'What have you done, Mr Dew?' Ms Parkinson asked in astonishment early in the following morning. She had come, as usual, expecting to find me barely awake. But there I was, standing like a ghost with a pale face and dark circles under my eyes. And what was I asking? 'Repair it? Why, of course, but why did you break it?' she asked, looking at the scattered glasses that dear Ms Parkinson was collecting with a broom. I wished I could help, but I was feeling rather...funny. 'And how much coffee did you drink?' she asked.
I chuckled inside in self-mockery. A lot, I thought, looking in the mirror. I looked absolutely disastrous. My hair looked messy, and when I ran my fingers through it, I found them tangled. I could smell caffeine. The stench was oozing through my body. I was bathing in sweat and felt like the most disgusting creature alive. I was in the habit of keeping myself fresh and clean. My mothers had taught me, both of them. But look at me now. I looked like I had returned from a battlefield, still living in those horrific moments. 'Sorry, Mrs Parkinson,' I said, struggling to keep myself awake. 'I had a nightmare. When I woke up, I had done that.' I gestured towards the window, and Mrs Parkinson looked at me as if I was losing my grip on reality. Sorry for lying. It was not very pleasant. I thought about saying a few more things but soon gave a long yawn. My face must have looked ridiculous, but I did not care. I was tired. My eyelids kept assaulting me despite my continued resistance.
Seeing such a state of mine, the good housekeeper said, 'Did the nightmare keep you awake, Mr Dew? Oh, poor thing,' she muttered, and I acted all innocent as if I had never written her name in that list of suspicious individuals. 'Take a nap in the reception room, Mr Dew, while I have the place fixed.' She left to call for someone, and I too after saying a few words to Ms Parkinson left for the reception room.
It was not large, but it had enough room for furnishing. I looked around, finding beautiful walls and a sofa that invited me. I did not have anything to do that day, so without thinking much, I lay on it and slept till the light vanished. I woke up to find the meals prepared by Ms Parkinson in the kitchen. I dined, and after seeing the new window that was so quickly prepared and fixed, went back to the comfort of my bed. It was warm.
***
The next morning, I woke up early. I prepared my bath, not allowing any more work for Ms Parkinson than she already had, and after doing my morning routine, sat on the sofa while fanning myself.
Mrs Parkinson did not have to prepare breakfast for me; I was planning to visit the pavilion. It was seven in the morning. So, before embarking on my quest to fill the cavity that was my stomach, I took it upon myself to see the growth of my student. I taught her about punctations. And when the clock turned twenty past seven, with the help of Ms Parkinson, I did my hair and left, bouncing the ponytail as I went. I did not have my suitcase in hand. I had placed it in my office. I hoped no one had broken in, especially after that incident the day before.
I walked along the canal, bathing in its golden shimmer that hit me boldly. I was thinking about the meeting of the day, which was to decide my place among the departments when I found myself mere feet away from the pavilion. A number of people had gathered. I saw a group leave. Not because of me, I hope. I saw the dishes that were being carried away by the staff. No, they had their breakfast. It was nearly twenty-five to eight when I saw Ms Orchard approaching. I waved at her in a wide fashion, the way a little child would after finding his mother. I must have looked like a broken parasol in wild winds. 'Good morning,' I said, looking at the familiar reticent face.
'Good morning,' she returned, taking a seat beside me. 'So, you have decided to join us, Mr— Lile.'
'Yes,' I replied. 'I have been meaning to visit for a while, but preparations did not allow me.'
'You could've visited, yesterday,' she said, receiving the glass of refined pineapple juice. It looked tasty. I wanted some. Of course, I was offered too, but the royalty that I am, I asked for the frothy one. So, they brought unrefined, frothy pineapple juice for the Lord of the Beggarly Hills. I was pleased with such treatment and that sweet taste that seemed to leave me with no desire for anything else.
'I was sleepy, yesterday.' I lied. I believed it was better if she did not know. 'I did not know you dined at this particular pavilion, Ms Orchard.'
'I live close by.'
'You do?' I asked in astonishment. 'That is simply wonderful. I live on this row.' I pointed behind me. 'One-Seven.'
'Zero-Five,' she said with a sip of her juice. She did not make any noise; the action was noble. I appreciated it and did the same. Unlike Mr Crawford, Ms Orchard did not seem to be very shocked by my manners.
Soon, a few more people joined us; Ms Oak — who teaches introductory classes in Botany — was one of them. I asked about Mr Quincy, Ms Soni, Mr Mont, Mr Foreman, Mr Fisk, and Ms Solvent, hoping I hadn't forgotten any. 'They eat at a different pavilion near their rows,' Ms Oak told me. Apparently, the professors in their first and second years live in this area and eat here. Then, her too? Yes, her too. Ms Lore was walking towards our direction. I greeted her and she greeted me back. For the rest of the meal, in the whole conversation, she remained silent. No one bothered her, and she did not seem to mind. You truly are never getting married, Ms Lore, I thought after having two omelettes, three slices of buttered toast, and some rich-coloured tea I was too poor to know the name of.
Two more men joined us. One of them introduced himself as Mr Trey Canary, the Professor of Ornithology. And the other one was Mr Sean Bones, the Professor of Anatomy. Both were in their third year as professors. 'Is this some punishment then, eating with us?' I asked.
'Oh no,' said Mr Canary with a laugh, thinking that I jest. If only he knew. I was serious. He continued, without knowing anything, 'There weren't any houses left in the other areas, so we were left here.'
I wanted to ask why them and no one else, but I thought better of it. Hurt no one's pride unless you wish to not have any for yourself. I taught myself teachings of worthwhile wisdom. Whose teachings, you ask? Mine, of course. 'Mr Canary,' I called the man. 'Do you know of Owls?'
'Yes,' he said, finding the topic interesting. I would react the same way if anyone asked me about Arcane Knowledge. 'What do you wish to know?'
'Well, you see.' I constructed a lie, with skill and haste. 'An owl has been hooting on a tree in my backyard recently.' Oh, came the reply, and I continued, 'I was wondering if you knew anything about it.'
'Well, I cannot comment without knowing its species. What species was it?' he asked with shiny eyes that did not know I was playing him for a fool. I had good intentions, of course.
Species? How would I know such detail? 'I, I do not know,' I uttered. 'I think it had an orange face and white belly.'
'Did it have a heart-shaped face?' he asked as if it was the first thing I should have mentioned.
Forgive me, O great birdman. 'No.'
'Did it hoot?'
'Yes.'
'Was it large?'
'Medium, I suppose.'
'Hmm.' He thought and he hummed. I did not interrupt him; the man was working free of charge for me. 'A spotted wood owl,' he said over the slurping of his tea. I despised that. But what could I say? The man was helping me, albeit without his knowledge. 'It might be one of that kind. They are rare around here. They are found mostly around the south-eastern islands.' I nodded along, and the man told me a few more facts and trivia. I asked him some more questions, and he answered graciously. 'Training them? I have never heard of them being trained...but it is an interesting idea. I shall do some research if I find some time; that won't be any time soon, I suppose.' The academy would keep us busy from now on. I wondered if they bad-mouthed students here, but I was not willing to test.
'What do they eat?' I was curious. Food was such a thing for me; what about a wild thing, then?
'Rodents.'
'We have rodents here?' I nearly screamed. My, word, that is scary! I hate mice. Those things are here? I swear, I will kill every—
'Oh, not necessarily. They also eat lizards and insects.' That seemed fine. I had heard the sound of insects. I knew they were here. So, that thing feasted while it watched me? What a sick beast. I cursed at the dead thing. I had done that deed, but I was no more remorseful.
None of us had any lectures yet. They are to start tomorrow. That was exciting. They had nothing to do for the day. So, none of them rushed for the tram. I too had plenty of time on my hand. It was nearly nine o'clock, and the meeting was at ten. Ms Lore seemed to have no plans. Ms Orchard said she was going to spend the rest of the day reading. Ms Oak was going to prepare for the lectures. Mr Canary was going to take Mr Bones birdwatching. As the time approached for me to leave and as I prepared for a hasty exit, Ms Orchard handed me a newspaper. The cheap, black ink and the thin paper were very familiar to me. 'What is it?' I asked, receiving the paper. The front page spoke of some prestigious family scandal. Whatever, I thought. I was too humble to understand these wastrels. I turned the page and was shocked to find, on the very next page, a faded picture of the academy gates. It looked nothing like its usual grandness. It felt as if I was seeing a haunted manor where some seventy-odd-old grandmother weaved till her death. Horrific image. Above it was a title in a large font. It read: Magic at Excellence!
I looked at my time. It was exactly nine o'clock. If I didn't leave there and then, I would be late. 'Is it fine, If I take this along?' I asked Ms Orchard, polite and apologetic.
She nodded and said, 'I bought it for you yesterday. It is yours.' I thanked her and left, finding out that it was yesterday's issue.
I hurried along the canal, betraying the impulse to read the paper. Soon, I was at the stop. There were a few students there but not many. They looked at me, surprised. Do I surprise you? Why? Ah, you saw my magic, of course. Being so excited over little matters... how disappointing. My arrogance knew no bounds. I did not pay any attention as they wondered about me. I was not about to bring about an earthquake, understand? I was too occupied. The tram arrived right away, and I climbed, taking the first seat I could find.
I opened the paper before the ride could even begin and began reading.
Magic at Excellence!
The academy finds themselves a mage to teach the young!
On the fourth of March, Monday morning, the Royal Academy of Excellence at Celbrun opened its doors to the students new and old as they celebrated their four-hundred-and-nineteenth Orientation Day. There was excellent food and beautiful sights but above all an announcement that was not ordinary. Sir Wallace Heinz, the Dean of the academy, announced their successful endeavour of employing a Mage as a professor. Mr Lile Dew, said to be only twenty-two, will be teaching Arcane Magic — a new subject at the academy — on the coming Thursday.
The involvement of mages in society has been nothing but unnoticeable since the discovery of magic five years ago, but the norm seems to be collapsing by this decision that has far-reaching consequences. How the new professor will be teaching, his credibility, and the merit of the course has been a secret so far — one the academy is not keen on revealing. What does the academy...
It continued on and on. There were a few interviews with the students too. I wondered if anyone had told them in advance. The Dean did perhaps... the dean. Was the man guilty? Was he simply a two-faced fox? He had wit, but what about cunning? My mind did not seem to work. I could not think properly. For now, I decided to think of him as the respectable Dean I had seen all along. What is the merit in suspecting without facts?
Might as well be a dumb child, as usual. That was more fun.
'What have you done, Mr Dew?' Ms Parkinson asked in astonishment early in the following morning. She had come, as usual, expecting to find me barely awake. But there I was, standing like a ghost with a pale face and dark circles under my eyes. And what was I asking? 'Repair it? Why, of course, but why did you break it?' she asked, looking at the scattered glasses that dear Ms Parkinson was collecting with a broom. I wished I could help, but I was feeling rather...funny. 'And how much coffee did you drink?' she asked.
I chuckled inside in self-mockery. A lot, I thought, looking in the mirror. I looked absolutely disastrous. My hair looked messy, and when I ran my fingers through it, I found them tangled. I could smell caffeine. The stench was oozing through my body. I was bathing in sweat and felt like the most disgusting creature alive. I was in the habit of keeping myself fresh and clean. My mothers had taught me, both of them. But look at me now. I looked like I had returned from a battlefield, still living in those horrific moments. 'Sorry, Mrs Parkinson,' I said, struggling to keep myself awake. 'I had a nightmare. When I woke up, I had done that.' I gestured towards the window, and Mrs Parkinson looked at me as if I was losing my grip on reality. Sorry for lying. It was not very pleasant. I thought about saying a few more things but soon gave a long yawn. My face must have looked ridiculous, but I did not care. I was tired. My eyelids kept assaulting me despite my continued resistance.
Seeing such a state of mine, the good housekeeper said, 'Did the nightmare keep you awake, Mr Dew? Oh, poor thing,' she muttered, and I acted all innocent as if I had never written her name in that list of suspicious individuals. 'Take a nap in the reception room, Mr Dew, while I have the place fixed.' She left to call for someone, and I too after saying a few words to Ms Parkinson left for the reception room.
It was not large, but it had enough room for furnishing. I looked around, finding beautiful walls and a sofa that invited me. I did not have anything to do that day, so without thinking much, I lay on it and slept till the light vanished. I woke up to find the meals prepared by Ms Parkinson in the kitchen. I dined, and after seeing the new window that was so quickly prepared and fixed, went back to the comfort of my bed. It was warm.
***
The next morning, I woke up early. I prepared my bath, not allowing any more work for Ms Parkinson than she already had, and after doing my morning routine, sat on the sofa while fanning myself.
Mrs Parkinson did not have to prepare breakfast for me; I was planning to visit the pavilion. It was seven in the morning. So, before embarking on my quest to fill the cavity that was my stomach, I took it upon myself to see the growth of my student. I taught her about punctations. And when the clock turned twenty past seven, with the help of Ms Parkinson, I did my hair and left, bouncing the ponytail as I went. I did not have my suitcase in hand. I had placed it in my office. I hoped no one had broken in, especially after that incident the day before.
I walked along the canal, bathing in its golden shimmer that hit me boldly. I was thinking about the meeting of the day, which was to decide my place among the departments when I found myself mere feet away from the pavilion. A number of people had gathered. I saw a group leave. Not because of me, I hope. I saw the dishes that were being carried away by the staff. No, they had their breakfast. It was nearly twenty-five to eight when I saw Ms Orchard approaching. I waved at her in a wide fashion, the way a little child would after finding his mother. I must have looked like a broken parasol in wild winds. 'Good morning,' I said, looking at the familiar reticent face.
'Good morning,' she returned, taking a seat beside me. 'So, you have decided to join us, Mr— Lile.'
'Yes,' I replied. 'I have been meaning to visit for a while, but preparations did not allow me.'
'You could've visited, yesterday,' she said, receiving the glass of refined pineapple juice. It looked tasty. I wanted some. Of course, I was offered too, but the royalty that I am, I asked for the frothy one. So, they brought unrefined, frothy pineapple juice for the Lord of the Beggarly Hills. I was pleased with such treatment and that sweet taste that seemed to leave me with no desire for anything else.
'I was sleepy, yesterday.' I lied. I believed it was better if she did not know. 'I did not know you dined at this particular pavilion, Ms Orchard.'
'I live close by.'
'You do?' I asked in astonishment. 'That is simply wonderful. I live on this row.' I pointed behind me. 'One-Seven.'
'Zero-Five,' she said with a sip of her juice. She did not make any noise; the action was noble. I appreciated it and did the same. Unlike Mr Crawford, Ms Orchard did not seem to be very shocked by my manners.
Soon, a few more people joined us; Ms Oak — who teaches introductory classes in Botany — was one of them. I asked about Mr Quincy, Ms Soni, Mr Mont, Mr Foreman, Mr Fisk, and Ms Solvent, hoping I hadn't forgotten any. 'They eat at a different pavilion near their rows,' Ms Oak told me. Apparently, the professors in their first and second years live in this area and eat here. Then, her too? Yes, her too. Ms Lore was walking towards our direction. I greeted her and she greeted me back. For the rest of the meal, in the whole conversation, she remained silent. No one bothered her, and she did not seem to mind. You truly are never getting married, Ms Lore, I thought after having two omelettes, three slices of buttered toast, and some rich-coloured tea I was too poor to know the name of.
Two more men joined us. One of them introduced himself as Mr Trey Canary, the Professor of Ornithology. And the other one was Mr Sean Bones, the Professor of Anatomy. Both were in their third year as professors. 'Is this some punishment then, eating with us?' I asked.
'Oh no,' said Mr Canary with a laugh, thinking that I jest. If only he knew. I was serious. He continued, without knowing anything, 'There weren't any houses left in the other areas, so we were left here.'
I wanted to ask why them and no one else, but I thought better of it. Hurt no one's pride unless you wish to not have any for yourself. I taught myself teachings of worthwhile wisdom. Whose teachings, you ask? Mine, of course. 'Mr Canary,' I called the man. 'Do you know of Owls?'
'Yes,' he said, finding the topic interesting. I would react the same way if anyone asked me about Arcane Knowledge. 'What do you wish to know?'
'Well, you see.' I constructed a lie, with skill and haste. 'An owl has been hooting on a tree in my backyard recently.' Oh, came the reply, and I continued, 'I was wondering if you knew anything about it.'
'Well, I cannot comment without knowing its species. What species was it?' he asked with shiny eyes that did not know I was playing him for a fool. I had good intentions, of course.
Species? How would I know such detail? 'I, I do not know,' I uttered. 'I think it had an orange face and white belly.'
'Did it have a heart-shaped face?' he asked as if it was the first thing I should have mentioned.
Forgive me, O great birdman. 'No.'
'Did it hoot?'
'Yes.'
'Was it large?'
'Medium, I suppose.'
'Hmm.' He thought and he hummed. I did not interrupt him; the man was working free of charge for me. 'A spotted wood owl,' he said over the slurping of his tea. I despised that. But what could I say? The man was helping me, albeit without his knowledge. 'It might be one of that kind. They are rare around here. They are found mostly around the south-eastern islands.' I nodded along, and the man told me a few more facts and trivia. I asked him some more questions, and he answered graciously. 'Training them? I have never heard of them being trained...but it is an interesting idea. I shall do some research if I find some time; that won't be any time soon, I suppose.' The academy would keep us busy from now on. I wondered if they bad-mouthed students here, but I was not willing to test.
'What do they eat?' I was curious. Food was such a thing for me; what about a wild thing, then?
'Rodents.'
'We have rodents here?' I nearly screamed. My, word, that is scary! I hate mice. Those things are here? I swear, I will kill every—
'Oh, not necessarily. They also eat lizards and insects.' That seemed fine. I had heard the sound of insects. I knew they were here. So, that thing feasted while it watched me? What a sick beast. I cursed at the dead thing. I had done that deed, but I was no more remorseful.
None of us had any lectures yet. They are to start tomorrow. That was exciting. They had nothing to do for the day. So, none of them rushed for the tram. I too had plenty of time on my hand. It was nearly nine o'clock, and the meeting was at ten. Ms Lore seemed to have no plans. Ms Orchard said she was going to spend the rest of the day reading. Ms Oak was going to prepare for the lectures. Mr Canary was going to take Mr Bones birdwatching. As the time approached for me to leave and as I prepared for a hasty exit, Ms Orchard handed me a newspaper. The cheap, black ink and the thin paper were very familiar to me. 'What is it?' I asked, receiving the paper. The front page spoke of some prestigious family scandal. Whatever, I thought. I was too humble to understand these wastrels. I turned the page and was shocked to find, on the very next page, a faded picture of the academy gates. It looked nothing like its usual grandness. It felt as if I was seeing a haunted manor where some seventy-odd-old grandmother weaved till her death. Horrific image. Above it was a title in a large font. It read: Magic at Excellence!
I looked at my time. It was exactly nine o'clock. If I didn't leave there and then, I would be late. 'Is it fine, If I take this along?' I asked Ms Orchard, polite and apologetic.
She nodded and said, 'I bought it for you yesterday. It is yours.' I thanked her and left, finding out that it was yesterday's issue.
I hurried along the canal, betraying the impulse to read the paper. Soon, I was at the stop. There were a few students there but not many. They looked at me, surprised. Do I surprise you? Why? Ah, you saw my magic, of course. Being so excited over little matters... how disappointing. My arrogance knew no bounds. I did not pay any attention as they wondered about me. I was not about to bring about an earthquake, understand? I was too occupied. The tram arrived right away, and I climbed, taking the first seat I could find.
I opened the paper before the ride could even begin and began reading.
Magic at Excellence!
The academy finds themselves a mage to teach the young!
On the fourth of March, Monday morning, the Royal Academy of Excellence at Celbrun opened its doors to the students new and old as they celebrated their four-hundred-and-nineteenth Orientation Day. There was excellent food and beautiful sights but above all an announcement that was not ordinary. Sir Wallace Heinz, the Dean of the academy, announced their successful endeavour of employing a Mage as a professor. Mr Lile Dew, said to be only twenty-two, will be teaching Arcane Magic — a new subject at the academy — on the coming Thursday.
The involvement of mages in society has been nothing but unnoticeable since the discovery of magic five years ago, but the norm seems to be collapsing by this decision that has far-reaching consequences. How the new professor will be teaching, his credibility, and the merit of the course has been a secret so far — one the academy is not keen on revealing. What does the academy...
It continued on and on. There were a few interviews with the students too. I wondered if anyone had told them in advance. The Dean did perhaps... the dean. Was the man guilty? Was he simply a two-faced fox? He had wit, but what about cunning? My mind did not seem to work. I could not think properly. For now, I decided to think of him as the respectable Dean I had seen all along. What is the merit in suspecting without facts?
Might as well be a dumb child, as usual. That was more fun.
