Grimm arrived for Numal's Acclamation feast in plenty of time. His own ceremony took place within an hour of his Mage Staff prevailing against the magically sharp and immutable edge of the Breaking Stone. In Numal's case, it would seem either that such swift preparation had not been possible, or, as was more probable, that the Acclamation of a new Questor was regarded as a more significant event than that of a humble Necromancer.
The feast was to be held in the upper gallery of the East Wing, affording a bird's eye view of the Great Hall. Grimm saw several places laid at the great, round banqueting table, but far fewer than had been laid for his own celebration.
Grimm heard footsteps behind him, and he turned to see the acerbic Magemaster Faffel, under whose stern instruction he had studied Courtly Graces. The Magemaster wore sky-blue silk robes, and an ostentatious gold cummerbund sought to contain a bulging waistline. A tall, black hat, topped by a peacock feather, perched precariously on Faffel's burgeoning, jet-black hair, which looked ludicrous in contrast to such a lined, ancient face.
The young mage suppressed a groan, since Faffel's presence meant that he would feel constrained to use the formal, starchy tones of Mage Speech throughout the feast. He had had enough of this in his previous Quest, under the ascetic Xylox.
Faffel's small, yellow eyes scanned the Questor, searching for the least imperfection in his apparel or his bearing, but, at the end of his scrutiny, the old Magemaster gave a slight, grudging nod of approval.
"Greetings, Questor Grimm; it seems that my patient instruction has, at last, borne some fruit. Your appearance and bearing appear appropriate to the occasion. I am pleased to see that the spoils of your Quests have been put to good use."
What patient instruction was that?
Faffel's mode of tuition had consisted of little but slaps, insults and acidic rebukes. These had been directed, in particular, at boys from less wealthy families, like Grimm. The man fawned over richer, titled Students, schooled in deportment and court protocol since they were weaned, and he had never tired of mentioning that he had been received at the King's court on several occasions.
Grimm detested snobbery, and he now had sufficient confidence in himself to take the conceited Magemaster down a peg or two.
"Magemaster Faffel, it is good to see you," he lied. "However, these fine silk robes were not purchased with proceeds from my Quests, but from funds voted to me by the High Council of Crar when I was declared Baron."
If anything could sway Faffel's self-importance, it was a noble title, and Grimm felt pleased to see that it had the desired effect. He saw an immediate change in the Magemaster's manner at the Questor's very mention of the glittering title: 'Baron'. It seemed that Faffel was impressed by a noble cognomen, no matter how it had been bestowed.
"Lord Grimm, I apologise without reserve. I had no idea that you had been elevated to the nobility, and I congratulate you."
Faffel executed a perfect court bow, sweeping the ridiculous hat from his head so that the peacock feather brushed against the floor. Grimm toyed with the idea of extending his hand for the Magemaster to kiss but restrained himself, acknowledging the gesture with a brief but courteous nod. He could not act in such a contemptuous manner, even to such a shallow and conceited man, and he decided instead to be gracious. After all, the unpleasant Magemaster had managed to turn a clumsy blacksmith's boy into a competent dancer and an ambassador for the House who would not disgrace it, even in the most elevated company.
"Thank you, Magemaster Faffel. Thank you for educating me in the ways of the court. Without your diligent guidance, I am sure I would have dishonoured my title in many ways, with lapses of protocol or inappropriate speech."
Grimm felt revolted to see how the simple five-letter word, 'Baron', had turned the Magemaster into a fawning fool. It might have been better not to attempt to upstage the vain, snobbish man in this way, after all.
As Faffel's stream of sycophantic trivia became unbearable, the Questor felt relieved to note the arrival of the earthy Magemaster Kargan, whose face lit up at the sight of his erstwhile pupil.
Grimm knew Kargan would not bother with mindless chit-chat, and Mage Speech would go out of the window. Although Kargan wore robes of excellent quality, they seemed somehow loose and ill-suited to his spare, wiry frame, and his blue-tinted spectacles added an air of mystery.
"Well; if it isn't my old Student, Questor Grimm! My, aren't we a fine young popinjay these days?"
Kargan cast a disapproving glance at Faffel. "Hmm… I can see where you got the idea from, although I'm pleased to see that you, at least, chose to keep your apparel within the bounds of reasonable taste," he added, his voice dripping with contempt for the other Magemaster's ludicrous outfit.
Grimm opened his mouth to acknowledge Kargan's greeting, but Faffel interrupted him.
"That should be 'I see whence you obtained the idea'," the primping Magemaster sneered. There seemed little love lost between the two mage tutors, and they started a verbal sparring match, each trying to outdo the other.
Grimm, now freed from Faffel's obsequious attentions, looked on with some amusement as the two men traded slights and innuendos, although they always steered clear of outright insults.
The spat came to an abrupt halt as Grimm heard a familiar voice behind him.
"Gentlemen, your attention, please."
All three mages turned around, and Grimm saw the imperturbable Senior Magemaster Crohn, the head of the Scholasticate, standing at the head of the spiral staircase. He leaned on his staff, his expression intense and disapproving.
"This is an important occasion, and it should not be belittled by paltry squabbling. I would be grateful if you would put your petty rivalries aside for the nonce. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Senior Magemaster."
"Your words are as clear as the most lambent crystal, Senior Magemaster."
Crohn turned to Grimm, who had once been his protege, the acme of his career. Few Magemasters indeed could claim with justification that they had raised a Mage Questor!
"Questor Grimm, it appears that outdoor life agrees with you. You seem in excellent health."
"And you, Magemaster Crohn. It is good to see you looking so well."
"Alas, I regret to say that I suffer from rheumatism and arthritis, Brother Mage. However, I thank you for your solicitude."
Grimm expressed his sincere regrets. He knew Crohn had been a tower of strength until the day he had faced the full fury of Grimm's explosive Outbreak. It pained him to think that the old Magemaster's infirmity might be the result of the birth of his own powers, but he knew Crohn did not regret it in the least; it had been the culmination of his career to bring a nascent Questor to maturity. There was an understanding and respect between the two thaumaturges that few could understand, born of those tumultuous minutes in which Grimm Afelnor had wandered into the dark cavern of insanity and emerged as a man and a true mage.
Kargan and Faffel made their ways to opposite sides of the gallery, after each had helped himself to a brimming glass of wine; it seemed that both were in the mood to start their drinking at the earliest opportunity. This left Grimm standing with his erstwhile tutor.
"Magemaster Crohn, will Lord Thorn be in attendance tonight?" Grimm asked. If so, he thought, it might prove an opportune time to ask the questions he had forgotten to put to the Prelate at their two earlier meetings.
"I regret not," Crohn said. "I believe the annual accounts are due for submission to High Lodge."
Grimm's brow furrowed. "I always thought that was the responsibility of Scribe Vimat and his staff."
On occasions, the dedicated Vimat had been called upon to lecture Grimm's Student class on the subject of Mathematics, but he was more usually to be found poring over his ledgers and check-sheets in a cramped, dingy office in the East Wing.
"The ultimate responsibility for the correctness of the accounts is Lord Thorn's," the older man replied. "He often chooses to check Scribe Vimal's figures for himself, although the Scribe has a marvellous facility with arithmetic."
More likely, he just couldn't be bothered to turn up for a humble Necromancer's ceremonial feast.
A Questor was a different matter: a mage who could advance the status of a House and its Prelate in the eyes of the Lord Dominie, through a series of favours and political skulduggery carried out in the name of High Lodge. More run-of-the-mill mages were useful for the everyday running of the House and for tuition of the scions of rich families, but of little consequence in the wider scheme of things. Grimm's mouth twisted into a wry grimace, and Crohn smiled; very little passed the Senior Magemaster's notice.
"You are probably correct, Questor Grimm; perhaps the occasion is not noteworthy enough for Lord Thorn. However, if you please, we will acquiesce to the official explanation. Necromancer Numal has worked hard to gain his just rewards of the staff and the Guild Ring, and we should ensure that his special feast is one for him to remember. You are a friend of his?"
Grimm shook his head. "Not as such, Magemaster Crohn. Until today, I met him on only one previous occasion: my first full day as a Student. However, I find him an interesting and companionable man, and he seems to enjoy my company, too. His seems to have been a lonely incumbency, and I would say he needs all the friends he can get."
"That is a poor reason to become an especial friend," Crohn said, his expression strange.
"Magemaster Crohn, I can remember Rule 3.14.8 quite well," Grimm said, smiling, thinking he understood Crohn's quizzical look.
Rule 3.14.8 concerned 'unnatural and unwholesome relationships', and several years passed before the meaning of the regulation became clear to him. He knew such relationships were forged within the Scholasticate on occasion, and, although he could not understand the attraction of two men for each other, he knew how scarce true affection was within the House. He could not bring himself to condemn such associations. Even the Magemasters seemed to tolerate these illicit liaisons at times, at least when they occurred between Students of wealthy families and were not too blatant.
"That is not what I was trying to imply, Questor Grimm," Crohn said, his tone neutral. "I merely meant that a stolid, middle-aged Necromancer is an unusual intimate for a young, active Questor to have. A Necromancer has little sleight that a mage of your calling could not master, except the ability to contact the souls of the dead."
Crohn's voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "I believe you are still hoping to discover some hidden truth behind the death of Prelate Geral, so as to exonerate your grandfather. Am I right?"
Grimm felt warmth flooding into his face: he knew that he could not lie to this man. He was indeed dedicated to prove Loras innocent of treason, but Crohn had it wrong. How much could he trust the ancient mage, who reported directly to the Prelate?
Crohn leaned closer to the Questor, his voice a faint murmur. "I swear on my name as a Guild Mage that anything you tell me, short of outright treason, will remain between the two of us. My sole wish is to save you embarrassment and disgrace. Lord Thorn and the Conclave will hear nothing of what you choose to say, but speak truly."
Grimm closed his eyes and stood for a few moments, deep in thought. How he yearned to tell another Guildbrother of his doubts! He knew he could confide in his best friend, Questor Dalquist, but Dalquist was only ten years older than he, and had never known Loras Afelnor. Crohn, however, had studied alongside Loras and had known him well.
The old Magemaster might have put him through the gruelling Questor Ordeal, but Grimm knew Crohn to be an honourable man; he would not betray anything told him in confidence.
"You are correct in assuming that I have such a mission in mind, Senior Magemaster," he said, choosing his words with care, "but I will tell you that my association with Necromancer Numal has nothing to do with it. I have good reason to believe that Geomancy, witch magic, lies behind my grandfather's bizarre act. However, I have no reason to believe that the soul of the dead Prelate could communicate any useful information in this regard; the man was comatose in his last days. He is no tool or puppet in any plan of mine, I assure you.
"As a former Charity boy, I recognise Numal's loneliness and feel drawn to him for this reason, and for this reason alone."
Crohn's eyes seemed to burn into Grimm's soul for a few moments, and then he nodded. "That is as it should be. I cannot sway you from your heart's desire, nor would I wish to. I think you are deluded in this regard, but that is a personal opinion. I know I would do anything to ransom my own family name, had it ever been so tarnished. As long as you do not suborn House personnel to the furtherance of this… this private Quest of yours, I have no objection. Just be careful on whose toes you tread whilst doing so, Grimm Afelnor. If I may be of any assistance to you in your search for truth, without transgressing House protocol, of course, do not hesitate to ask."
"I will, Magemaster Crohn," Grimm responded, smiling broadly. "Thank you for your forbearance, your kind offer and your understanding. Will you promise me that this matter remains confidential between us?"
Crohn nodded. "I so swear, Questor. I hope one day you will find true peace and inner harmony, one way or the other. What you have said is already forgotten. Even the direct demand of Lord Thorn would not draw it from me."
As Grimm opened his mouth to thank the Senior Magemaster again, he was interrupted by a cry from Magemaster Kargan: "Here comes our guest of honour!"
Appearing nervous and sheepish, Numal appeared at the top of the stairs, bedecked in costly robes of green velvet. As he walked into the gallery, Grimm saw that he was accompanied by a dour man attired in a similar manner. There was little humour in the second man's face, and his pallor and bald head made him appear as almost a twin of the new mage. Only the seven gold rings on the man's staff clearly marked him as a separate individual.
Crohn clapped his hands, and the assembled magic-users came to attention.
"Gentlemen, in recognition of forty-three years of diligent study, let us all raise a glass to our new Mage Necromancer, Numal Falwort, and his estimable and indefatigable Adept Tutor, Necromancer Sheban!"
Magemaster Kargan, as thoughtful as ever for the important things in life, handed full glasses to Grimm and Crohn.
The pitiful assembly chorused, "To Numal and Sheban!"
The revelries lasted into the small hours. All present drank more than their fill, but Grimm found the alcohol had little effect on him. He drank, almost as if possessed, but he felt no need to call on his staff, Redeemer, to clear his head. In the morning, he would leave to root out a dark, Geomantic evil at the heart of High Lodge itself, and he could not help but hope it might lead him a little further down the road to Loras' exoneration
Numal became morose and melancholy as he tossed back glass after glass of alcohol, and at one point he cried out, "When I was young, I wanted nothing more from my life than to make people laugh, to be happy. That person is dead, dead! You killed me!"
Crohn stepped quickly into the breach, presenting the new mage with another glass of wine. "Necromancer Numal, you are in the company of brothers here. Be of good cheer! Gentlemen: another toast to the new mage!"
"To the new mage!"
Numal made no further outbursts, but Grimm thought, Poor bastard. That's what the Guild can do to a man. You can see it in Crohn, Thorn, Faffel, and even Kargan. What they did to me with insults and abuse, they did by grinding these men down with years of rules and regulations, stops, checks and bloody protocol. I'm never going to let that happen to me!
Grimm raised his glass again. "Congratulations to you, Numal. May the Names bless and keep you."
The new Necromancer appeared recovered after his earlier, emotional eruption, and his eyes almost focused on Grimm's.
"To the… to the Houshe!" he slurred, drinking.
"The House!" echoed Grimm and the other mages, but the Questor's mind was on other things. Tomorrow, he might need to face a monster. Despite the pity he felt for the lonely man, pressed into a calling he had never sought, Grimm made his excuses and left. He had a long day, or days, ahead of him.
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