“I’ll tell them I coerced you,” I declared. “I’ll say I gave you no choice but to carry my messages.”
“And they would say I should have gone to Ardyon,” he returned me. “That my duty to the College precedes any personal loyalty.”
I could not argue: it was the truth.
“And it should only do you harm,” he went on. “Better that you stay silent. Apologize, and accept whatever punishment is meted out; finish your studies.”
He gave me advice, and it was sound. Vague through my anger came the thought that most men would find it strange a Changed should assume to advise a Trueman. I asked him, “Why?”
“Why should you remain?” he asked in turn. “Or why do I counsel that you do?” “Both,” I said.
“The one because it should be a great waste of your talent. You’ve the makings of a fine Rememberer, and you’ve worked hard for that. To quit the College now would be to throw away the years you’ve spent in Durbrecht. What would you do else? I doubt you could return to that village of yours and become a fisherman. Would you join some war-band, be a soldier?” He paused, as if to let his words sink in. Outside, the day darkened, allowing the lanterns’ light greater play on his hair and face. He was very solemn: I thought of prophets. “The other? In part for the same reasons, in part because I am your friend, and I do not enjoy waste.”
“Whilst you are banished to the Border Cities!” I cried.
“It’s not quite banishment,” he said. “That we must part saddens me. But that should have come to pass in any event, no?”
Again he spoke only the truth, which made it no easier to swallow. It was less the fact of parting than its manner that troubled me. It was somehow comforting to think of Urt continuing at the College, perhaps impressing some student come after me with his humanity; perhaps to open another’s eyes. I said, “It is not fair to punish you for my sins.”
He said, “I shared them. I knew-perhaps better than you-the risks we took. I knew judgment would be delivered, were we discovered.”
“Yet still you aided me,” I said.
“You are my friend,” he said. “What else should I do?”
I looked him square in the eye then and said, “Have I ever the opportunity to repay you, Urt, you’ve but to name it.”
He nodded, once, and said, “I know that, Daviot.”
“Perhaps they’ll allow you stay,” I said. “At least until I go out a Storyman.”
I knew, or sensed, that I clutched at straws. Urt confirmed it with a shake of his head.
“Perhaps we’ll meet again,” I said, still clutching.
“Perhaps,” he allowed. “I hope we may.”
It had grown dark now, and the clatter of hammers, the drone of saws, had ceased. Occasionally there came a shout from the yards outside; mostly the night was silent.
“Save you’ve need of anything, I’d best go.”
Urt rose. I shook my head. I wanted to say more, but there were no words, only a sadness in me that was colored with the fire of anger. Was this what it was to be a Mnemonikos? To see one’s loves, one’s friends, all left behind? I had known it should be a lonely path to take, but that awareness had been intellectual, unreal. Now it was emotional, personal. It hurt. I watched him take his tankard to the closet and rinse the mug. He set it down beside the keg and came to stand before me.
“The tribunal will deliver its verdict soon,” he said. “I’d ask you heed my advice when they call you.”
“Yes.” I knew not what else to say. I rose and took his hand as I would any Trueman’s. “The God go with you, Urt.”
His grasp was powerful as he said, “I do not think the God cares much about we Changed, Daviot. But still, my thanks.”
He loosed his grip and went out the door.
Cleton returned at some point, but I was unaware of his presence until the impatient tapping on our door woke me. I raised my head from the pillow, noticing from the quality of the light that it was only a little while after sunrise. Then I realized the tapping lacked the softer sound of flesh and knuckle but was rather the sharp rattle of wood on wood. Such as a caduceus would make. I sprang naked from my bed, motioning Cleton back as he stirred, and went to the door.
Ardyon stood there, his cadaverous face impassive. I felt my stomach lurch. I had believed myself resigned: I had been wrong.
I said, “Day’s greetings, warden.”
He nodded, sniffed, and said without preamble, “Dress. You’re summoned to the master.”
I said, “Yes,” and stood back, thinking he would enter; perhaps to watch over me for fear I should escape from the window. Instead, he shook his head and waved his caduceus to indicate I hurry, closing the door on me as I retreated.
Cleton was sitting up, his blue eyes worried. “The verdict?” he asked.
I said, “Ardyon awaits me,” and affected a smile I hoped was brave, “with his trusty caduceus.”
I went into the alcove to splash my face. I satisfied a suddenly urgent need to urinate. I wondered if the sound I heard was the tap of the warden’s staff against his thigh, or the thudding of my heart. I dragged on clothes. I could not understand why I was so nervous. I had believed Urt when he told me I should not be expelled. I had not thought I cared so much.
Cleton said, “The God grant it goes well.”
I nodded, shoving shirt-tails into my breeks. I ran fingers through my hair, took a deep breath, and crossed back to the door.
Ardyon seemed not at all impatient. I studied his face, seeking some clue to my impending fate, but he gave me nothing, only ducked his head as if in approval of my haste, and set off down the corridor. I limped after him. I dared not speak. Even had I, I do not believe he would have answered. He was a man who took his duties very seriously; he did not consider explanations to be amongst them.
We went down the stairs into the yard. I caught the smell of breakfast wafting from the refectory. My stomach rumbled, either from hunger or trepidation. The sky was aquamarine, the sun not yet visible above our walls. A breeze stirred, warm. I licked my lips and followed the warden into the building that held the master’s quarters.
We halted at the familiar door and Ardyon applied his caduceus. A voice came muffled through the wood, and he swung the portal open, motioning me inside. I stepped past him and started as I heard the door close behind me, leaving me alone with Decius.
I had expected to find those others who had sat in judgment present, but Decius was alone behind his desk. For an errant moment I wondered if he spent the nights there, if he ever left. Perhaps he was crippled and lived all his life behind that desk. I said, “Day’s greetings, master.” I was surprised my voice did not quaver.
Decius answered formally and beckoned me closer. His chambers lay to the west side of the College and thus were sunlit only in the afternoons. I had always been summoned before him later in the day: now I could see his round face clearly, unmasked by opposing light. It was concerned, as if he were a father confronted with a naughty child, bound to deliver some reprimand, but not much taken with the notion. He cleared his throat and frowned. I waited.
“We have debated your case at length, Daviot,” he said, “and it is decided you shall not be expelled.”
He studied me. I thought he waited for some response, and so I said, “Thank you, master.”
He smiled very briefly and said, “There are some consider you a risk, a bad influence. They’d see you ejected.”
I thought, Ardyon, and wondered who else.
Decius said, “Others believe you one of the most promising students we’ve had. But even so …”
He ran a hand across the smooth skin of his pate, which I had never seen him do before. I could not be sure what the gesture meant.
He cleared his throat again and said, “For my own part, I believe you might one day be a tutor. Master, even.”
I was amazed. I gasped and stuttered, “Thank you.”