffel interrupted him.
"That should be 'I see whence you obtained the idea'," the primping Magemaster sneered. There seemed little love lost between the two mage tutors, and they started a verbal sparring match, each trying to outdo the other.
Grimm, now freed from Faffel's obsequious attentions, looked on with some amusement as the two men traded slights and innuendos, although they always steered clear of outright insults.
The spat came to an abrupt halt as Grimm heard a familiar voice behind him.
"Gentlemen, your attention, please."
All three mages turned around, and Grimm saw the imperturbable Senior Magemaster Crohn, the head of the Scholasticate, standing at the head of the spiral staircase. He leaned on his staff, his expression intense and disapproving.
"This is an important occasion, and it should not be belittled by paltry squabbling. I would be grateful if you would put your petty rivalries aside for the nonce. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Senior Magemaster."
"Your words are as clear as the most lambent crystal, Senior Magemaster."
Crohn turned to Grimm, who had once been his protege, the acme of his career. Few Magemasters indeed could claim with justification that they had raised a Mage Questor!
"Questor Grimm, it appears that outdoor life agrees with you. You seem in excellent health."
"And you, Magemaster Crohn. It is good to see you looking so well."
"Alas, I regret to say that I suffer from rheumatism and arthritis, Brother Mage. However, I thank you for your solicitude."
Grimm expressed his sincere regrets. He knew Crohn had been a tower of strength until the day he had faced the full fury of Grimm's explosive Outbreak. It pained him to think that the old Magemaster's infirmity might be the result of the birth of his own powers, but he knew Crohn did not regret it in the least; it had been the culmination of his career to bring a nascent Questor to maturity. There was an understanding and respect between the two thaumaturges that few could understand, born of those tumultuous minutes in which Grimm Afelnor had wandered into the dark cavern of insanity and emerged as a man and a true mage.
Kargan and Faffel made their ways to opposite sides of the gallery, after each had helped himself to a brimming glass of wine; it seemed that both were in the mood to start their drinking at the earliest opportunity. This left Grimm standing with his erstwhile tutor.
"Magemaster Crohn, will Lord Thorn be in attendance tonight?" Grimm asked. If so, he thought, it might prove an opportune time to ask the questions he had forgotten to put to the Prelate at their two earlier meetings.
"I regret not," Crohn said. "I believe the annual accounts are due for submission to High Lodge."
Grimm's brow furrowed. "I always thought that was the responsibility of Scribe Vimat and his staff."
On occasions, the dedicated Vimat had been called upon to lecture Grimm's Student class on the subject of Mathematics, but he was more usually to be found poring over his ledgers and check-sheets in a cramped, dingy office in the East Wing.
"The ultimate responsibility for the correctness of the accounts is Lord Thorn's," the older man replied. "He often chooses to check Scribe Vimal's figures for himself, although the Scribe has a marvellous facility with arithmetic."
More likely, he just couldn't be bothered to turn up for a humble Necromancer's ceremonial feast.
A Questor was a different matter: a mage who could advance the status of a House and its Prelate in the eyes of the Lord Dominie, through a series of favours and political skulduggery carried out in the name of High Lodge. More run-of-the-mill mages were useful for the everyday running of the House and for tuition of the scions of rich families, but of little consequence in the wider scheme of things. Grimm's mouth twisted into a wry grimace, and Crohn smiled; very little passed the Senior Magemaster's notice.
"You are probably correct, Questor Grimm; perhaps the occasion is not noteworthy enough for Lord Thorn. However, if you please, we will acquiesce to the official explanation. Necromancer Numal has worked hard to gain his just rewards of the staff and the Guild Ring, and we should ensure that his special feast is one for him to remember. You are a friend of his?"
Grimm shook his head. "Not as such, Magemaster Crohn. Until today, I met him on only one previous occasion: my first full day as a Student. However, I find him an interesting and companionable man, and he seems to enjoy my company, too. His seems to have been a lonely incumbency, and I would say he needs all the friends he can get."