‘In what Twinmoon did Sandcliff fall?’ Steven called.
‘Third Age, third Era, Twinmoon one hundred and sixty-one.’
‘In eleven days, it will be the third Age, third Era and the one thousand, one hundred and forty-sixth Twinmoon of Eldarn.’
Gilmour was silent for a moment, then he surreptitiously wiped his eyes and whispered, ‘It’s been a long time.’
Beneath the clock, Steven sighed and felt the magic strengthen the bond between the tiles, ensuring the Eldarni timepiece would continue spinning along its inexorable path for ever. He said, ‘They were in that pile when we arrived because they had dropped. They landed in a heap and sat there for almost a thousand Twinmoons.’
‘I like to think there was enough magic left in here to know that eventually someone would get time started again; it was hopeful that one day you would show up.’
Steven pursed his lips. ‘Perhaps.’ He paused, then said, ‘Thank you for an excellent workout… and I think I understand much better what you were trying to tell me earlier.’
‘Powerful feeling, isn’t it?’
‘I just wish I knew as much about other things as I know about maths. Look at what I did today.’ He stood back, admiring the clock and wishing Hannah or Mark, even Howard Griffin, could have been there to see it.
‘You know Mark Jenkins pretty well, don’t you?’
Steven blanched. ‘Yes,’ he whispered.
‘Then this may prove useful in another arena too.’
‘You must have been a good teacher, back in your prime.’
Gilmour forced a smile. ‘I think I might have been.’ He followed Steven out through the dusty antechamber and into the street. ‘We should probably push on. With any luck we’ll find a farm between now and nightfall.’
‘I hate to leave this place,’ Steven said, looking around. ‘For once it feels like I’ve done something important, something permanent, and I’d like to be around it for a while.’
‘Ridding Eldarn of Nerak was something important and permanent.’
‘Yes, but this is tangible. I can go in there and look at it – and I earned this one, in countless maths classes, and countless hours studying the nature of numbers. This one was in my blood.’
‘I understand entirely, my friend, but sadly, the stomach must rule the heart. If we want to eat, we need to get going. This was a good learning experience for you, and if we lost a day, well, we still have eight to reach the rendezvous.’
Steven looked embarrassed – he had forgotten. ‘All right, let’s go.’
‘Actually,’ Gilmour said, ‘I want to see the library again, just out of curiosity.’
‘Again? So you’ve been here before?’ Steven followed him across the street.
‘Long before your grandmother’s grandmother was born. One of my former colleagues was in charge of keeping time for the Larion Senate and the Remond family. He was actually more a maths professor than a sorcerer.’ He led the way up cracked stone steps to the library doors, which were still firmly on their hinges, unlike the clock room.
A teacher instead of a magician,’ Steven mused. ‘Mark would have been proud of him.’
‘Mark’s a good teacher, I assume?’
‘I’ve only seen him teach once,’ Steven said, ‘when I was guest-speaking on the Great Depression and its impact on the banking industry, but his students-’
There was a brief rustle and then a loud squeak, wood on wood, from one of the chambers off the main hallway. Holding up a hand for silence, Gilmour pointed to the dusty corridor, where scores of footprints ran the length of the hall and passed in and out of adjoining rooms.
‘What do we do?’ Steven whispered. ‘I don’t think they’re soldiers.’
Gilmour nodded agreement, then whispered, ‘Let’s go.’
The door was shut but not latched. Gilmour looked at Steven, then knocked.
‘Come in,’ called a hesitant voice, surprising them both.
The room looked like it might once have been a reading room, or maybe a chamber for a small collection. There were six rectangular tables, several wooden benches and a smouldering brazier that lent a bit of warmth to the room. There were no tapestries for insulation, but a few threadbare rugs softened the floor. Fourteen people, men, women and a few young adults, no children, were seated around the tables. They were obviously not occupation soldiers. Some had stacks of paper and parchment; others appeared to be reading from crumbling books. A few were gathered around the brazier. They all wore woollen tunics over thick shirts; their shoes and boots were tattered, some worn quite through. Most had heavy cloaks draped over their shoulders, but even these outer garments looked torn, patched and patched again. They all stared, mute with terror, at the two strangers.
Finally an older man with a distinctive roadmap of bulging veins criss-crossing his wrists got up to greet them. He had a pinched nose in a narrow face, and his scraggly beard was flecked with grey. His eyes were sunken. To Steven he looked simultaneously wise and insane.
‘Are you here for the class?’ he asked, his voice cracking. He clasped his hands behind his back to hide their trembling.
‘No,’ Gilmour replied with a reassuring smile. Steven nodded to a few of the others, hoping to put them at ease as well. ‘Who are you?’
The thin man made a faint gesture towards the assembled group. ‘This is my class.’
‘They’re adults,’ Gilmour said.
‘Yes,’ the outlaw professor confessed.
‘That’s good,’ Steven interjected. ‘You’re a teacher?’
‘I am.’
‘You’re teaching adults?’
‘Teachers.’
‘You’re teaching teachers?’ The magic warmed him, bubbling up with Steven’s adrenalin. ‘How many of you are there?’
‘We have one hundred and twelve altogether,’ the professor replied. ‘We mean no harm,’ he pleaded, ‘we just want to be able to instruct-’
‘No,’ Steven interrupted.
The little man gave a reflexive jerk and shrank bank.
‘No, no,’ Steven said quickly, ‘you misunderstand me. I think this is wonderful. It’s a damnable shame that you have to meet here in squalor. That’s what’s wrong.’
A sigh of relief passed through the classroom.
The professor looked around. ‘You’re right, young man, but the neighbouring farms are not always safe. Patrols come through frequently, oftentimes just looking for food, but we cannot risk being discovered so we meet here.’
‘But they must patrol the university as well, surely?’ Gilmour asked.
‘They’re gone.’
‘Gone?’
‘The soldiers are all gone; most rode south towards Orindale a few days ago. Some looked to be heading for Wellham Ridge, but wherever they were bound, there are none left out this far.’
‘That’s impossible,’ Gilmour said.
‘It’s true,’ said a woman near the brazier. ‘I saw them march past my farm. It had to be an entire brigade; they were making for Orindale.’
Steven leaned over one of the tables and was paging through a textbook. ‘How old are these?’
The professor joined him. ‘Nearly a thousand Twinmoons. I keep them in as good condition as I can, but they’re falling to pieces. Time and overuse, there’s nothing I can do.’
‘There are no newer texts?’ Steven asked.
Gilmour said, ‘Everything printed since Prince Marek’s takeover is nothing but-’
‘The party line,’ Steven felt growing anger meld with his magic in a flood of crimson and black. He wanted badly to find and kill Nerak all over again. To the professor he said, ‘I want you to keep going. I don’t want you to worry about the soldiers. I want you to keep teaching. I want you to find more students, more literate adults, and I want you to teach them economics and democracy, parliamentary government and language skills. Can you do that?’
‘Yes, I suppose we can use what little-’
‘Good,’ Steven interrupted again. ‘I want you to find them and teach them, and I want all of you to tell your students – I don’t care if you’re teaching in a barn, a wood or a university classroom – I want you to tell them all that they have to get ready. One more Twinmoon, that’s all it will take.’ His voice was rising, but Steven didn’t care. ‘I want you to tell them that in one Twinmoon Eldarn will be free, and a fair, compassionate, democratic prince will return to Riverend Palace. You need to get ready. Tell them. We’ll need teachers, leaders, economists, business managers and-’ he looked around the sparse, cold room, ‘-at least one mathematician.’