It was ten past ten when Ms Orchard and I left for Grand Hall. It was located behind the main building. We had to walk past crowds of students, who occasionally stared at me in wonder, to get to that place.
‘Why did they target you?’ Ms Orchard whispered, leaning closer. The scent of lilac enchanted me. It feels otherworldly. Some things lack in beauty, but their scent by far surpasses others.
‘I do not know.’ I looked at the students that walked towards the large hall at the end of my sight. Looking from outside, I could tell it was majestic and grand as its name suggested. It had a vast domed roof upon which a smaller one sat, like a hat, holding a bronze bell. There were two entrances. The front one was for the spectators — students for today. The other one was behind, for the actors — teaching staff today. Gazing at its white stone pillars, I marvelled. ‘But it may not be me they wished to harm.’ I looked at the little things walking towards that grandness that could crush them if it so wished to fall. And was there anyone here, other than me, who could make it fall? ‘They were eyeing the academy.’ Unbelievably cruel. What pathetic creature would think such a vile plan? Who would nourish it to near fruition?
‘You think so?’ She eyed me warily.
‘Yes. If I so wished — with a little conspiring, proper planning, and cunning — I could make that structure fall.’ I looked at it, thinking what bold claims I made. But was it not true? Was I not capable of doing so? Yes, I was. That is what scared me. They infiltrated my head and planned for the worse. Fury, frustration, and worry filled me. If my mind had not led me astray, I would have ended countless lives — innocent and pretty lives.
Seeing me so tense, Ms Orchard said, ‘You are not to blame.’ I knew that. We continued towards the back entrance, passing the front one. A few guards kept petrol in the vicinity. Seeing our pocket watches, they allowed us entrance towards the back door. ‘We will have to inform the Dean.’
‘Yes,’ I said with some hesitation.
‘Do not worry. I doubt he is involved. We will put it to his ears. You will not have to bear it all.’
Suddenly, I felt like the most miserable human being. Did I truly mark this person emotionless? O regret, alas, you are always late. ‘What does the Dean specialise in?’ I asked, curious and ashamed.
We arrived at the back entrance that led backstage. Ms Orchard opened the large, heavy door. As the dazzling lights forced me to squint, I heard her reticent and plain voice. ‘Mythology,’ it said.
And I was dazzled, as I stood there in admiration. Pure pleasure embraced my vision.
I saw golden threads on red drapes. I saw murals on the ceiling of the dome through the gap in the stage curtains. White, golden, yellow, and blue — such colours adorned the paintings. There were red padded seats facing the stage. There were balconies. They looked posh.
As I stood in awe, admiring the view, Ms Orchard spoke to me. ‘Come in,’ she said, beckoning me with hand gestures. I followed behind as she took me deeper backstage. I saw a large number of staff bustling about. They did not look like teachers. Most wore white poet blouses. That reminded me of someone, and I saw that someone a little distance away. Lady Alisha Fritz. I decided to call her lady as she refuses to tell me her marital status. She saw me as I was thinking of approaching her. She gave me a quick wave and went back to discussing with her colleagues. She must be busy, I thought. Come to think of it, I do not know her actual position in the Planning Offices.
I saw Mr Crawford nearby. He gave me a quick nod and I did the same.
I continued towards the back, following behind Ms Orchard like a duckling following its mother. She must have seen my amusement as she slowed her pace, letting me enjoy the scenery.
Soon, we found ourselves in a corridor. I heard voices as we walked past a number of doors. Ms Orchard stopped before one of them and looked at me as if preparing me. I do not know what she thinks exists behind that door, but that look unnerves me a little. I gave her a smile, and she opened the door. It was a large ballroom. I saw lamps designed in aesthetically pleasing manner around the ceiling. There were quite a lot of people — professors. The chains in their pockets were very conspicuous.
‘Mr Dew,’ Ms Orchard whispered in my ear as the nearest lot took note of our arrival, ‘from henceforth, you are my junior. We have a hierarchy.’ That seemed fine. ‘It is both by experience and age. By age, you deserve respect. Through experience, you earn recognition.’ That is not so fine. ‘It means that you are the most junior amongst us. They see you as a child. You are only two years older than our eldest students.’ She gave my back a pat. ‘Best of luck.’
Luck — an entity far more flippant than me. How could I put trust in it? As I was thinking so, I noticed a group walking towards us. Leading them was Ms Solvent with an idiotic, proud grin. That face had me admire her a little; even I could not look so proud if I tried. I chuckled inside hopelessly, thinking about what she would do. Do you wish me stripped? I thought about the best route for my escape, but it seems that flippant lady luck was on my side this time. Ms Solvent did not harass me.
‘Is that the new professor?’ asked one of the men following the brunette. They all wore smart clothing, but it seemed mine caught their envy. ‘How old are you?’ he asked without care for courtesies.
‘Twenty-two,’ I said. I heard a sharp sound of breath and a gasp. The music they played in the background, the serene violin and the chorus of its sisters. Lovely, I thought. I remember these sounds well. Aunt’s strings were better still. Aunt Margery… She too had perished in the war, her ashes across the scorched land. I recalled two or three things about her, and before I could be lost in nostalgia, I heard Ms Solvent’s voice.
‘Lile is the youngest, isn’t he?’ she said, abandoning titles. It was not as rude as it seemed amiable. ‘Youngest ever.’
‘He is wonderful though.’ My benefactor, Ms Orchard came to my rescue. ‘He knows piano, doesn’t he, Ms Solvent?’
‘Oh, he does. Do you know, Mr Quincy,’ she said to the man behind her. He had a black suit and white shirt, a black tie around his neck, and a height I admired. He was lean and scholarly. Good-looking fellow, I thought. He had a sophisticated air. He looked charming but not very pretentious. ‘A third-year student of mine drew him this morning. You should come see. I am sure you will enjoy it. He looked brilliant.’
‘I must then,’ said the lean man. He extended his hand, which I shook. ‘Piero Quincy. I teach advanced classes in Botany. This is Mr Carlo Fisk.’ He introduced another man, a plain looking one. ‘He teaches Ichthyology.’ Fishman, eh? I also appreciate a fish — if it is willing to enter my belly. I did not voice my childish thoughts and only nodded with a most sincere attitude. ‘This is Professor Alia Oak. She teaches introductory classes in Botany.’ I greeted the young woman. ‘She has been here for only a year.’ He looked around. ‘There are quite a number of professors in the Science Department. They are all scattered now. I am sure you will meet them one by one. No need to rush.’
‘I appreciate your words.’
‘Oh, nothing much. This is the bare minimum I must do. You are the youngest. And,’ he lowered his voice a tad, ‘they will treat you that way. Some will be rude, Mr Dew. And rest assured, many will only call you by your name. After all, your age does not fit well with a professor’s image.’
True that, I thought. Even I can’t imagine myself as one of them. Some are nearly bald, for goodness’ sake.
‘Would you mind introducing us too, Mr Quincy?’ a man, standing at the side of Ms Solvent said. ‘Ms Solvent is rather…forgetful.’
Mr Quincy gave an empty laugh. Indeed, it seemed Ms Solvent had a head full of dreams and no reality. ‘Ms Solvent is like that,’ Mr Quincy said. ‘This is her department so I presumed she would do the honours.’ Mr Quincy introduced them one by one.
The man who had spoken was the Professor of Mural Study, Mr Earl Mont. He looked older than others. Around late thirties, perhaps? He had a simple moustache that looked a little faded. I wondered looking at him how much must he worry to look so pain-stricken.
There was a woman who wore a beautifully embroidered dress. Ms Shana Soni, her name. She had a rich skin tone and sharp features. She taught Design and Embroidery. She liked studying dress designs of different cultures and creating her own works. ‘The department of History wishes her among their ranks,’ Mr Quincy added.
Then, there was Mr Jeffrey Foreman, who had just arrived. ‘Forging? You teach them how to forge?’ I asked, a little astounded. ‘Is that not a little mundane?’
‘It sounds so, does it not?’ said the rough-looking man. He had a shapely beard, rough skin, sunken eyes, and a strong voice. ‘But you see, I teach forging as it is a part of my speciality. I mostly concern myself with theory as is prevalent in Hoplology.’
‘You would be surprised to know how much he knows of war and weapons, Mr Dew. Department of Science has had little funding to do when it concerns Hoplology. The department is happy with him,’ Mr Quincy spoke. ‘If only they could be so cordial with me.’ He took a sip of his wine and said, ‘Do you know what department you will be placed under, Mr Dew?’
I did not know why, but suddenly, the air seemed very tense. I felt their gazes, and they were very not subtle. It was something of importance.
I felt a hand on my back. It was Ms Orchard. She tried to calm me. But why? I am fine, aren’t I? I looked at him straight and said, full of confidence, ‘I do not know.’
They looked at me as if I had disappointed them. Why, thank you, Mr Dew. We ought to be grateful for your truthfulness, I thought, imagining Mr Quincy’s voice in my head.
‘Understandable,’ Mr Quincy said. He straightened his suit diligently while stirring the wine glass. He was not a pretentious man, I reminded myself. But his actions clearly seemed so. ‘While you may not grasp right away what any of this means, please understand that it is a rather fragile matter to the departments.’ He looked at Ms Soni. ‘Just as Ms Soni is coveted by the History department, you too seem to have many eyes on you, Mr Dew.’ As he said, I did indeed see some eyes on me, but I am sure that is not what he meant. ‘History department claims that as anything that is arcane relates to history, Professor of Arcane Knowledge must belong to the History Department.’
‘Let them say whatever they want,’ Ms Solvent said suddenly. ‘I want him in Arts Department. Forget Arcane and whatever, Lile. Come teach piano! You are good at it!’ She was lively. The Dean would have my head if I even thought of doing that. Academy has splurged far too much on me.
‘I am afraid I can’t, Ms Solvent. I will visit when I find myself with time on hand.’
‘Well, Arts Department has made a good claim too, besides the words of Ms Solvent,’ said Mr Quincy as I listened. The conversation intrigued me very much. ‘They claim that magic is a form of art, hence you should be placed among their kind.’ He looked at one corner of the room. There, I saw a group of strong-bodied men. Mr Quincy continued without taking off his glance, ‘The Department of Martial Studies wishes you too. They, you see, teach only of battles and war. Nothing scholarly about them.’ He scorned quietly. ‘I hear that they plan to take you to Full-Moon Hunt. You will hear of it soon. I won’t speak further of it. Do not want rumours going around that I badmouthed them.’
But you are, I thought. ‘What about the Science Department?’ I asked. ‘Do they wish for me?’
He looked at me for a moment, and then with a grin, he said, ‘Of course. Where else is a home so proper? The Arcane Knowledge is about the laws of this world, and science is the study that looks into these laws. We want you more than anyone, Mr Dew. I hope you know that. And, ah!’ He exclaimed in remembrance. ‘Ms Orchard’s Behavioural Science falls under the Science Department.’
‘And Literature under Arts Department,’ retorted Ms Solvent. That was very smart of her. Good thinking for someone considered slow.
‘Yes, yes,’ Mr Quincy continued, unperturbed. ‘She is a special one, just like you Mr Dew. She has been here for a year. Joined young and teaches two distinct subjects under two different departments. It will be wonderful for you to observe and learn from her.’
‘I see,’ I replied. I felt as if I had entered a pit full of snakes. It was nerve-wracking. Was it because they were all older than me? Or was it because they were all accomplished and wore their pride on their collars?
It looked like Ms Orchard was about to say something to turn the conversation in a different direction, but she was interrupted.
The door opened and a woman entered. She looked to be from the Planning Offices. ‘The Dean is here,’ she said without a moment’s delay. The room that was busy and boisterous turned quiet. I too kept my mouth shut while turning towards the open door.
A black-haired man entered. I remembered that deathly stare and I remembered that face. That man unnerved me still. He swept a gaze across and moved to the side, making way for his employer — our employer.
Dean Wallace Heinz entered the room and looked at us. Signs of ageing were apparent on his body and face, but still, his air felt young. I was reminded of the conversation we had. He looked at me and smiled a little — perks of being the youngest. He cleared his throat, and with his strong voice spoke, ‘Shall we?’
It was ten past ten when Ms Orchard and I left for Grand Hall. It was located behind the main building. We had to walk past crowds of students, who occasionally stared at me in wonder, to get to that place.
‘Why did they target you?’ Ms Orchard whispered, leaning closer. The scent of lilac enchanted me. It feels otherworldly. Some things lack in beauty, but their scent by far surpasses others.
‘I do not know.’ I looked at the students that walked towards the large hall at the end of my sight. Looking from outside, I could tell it was majestic and grand as its name suggested. It had a vast domed roof upon which a smaller one sat, like a hat, holding a bronze bell. There were two entrances. The front one was for the spectators — students for today. The other one was behind, for the actors — teaching staff today. Gazing at its white stone pillars, I marvelled. ‘But it may not be me they wished to harm.’ I looked at the little things walking towards that grandness that could crush them if it so wished to fall. And was there anyone here, other than me, who could make it fall? ‘They were eyeing the academy.’ Unbelievably cruel. What pathetic creature would think such a vile plan? Who would nourish it to near fruition?
‘You think so?’ She eyed me warily.
‘Yes. If I so wished — with a little conspiring, proper planning, and cunning — I could make that structure fall.’ I looked at it, thinking what bold claims I made. But was it not true? Was I not capable of doing so? Yes, I was. That is what scared me. They infiltrated my head and planned for the worse. Fury, frustration, and worry filled me. If my mind had not led me astray, I would have ended countless lives — innocent and pretty lives.
Seeing me so tense, Ms Orchard said, ‘You are not to blame.’ I knew that. We continued towards the back entrance, passing the front one. A few guards kept petrol in the vicinity. Seeing our pocket watches, they allowed us entrance towards the back door. ‘We will have to inform the Dean.’
‘Yes,’ I said with some hesitation.
‘Do not worry. I doubt he is involved. We will put it to his ears. You will not have to bear it all.’
Suddenly, I felt like the most miserable human being. Did I truly mark this person emotionless? O regret, alas, you are always late. ‘What does the Dean specialise in?’ I asked, curious and ashamed.
We arrived at the back entrance that led backstage. Ms Orchard opened the large, heavy door. As the dazzling lights forced me to squint, I heard her reticent and plain voice. ‘Mythology,’ it said.
And I was dazzled, as I stood there in admiration. Pure pleasure embraced my vision.
I saw golden threads on red drapes. I saw murals on the ceiling of the dome through the gap in the stage curtains. White, golden, yellow, and blue — such colours adorned the paintings. There were red padded seats facing the stage. There were balconies. They looked posh.
As I stood in awe, admiring the view, Ms Orchard spoke to me. ‘Come in,’ she said, beckoning me with hand gestures. I followed behind as she took me deeper backstage. I saw a large number of staff bustling about. They did not look like teachers. Most wore white poet blouses. That reminded me of someone, and I saw that someone a little distance away. Lady Alisha Fritz. I decided to call her lady as she refuses to tell me her marital status. She saw me as I was thinking of approaching her. She gave me a quick wave and went back to discussing with her colleagues. She must be busy, I thought. Come to think of it, I do not know her actual position in the Planning Offices.
I saw Mr Crawford nearby. He gave me a quick nod and I did the same.
I continued towards the back, following behind Ms Orchard like a duckling following its mother. She must have seen my amusement as she slowed her pace, letting me enjoy the scenery.
Soon, we found ourselves in a corridor. I heard voices as we walked past a number of doors. Ms Orchard stopped before one of them and looked at me as if preparing me. I do not know what she thinks exists behind that door, but that look unnerves me a little. I gave her a smile, and she opened the door. It was a large ballroom. I saw lamps designed in aesthetically pleasing manner around the ceiling. There were quite a lot of people — professors. The chains in their pockets were very conspicuous.
‘Mr Dew,’ Ms Orchard whispered in my ear as the nearest lot took note of our arrival, ‘from henceforth, you are my junior. We have a hierarchy.’ That seemed fine. ‘It is both by experience and age. By age, you deserve respect. Through experience, you earn recognition.’ That is not so fine. ‘It means that you are the most junior amongst us. They see you as a child. You are only two years older than our eldest students.’ She gave my back a pat. ‘Best of luck.’
Luck — an entity far more flippant than me. How could I put trust in it? As I was thinking so, I noticed a group walking towards us. Leading them was Ms Solvent with an idiotic, proud grin. That face had me admire her a little; even I could not look so proud if I tried. I chuckled inside hopelessly, thinking about what she would do. Do you wish me stripped? I thought about the best route for my escape, but it seems that flippant lady luck was on my side this time. Ms Solvent did not harass me.
‘Is that the new professor?’ asked one of the men following the brunette. They all wore smart clothing, but it seemed mine caught their envy. ‘How old are you?’ he asked without care for courtesies.
‘Twenty-two,’ I said. I heard a sharp sound of breath and a gasp. The music they played in the background, the serene violin and the chorus of its sisters. Lovely, I thought. I remember these sounds well. Aunt’s strings were better still. Aunt Margery… She too had perished in the war, her ashes across the scorched land. I recalled two or three things about her, and before I could be lost in nostalgia, I heard Ms Solvent’s voice.
‘Lile is the youngest, isn’t he?’ she said, abandoning titles. It was not as rude as it seemed amiable. ‘Youngest ever.’
‘He is wonderful though.’ My benefactor, Ms Orchard came to my rescue. ‘He knows piano, doesn’t he, Ms Solvent?’
‘Oh, he does. Do you know, Mr Quincy,’ she said to the man behind her. He had a black suit and white shirt, a black tie around his neck, and a height I admired. He was lean and scholarly. Good-looking fellow, I thought. He had a sophisticated air. He looked charming but not very pretentious. ‘A third-year student of mine drew him this morning. You should come see. I am sure you will enjoy it. He looked brilliant.’
‘I must then,’ said the lean man. He extended his hand, which I shook. ‘Piero Quincy. I teach advanced classes in Botany. This is Mr Carlo Fisk.’ He introduced another man, a plain looking one. ‘He teaches Ichthyology.’ Fishman, eh? I also appreciate a fish — if it is willing to enter my belly. I did not voice my childish thoughts and only nodded with a most sincere attitude. ‘This is Professor Alia Oak. She teaches introductory classes in Botany.’ I greeted the young woman. ‘She has been here for only a year.’ He looked around. ‘There are quite a number of professors in the Science Department. They are all scattered now. I am sure you will meet them one by one. No need to rush.’
‘I appreciate your words.’
‘Oh, nothing much. This is the bare minimum I must do. You are the youngest. And,’ he lowered his voice a tad, ‘they will treat you that way. Some will be rude, Mr Dew. And rest assured, many will only call you by your name. After all, your age does not fit well with a professor’s image.’
True that, I thought. Even I can’t imagine myself as one of them. Some are nearly bald, for goodness’ sake.
‘Would you mind introducing us too, Mr Quincy?’ a man, standing at the side of Ms Solvent said. ‘Ms Solvent is rather…forgetful.’
Mr Quincy gave an empty laugh. Indeed, it seemed Ms Solvent had a head full of dreams and no reality. ‘Ms Solvent is like that,’ Mr Quincy said. ‘This is her department so I presumed she would do the honours.’ Mr Quincy introduced them one by one.
The man who had spoken was the Professor of Mural Study, Mr Earl Mont. He looked older than others. Around late thirties, perhaps? He had a simple moustache that looked a little faded. I wondered looking at him how much must he worry to look so pain-stricken.
There was a woman who wore a beautifully embroidered dress. Ms Shana Soni, her name. She had a rich skin tone and sharp features. She taught Design and Embroidery. She liked studying dress designs of different cultures and creating her own works. ‘The department of History wishes her among their ranks,’ Mr Quincy added.
Then, there was Mr Jeffrey Foreman, who had just arrived. ‘Forging? You teach them how to forge?’ I asked, a little astounded. ‘Is that not a little mundane?’
‘It sounds so, does it not?’ said the rough-looking man. He had a shapely beard, rough skin, sunken eyes, and a strong voice. ‘But you see, I teach forging as it is a part of my speciality. I mostly concern myself with theory as is prevalent in Hoplology.’
‘You would be surprised to know how much he knows of war and weapons, Mr Dew. Department of Science has had little funding to do when it concerns Hoplology. The department is happy with him,’ Mr Quincy spoke. ‘If only they could be so cordial with me.’ He took a sip of his wine and said, ‘Do you know what department you will be placed under, Mr Dew?’
I did not know why, but suddenly, the air seemed very tense. I felt their gazes, and they were very not subtle. It was something of importance.
I felt a hand on my back. It was Ms Orchard. She tried to calm me. But why? I am fine, aren’t I? I looked at him straight and said, full of confidence, ‘I do not know.’
They looked at me as if I had disappointed them. Why, thank you, Mr Dew. We ought to be grateful for your truthfulness, I thought, imagining Mr Quincy’s voice in my head.
‘Understandable,’ Mr Quincy said. He straightened his suit diligently while stirring the wine glass. He was not a pretentious man, I reminded myself. But his actions clearly seemed so. ‘While you may not grasp right away what any of this means, please understand that it is a rather fragile matter to the departments.’ He looked at Ms Soni. ‘Just as Ms Soni is coveted by the History department, you too seem to have many eyes on you, Mr Dew.’ As he said, I did indeed see some eyes on me, but I am sure that is not what he meant. ‘History department claims that as anything that is arcane relates to history, Professor of Arcane Knowledge must belong to the History Department.’
‘Let them say whatever they want,’ Ms Solvent said suddenly. ‘I want him in Arts Department. Forget Arcane and whatever, Lile. Come teach piano! You are good at it!’ She was lively. The Dean would have my head if I even thought of doing that. Academy has splurged far too much on me.
‘I am afraid I can’t, Ms Solvent. I will visit when I find myself with time on hand.’
‘Well, Arts Department has made a good claim too, besides the words of Ms Solvent,’ said Mr Quincy as I listened. The conversation intrigued me very much. ‘They claim that magic is a form of art, hence you should be placed among their kind.’ He looked at one corner of the room. There, I saw a group of strong-bodied men. Mr Quincy continued without taking off his glance, ‘The Department of Martial Studies wishes you too. They, you see, teach only of battles and war. Nothing scholarly about them.’ He scorned quietly. ‘I hear that they plan to take you to Full-Moon Hunt. You will hear of it soon. I won’t speak further of it. Do not want rumours going around that I badmouthed them.’
But you are, I thought. ‘What about the Science Department?’ I asked. ‘Do they wish for me?’
He looked at me for a moment, and then with a grin, he said, ‘Of course. Where else is a home so proper? The Arcane Knowledge is about the laws of this world, and science is the study that looks into these laws. We want you more than anyone, Mr Dew. I hope you know that. And, ah!’ He exclaimed in remembrance. ‘Ms Orchard’s Behavioural Science falls under the Science Department.’
‘And Literature under Arts Department,’ retorted Ms Solvent. That was very smart of her. Good thinking for someone considered slow.
‘Yes, yes,’ Mr Quincy continued, unperturbed. ‘She is a special one, just like you Mr Dew. She has been here for a year. Joined young and teaches two distinct subjects under two different departments. It will be wonderful for you to observe and learn from her.’
‘I see,’ I replied. I felt as if I had entered a pit full of snakes. It was nerve-wracking. Was it because they were all older than me? Or was it because they were all accomplished and wore their pride on their collars?
It looked like Ms Orchard was about to say something to turn the conversation in a different direction, but she was interrupted.
The door opened and a woman entered. She looked to be from the Planning Offices. ‘The Dean is here,’ she said without a moment’s delay. The room that was busy and boisterous turned quiet. I too kept my mouth shut while turning towards the open door.
A black-haired man entered. I remembered that deathly stare and I remembered that face. That man unnerved me still. He swept a gaze across and moved to the side, making way for his employer — our employer.
Dean Wallace Heinz entered the room and looked at us. Signs of ageing were apparent on his body and face, but still, his air felt young. I was reminded of the conversation we had. He looked at me and smiled a little — perks of being the youngest. He cleared his throat, and with his strong voice spoke, ‘Shall we?’
