He forced himself to put the slate aside and walk to the dining room. The cook was a pleasant woman, yet ... he found it hard to like her. She was massively overweight, a sign she was eating more than her fair share of food. He knew, intellectually, that the cook wasn’t stealing from the rest of the household, but it was hard to believe. She ladled out a huge bowl of stew and potatoes, made a comment he barely heard and pointed him at a chair. Gennady ate slowly, trying to think. His headache was growing worse.
It makes no sense, he thought, desperately. His thoughts ran in circles. It just makes no sense.
He caught sight of his own reflection as he finished his meal and stood to pass the tray back to the cook. He looked ... better, he supposed, but still out of place. They’d given him new clothes and trimmed his hair and yet ... his ankle twanged in pain, a dull reminder that they hadn’t bothered to do anything about his clubfoot. It was hard not to resent it, not when he knew he was stronger than any of the other boarders. He’d been comparing himself to Hogarth and his fellows for so long, it had never occurred to him that he might be stronger than a city dweller. It was just a shame that his fellow boarders had magic too.
The thought mocked him as he donned his robe and headed downstairs to the door. The afternoons were put aside for free study, but he’d been told he could walk and clear his head if he wanted. He’d enjoyed exploring the town, once he’d figured out how to move around without getting lost. The town—it was hard to believe there were larger cities out there—was fun, even if one didn’t have money. And yet ... he was alone. He wasn’t part of the city’s population.
And not a student magician, not yet, he mused, as he walked through the muddy street. He’d been cautioned not to walk too close to the buildings. The locals had a habit of throwing the contents of their chamberpots out the windows and anyone unlucky enough to get drenched would be laughed at by everyone else. Where do I belong?
He felt a stab of pain as he spotted a handful of chattering student magicians heading towards the brothel. He wasn’t one of them, not yet. He was careful to give them a wide berth, remembering the horror stories the boarders had shared about pranks played by students on unsuspecting—and defenseless—townsfolk. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Magicians might turn people into frogs rather than beating them up, he thought, but the principle was the same. The strong picked on the weak, who had to grin and bear it. He promised himself, once again, that he’d be one of the strong. The magic pulsed within him, reminding him that he had yet to learn. He needed to understand what he was doing.
I need to find a shortcut, he thought. But how?
The wind changed, blowing an icy gust into his face. Gennady set himself against it and kept walking, even as the streets rapidly cleared. The weather was dangerously unpredictable this close to the magic school, although no one understood why. Gennady suspected the magicians were doing it deliberately, constantly reminding the townsfolk that they could wipe the entire town off the map if they stepped out of line. Bullies always bullied, just to ensure their victims never lost their fear. Weakness invited attack. His fists clenched at the thought. He’d never be weak again.
He turned and made his way back to the boarding house as the temperature continued to fall. He was used to cold, but ... he knew to take winter seriously, even though it was supposed to be early summer. A pair of giggling girls ran past him, one sporting a third eye on her forehead. A prank? Or something she’d done to herself? He didn’t know. Another girl followed, shouting words Primrose would never say. Gennady got out of her way fast. The local women were different and many of them had magic. They had different ideas of how they should behave.
Hogarth wouldn’t last a day here, Gennady thought, as he passed the brothel and walked back into the boarding house. He’d be blasted to smithereens or turned into a snail and crushed within the day.
“Gennady,” Lilly said. The secretary gave him a cold look. “Report to Master Hathaway. He has something for you.”
“Yes, My Lady,” Gennady said. Lilly was at the bottom of the hierarchy, in the boarding house, but he’d always been afraid of her. “Did he say what?”
“No.” Lilly shrugged. “But I’d hurry if I were you.”
Gennady nodded, took off his coat and rushed up the stairs. It wasn’t fair. Master Hathaway hadn’t toldGennady he’d be coming, had he? No, he hadn’t. And yet, Gennady was going to get the blame. He was sure of it. He’d probably been meant to stay in the bedroom or the classroom and wait, even though he’d had no reason to think anyone was coming. It just wasn’t fair.
Master Hathaway looked up as Gennady entered his office, then nodded curtly. He was a tall dark-skinned man, the darkest person Gennady had ever seen. There were quite a few townsfolk who didn’t look anything like Gennady himself, but ... Master Hathaway was the strangest human. The demihumans were even stranger. Gennady had never even heard of a gorgon until he came face to face with a man who had snakes for hair.
“Lady Flower informs me that you are having problems translating your understanding of the words into understanding of complete sentences,” Master Hathaway said. “Is that correct?”
“Yes, My Lord.” Gennady shivered. This was it. He was going to be booted out of the house and sent home in disgrace. “I just can’t put them together.”
“Some people are better at abstract reasoning than practical stuff,” Master Hathaway said. He didn’t sound angry. “Others are more inclined towards practical matters. Your upbringing may lead you to be one of them. I’ve often found your people to be ruthlessly practical.”
“No one is greater than the all,” Gennady quoted, bitterly. It was an old folk saying, one that would have meant more to him if he hadn’t been on the receiving end too many times. It was funny how people had no difficulty suggesting that someone else be selfless, while reserving the right to be selfish themselves. “I don’t want to go home.”
“I quite understand.” Master Hathaway pointed to a chair. “Bring that over here, then sit down.”
Gennady obeyed, watching numbly as Master Hathaway produced a set of tiles and placed them on the desk. “Your problem is that you don’t see a connection between what you read and what it means. Don’t take it too personally. I had the same problem myself. You don’t see meaning and thus you don’t see the pattern behind it.”
“Yes, My Lord.” Gennady hesitated, unsure what he was being told. “How did you overcome it?”
“I learnt the meaning,” Master Hathaway said. He shuffled the tiles, then smiled. “Let’s see how well you do now.”
The exercise seemed foolish at first, Gennady discovered. It was hard to pretend, in many ways, that the tiles really were what they represented. His upbringing didn’t leave much room for flights of fancy, let alone imagination. And yet, as it clicked, he found himself finally seeing the pattern behind the letters and words. The sentences might be cumbersome—Master Hathaway pointed out that sorcerers rarely used one word where ten would do—but they made sense. And the more he worked on it, the more sense they made.
He found himself smiling as the dinner bell rang, again. He’d been so occupied with his work that he hadn’t realised how quickly time was passing. Normally, it dragged. Now ... his smile grew wider as he contemplated the books on the shelves. Their secrets were within his grasp, now and forever. He could unlock them at will.