“No,” I said, thinking perhaps I might win Urt a reprieve did I humble myself; thinking of his advice. “I should not have. I apologize for that, master. For all I did.”
Decius nodded and caught me out in my false humility: “Do you then repudiate your mage?”
I swallowed, recognizing the trap. Dismiss Rwyan? I could not do that. Would not! I said, “I cannot, master. I love her still.”
I saw his face cloud at that, and my sense of self-preservation prompted me to add: “Even though I shall likely never see her again.”
It seemed to mollify him. At least he nodded and murmured, “Likely not. A Storyman fares better alone. Do you serve out that time, and then, should you become a tutor … He smiled. I thought it the smile of a man who suggests some course he does not truly believe in, or properly understand. “Then you might take a wife. Or find a mistress. This Thais, for example. Is she not satisfactory?”
Once more he succeeded in taking me aback. Thais? How had he discovered her existence? Cleton had not told me he made any mention of the cyprian. I wondered if there was anything the master did not know. I wondered if he was a sorcerer, besides head of our College. I gulped and said, “Yes. I suppose so. She’s …” I faltered. “She was … satisfactory.”
“Then I’d suggest you take what pleasure you need there,” Decius said. “And from henceforth leave alone those others.”
I had no intention whatsoever of following that advice: I nodded.
He nodded in return and said, “So, to your future. You shall remain amongst us, but-on probation. Do you err again, it must be the last time. You understand?”
I said, “Yes, master.”
“And do you accept?” he asked.
Again I said, “Yes, master.”
“Then understand the strictures that apply,” he said. “You will not depart the grounds without specific permission. Nor shall you attempt to contact this Rwyan in any way.”
I said, “Yes, master,” thinking I began to sound like some timid Changed.
“When you are allowed to leave the College grounds,” he went on, “it shall be only in company with two others. One may be Cleton.”
His expression seemed to me to invite thanks for that favor, so I repeated my iteration: “Thank you, master.”
He paused again, musing, as if he mulled his next words. I continued to wait. I wondered why I was allowed Cleton’s company, he having been integral to my affair. Perhaps Decius believed his influence would draw me back to the safer pursuits of the street of green lanterns; perhaps the master thought to keep his bad eggs in the single basket. I was not about to question the decision.
Then he said, “By this year’s end, you’ll have all the learning we can give you for now. Next spring, you go out a Storyman.”
“Master?” He had the ability to surprise me still. I wondered if it was amusement I deciphered in his eyes.
“A Storyman, Daviot. Did you not expect that?”
Now it was my turn to pause. Of course I had expected it: it was the next step. Why else was I here? But to be told this news in such circumstances left me befuddled. I had thought it more likely I should be kept close to the College, until such time as I was deemed sound. I saw that Decius expected a verbal response, and said honestly, “I was not sure, master. I thought perhaps …”
I shrugged, lost for words. Decius said, “We’ve lost too many in these last attacks. There’s a need for good Storymen; more, I think, in the days to come.”
I was not sure what he meant by that. I had heard no rumors to suggest the Sky Lords came again. Was he privy to secret knowledge? Certainly, he seemed so far omniscient.
When I said nothing more, he continued: “So you shall be sent out at winter’s end. Cleton, too. You may tell him that.”
I chanted another of my “Yes, master’s,” aware that he had so far made no mention of Urt. My future was secure, and Cleton’s; but what of my Changed comrade? For an instant I debated the wisdom of inquiry, knowing even as I did that it was the safer course to play the penitent, to humbly accept, and say no more than yes and no and thank you. Urt himself had counseled me to that course, and likely inquiry after his fate would serve only to harm us both: I remained dutifully silent.
Decius sat awhile, as if pondering whether to say more. I stood, doing my best not to fidget as my healing leg began to itch horribly.
Finally, the master raised a hand, waving me toward the door, saying, “Enough. You’ve lessons still. Go.”
I said, “Yes, master; thank you,” and turned away.
I was tempted to run but settled for a more dignified, if somewhat brisk, walk to my chamber. I was surprised (startlement seemed the order of this day) to find Cleton there.
“I waited,” he said, unnecessarily. “What happened?” “We stay,” I told him, and then explained all Decius had told me.
“The God be praised!” He clapped my shoulder. “Next spring, eh? I’m not sorry I missed my breakfast. Not for such good news.”
“Did you not have Urt bring food?” I asked.
His answer was casual: “I’ve not seen Urt this morning.” It struck me like a blow.
“Where is he?” I demanded.
Cleton took a step back as I faced him. He shrugged and said, “I’ve no idea.”
I did. I mouthed a string of curses that might have blistered even Garat’s ears and shouldered past my friend in search of my other. Cleton hurried to catch me, his expression puzzled.
“What’s amiss?” he asked, to which I answered simply, “Urt.”
To give him his due, he recognized my concern and took a share, falling into step at my side as I flung myself down corridors and stairs into the yard. I was grateful that he asked no further questions: I was in no mood to give kindly answers.
Together we pushed our way through students going to their lessons. Our own would soon commence, but I cared not at all. I thought Ardyon the most likely to answer my fear, and the refectory the most likely place to find the warden-I took Cleton there.
Ardyon was moving toward the door as I entered. He was in conversation with Clydd and a tutor of politics, Faron. I set myself in their path, ignoring raised brows and the warden’s ominous sniff.
I said, “Urt! Where is he?”
Ardyon’s deep-sunk eyes met my gaze with massive indifference. He said, “Remember you are yet on probation. You will address your superiors in suitable manner.” His voice was flat; and heavy with threat.
I felt Cleton’s good hand on my arm. It held me back from striking the warden, which I think Ardyon knew, for he brought his caduceus to rest on his shoulder. The staff was solid enough to do me harm: I did not care.
However, I controlled my anger and forced my voice to semblance of civility. “I have not seen Urt this morning, warden,” I said. “I’d be grateful to know his whereabouts.”
The skin was stretched so taut across the bones of Ardyon’s face, it was bland as a mask. He sniffed now. I thought the sound suggested relish. He chose to address my statement: “You were with the master, no? How then should you have seen your servant?”
I clenched my teeth and fought the impulse to drive my fist against his face as I realized he toyed with me. And that it could mean only the confirmation of my fears. I swallowed, took a deep breath, and said, “By your leave, warden, I’d know he’s well.”
“I believe he is,” said Ardyon.
I hated him in that moment, and he saw it in my eyes. I saw his fingers fasten tighter about the caduceus. At his side, Faron made an impatient gesture, and Clydd frowned. I think neither approved of the warden’s game, but nor did they speak to end it.
I said, “He’s in the College?” Only after thinking to add a dutiful, “warden.”