“Well, yes, but I’ve never heard of a king doing so. And there are a lot more priests than there are wizards. I assume a lot of men have a religious calling or something.”
“So would I be the only king at the wizards’ school?”
“That’s right,” I said, hoping desperately he was just casting around in his mind for an alternative to living with Vincent.
“What is it, an eight-year program?” he asked, positioning a blade of grass between his thumbs. He blew on it and seemed pleased to produce a high, blatting tone. “Maybe you could just teach me a little magic here.”
“I could certainly teach you a few simple spells,” I said, trying to hide my relief. I liked Paul tremendously, but I could not imagine him in the wizards’ school-nor imagine Yurt abandoned by its new king. “Real wizardry training,” I went on, “has almost all taken place at the school for the last century and a half. There are thousands of aristocratic courts in the western kingdoms and probably hundreds of seminaries, but only one wizards’ school. Since the old apprentice system died out, everyone’s been trained the same, and most of us know each other. But there are still a number of people, not wizards, who know the odd spell or two. Your father tried to learn to fly once though he never got very far. And your Great-aunt Maria wanted me to teach her wizardry; her problem was that she got bored with the first-grammar of the Hidden Language.”
“I never knew she was interested in magic,” said Paul in surprise. “The last couple of months, while you’ve been gone, she claims to have gotten very interested in theology.”
It was my turn to be surprised. The Lady Maria had a lively mind and had made early chapel service every morning for years, but she had always become quickly bored by anything intellectual. “Your father was interested enough in religion to go on pilgrimage,” I said.
“But Father was different. Besides, that was when the old chaplain was still here,” meaning Joachim. “He wasn’t too bad, and I also liked that priest whom the old chaplain had take over for him. But last winter, when he got a chance to go be a chaplain in the City, we ended up stuck with the chaplain we’ve got now.
“If you ask me,” he added in tones of disgust, “it isn’t religion she’s interested in at all, but that young chaplain. She acts moonstruck when he’s around. I decided I had to speak to her firmly. ‘Aunt Maria,’ I said, ‘I hope you remember that priests have to swear a vow of chastity.’ And you know what she said? She told me I had an ‘impure mind.’ All I can say, there are too many people in this castle who ought to know enough to act their age.”
Since I didn’t like the young chaplain either, I didn’t say anything. The problem with being mature was that I was always feeling that I ought to tell young people things for their own good when they were things I wouldn’t have wanted to hear myself.
“I’ll tell you who has an ‘impure mind’: it’s that chaplain.”
“Have there been any particular incidents of impurity?” I asked in some alarm.
“Of course not. Everybody but me thinks he’s fine.” I relaxed again. “But I can tell from his laugh and his handshake that he’s really a goat.”
Since these had never conveyed anything of the sort to me, I attributed this statement to Paul’s dislike of any change of personnel in Yurt. But an uneasy thought sent cold fingers walking down my spine. I had assumed that Zahlfast, in warning me against priests who would destroy me, was warning me against the cathedral. He might instead have been warning me against the young chaplain of Yurt.
Paul jumped to his feet, looking as satisfied and resolute as though we had decided something, which as far as I could tell we had not. “Race you back to the castle,” he said, reaching for his horse’s reins.
II
At dinner that night the queen formally welcomed me home to Yurt. We ate as we always did in the great hall of the castle. A brass choir, seated on a little balcony, played as the serving platters were brought in. Suspended beneath the high ceiling were the magic globes made many years ago by my predecessor as Royal Wizard, casting a sparkling light on the crystal and silver. The tall windows stood wide open, but a blazing fire on the hearth took the chill out of the spring air.
As regent, the queen sat at the head of the main table where the king had once sat, and Paul sat at the opposite end. I wondered where Vincent would expect to be seated once he married the queen.
I dined as I always had with the Lady Maria on my right hand and the chaplain facing me across the table. Paul’s Great-aunt Maria now had hair as white as mine, but her manner had scarcely changed since she had worn her golden curls in girlish locks bedecked with bows.
“It was not the same here while you were gone,” she said, fixing me with wide blue eyes. “All that arcane wisdom you wizards acquire makes you uniquely capable of counseling a court on all
I had forgotten in my months away how irritating the Lady Maria could sometimes be. This sounded like the result of what Paul had characterized as theological discussions with the young chaplain.
He smiled and bobbed his head at her. To me he seemed much too young to have the responsibility for the souls of the royal court-he was even younger than I had been when I first came to Yurt. He had a very wide, congenial smile, but somehow I had never felt it was sincere. If Joachim did become bishop, I thought, I would ask him for a different chaplain.
“We know what you wizards do down at that school,” continued the Lady Maria, jabbing me playfully with her elbow. “You plan to coordinate all your efforts, both against the western kings and against the Church!”
“We certainly try to coordinate our wizardly efforts for best effect,” I said, startled to find that I was considered one of the wizards down at the school. “It’s always hard, though. I’m sure you know that wizards are generally in competition with each other-and not always friendly competition. And if wizardry and the Church are rivals,” I added graciously but insincerely, “I think the Church may be winning.”
“But it really true,” the Lady Maria asked, “that your school now intends to put a wizard not just in every royal or ducal court, but in every castle and manor house?”
The young chaplain widened his eyes at me as though trying to signal that he was not responsible for her. I found this highly unlikely.
“I wouldn’t call it an intention,” I said uneasily. What had the young chaplain been telling them while I was gone? It was a good thing that Joachim’s call had taken me away from the school sooner than I had planned, or there might have been a full-fledged plot against institutionalized magic here by the time I finished making improvisation into an organized discipline. “It’s certainly true that more noble households have hired wizards during the last generation or so, but that’s only because the school has made more fully-qualified wizards available.”
I added to myself that it was a good thing I had graduated when I did. Without an honors certificate or even areas of distinction, I might not be able today to become Royal Wizard at even as small a kingdom as Yurt, and I could instead be casting spells in a ramshackle manor house in the foothills of the mountains.
We were interrupted at this point by the arrival of dessert, raspberry pudding, my favorite. I looked over to the side table where the servants were sitting and signaled my approval to the cook. She smiled back, highly pleased. The cook was now a full-bosomed matron and had a daughter almost as old as she had been when I first met her, but we had been friends ever since she was a saucy kitchen maid.
If it had not been for the Lady Maria and her questions, I would have assumed that the whole court was as happy to see me again as I was to be here. Now I was beginning to wonder.
“Wizard!” called the queen down the table. “We missed your illusions while you were gone. Could you entertain us over dessert as you used to?”
My entertainments went over very well. I made the same scarlet dragon I had tried on the Romney children, and this time it got the appreciation it deserved. I finished by creating a pair of golden crowns, glittering with enough jewels to be worth a small kingdom by themselves if they were real, and had them whirl through the air and settle on the queen’s and Paul’s heads.
