The sign outside depicted a lusciously breasted woman clad in nothing more than her long golden hair, her lower body a sweeping fishtail. I gazed, wondering if such a creature might truly exist. There were letters inscribed across the bottom of the board that Cleton translated: “The Mermaid.”
“Can you read?” I asked.
He nodded and said, “A little,” but his attention was focused on the alehouse.
It was early yet, but the place was busy, loud with voices and the clinking of tankards, redolent of ale and tobacco and cooking food. We found a space at the long serving counter and ordered beer, then Cleton asked what fare was on offer. I let him choose and found myself soon confronted with a platter of sausages still spitting fat and warm bread. I had never tasted a sausage before, and I ate with gusto, studying the other customers.
They were an exotic bunch: as many Changed as Truemen, though the Changed occupied tables to one side of the smoky room, the central aisle apparently a tacit demarcation line. I saw sailors and longshoremen, soldiers wearing Durbrecht’s plaid, traders and merchants, women both serving and sitting with the men. I drank it all in as thirstily as I swallowed my ale, thinking all the time: I am in Durbrecht! The enormity of it widened my eyes, and I think I must then have looked a true bumpkin, goggling at the marvels of the city.
And Cleton, for all he was son of an aeldor, was little better, staring around with a huge smile, not speaking, but like me simply watching and listening.
It was impossible in the din to hear more than fragments of conversation, but what I could make out was entirely concerned with the Sky Lords’ attack. I gathered that the three airboats had perished, but some small amount of damage been done. I listened as avidly as I watched and so did not see Pyrdon come pushing through the throng until he arrived before us, his freckled face flushed, his eyes anxious.
“You’re to come immediately,” he declared. “The warden’s waiting.”
I snatched up my bag; Cleton drained the last of his mug. We followed Pyrdon out to find a tall man, his sandy hair plaited, standing tapping a short caduceus impatiently against his thigh. He was very thin, his tunic seeming over-large on his narrow shoulders, and his face was cadaverous, the eyes that fixed us deep-sunk. I was minded of small burrowing animals peering from their lairs.
“I am Ardyon,” he announced without preamble, “warden of the College. You may address me as Warden or by my name. You are … ?”
We identified ourselves, and he nodded, extending a hand. I thought for a moment he would greet us formally, but Cleton offered his token of introduction, and I dug mine from beneath my shirt. Ardyon studied the seals on each disc, then nodded his skull-like head in silent confirmation and said, “Why did you not wait as your companion did?”
His voice was cold as his stare, and I fidgeted awkwardly, lost for words. Cleton smiled cheerfully and answered, “Kerym offered us no breakfast, and we deemed it as well we acquaint ourselves with something of Durbrecht. We left Pyrdon on watch.”
“Whilst you drank ale,” said Ardyon.
“And broke our fast,” said Cleton.
Ardyon sniffed. It was impossible to read his expression, but I thought it likely disapproving. In the same toneless voice he said, “Amongst my duties is the meeting of newcomers. That is but one task to which I must attend. There are others, as you’ll learn, but foremost is the maintenance of discipline amongst the Mnemonikos-elect. This”-he flourished the caduceus-“is the badge of my office. You will obey any Trueman bearing this emblem. Do you understand?”
We nodded and assured him it was so.
“Good,” he said. “Now understand this. When you are sent for, you attend. You do not go exploring the alehouses of Durbrecht, or any other of the city’s many pleasures. You wait. You do as you are bid and no more; nor any less. Remember that, and your sojourn here shall not be too unpleasant. Now follow me.”
He spun about, spindleshanks propelling him swiftly away: we hastened to follow. Cleton and I exchanged a glance, my friend exaggerating an expression of remorse. I felt abashed, and even Pyrdon, though he had not been included in the reprimand, looked distinctly nervous. I thought it an inauspicious beginning.
But my doubts faded as we traversed the streets of the city, overwhelmed by the wonders all about me. Ardyon led us from the harbor through a maze of warehouses that filled the air with exotic perfumes, onto a wide avenue faced on both sides by emporiums offering such a wealth of produce as widened my eyes and set my nostrils to twitching like a questing hound’s. We saw arcades and bazaars, whole squares filled with canopied stalls, grand taverns and eating houses, plazas where fountains played and trees grew, protected by ornate fences. And people-more people than I had thought the whole world could hold, merchants and their customers, folk who did no more than stroll leisurely as if they had no work to call them, but only time in which to wander this cornucopia of wonders.
We hurried after the briskly striding warden down streets overhung with balconies that trailed bright flowers, past walls painted with a kaleidoscope of colors, or tiled; up stairways narrow and wide; across squares where statues stood proud. I saw loaded carts driven by Changed and carriages holding Truemen, horses ridden by men and women both. I gaped and goggled my way to a great white wall where Ardyon halted and gestured with his staff.
“This is the College of the Mnemonikos,” he announced. “Save you are dismissed early, this shall be your home for the next year at least.”
I was too excited to allow his reminder of possible failure to dampen my spirits. I stared, wondering if the wall was to keep us in or the city out. There was a gate, tall and wide, stained a pale blue, standing open. Ardyon led us through into a courtyard paved with great stone slabs, shrubs and fledgling trees growing in stone basins, benches set along the inner face of the wall occupied by men old and young. A few Changed went about menial tasks. Ardyon continued his march without breaking pace, across the courtyard to a high building with windows set like watching eyes and an arch at its center that granted entry to the cloistered quadrangle beyond. We turned off there, following our guide up a stairway to a door of black wood, where he motioned us to halt, tapping three times with his caduceus. A muffled voice bade us enter, and Ardyon swung the door open.
A small man, the light from the window at his back shining on his pate, sat behind a desk. He did not rise, but I could see he was not tall and that his face was unlined and amiable as his welcome.
“The day’s greetings,” he said pleasantly. “Welcome to Durbrecht.”
Pyrdon and I mumbled a response, Cleton replying more firmly. Ardyon named us one by one, tapping us each on the chest with his staff, and handed over our tokens. The bald man glanced at the disks and set them aside. “I am Decius,” he said, “master of the College. Your journey here was comfortable, I trust?”
Pyrdon nodded.
I said, “We saw the skyboats that attacked the city.” Cleton said, “And the wreck of one; along the Treppanek.”
Decius smiled and said, “Do you tell me what you saw?”’
He motioned for me to begin. I know not why, for I was not entirely at ease, whilst Cleton seemed quite confident, as if an interview with so elevated a personage was to him an everyday event.
I swallowed, cleared my throat, and commenced to tell him all I remembered. I was speaking of the elementals I believed I had seen sporting about the Sky Lords’ craft when he raised a hand to halt me and bade Cleton continue. Cleton took up the tale and was in his turn halted, Pyrdon finishing with an account of the wrecked airboat.
“How many bodies did you see?” asked Decius, when Pyrdon fell silent.
Pyrdon frowned and shrugged and said, “I am not sure, master.”
Decius smiled and raised inquiring brows at Cleton, who said, “I think there were thirteen.”
I found those mild eyes fastened on me then, and I closed my own an instant, conjuring the image. I said, “There were fifteen, master.”
“You’re sure?” asked Decius.
I hesitated a moment and then said, “Not absolutely. They were amid the wreckage, like bodies in the belly of a dead beast. But I think there were fifteen.”
Decius nodded, and I wondered if I had done well or badly in what I took to be a test. I was not told, for he turned his face to the warden then and said, “Do you show them to their dormitory, Ardyon? And I’d suppose they’ll want to eat. After, do you bring them to Martus.”
Ardyon offered a brief bow in response and motioned for us to follow him again. We quit the room, trailing after the warden back down the stairs, across the quadrangle to a separate building that he advised us held the dormitories of the Mnemonikos-elect.
Ours was a long, high-windowed room containing twenty beds, each with a cupboard beside that Ardyon explained was for our sole use. There were, he told us in his toneless voice, only fifteen candidates in residence, and no more were expected. He took our daggers into safekeeping, promising their return at the year’s end, waited as we chose our beds and stowed our gear, and then brought us to the dining hall, which lay on the far side of the quadrangle. He was meticulous in the dispensation of his duties, and even though neither Cleton nor I had appetite left, we were settled at a table with Pyrdon, watching as porridge, bread, and tea were brought him by a servant I recognized as Changed. As he ate, Ardyon outlined the timetable of our days.
Cleton caught my eye as we quit the dining hall, and on his face I saw the promise of disobedience to come.
He remained dutifully silent, however, as Ardyon led us through gardens to a walled enclosure, where a man of middle years sat with the fifteen candidates already in residence. We were introduced, and the warden left us. The man studied us a moment, then said, “I am Martus, your tutor for the next year. Do you tell me something of yourselves?”
We each in turn recited our brief histories, and Martus named our fellow candidates. I studied him and them. He seemed a pleasant enough man of no especial distinction. He was of average height and build, shaven clean, with an abundant head of light brown hair and eyes that seemed somewhat sleepy, though I soon learned they missed nothing. He was clad in well-worn breeks and tunic, with a sash of vivid red. The other students were a disparate lot, as might be expected, given they came from all over Dharbek. There were fishermen like me, another tanner’s son, two blacksmiths, several merchants’ offspring, three from taverns; Cleton was the only student of noble descent. Nor, Martus explained, were there female Mnemonikos, our itinerant lives being deemed unsuitable for the supposedly gentler sex.
That first day passed swift, and it seemed not long at all before a gong summoned us to the dining hall for the evening meal. The hall was filled with students of all ages and loud with the buzz of conversation. I was marveling at the richness of our fare when one of the farriers’ sons, a hulking fellow from the west coast whose name was Raede, fixed Cleton with his small eyes and said, “So you’re an aeldor’s son, eh?”
Cleton nodded, smiled amiably, and answered, “That I am. Brython of Madbry is my father.”
Raede snorted. Like one of the horses he helped his father shoe, I thought. Certainly he was built for the work, or the work had built him. I was no weakling-rowing a boat and hauling nets had put muscle on my frame-but next to Raede I was nothing. He was huge, with bulging forearms and a neck thick as a bull’s: I had seen no one bigger save Kerym’s Changed crewmen. He studied Cleton awhile, then said, “I suppose you think yourself better than us.”
A hamhock hand gestured at the others. Cleton, still smiling, said, “No. Why should I?”
Raede paused a moment, frowning, and said, “You’re an aeldor’s son.” It appeared he found that sufficient explanation and cause for resentment.
Cleton nodded again and said, “Here we are all students, equal.”
“I’m stronger,” said Raede.