Grimm gave a deep, stiff bow.
"Lord Mage, I am Grimm Afelnor. I am pleased to meet you, sir."
The words were stiff and grave, betokening the formality of a rote-learned phrase. Dalquist noted the telltale, grubby spoor of tears extending from the lower margins of the boy's eyes. It was plain to the Questor that Grimm was still struggling to control hot, roiling emotions.
Dalquist smiled warmly. "There's no need to call me either 'Lord Mage' or 'sir', Grimm Afelnor. In truth, I have been a Mage Questor only a month and, since I have no Quests to my name yet, I am still a Questor only in name. Please call me Dalquist, and only that.
"Doorkeeper asked me to visit you because I was once a charity boy like you, and I know just how you feel. You feel betrayed and impossibly alone, don't you, Grimm? All those rules and regulations that apply only to you seem too much to bear-am I right?"
Grimm nodded, and the ghost of a faint smile began to creep across the boy's face before being suppressed.
"It's all right, Grimm," Dalquist said. "I don't remember any rule in the book about charity Students either smiling or enjoying themselves. I know everything seems horribly unfamiliar and forbidding to you now, but I promise you that this will change."
Dalquist pulled himself to his full height, cleared his throat and opened an imaginary scroll. "Rule 17.4.3, paragraph C," he boomed. "Charity Students will smile and enjoy themselves whenever the mood takes them, even if they think it looks better if they wallow in misery instead."
A genuine smile began to emerge on Grimm's face. "It doesn't say that in the book, Dalquist. You're teasing me!"
"That's one of my rules, Grimm, not the Scholasticate's. You can be miserable if you really want to; there will be plenty of time for that later on. Even the Prelate and the Presidium have no power to stop you from going around looking like a dying duck in a thunderstorm if you're determined to suffer. Feel free to mope and grizzle if you wish, and then you will find that nobody wants to be your friend.
"I can't pretend you'll be happy all the time here, but you must make the effort not to take depression as your only companion. Believe me, I know that fellow of old. After a while, depression becomes almost a comfort; when that day comes, you'll find he soon becomes a stricter and more domineering master than anyone in the Scholasticate.
"When you wake in the morning, don't expect the day to be dull and miserable; just take it as it comes. You may believe it or not, as you choose, but the simple fact is that even some of the paying Students will be as unhappy as you are at being sent away. It's true they can go home twice a year, while you will have to stay here, but they have left their friends and families behind, just as you have.
"You may find you have more in common with those boys than you think, and some of them will become your friends, as unlikely as it appears right now.
"In a few days, the other Students will begin to arrive, and the Magemasters and the other mages will return from their retreats. I know then you'll begin to find this a busy and interesting place."
Grimm proffered only a faint smile, although he could feel a real, wide grin trying to emerge. He knew what self-pity was, and that, unwittingly, he had been wallowing in its depths.
"I'm sorry, Dalquist. I will try to be happy."
The mage shook his head slightly. "No, Grimm, you don't understand. Trying to be happy never works. Sometimes you will be happy; sometimes you won't. Just don't ever, ever, try to be sad. Sometimes you won't be able to avoid misery, but that will happen much more often if you go looking for it.
"There, now, could that really be a genuine smile on that boy's face? Surely not; our new Student, Grimm Afelnor, isn't allowed to smile, is he?" Dalquist punctuated this last with a mock-stern stare.
Grimm giggled and his mouth, overruling his self-imposed misery, crumpled into a genuine smile at last. "That's silly. Nobody wants to be sad."
"Well then; in that case, we don't need to talk about it any more, do we?"
The small boy vigorously shook his head, the point taken. Then, with an abrupt change of subject, typical of a child his age, he asked, "Why aren't you old, Dalquist? I mean really, really old?"
The mage knit his brows for just a moment, and then his face cleared.
"If you mean I'm very young to be a mage, that's true, Grimm," he said. "That's because I'm a Mage Questor. Questors don't take as long to learn as other magic-users because they make their own magic. We aren't so much taught as… encouraged to develop.
"Other types of mage take much longer to win the Staff, because they have to learn a separate incantation or thought pattern for each enchantment."
"I didn't know there were different sorts of wizard… mage, that is," Grimm said. "I think I'd like to be a Questor, too, if it's that quick. My Granfer was a Questor," he added with a tinge of newfound pride.
Dalquist laughed. "Most Students feel the same way once they find out about Questors, for that reason above all," he said. "But I'm afraid it's not up to you, Grimm. Only the Magemasters can determine what sort of mage you'll become, if any. A lot of Students never become full mages at all, mostly because they give up."
The mage's expression darkened a little. "In your case, Grimm, failure to become a mage isn't a very appealing option, believe me. As a charity boy, you have to work off the expense of your tuition before you can leave, either as a mage or as a House servant. I really don't think you'd enjoy life as a House servant at all.
"On the other hand, I wouldn't worry too much about that prospect if you work hard and apply yourself to your studies. The Prelate doesn't give charity scholarships very often, and you can be sure that he only does so when he can see the glimmerings of some sort of talent."
The Questor smiled again. "I'm sure one day you'll be a mage, Grimm, but neither I nor anybody else could possibly say which kind. Still, I mustn't tell you too much about the training. The Magemasters will explain all to you in good time. Is there anything you'd like to ask me that doesn't involve becoming a mage?"
Grimm thought for a minute. "You said that you were a charity boy like me. Did you have lots of friends here? Are they mages, too?"
"I never had a lot of friends, but the ones I made are good friends still. They're still here as what we call Neophytes or as Adepts, except for two wealthy boys who left. I've promised the others I'll make a point of being present at their Acclamation ceremonies if I can, and I make the same promise to you, Grimm; if I can, I'll make a point of coming to your ceremony; whenever it happens."
"I'd like that, Dalquist. I'll work hard, I promise. Thank you for talking to me; I really feel a lot better now. Are there any other boys like me around?"
Dalquist shrugged. "I'm afraid I don't know, Grimm. The next term starts in two weeks; there'll be plenty of other boys around then."
Grimm's face fell. "Will I be all on my own for two whole weeks?" Cold fingers of loneliness began to play again along his spine.
Dalquist looked a little lost. "There's a yard where you can play," he suggested.
Grimm felt close to tears again. "But I can't play by myself, Dalquist!"
Dalquist cleared his throat, his face blank. "What sort of things do you like to do, Grimm?"
"I like to read books when I can," replied the child, with an earnest expression on his face. "Granfer had quite a lot, and he let me read them when my chores were finished. They were big, grown-up books. There were some about birds and animals and plants, and a lot of them had nice pictures. I can read books that don't have any pictures, though," he hurriedly assured the mage.
Dalquist's face cleared, and he held out his hand to the boy. "Follow me then, Grimm. I have something to show you." He led Grimm out of his cell and into the long corridor.
There were ten cell doors like Grimm's on each side of the passageway, all of which were open and none of which showed any signs of occupancy. "Are you sure there aren't any other charity boys like me here, Dalquist?" asked Grimm, with a slight tremor at the thought that he might be alone in this dismal corridor for a whole fortnight.
"There is a total of eleven charity Students. Although, there's only to be one other to join us this year, and I don't believe he's arrived yet. There may be other boys of about your age around, but I'm afraid, offhand, I don't know of any. If there are any, they're probably either in the recreation yard or in study rooms. Very few people bother with what I am about to show you. You'll like it, Grimm, I promise."
Tense with expectation, Grimm followed Dalquist to the end of the dark passage. Nearly hidden in shadow was a plain wooden door. The mage opened it and led Grimm up a winding stone staircase, holding tight to the boy's hand, lest Grimm stumble and fall in the near darkness. At the top was another simple door with a gnarled, pitted black ring for a handle. Opening it, Dalquist led the young Student into what, to the child, seemed like a wonderland.
Racks and racks of books stretched to the ceiling and off into the depths of a huge room, a labyrinth of beguiling complexity, full of mystery and promise. Each rack was filled to capacity with books, and Grimm stared in awe at the wealth of literature before him, eyes nearly popping from his head.
A musty but pleasant smell filled the room, and motes of dust danced like fugitive fireflies in the soft rays of light emitted from radiant globes high above.
"This is the Scholasticate library, Grimm," the mage said in a soft voice. "Most Students only come here to retrieve a book, and then retreat to their cells or a crowded study room. You may use this library as you wish in your free time and, if you sit in one of the corner alcoves, you'll be left in peace to read to your heart's content.
"I was never much of a reader myself, but, when I wanted to be alone, I found that this was the ideal spot. It is always well lit and warm, even in the depths of the bitterest winter, which is more than can be said for a charity boy's cell. Do you like it?"
Grimm felt as if his eyes would burst from his head, and he felt himself unable to speak.
"Breathe, Grimm! You look like you were about to burst."
The boy tore his gaze away from the bookshelves and looked up at Dalquist with a beatific expression on his face.
"Oh Dalquist, the books!" he cried. "The lovely books! It's wonderful! Can I really read any of them if I want?"
Dalquist smiled. "If you want, but to be truthful, some are a little dry and others will be a little old for you. But there is a lot to read, more than a man could read in even a mage's lifetime. Would you like me to tell Doorkeeper that you will be staying here until lunch?"
Still eying the literary bounty, Grimm breathed, "Oh, yes, please, Dalquist. I do love books so."
"In that case, Grimm, I'm more than happy to do so. I'm afraid I must leave you now, as I have a few duties to perform. I promise I'll try to see how you are getting on from time to time, whenever I'm here. We charity boys should support each other."
"Thank you for spending some time with me, Dalquist." Grimm struggled to find the right words. "Thank you ever so much for showing me this lovely library. I was feeling very unhappy when you came to see me, but now I'm feeling much better. Thank you."
Dalquist nodded. "Think nothing of it. Believe me; I know only too well how difficult enjoyment can be to find at times for charity Students. Enjoy your books."
"I will, Dalquist," Grimm whispered, as the mage left the room, closing the door behind him.
When the mage had left, Grimm turned his voracious gaze to the nearest bookshelf. Thaumaturgy and Its Application to Meteorological Phenomena sounded intriguing, but it seemed to consist of nothing but cryptic diagrams, so he put it back on the shelf.
Meditation; the Art of Inner Calm sounded boring, as did A First Primer of Cadences and Chants. He picked up The Necromantic Vocation and leafed through it, but he soon returned it to the rack with some distaste; it seemed the book was concerned mostly with dead bodies.
The books seemed to be in no particular order that he could fathom, so he began to dart around at random.
Finally, he hit upon Herbs and Plants; Their Attributes and Uses and took it to a battered but comfortable leather chair near the door. Opening the book, Grimm saw a beautiful, hand-painted picture of a herb he knew well. Dock, he thought, it's good for nettle stings. Reading on, he saw that its "primary attributes" were "cool", "shady" and "watery". Then, as he read on, he saw that the "secondary attributes" were "Febrifuge", "Balm" and "Emetic".
Looking further down the page, there were further details of the kinds of magic to which the dock was "sympathetic", those to which it was "antagonistic"-which, Grimm gathered, meant unkind, although he couldn't see how a herb could be either kind or nasty-and the "tertiary attributes", which were described by strange, angular symbols.
At the bottom of the page was the cryptic comment Suitable in all cases in the primary and secondary phases where indicated, tertiary attributes to be applied only by Healers of the Third Rank and above, on pain of undesired resonances in the infrastomal conjoints. This meant nothing to Grimm, but the words had a certain ring of majesty about them.
As he read on, he saw many plants and herbs that he recognised and others he did not, but even the humblest weed seemed to have significance far above his imaginings and his comprehension. Grimm was still engrossed in the book when the urgent peal of a bell sounded in his head, if not in his ears. With a start, he turned to see Doorkeeper towering above him.
"It is twelve o'clock. We must go to the Refectory now, young Grimm, or you will miss your luncheon. We can't have a growing lad missing his meals." Grimm had not been aware of the passage of time, and he realised that he had spent nearly two hours absorbed in the strange book.
"I'm sorry, Doorkeeper. The book was very interesting."
Doorkeeper glanced at the title of the volume that Grimm held, and he raised his eyebrows quizzically. "Isn't that book a little old for you? Surely you don't understand it all."
Grimm shook his head. "I just like the words. I know a lot of these plants, but I never knew that there was so much to know about them.
"Groundsel's good for bad dreams," he said, eager to relate what he had learned, "and blackweed can be used for colic. Bottle-spurge can be used in the… in the second phase of… of thaumaturgic group spells of the third order, whatever that means."
Doorkeeper could not understand why anybody might read for pleasure. The last time he had read an entire book was on the day before he was finally Acclaimed as a Mage, and that was just so he could be sure of what he had to do at the ceremony. Ever since that time, he had vowed with fierce determination to avoid literature whenever he could.
Muttering to himself, "Can't be good for the eyes," he led Grimm down the worn spiral staircase and into the corridor.