Scholar: Book 2

By Dmitri Talanov

Beyond the deep forests, on the very fringes of the Empire, a repurposed prison named the Alexa now serves as an institution for higher learning. More mature now, and more accustomed to life among demons and intrigue, Phale Fe begins his education. But the school is full of secrets, and Phale’s knack for getting into trouble threatens to expose the true machinations of the Empire, renew the threat of demon invasion, and imperil the lives of everyone he loves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Feb 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483580654

Book preview

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- 1 -

The Alexa Laboratory existed for three years, and left behind not a scrap of paper after the infamous events there. It was an expensive undertaking for those years, but in hindsight it is plain that those expenditures were recouped. Its creator could probably not have foretold how history would treat his decision to turn an onerous prison into the first institution of higher learning, since the real reason behind the Laboratory’s inception was only the boredom and irritation of an emperor who had nobody to argue with on an even footing…

—Histories of the Second Empire, 19th Ed.

Central Library, Anastasia City

Phale!

No response.

Pha-a-ale!

No response.

Amazing, he was just here! Phale, where’d you go?

Metta Choziek looked around—the room was deserted. As always, the end of the lecture had wiped the room clean of students. Phale might have escaped with the others, the girl thought at first, but then she saw the shoes sticking out from under the teacher’s desk. Kneeling down, Metta took note of their owner.

Phale, she said, surprised.

Sh-shh! came the response.

Phale was holding an arponis, aiming it at an air vent, beyond the grating of which were the quarters of Professor Jeronimus Fabricius, doctor of medicine.

The professor was from Flanders, an immigrant to the New Realm. He was of a solid posture, plain to look upon, with a potato of a nose and large hands.

Metta, get closer, whispered Phale, looking over his shoulder. I thought I was imagining things, but today I caught him!

Who, our schismatic?

The girl joined him by the grate, and Phale made room. Through the vent before them shone a dim light, and they could hear the voice of the professor singing some kind of anthem.

It didn’t sound like Fabricius—tall and hunched, he spoke as forcefully as he stepped. He sported a bowl cut, and never wore anything other than the robes of a student of the Alexa, economizing on clothing. Metta’s sister, Anna, called him the Schismatic, due largely to his disinterest in his own appearance, and lack of imagination in any sphere outside of medicine.

The ruby eyes of the canine head on Phale’s staff glowed faintly. These jewels were known as the eyes of Odin, and gave off light only when in the presence of a demon. No demons had been seen near the Alexa yet, but there was a first time for everything.

Metta shoved Phale’s shoulder and gesticulated that it was time to raise the alarm. In response, he moved his index finger back and forth in front of her nose, and gestured with it at the vent.

Metta’s eyes opened wide, and she exhaled. The professor?

Phale nodded and, as a proof, pushed down on one of the figures etched into the staff—a rope noose with bisecting ends. Metta wanted to stop him, but didn’t do it in time, and from the lab next door a crash resounded, followed by the clatter of shattering glass.

On the other side of the grate, the familiar contours of a cape blinked past, and the eyes of the professor met the grey gaze of the culprit.

Phale jumped back and cracked his head on the desk. D-d-devils! he swore.

He clambered out, and helped Metta do the same. Her demeanour indicated she was unhappy with him swearing, but Phale believed in his heart that this was all a big act. He couldn’t understand how she’d managed to grow up so polite in the Choziek family, surrounded by her brother, Janus, who had no verbal filter whatsoever, and her sister, Anna, who appeared to be very reserved until she delivered a barb that could hurt for a lifetime.

They made their escape outside, hoping to get away clean, and saw the back of the professor headed away from them at quite a pace. The students exchanged glances. How had this phlegmatic managed to beat them out here, and why hadn’t he tried to confront them?

Phale aimed the arponis at the professor’s back. The ruby eyes lit up once more, and wouldn’t go out when he passed it over the door to the medical lab. Surprised, Phale tugged at the handle, but the door wouldn’t give.

Damn it, he muttered, staring aimlessly ahead. Metta continued to watch the professor leave.

Tell me I’m not imagining this, said Phale.

You’re not, Metta responded. I think we’ll need to come back here. All of us. After dinner, though; now the bell’s about to ring. You and Janus can go first, and we’ll come later not to arouse suspicion.

She had scarcely finished when the school bell sounded in the darkening sky, summoning them to the evening meal.

The Alexa, a government prison cleansed of its inmates by Emperor Flavius and rechristened a school, found its home on an expansive hillside, raised above the surrounding forest. Its bordering walls were composed of massive, black logs, placed vertically against one another and dug deep into the earth. They had also been coated in a special concoction that hardened the wood to stone. This same technology had been employed in constructing the Empire’s many roads, which had once so captivated Phale. The buildings on the Alexa grounds had been assembled this way as well—all but the Signal Tower, which was made of stone and housed an aviary with a modest number of carrier pigeons.

Keiplig, the imperial capital, was a five-day ride from here—a lengthy journey through a deep forest far from any settlements or towns. With the exception, that is, of a tiny village at the base of the hillside. Two months ago, Phale had made this journey with his adoptive sister Gabrielle, not yet knowing that life here would turn out a great deal more fascinating than anything he’d experienced in his thirteen and a half years drawing breath. Gabrielle had said that she had greatly preferred life back in the capital, but that was before she’d discovered the game of yuka, invented here many years ago by the prisoners.

The game had been named for the yuka plant, which grew at the foot of the Alexa’s outer wall and bloomed into a hollow black ball. This was the only plant in the Empire of demonic origin, and thus the only one that was able to awaken an arponis staff. One only need aim a staff at a yuka plant and push down on the noose in order to bind the two together with an invisible thread. It was important to be careful not to target an older yuka, with some white at its top. A ball like this might inflate and pull you into the sky.

This property of yuka was one that the Alexa prisoners had long tried to exploit, but a second targeting of the plant with an arponis would thwart the attempt. Under fire from two staves, a yuka would quickly expand and burst, sending the escapee plummeting to the ground. Thus, the Yuka game was created—a game whose invention, according to Phale, made it acceptable that demons existed in this world.

He also thanked the gods that at the Alexa they fed students meals such as he’d never eaten. The plain, monotonous food he’d consumed for the first ten years of his life travelling with his merchant father was nothing compared to what they served here. And the food was leagues above the abstruse dishes served in the Fe household, which Phale had never known what to do with.

The cooks here were locals, led by an ex-inmate who hadn’t wanted to leave. Today, he was delighting everyone with the art of preparing freshly slaughtered ham.

The dining hall was full of people. On long benches behind five tables, enumerating the different departments, sat a hundred students. The sixth table, for the instructors, was up against the far wall. The high-ceilinged chamber was illuminated by two dozen lanterns. There was no fear of a blaze, as the petrified, stony wood of the walls was not flammable. They would require something hotter than a conventional flame in order to burn. Phale had managed to light a piece once, but only with a white-hot metal rod.

The dining hall was a din of sound. Phale and Metta separated, heading for their respective tables. Phale plopped down on a bench next to Janus Choziek. Metta sat down near Anna.

Janus, Metta, and Anna were triplets—a fact Phale had refused to believe until he found out that their mother had only become pregnant after being treated for infertility by mysterious healers. She had died in childbirth, much like Phale’s mother.

The black-eyed, black-haired Janus had the manner of a prince, and there didn’t seem to be anything in the world that could keep him out of sorts for long. He could whistle bird calls, and laugh suddenly and loudly. The short, dainty Metta, with straight chestnut hair and beautiful green eyes, laughed rarely. Most of the time, she conducted herself with reservation and seriousness. The tatty Anna with her flowing blonde hair never laughed at all, seemingly not knowing how, and it was no good getting caught in her crosshairs. Her full name was actually Anastasia, but she seemed to be angered by this and insistently called herself Anna.

The reason Phale and Janus were seated at a different table from Metta and Anna was at the other end of the dining hall, and it was named Professor Lonergan. The professor was a doctor of natural philosophy and an instructor in the natural sciences. He had the look of an overgrown vulture, with wide shoulders and a grey head of hair. The professor considered the female half of humanity to be incapable of understanding the natural sciences, and had thus forbidden Metta and Anna from joining his group. There were rumours going around the campus, perhaps started by the female students, that the professor was unlucky in his personal life and had already been married twice.

Next to Professor Lonergan sat the Alexa’s rector, Professor Kato Illugi. On their second day here, Anna Choziek had nicknamed him Trivium. Besides his always clean and neatly pressed robes, Professor Illugi was absolutely unremarkable. He was as calm as a windless sea, and his speech was measured and even. He taught mathematics and geometry, the worst subjects possible.

On Professor Lonergan’s other side sat Roland van der Veiver, a twenty-five-year-old Dutchman. He had asked to be called simply Roland but behind his back people were calling him Pathiosoc. He taught morality, ethics, and the rule of law, but more so just ridiculed the views of others. Admitting his bad temper, he never tired of telling how upon turning five years of age his brothers in the Old Realm had started begging him to run away from home. And he’d done so, spying after one of the caravans and hopping through some gates in its wake.

At the end of the table sat the large Father Bruno. He was a Franciscan Friar escaped from the Old Realm who was allegedly so smart that his residency papers had been signed by Emperor Flavius personally. Father Bruno taught the history of the New Realm, but he didn’t know it very well and would often get side-tracked into the history of the Old Realm. The reason for his fleeing from there was a book he had written that generated a whirlwind of controversy. To hear him tell it, there had been many attempts to poison him in the Old Realm, which is why he now only drank wine, and only the wine he made himself.

Professor Fabricius was absent from the dining hall.

On a clay plate before Phale, freshly fried ham that had oinked only that morning shimmered gold and exuded appetizing steam. Sprinkled liberally with ringlets of green onion, it smelled of the most tender white meat and fat. Here also was a steamed turnip, smiling with the cracks in its crumbly centre, and winking little puddles of melted butter. Phale realized he was so hungry his teeth ached.

Orphaned by the will of the gods, and adopted into the Fe family, he had spent three years yearning for food that tasted good and wasn’t a fright-fest to eat because it was impossible to tell what it was composed of. Now, finally, he was presented not with the decorative centrepieces of the Fe clan, but with real, honest meals.

Phale armed himself with a hunk of bread and, burning with excitement, bit into a piece of meat with a thin, crunchy crust.

The aroma dizzied him, and the taste caused him to squint. He ate quickly, not minding his manners. Metta would occasionally rebuke him for this, but she was sitting out of view. Janus would never have allowed himself such excess. Most importantly, though, Mistress Fe was nowhere near here. In front of her, Phale was always cowed, so immaculate and strict was her manner in life.

The dining hall echoed with conversation, laughter, and the clatter of knives and forks. Having eaten his fill, Phale leaned back from the table, and looked around. Next to him sat Loftus Lissak, nicknamed Lefty because of his talent for dropping everything he got his hands on. Lefty was sullenly studying a scribble-filled sheet of paper, at the base of which was the squiggled mark of Professor van der Veiver.

Sitting opposite, the bulky, redheaded Tom Rafter was doing the same. A similar page also protruded from Janus’s pocket. Professor Roland had evidently handed the marked assignments back right before dinner. He had a habit of doing this at mealtime in order to, as he put it, stimulate the appetite of the students.

Phale looked around for his own assignment. The subject had been one that he wasn’t proficient in, and he was already feeling downcast.

Where’s mine? he asked.

Janus leisurely hooked the final piece of meat onto his fork, chewed it up, crossed the fork with the knife on his plate, dabbed his mouth with a handkerchief, and then responded, You’re sitting on it.

Phale had before felt the urge to wallop his new friend across the head for these kinds of shenanigans, and barely restrained himself now. Of course, anger at Janus in these moments was counterbalanced with the amusement of watching him do it to other people.

Damned aristocrat, muttered Phale, yanking from beneath himself the work he had plopped down onto earlier, distracted by delicious smells. Seeing his grade, he exclaimed in desperation, Will you look at this! He’s called me a plank again!

Professor Roland had his own system of grading, in which a fail was firewood, a partial fail a plank, barely passing was a mossy deck, a decent pass a fresh stump, and the highest honour a solid oak. Phale’s drowsiness had evaporated. This was the fourth straight crash and burn the professor had sent his way.

What do you mean ‘again’? said Janus. Here, let me see!

Phale shoved the paper at him. Janus glanced it over and frowned. Well, to be fair you’re actually firewood. Pathiosoc was simply feeling sorry for you.

Phale’s round face reddened. What do you mean sorry? Sorry for what? he exclaimed.

He’s sorry that you’re trying to use words you don’t understand, explained Janus dryly. He’s explained that until we can use the terminology correctly, he’s not going to move on to the basic laws. So we’ll just be writing him these stories day in, day out in perpetuity.

Phale saw that Janus was angry, and turned even redder.

Meanwhile, Janus quoted expressively: "Mistress Fe had five children and was busy growing them…it’s a pity you stopped there. You should’ve added, watering, manuring, and harvesting them too. That would have at least preserved the internal logic of the thing!"

Phale sighed. This aristocrat, educated by private tutors, had surprisingly turned out to be right again. Janus was a year Phale’s senior and thus more educated. Nobody among the Chozieks, however, possessed all the talents Phale had acquired in his short life. The son of a fortuitous Askomani merchant from Napoli, he could count easily in his head, could read both land and star maps, and was able to plot the course of a ship.

"It was morning, and the sunshine was heavily breaking into the room," continued Janus.

His distant relative Frisl Bristo, a happy portly youth with a smiling face, laughed heartily while rising from the table, and gave Phale a supportive pat on the shoulder.

It was breaking in with an axe, was it? he said. At this, Phale had had it plenty.

Enough, I get it! he exclaimed angrily, jumping to his feet and grabbing the assignment away from Janus. Could we get down to business, please? he added, more softly.

In the past two months, his friend had computed that when Phale said get down to business, he usually meant some kind of caper, and thus he raised an eyebrow in assent, and they headed for the exit, weaving through the crowd of students passing by the dining hall.

A small flock of girls paced by them. They were followed by a matron, whose tightly bound hair was parted strictly down the middle. This was Bagila, the wife of the head cook, who had been hired to watch after the girls and subsequently been given the nickname Madam Harpy. Janus held Phale back for a moment, to let pass a rosy girl with multicoloured ribbons in her hair.

It was Phale’s sister Gabrielle, and she loudly complained to a girlfriend, We have to get up so early. It’s like a workhouse! I even got a wrinkle on my forehead!

In passing, she glared at Janus. Phale could see that Gabrielle was appealing as ever—no other girl here could boast such a wavy mane of black hair, nor such bright eyes. Of an age with Phale, she shared his inability to sit still for long and, when she was forced to, would become quite irate. Professor Illugi, noting this, had asked his group to accept Gabrielle into their sports line-up. This had generated a storm of complaints from the all-male team, and then a storm of accolades, when Gabrielle had demonstrated how quick on her feet and agile she was.

When you see an insect with a stinger, best to move slowly, said Janus, after Gabrielle had passed.

Phale knew that his new friends and his foster-sister couldn’t stand one another, but he found this insect remark to be a little too much.

What did she ever do to you? he asked.

Why don’t you ask Anna? Janus answered.

Winter was quickly approaching the Alexa. At Halmstem, one could still swim in the sea if one really wanted, but a thin snow was already evident underfoot. There was nowhere to go after dinner, either, as it was getting dark early as well, and being outdoors after dark was against the rules. As punishment, students were forced to wash all the day’s dishes in the kitchen. Having endured this once, Phale did everything in his power to avoid a repeat performance.

The only place where one could go was the dining hall, where after dinner the tables were laden with pots of soaked apples and loaves of bread, in case students became hungry. The dining hall was located by the Tower Square and was only two minutes walking distance from the dormitories. The Alexa had another square as well, by the gates, called the Square of the Doomed.

Do my sisters know about this business of yours? asked Janus, as soon as they were outside. There had yet to be an instance of him asking Phale directly what he’d planned.

Metta knows, said Phale, and summarised quickly what they’d stumbled upon.

Janus pursed his lips as if he was about to whistle, but changed his mind. Drawing attention was unwise—while they had dined, the sky had darkened, and oil lamps already glowed on the doors of the dormitories. Janus and Phale could still pass for having gotten lost in conversation, but they would have to act quickly, as the First Medical Lab was a long way down Hangman’s Alley. Shaking with cold, the friends hurried into the thickening darkness.

The rules of conduct at the Alexa Laboratory, its daily schedule, and the layout of its campuses had been compiled by Emperor Flavius, who appeared to not have known the repurposed prison very well. He had placed the labs on the opposite end of the property from the lecture halls, and the short path from them to the dormitories was cut off by faculty housing. As a result, the students were forced every day to rack up miles on foot. And the perpetual shortage of time forced them to run almost everywhere they went.

So you think the professor’s been possessed by a demon? Janus asked as they turned from the wide street into a pitch-dark alley. I don’t know where he’d have even picked one up. You don’t find them out here. Demons aren’t fans of the cold!

But the Schismatic was the only prof who missed the start of the school year, Phale reminded him.

A moment later, they pressed themselves against the wall of the Natural Sciences Lab, hearing the knocking gavel of a campus patrol hired in the nearby village. Slowly the sound receded.

Yes, but then what kind is it? asked Janus, when they resumed walking. The only type capable of such a thing is a velara, but the arponis wouldn’t normally react to one of those while they’re inside a human. Doubtful!

The velara was a demon that could enslave a human being if given the chance to climb inside. It looked like a shadow with tentacles, but was easy enough to ward off if one weren’t afraid. In the New Realm, this demon was compared to leprosy—a deadly illness that was nonetheless very hard to catch.

The door to the Second Med Lab was not locked. All the Second labs at the Alexa were there primarily for the students, and never sealed. Anyone who wanted a refresher on something could stop in at any time of day. It was the First labs that were closed off to anyone without the supervision of a professor.

Phale, however, knew how to get into the First Medical Lab from the Second. At the end of September, when he’d toppled a shelf of alcohol-preserved specimens onto himself, the Schismatic had left him inside the Second Lab all night to clean up. This would have been a tiresome task, if Phale hadn’t finished early and subsequently decided to investigate the walls. And behind a massive poster depicting human organs, he had found a hidden door. This door was sealed from inside the First Lab with a hook that could be flipped back simply from the other side using a folded sheet of paper.

The Second Lab was dark as a grave. Tripping over one of its many stools, Phale cleared his way and felt for a piece of gamur. Gamur was a type of sap that, when compressed in one’s hand, would begin to glow. In its inconstant light, Phale pulled his arponis from his pocket, and aimed it at the wall, beyond which lay the First Lab. The ruby eyes on the head of the staff began to glow.

Janus was stunned. Yari-yaro, I don’t believe it! Is he storing live demons in there?

"Yari-yaro" was a curse employed by the Chozieks in place of the more pedestrian "damn you!"

The front door creaked and Metta walked into the room with Anna. Casting back their snow-speckled hoods, they looked around curiously.

Let’s get this over with while the Harpy’s with her husband, said Metta. Or else we’ll have to climb up that sheet again!

Madam Harpy would bed down for the night at the very entrance to the girls’ dormitory. Phale quickly moved the poster aside.

That part doesn’t frighten me one bit, said Anna absently. It’s far scarier if Phale’s sister is sleeping and wakes up…then we’ll be blue as year-old hens by morning.

In the Alexa boys were quartered in pairs, and girls in groups of four. Gabrielle had lucked into sharing a room with Metta and Anna. Their fourth was Paulette Cassini, Gabrielle’s friend.

Pushing the secret door open, Phale turned back. Seriously, why does she bother you guys so much?

She never shuts up, said Metta. I have a constant headache on her account.

They stepped into the Schismatic’s sanctum. Nothing here had changed since their last class, but for a ragged book with loose pages, nestled into a corner of a broad table laden with beakers. The table was surrounded by scuffed stools.

A tub in the corner of the room was full of rats that had been dissected by the students. A family of cats that lived in the stable provided these. Five of those cats were especially malicious, not letting anyone come close. They didn’t need to be fed, as long as the Alexa was home to mice. On this diet, the cats had grown out fur of unusual thickness and lustre. They never ate rats, but only left them out in plain view with twisted necks.

Janus took the gamur from Phale, interested in the dilapidated grimoire. Phale, Metta, and Anna began walking the lab, opening all the cupboards. The canine eyes on the staff glowed brighter and, dying of curiosity about what the Schismatic was hiding here, Phale started prodding the contents of the cupboards with it. Metta opened the doors for him. Only Anna seemed totally disinterested in all of this.

If Gabrielle didn’t babble all day like she needed to air her mouth, she persisted, "she wouldn’t have to be up at the crack of dawn to get her assignments done on time. Which, let me note, she also studies aloud."

Did you tell her it bothers you? asked Phale.

They had found what they were looking for; the cupboard they’d come to caused the dog’s eyes to brighten.

I told her what I just told you, said Anna grimly. Word for word.

And?

And she hit me! And then pinched me rather hard!

Phale didn’t doubt that Gabrielle had given her a smack. A chatterer, and kind soul, Gabrielle could still lash out when hurt. But at the Alexa, fights landed students in the stone well behind the stable, and it had been so cold here of late that Phale was loathe to see any of his friends or relations down there.

If she weren’t your sister, we would have taught her manners long ago, said Anna, ominously.

Metta pointed a finger at some containers of various compounds on the top shelf. They appeared to be faintly illuminating from the inside. Phale aimed the arponis at them, and Odin’s Eyes lit up.

Anna drew closer. Vee-ery interesting, she said. Pulling her own staff from a pocket, she too aimed it at the jars. Why is mine barely lighting up?

Leaving the tome behind, Janus moved to join them. Phale has an old Serdar staff, he said. They say those are more sensitive. He stood on his toes and felt around on the shelf behind the jars.

There’s something back here, he grunted, and produced a glass vial with a worn cork. An opaque liquid was housed inside, which shimmered like fireflies above a bog. Janus grabbed for the cork, but Metta stopped him.

Hang on! Why don’t you push down on your ‘archer’ first, Phale?

This was shorthand for the etching on an arponis that resembled a small man with a bow, about to loose an arrow. It was meant for the warding off demons, and only functioned in their direct vicinity. The archer could also be used to force concealed demons out of hiding, or to launch a yuka plant away from oneself.

A pale light beamed from the arponis when Phale pressed a finger down on the etching, and the vial became an oscillating black star. Janus dropped it, barely giving Metta time to catch it again. All three glanced around fearfully, having narrowly avoided some serious unpleasantness.

Anna frowned. Well, I think this experiment’s gone over rather well. I, personally, understand everything! I suggest we depart and leave the Schismatic alone. He’s no demon, in the least. He was likely carrying another one of these containers with him in his pocket when he left the lab. And inside is probably some extract from the body of one boring demon or another, of which, as we know, there are at least twenty types. Case closed! As usual, nothing of interest is happening at the Alexa at all.

As she spoke, Janus shoved the vial back where it was, shuffled it behind some jars and closed the cupboard door. They silently slipped into the Second Lab. Climbing out from under the poster, Phale saw that his friend had stopped and seemed to be mulling something over in his head.

Why would he need a Serdar torture manual? asked Janus. The one he’s got laying on that desk?

What? asked Metta.

Anna peered at Janus in surprise. At this, the door opened and a freckled youth stepped through. His dirty hair stuck out in all directions. A too-short student’s cape hung on his shoulders, and a campus patrol’s gavel was clutched in his hand.

Whatchew doing here in the dark? he demanded. Seeing their uniforms, he added, A blight you lot are! How much learning need one get, eh? Quick now! Back to your dorma…dormi…to bed, anyway, or I’ll get mad!

Oh, thank you, Jacob, for reminding us, said Anna, and patted him on the shoulder as she hurried to be the first out the door.

- 2 -

Flavius was of the mind that responsibilities should be distributed according to aptitudes. For example, if someone has a talent for teaching, they would teach. Another might have a talent for digging—they would dig. If these two were to trade places, no good would come of it.

—Janus Choziek, How It Was, 57th Ed.

Central Library, Anastasia City

At breakfast, Professor Fabricius had been, as usual, seated at the instructors’ table. But when Phale and the three Chozieks turned up for class in the First Medical Lab, it became apparent that something about the professor was not quite right. The Schismatic appeared to be keeping a close eye on everything in the room. He was oddly wary of everybody’s behaviour, and would occasionally crane his head around in a decidedly paranoid fashion.

It’s like he’s been replaced with a double, whispered Metta.

The professor spun around, which with his size was a rather threatening move, and said, I assure you I’m completely unchanged. You however, miss, are betraying your nature as someone who chats idly during lessons!

Gabrielle, whose main discipline was medicine, and who was present in the classroom, gave Metta a You had that coming! sort of glance. But the professor hadn’t finished.

If I should require a talking head for intelligent discourse, I’d seek help in the documented experiments of Albert the Great, whose works we are now studying. Your own head, meanwhile, is still quite empty!

Phale was alarmed. Such brash confrontation wasn’t in the Schismatic’s character. Maybe this is some kind of impostor after all.

Janus, sitting on a stool nearby, laughed.

Albertus Magnus, he said in Latin, imitating the intonations of the professor, was likelier a con artist more than anything, spreading exultant rumours about himself. Nobody in the world could realistically do and know so much as is ascribed to him!

The class grew quiet. Albert the Great, a doctor, philosopher, and alchemist from the Old Realm, was the Schismatic’s favourite scholar, and one he constantly referenced. Phale became worried that his friend had decided to pull the wolf by the tail. This was quite Janus’s style, though Phale himself preferred fists to verbal sparring.

The pink-cheeked professor went pale. Well, Choziek, he said, glancing over at Anna and Metta. I suppose it’s possible. But who are you to bring that up here? Was it not your own mother who trusted the Serdars, and gave herself over to them, that they might heal her infertility? The same Serdars whom folklore ascribes with so much a normal person shouldn’t be able to do and know?

The triplets stared back at him.

You’re sticking your nose in business that isn’t yours, Professor, said Anna, threateningly.

The Schismatic seemed to come out of a trance. Uh, yes…indeed… he said, blinking and glancing around in confusion. My apologies. Now, on with the lesson…

Walking outside, where frost had appeared since the previous evening, Phale rubbed some warmth into his ears, and muttered, Say what you will, but he was absolutely not himself today. We need to do something with this.

His hearing’s like a demon’s suddenly, said Metta, wrapping her scarf tight.

And his repartee’s like the Pathiosoc, added Anna, poking her nose into her own scarf.

It makes some sense to steal those writings off him, concluded Janus. I’ll bet an aspor to an imperial that the answer lies there. When’s the last time he visited Keiplig?

Two weeks ago, said Metta.

He’ll go again in about three days, said Anna. He practically lives there. It would be interesting to know who pays for all those trips.

Then we’ll have a minimum of two days, nodded Janus. Even if he, as usual, rides with the postals.

Remembering his own experience riding in one of the Postal Guild’s wagons, Phale mumbled, And I’m curious how he’s still alive riding like that so often.

The road from the Alexa to Keiplig took five days of riding in a carriage, or around one day with the postal wagon. This time disparity would have been hard to grasp for anyone who had never experienced the services of the guild, but Phale knew well how speedily their riders flew to and fro on their massive steeds. Anyone riding in their two-wheeled wagon risked a broken neck.

Being of an enterprising mind, and having raised a pile of money last year with one imperial in his pocket, Phale understood that such frequent trips had to be making the postals a hellish profit. Understanding well the situation he’d put the Fe family in by purchasing Halmstem, Phale was all the more driven to crack the Schismatic’s secret. He thought about it alone, not keeping the Chozieks up to speed on his reasoning. His soul couldn’t stand the thought that then he might have to share the potential spoils.

Phale was the son of a merchant, and didn’t like wasting money. He invested it only in worthwhile pursuits, like learning a trade from the Halmstem smith. He missed Irenius here, and sometimes thought it would be great having him to hand, to get his help puzzling out how the Schismatic was getting so rich.

Memories of the days spent in the Halmstem smithy lightened his spirit, and he ran on. Arriving ahead of everybody, he flew first into the lecture hall where Professor Roland was reading the most boring concepts of morals and rights.

The compulsory nature of the Pathiosoc’s lectures meant that the hall was always overcrowded. Students from every corner of the Empire crammed themselves into a space not nearly large enough to accommodate them. One would frequently have to ask a neighbour to move a misplaced elbow, and because the professor feared a draft, all the windows were closed and the air stale.

Absence of fresh air made it impossible for Phale to think. And it was no use plotting an escape. The punishment for missing class was a one-on-one session with the professor. All that was left was outlasting it, like one would outlast a cold.

Phale sat down on a bench in the first row, right in front of the open space the professor enjoyed pacing during his lectures. If he was going to suffer, why not enjoy the professor’s little routines while at the same time avoiding his questions? The Pathiosoc was far-sighted and rarely addressed the first few rows.

The reed-thin professor appeared at lecture in his usual manner. The gaze of his closely set eyes danced along the auditorium. His complexion was pale to the point of transparency, or as Anna liked to say, "interestingly pale." She had posited that the professor must eat crushed chalk before bed, and chase it with vinegar.

Currently, the Chozieks were not nearby. They could barely tolerate the Pathiosoc, whose moods were as variable as the weather. Today, he was in good spirits, and immediately began pacing along the first row. Having only just announced the topic of the lecture, however, he squatted down, then stood up on his toes, and stared intently above Phale’s head.

What are you doing there, frozen between the rows? the professor asked, loudly. Yes, you, behind row thirteen, I’m asking you! Nowhere to sit? Come over here. You can stand by the window!

Row Thirteen was what the Alexa called the lime-whitened bench that was placed in lecture halls to divide the male half from the female. The girls were always seated in the back.

Undaunted by the professor’s words, a blond, curly-haired student rose and moved to the wide window. There was murmuring behind row thirteen.

The young man was Kurt Norman, a graduate of one of the Child Service schools, known generally to be populated by orphans. There were many such here, but they kept to themselves, and Phale didn’t know Kurt well.

What brought the fall of the first Empire? the professor asked the room in the meantime. Was its death necessary, as they say? This is a subjective question we cannot put to history. Who will answer in brief?

Hands were raised, and the professor jabbed with a finger. Speak!

It was necessary, said Benni Tendeki, a plump, pink-cheeked girl from Father Bruno’s department. Phale knew her voice from the numerous bickering sessions it had taken part in with its dorm mates, across the square from where he and Janus slept. The first Empire was created by the Serdars, and the Serdars are a pitiless and cruel clan. They love only themselves, and hate all others. They can never be forgiven for all they did when they were building the first Empire. When they came here nine hundred years ago from Northern Europe, they enslaved countless people, and killed even more. They enforced their laws with fire and steel, and even though we live better now than those poor people in the Old Realm, that doesn’t excuse the Serdars one bit!

Dragged us kicking and screaming down the road to progress, had been Esha Fe’s words to Phale, and she had a Serdar for a father.

Anyone who didn’t agree with them, or didn’t suit them, they beheaded, Benni continued, leaving only the children. Then, the people had had enough, and they rebelled with young Kreton the First at their head. At that, the Serdars ran like cowards back to the Old Realm.

I didn’t note them to be cowardly, Phale wanted to object, but bit his tongue instead. Serdars were hated in the Empire and admitting to fraternizing with one wouldn’t get him any favours. Yet it had been Esha’s father who had saved him and Irenius that previous spring when they’d fallen prey to some monks in the Old Realm.

Benni was right about one thing: the realms were distinctly separate, and now that Phale was older, he could see how different the Old and New Realm truly were. What he liked best, in having observed both, was that the most sensible ideas and innovations from all over the Old Realm—whether the Middle Kingdom, Arabia, or Europe—all quickly found their way here.

The sour expression on the professor’s face betrayed that he wasn’t happy with the answer.

Miss, he intoned exhaustedly, "you have mistaken me for Father Bruno. You recite common facts with such aplomb…though I had asked for a moral view on the matter—hey! You there! he barked suddenly, and jabbed once again into the crowd. Yes, yes, you! Big blue eyes sitting on the bridge of your nose, I’m talking to you! Miss, you’re seconds from finally falling asleep and collapsing into the arms of that other somnambulist next to you! What are you crying for? I was talking about that other girl! Don’t cry at me, cry at her. She’s the one who refuses to express herself properly!"

There was some commotion behind Phale that quickly died down, and only the occasional shallow sob came from the impressionable personage thereabouts.

Kurt, standing by the window, was visibly frightened by the professor’s mood swing. He had lowered his head to stare intently at the floor. Everyone else was staring fixedly at the Pathiosoc. When he lost his temper anything could happen, and it was best just to sit still and let it pass.

Goldarn, thrice a goldarn! the professor growled, using the New Realm’s analogue for a dim-witted barbarian. He glared at his class, sweat forming on his forehead. Impassable dimwits. Where did they even find you? I ask again…

Professor Roland, a voice echoed. May I respond?

Phale craned his neck and saw Metta, standing and waiting for approval to speak further. Everyone stared at her in awe. She was treading on thin ice. If the professor didn’t like her answer, he might forbid her from returning to his class, and that was a one-way ticket home. Since the beginning of fall, the Pathiosoc had already sent two students down this path.

Imagining Metta’s expulsion, Phale felt his heart clench up and dark clouds gathered over his thoughts. A dead silence pervaded the auditorium.

I’m listening, barked the Pathiosoc.

The founders of the first Empire, the Serdars, by their own admission don’t know where they come from originally. What their roots are. Where their motherland is… Metta looked nervous. "A lack of true home and known history suggests very shaky moral foundations. The first Empire