I had a dream. It was loud. In the turmoil and dread, a woman screamed as a child wailed. Men rushed by my side, darting towards a place my eyes did not reach.
I saw fire, smoke, and ashes. I stood there for what seemed like an hour as sirens blared. I could hear the warning bells. Nothing could persuade me, if I so chose to remain in place, watching that house burn. And I stood watching my home turn to dust. Its flames were wishing to reach the skies above. Like children of darkness in that fairy tale my mother sang, they were rushing towards light. And I remained in place, watching their struggle, forgetting my family burned there. My mother and sister — gone, like dark after dawn. And I still struggled to move away, to lower my head, to turn my eyes away, to tear.
The roof of my house fell as flames flared. Rubble and dust spread, and only then did some man pull me away from that sight. But even now, the flames of that day remain in my memory. That pure destruction still dazes me. It blinds my eyes, stops my thoughts, and halts my mind. I still remember that sight. I remember—
Someone shook me. Once and twice, again, someone shook me. I soon heard voices— no, a voice. Mr Dew, it kept repeating. Reluctantly, I opened my eyes. Light flooded my sight, a gentle glimmer of its benevolence.
'Mr Dew,' I heard. Turning to the source of that low-pitched voice, I saw — sitting beside me — a man with a bowler hat on. He was a stout man with a moustache that looked funny on him.
'Mr Crawford,' I called his name, recalling the good man who had come to pick me up at the station. 'Did I fall asleep?' I asked, looking outside. The tram was still running, albeit a little slowly. 'Did we miss our stop?' I was worried. Have I troubled this man for a minute's sleep?
'Oh, do not worry,' the stout man said, looking at me with a gentle demeanour. 'We did not miss our stop. I woke you as we will reach it soon.'
I released a sigh of relief. 'How long have I been asleep?' I asked with a grunt, straightening my posture along with my tie and vest. No part of my attire was creased. Good, I thought. What an embarrassment it would be if I went in looking like a boor. My suitcase was still in my arms. I was hugging it like a precious trinket from a loved one. It embarrassed me a little. I quietly lowered it into my lap.
I thought I was quite subtle about it, but that delusion broke when I heard sniggering. I hoped it was something else they found funny. But alas, it was a false hope. On the other row behind me, I found two young girls, wearing blue ribbons on their heads, looking straight at me — not at the scene outside, not at the stout man beside me, but right at me.
It was embarrassing, but what can I say? I was despised by women. Even in the orphanage quite a lot of girls would pull pranks on me. What bullies, I used to think. But not all was miserable. Orphanage mother would laugh at me, finding it funny for some terrible reason. Yet she was a good woman. She took care of me most of my life, so that is that.
Then, there was this girl a year younger than me. She consoled me whenever the girls came for their daily fill of bullying. Most of them were older, some of my age, so it must have taken plenty of courage to stand up for me. That girl alone saved my cheeks from being pulled countless times. I remember her sitting beside me and urging me to be strong. Good memories. Bitter and sweet, but good memories.
I was recalling the past I had nearly forgotten when Mr Crawford spoke to me, looking at his pocket watch, 'It has been an hour since we boarded.' The engine came to a halt with a low screeching sound. 'This way,' the stout man said, leading me to the back of the coach. 'Board from the front entrance, exit from the back.' I repeated his words in my mind once or twice, etching them into my very being before making an utter fool of myself in the future.
Passengers began flooding in one by one from the front door as we left from the back. As I put my foot to the ground and raised my head, I saw a square with a large, silver and copper statue of a knight holding the coat of arms of the academy as a shield. It stood up to a three-storeyed building. It looked grand, very grand. And there I was, a country bumpkin staring at it with wide eyes and a clenched jaw. I felt ecstatic, but I kept myself composed.
At least, I thought I did until I spotted the pair of girls from earlier looking at me from the corner of my eye, a blush visible on their cheeks. I turned away, not giving them a chance to snigger. And I scoffed, thinking I had won.
When I saw them leave, I turned back, marvelling endlessly. Behind the statue was a street lined with rose bushes that led to a gate. It was guarded, as I expected, by the black-uniformed men. We walked up to it. Mr Crawford greeted them, introduced me, and when the frisking and pitying my wallet was done with, he led me as they allowed us in.
A fountain stood in front of us, around which was a flock of pigeons pecking grain someone must have spread. We walked towards it. And as stupidity whispered in my ears sweet words of tomfoolery, I suddenly stamped my foot on the ground. The flock flew away, leaving an idiotic, proud grin on my spectacled face. Seeing it, Mr Crawford said, 'Not very fond of them?'
'I have a high distaste for pigeons. They are unsightly and smell terrible.'
'I see.'
And that was that. We continued our stroll towards the large manor at the end of the path. Around us were trees that flowered in different hues. I could hear the chirp of sparrows and the calling of kingfishers. There must be a lake or pond nearby, I thought, glancing around.
Soon, we arrived at the manor. Two men in black opened the door for us as Mr Crawford diligently introduced me. The manor was luxurious from the inside as it was huge from the outside. I whispered to Mr Crawford with an air of an heir of royalty, 'How much must all of this cost?' To which he replied with a questioning gaze. I interpreted it as him being tired of me. I hoped that was not the case, but hope is a rare commodity, so I retrieved it sneakily.
The rest of the walk was silent. Mr Crawford led me while I followed without a word. He led me up the spiral staircase. I watched the foyer below, afraid of the taxes the owner must have to pay. Or is it tax evasion— no, no! couldn't be! Good thing our orphanage was a dingy, cold place! I chuckled alone.
The corridor we walked through was decorated with oil paintings signed by artists I had never heard of. There were identical vases near every door that we passed. The red carpet accompanied us every step. We climbed another flight of stairs and then another. How rich are they? I thought, looking around. As I was thinking about how much bread I could buy with so much wealth, we arrived at the end of the corridor on the third storey of the manor. There was an average-looking man with black hair like mine waiting for us in front of the door that led to our destination. Mr Crawford spoke with him for some time, and after instructing us to leave all of our belongings on the table next to him, he opened the door for us. We were ushered in.
It was a small room with a freckled woman sitting behind a desk, rustling through a pile of papers. The black-haired man, without even so much as a glance at her, went to one of the three doors in the room. He knocked lightly, and when a gentle 'come in' was heard from the other side, he opened it.
I felt this man could break my bones if he so wished; he had that air, and I had good instincts. So, I did what any proud man should do, I ignored him entirely — pretended as if he did not exist. Fears, go away!
The door closed behind us. The first sight I saw was a wide desk in front of a wall of glass that overlooked the estate. It was an office that put to shame any chamber I had ever seen. It was large and quiet. The only voices that could be heard were that of the ticking of the clock and a man's humming. I saw the large bookshelves that lined the two walls on each side of the desk. There must be at least a couple thousand books here. I looked back. The wall with the door was not empty either. It had a cupboard of no unusual length. I could spot tea sets, artefacts of jade, gold trophies and silver plaques through its glass pane.
Mr Crawford was the first to move towards the wide desk in the large room, and I hurried behind. Soon, I spotted a man in a grey upholstered chair. His hair had turned grey with the passing of time. He put down the book he was reading as he saw us approach. It read: The continents. I had never read it, but my curiosity was piqued. I would have loved to ask the man about it if I had not been so tense. The old man looked around the age of sixty. He had wrinkles, silver-rimmed spectacles, neatly-cut hair, a rectangular face, a clean-shaven chin, a nice moustache, and an air that yelled, 'Your boss!' He looked smart, sharp, and wise in his loosely fitting robes.
I was amazed by him. If it had not been for Mr Crawford, who spoke first, I would have remained there all day, staring at the old man that made me feel ancient. 'Good morning, Dean,' Mr Crawford said. He held a hand towards me. 'I have brought our guest.' The man nodded, and Mr Crawford left the room with only a glance at me. Suddenly, it felt a lot quieter.
The door closed, and just when I was contemplating what to say, the man spoke to me, 'The journey was comfortable I hope, Mr Dew.' He had a soft yet strong voice.
'Yes,' I said, thinking it would have been even better had he sent a ticket or at least means for it. 'It was lovely.' But I thought better of it and let go.
'Good, good,' he said. 'Please take a seat.' I listened to the man and drew one of the two chairs back. He opened a drawer of his desk and took out a paper while I sat down. The paper was blank, but soon the man began scribbling on it with his gold-cased fountain pen. I wish I had one. I didn't even have a dip pen. I was working with a quill, for goodness' sake. 'We were delighted to hear from you, Mr Dew.'
'I was more so, Sir,' I said, showing due respect to my employer. That was only proper, especially if I wished for my pay.
He nodded with not a shred of emotion on his face. 'This endeavour is a worthy yet difficult one. We wished for a more...experienced man — someone we could wholeheartedly trust, in skill and manner.' I simply nodded, wondering if he was badmouthing me. 'We spoke with a few of them. Most were quite reluctant. Some had received support from other institutes, private mostly. They could not break the contract even if they wanted to. Astronomical sums would be charged of them, and as you can imagine, they are no heirs to great families. Some were, though. We spoke with them too; they outright refused. They had no need for money. They had enough.'
He continued scribbling. 'It was brought to my attention how truly incredible and difficult a task we had chosen for ourselves. My assistant — you must've seen her outside — was drowning in papers. The Planning Offices were pleading with me. Mr Crawford was running in every direction I sent him. The poor fellow lost some weight.' Now, that was not something I could listen to with a straight face. Even if I endeavoured with all the good in my heart, I found it near-impossible to believe. My lips quivered, turning into a grin. But I refused to be defeated by the actions of my own making. I was much more solemn. I recalled my sister...and my face went back to being reticent.
The man continued, without knowing my struggle, 'We asked as many people as we could. Our search was far and wide; the institute has a wide reach of influence. We have so many connections across the land.' He stopped his writing and reached for a glass jar at the end of his desk. He poured himself a cup of water, and after taking a few sips, spoke again, 'Our scouts went in every direction to search for any individual who claimed knowledge of the arcane. The whole country was scoured; even foreign lands were not spared. As you can imagine, we were not the only ones sweeping for your kind, and it turned sour. We had complaint letters from institutes and we had quarrels in the streets.' Then, he gave a wry laugh. 'And to think even after all that, after turning other countries for talent, we would find a lad barely over twenty in some remote town claiming it was him we searched.' A chuckle escaped him. 'Finding that letter, I wondered if it was a farce. It was quite eloquent, you see. I could tell it was written in quill and cheap ink. The paper was yellow and rough, but the handwriting was marvellous. I had my doubts and hopes, so I sent a colleague. A scout who works for me in the southeastern part of the country. I sent him a letter to be discreet in finding you.'
The man signed at the bottom of the paper and rested the pen on its stand. He stamped it with the coat of arms of the academy, folded the letter, and put it in an envelope. 'He writes back to me with the words: Genuine, and no explanation.' He handed me the envelope. 'A few days later he came to see me and spoke of you. I trust him, so I sent a letter right after consulting with the board.' He looked at my arms that held the letter. 'Please, show it to someone in the Planning Offices; they will do the rest of the procedure.'
And with an 'ah' as if he remembered something, the Dean opened his drawer. He retrieved a satin pouch from inside. 'This is something I gift to all the teachers, here. It is a symbol and an identification,' he said while opening the pouch and handing it to me. 'From Wallace Heinz, the Dean.'
I took it from him, excited. As I poured the contents into my open palm, I heard a metallic sound. And soon, my eyes turned wide. There, lying in my soft hands, was a silver chain attached to a silver watch. 'A pocket watch,' I murmured, shaken. It looked luxurious. On its back were words engraved in elegance. It read: To Mr Lile Dew, the very first professor of Arcane Knowledge at the Royal Academy of Excellence, a mage of whom we only expect greatness. One day, we hope, you will alter the ways of this world.
It was a gift that weakened my heart — my pride. I was unworthy of receiving such a thing. 'You will change it, won't you?' he asked with a marvellous smile. 'The very way of this world?' Those words shook my heart once more. It aroused unknown emotions deep within me, which I held back with the utmost effort, with the last of my pride. I was not worthy of such words, such praise. But if there be any gods, let me bask in the warmth of this glory for just this once, I pray.
I had a dream. It was loud. In the turmoil and dread, a woman screamed as a child wailed. Men rushed by my side, darting towards a place my eyes did not reach.
I saw fire, smoke, and ashes. I stood there for what seemed like an hour as sirens blared. I could hear the warning bells. Nothing could persuade me, if I so chose to remain in place, watching that house burn. And I stood watching my home turn to dust. Its flames were wishing to reach the skies above. Like children of darkness in that fairy tale my mother sang, they were rushing towards light. And I remained in place, watching their struggle, forgetting my family burned there. My mother and sister — gone, like dark after dawn. And I still struggled to move away, to lower my head, to turn my eyes away, to tear.
The roof of my house fell as flames flared. Rubble and dust spread, and only then did some man pull me away from that sight. But even now, the flames of that day remain in my memory. That pure destruction still dazes me. It blinds my eyes, stops my thoughts, and halts my mind. I still remember that sight. I remember—
Someone shook me. Once and twice, again, someone shook me. I soon heard voices— no, a voice. Mr Dew, it kept repeating. Reluctantly, I opened my eyes. Light flooded my sight, a gentle glimmer of its benevolence.
'Mr Dew,' I heard. Turning to the source of that low-pitched voice, I saw — sitting beside me — a man with a bowler hat on. He was a stout man with a moustache that looked funny on him.
'Mr Crawford,' I called his name, recalling the good man who had come to pick me up at the station. 'Did I fall asleep?' I asked, looking outside. The tram was still running, albeit a little slowly. 'Did we miss our stop?' I was worried. Have I troubled this man for a minute's sleep?
'Oh, do not worry,' the stout man said, looking at me with a gentle demeanour. 'We did not miss our stop. I woke you as we will reach it soon.'
I released a sigh of relief. 'How long have I been asleep?' I asked with a grunt, straightening my posture along with my tie and vest. No part of my attire was creased. Good, I thought. What an embarrassment it would be if I went in looking like a boor. My suitcase was still in my arms. I was hugging it like a precious trinket from a loved one. It embarrassed me a little. I quietly lowered it into my lap.
I thought I was quite subtle about it, but that delusion broke when I heard sniggering. I hoped it was something else they found funny. But alas, it was a false hope. On the other row behind me, I found two young girls, wearing blue ribbons on their heads, looking straight at me — not at the scene outside, not at the stout man beside me, but right at me.
It was embarrassing, but what can I say? I was despised by women. Even in the orphanage quite a lot of girls would pull pranks on me. What bullies, I used to think. But not all was miserable. Orphanage mother would laugh at me, finding it funny for some terrible reason. Yet she was a good woman. She took care of me most of my life, so that is that.
Then, there was this girl a year younger than me. She consoled me whenever the girls came for their daily fill of bullying. Most of them were older, some of my age, so it must have taken plenty of courage to stand up for me. That girl alone saved my cheeks from being pulled countless times. I remember her sitting beside me and urging me to be strong. Good memories. Bitter and sweet, but good memories.
I was recalling the past I had nearly forgotten when Mr Crawford spoke to me, looking at his pocket watch, 'It has been an hour since we boarded.' The engine came to a halt with a low screeching sound. 'This way,' the stout man said, leading me to the back of the coach. 'Board from the front entrance, exit from the back.' I repeated his words in my mind once or twice, etching them into my very being before making an utter fool of myself in the future.
Passengers began flooding in one by one from the front door as we left from the back. As I put my foot to the ground and raised my head, I saw a square with a large, silver and copper statue of a knight holding the coat of arms of the academy as a shield. It stood up to a three-storeyed building. It looked grand, very grand. And there I was, a country bumpkin staring at it with wide eyes and a clenched jaw. I felt ecstatic, but I kept myself composed.
At least, I thought I did until I spotted the pair of girls from earlier looking at me from the corner of my eye, a blush visible on their cheeks. I turned away, not giving them a chance to snigger. And I scoffed, thinking I had won.
When I saw them leave, I turned back, marvelling endlessly. Behind the statue was a street lined with rose bushes that led to a gate. It was guarded, as I expected, by the black-uniformed men. We walked up to it. Mr Crawford greeted them, introduced me, and when the frisking and pitying my wallet was done with, he led me as they allowed us in.
A fountain stood in front of us, around which was a flock of pigeons pecking grain someone must have spread. We walked towards it. And as stupidity whispered in my ears sweet words of tomfoolery, I suddenly stamped my foot on the ground. The flock flew away, leaving an idiotic, proud grin on my spectacled face. Seeing it, Mr Crawford said, 'Not very fond of them?'
'I have a high distaste for pigeons. They are unsightly and smell terrible.'
'I see.'
And that was that. We continued our stroll towards the large manor at the end of the path. Around us were trees that flowered in different hues. I could hear the chirp of sparrows and the calling of kingfishers. There must be a lake or pond nearby, I thought, glancing around.
Soon, we arrived at the manor. Two men in black opened the door for us as Mr Crawford diligently introduced me. The manor was luxurious from the inside as it was huge from the outside. I whispered to Mr Crawford with an air of an heir of royalty, 'How much must all of this cost?' To which he replied with a questioning gaze. I interpreted it as him being tired of me. I hoped that was not the case, but hope is a rare commodity, so I retrieved it sneakily.
The rest of the walk was silent. Mr Crawford led me while I followed without a word. He led me up the spiral staircase. I watched the foyer below, afraid of the taxes the owner must have to pay. Or is it tax evasion— no, no! couldn't be! Good thing our orphanage was a dingy, cold place! I chuckled alone.
The corridor we walked through was decorated with oil paintings signed by artists I had never heard of. There were identical vases near every door that we passed. The red carpet accompanied us every step. We climbed another flight of stairs and then another. How rich are they? I thought, looking around. As I was thinking about how much bread I could buy with so much wealth, we arrived at the end of the corridor on the third storey of the manor. There was an average-looking man with black hair like mine waiting for us in front of the door that led to our destination. Mr Crawford spoke with him for some time, and after instructing us to leave all of our belongings on the table next to him, he opened the door for us. We were ushered in.
It was a small room with a freckled woman sitting behind a desk, rustling through a pile of papers. The black-haired man, without even so much as a glance at her, went to one of the three doors in the room. He knocked lightly, and when a gentle 'come in' was heard from the other side, he opened it.
I felt this man could break my bones if he so wished; he had that air, and I had good instincts. So, I did what any proud man should do, I ignored him entirely — pretended as if he did not exist. Fears, go away!
The door closed behind us. The first sight I saw was a wide desk in front of a wall of glass that overlooked the estate. It was an office that put to shame any chamber I had ever seen. It was large and quiet. The only voices that could be heard were that of the ticking of the clock and a man's humming. I saw the large bookshelves that lined the two walls on each side of the desk. There must be at least a couple thousand books here. I looked back. The wall with the door was not empty either. It had a cupboard of no unusual length. I could spot tea sets, artefacts of jade, gold trophies and silver plaques through its glass pane.
Mr Crawford was the first to move towards the wide desk in the large room, and I hurried behind. Soon, I spotted a man in a grey upholstered chair. His hair had turned grey with the passing of time. He put down the book he was reading as he saw us approach. It read: The continents. I had never read it, but my curiosity was piqued. I would have loved to ask the man about it if I had not been so tense. The old man looked around the age of sixty. He had wrinkles, silver-rimmed spectacles, neatly-cut hair, a rectangular face, a clean-shaven chin, a nice moustache, and an air that yelled, 'Your boss!' He looked smart, sharp, and wise in his loosely fitting robes.
I was amazed by him. If it had not been for Mr Crawford, who spoke first, I would have remained there all day, staring at the old man that made me feel ancient. 'Good morning, Dean,' Mr Crawford said. He held a hand towards me. 'I have brought our guest.' The man nodded, and Mr Crawford left the room with only a glance at me. Suddenly, it felt a lot quieter.
The door closed, and just when I was contemplating what to say, the man spoke to me, 'The journey was comfortable I hope, Mr Dew.' He had a soft yet strong voice.
'Yes,' I said, thinking it would have been even better had he sent a ticket or at least means for it. 'It was lovely.' But I thought better of it and let go.
'Good, good,' he said. 'Please take a seat.' I listened to the man and drew one of the two chairs back. He opened a drawer of his desk and took out a paper while I sat down. The paper was blank, but soon the man began scribbling on it with his gold-cased fountain pen. I wish I had one. I didn't even have a dip pen. I was working with a quill, for goodness' sake. 'We were delighted to hear from you, Mr Dew.'
'I was more so, Sir,' I said, showing due respect to my employer. That was only proper, especially if I wished for my pay.
He nodded with not a shred of emotion on his face. 'This endeavour is a worthy yet difficult one. We wished for a more...experienced man — someone we could wholeheartedly trust, in skill and manner.' I simply nodded, wondering if he was badmouthing me. 'We spoke with a few of them. Most were quite reluctant. Some had received support from other institutes, private mostly. They could not break the contract even if they wanted to. Astronomical sums would be charged of them, and as you can imagine, they are no heirs to great families. Some were, though. We spoke with them too; they outright refused. They had no need for money. They had enough.'
He continued scribbling. 'It was brought to my attention how truly incredible and difficult a task we had chosen for ourselves. My assistant — you must've seen her outside — was drowning in papers. The Planning Offices were pleading with me. Mr Crawford was running in every direction I sent him. The poor fellow lost some weight.' Now, that was not something I could listen to with a straight face. Even if I endeavoured with all the good in my heart, I found it near-impossible to believe. My lips quivered, turning into a grin. But I refused to be defeated by the actions of my own making. I was much more solemn. I recalled my sister...and my face went back to being reticent.
The man continued, without knowing my struggle, 'We asked as many people as we could. Our search was far and wide; the institute has a wide reach of influence. We have so many connections across the land.' He stopped his writing and reached for a glass jar at the end of his desk. He poured himself a cup of water, and after taking a few sips, spoke again, 'Our scouts went in every direction to search for any individual who claimed knowledge of the arcane. The whole country was scoured; even foreign lands were not spared. As you can imagine, we were not the only ones sweeping for your kind, and it turned sour. We had complaint letters from institutes and we had quarrels in the streets.' Then, he gave a wry laugh. 'And to think even after all that, after turning other countries for talent, we would find a lad barely over twenty in some remote town claiming it was him we searched.' A chuckle escaped him. 'Finding that letter, I wondered if it was a farce. It was quite eloquent, you see. I could tell it was written in quill and cheap ink. The paper was yellow and rough, but the handwriting was marvellous. I had my doubts and hopes, so I sent a colleague. A scout who works for me in the southeastern part of the country. I sent him a letter to be discreet in finding you.'
The man signed at the bottom of the paper and rested the pen on its stand. He stamped it with the coat of arms of the academy, folded the letter, and put it in an envelope. 'He writes back to me with the words: Genuine, and no explanation.' He handed me the envelope. 'A few days later he came to see me and spoke of you. I trust him, so I sent a letter right after consulting with the board.' He looked at my arms that held the letter. 'Please, show it to someone in the Planning Offices; they will do the rest of the procedure.'
And with an 'ah' as if he remembered something, the Dean opened his drawer. He retrieved a satin pouch from inside. 'This is something I gift to all the teachers, here. It is a symbol and an identification,' he said while opening the pouch and handing it to me. 'From Wallace Heinz, the Dean.'
I took it from him, excited. As I poured the contents into my open palm, I heard a metallic sound. And soon, my eyes turned wide. There, lying in my soft hands, was a silver chain attached to a silver watch. 'A pocket watch,' I murmured, shaken. It looked luxurious. On its back were words engraved in elegance. It read: To Mr Lile Dew, the very first professor of Arcane Knowledge at the Royal Academy of Excellence, a mage of whom we only expect greatness. One day, we hope, you will alter the ways of this world.
It was a gift that weakened my heart — my pride. I was unworthy of receiving such a thing. 'You will change it, won't you?' he asked with a marvellous smile. 'The very way of this world?' Those words shook my heart once more. It aroused unknown emotions deep within me, which I held back with the utmost effort, with the last of my pride. I was not worthy of such words, such praise. But if there be any gods, let me bask in the warmth of this glory for just this once, I pray.
