'Assistant Sub-Vice Facilitator-in-Chief Shael, it is good to see you!' The young Questor hoped he had correctly remembered the mage's cumbersome title in all its menial grandeur.
'Questor Grimm, I have the honour to report that I am now a full Senior Vice-Assistant Under-Facilitator.' From the broad, proud smile on the functionary's face, Grimm gathered that congratulations were in order, although the distinction between the two titles was lost on him.
Extending his hand, he said, 'My heartiest felicitations, Assistant… Brother Mage. I'm sure you worked hard for the honour, and I'm very happy for you.' The egalitarian, non-committal title seemed to be the safest form of address, rather than trying to negotiate the labyrinthine complications of Shael's rank.
'Thank you, Questor Grimm. In time, I'm pretty confident that I can work my way up to full Deputy Junior Sub-Facilitator, although the competition within the ranks is fierce, I assure you.'
'I don't doubt it,' the Questor said, with an enthusiasm he did not feel. 'May I ask what brings you here, Brother Mage?'
Shael beamed. 'There is a cancellation: Shapeshifter Tharan was due to be granted his fourth ring at ten o'clock, but he is bedridden with gout, and he cannot travel. Remembering how kind you were to me on your last visit, I thought you might be happy to take his place.'
Grimm racked his brain, but he could not imagine why Shael might feel so companionable towards him, and his puzzlement must have shown on his face.
'You were kind enough to return those Location Gems I leant you, before you left,' explained the slight, mousy little man. 'That could have put me in a tricky situation, and might even have jeopardised my promotion. So few people appreciate the vital role we Facilitators perform.'
'Please, don't mention it,' Grimm said. 'I'm glad your diligence has been rewarded.' Shael's voice had a buzzing, droning quality, and Grimm stifled a yawn.
'Well, I'd love to stay and chat, Questor Grimm,' the small man said, 'but I have a lot to do this morning, as usual. I'll call for you in plenty of time for your interview with Lord Horin.'
Grimm extended his right hand, and Shael shook it, his limp grasp no more substantial than a handful of warm, damp lettuce leaves. The Questor resisted the urge to wipe his hand on his robes, and nodded politely.
'Thank you again for your diligent, meritorious attention… Senior… Assistant Under-Facilitator Shael.'
Shael laughed. 'You honour me, Questor Grimm, but it will be a few years until I reach the lofty heights of that rank. For now, I'm only a Senior Vice-Assistant Under-Facilitator, but I am ambitious.'
'I can tell that,' Grimm said. 'I'll be waiting here for your call, Brother Mage. Thank you.'
With that, the audience was at an end, and the tedious Shael scurried off in a flurry of black robes, like a drunken raven attempting to lift itself from the ground. As he stood in the open doorway, Grimm heard eight soft chimes in the distance; that meant there were two hours or so to kill. High Lodge had three well-stocked libraries, but they were somehow clinical, impersonal, in comparison to the warm, friendly Scholasticate Library at Arnor he knew so well. If he desired to study a specific topic of information then High Lodge's facilities were second to none, but they were not conducive to the kind of whimsical browsing he loved.
He considered a session of meditation, to order his mind and relax his ever-tense body, but he had never managed fully to master the art; he always found it more of a painful trial of endurance than a soothing, serene enlightenment.
Another round of exercise, perhaps?
That did not appeal to him any more than did the prospect of sitting cross-legged and staring at the wall.
After a few minutes of mulling over his limited options for occupying his mind, he noticed a young, gaudily- attired peacock of a man striding down the corridor as if he owned it, a mage perhaps ten years older than he. He was slender, and as tall as Grimm. Bobbing behind him like a faithful hound was a staff bearing seven rings. From the mage's youth, he could only be another Questor, and Grimm's interest was piqued; he had never met a Questor from any House but Arnor, and High Lodge had none of its own.
The man wore robes of scarlet silk with gold edging, and Grimm noted soft boots of the finest tooled kidskin peeking from underneath the hem of his garment as he walked. A blue sash ran from the mage's right shoulder to his left hip, and he wore a cincture of what looked like pure gold around his waist. Whereas every mage Grimm had ever met wore a full beard and long hair, if he had any hair, this popinjay was severely clean-shaven, and he wore his blond hair at shoulder length and sculpted into luxuriant waves. Grimm saw a single, artful curl somehow fixed into place over the man's right eye.
Nonetheless, this was no primping dilettante. Grimm remembered the elegant swordsman, Harvel, with whom he had travelled on his first Quest, and he saw the same steely glint in this mage's ice-blue eyes as he halted a few paces from Grimm.
'Looking at something, youngster?'
The mage's tone was pleasant, but Grimm could hear an unmistakable note of menace within it.
'I was just surprised to see another Questor,' he said. 'You're the first I've seen here.'
'Of course!' the older Questor snorted, rolling his eyes. 'They don't have any Questors here, because they expect the Houses to do their dirty work for them.'
The blue eyes scanned Grimm, as if taking in his full import, and he nodded; it seemed that the young mage had created a favourable impression.
'It's good to see someone else around here who knows the value of decent presentation,' he intoned. 'I can't stand this sackcloth-and-ashes image that so many mages choose to show the world. I'm Guy Fulinar, Eron House, called the Great Flame.'
'I'm Grimm Afelnor from Arnor House, Questor Guy.'
'You're a Fifth Rank Questor, and you don't have a cognomen?' Guy said, almost sneering. 'What is the world coming to? How old are you, anyway?'
'Seventeen,' Grimm admitted. Determined not to sound defensive, he resolved to refrain from making excuses. 'And I'll be receiving my sixth ring later this morning.'
He seemed to have made some sort of impact on Guy, whose eyes bulged for a moment. Grimm guessed that Guy might still have been a mere Neophyte at the age of seventeen.
'How old are you, Questor Guy, if I may be permitted to ask?'
'Twenty-seven,' the older mage replied. 'I didn't know the Guild had started Acclaiming infants.'
Grimm bristled, and he clenched his fists. 'When the infant is powerful enough, they make exceptions,' he said. 'And I am powerful, Questor Guy, make no mistake.'
It seemed that nothing could prick Guy's bubble of self-confidence. 'I don't doubt it, Questor Gribb-'
'My name is Grimm, Brother Mage.'
Guy waved his hands. 'Whatever; your diction isn't as clear as it might be. Still, it's not just power that makes a Questor. What of experience? I've been Questing for six years, and it's taught me a lot. Being a Questor has been good to me.'
'And to me,' Grimm said. 'On my first Quest, I was elected Baron of Crar, and I have all the wealth I can handle. Not bad for a blacksmith's son, I suppose. On my Quests, I've faced demons and Technologists, and I'm still standing strong. And I'm very, very rich.'
At first, he felt it might be better not to mention that he had undertaken a mere pair of Quests, but he changed his mind. How better to puncture this man's serene self-confidence?
'Oh, Questor Guy, I just thought I'd mention that I've reached my present position after only two Quests. Please don't try to play silly little games of precedence with me.
'Perhaps you'd like to complain to Lord Horin about my current status? Otherwise, please try to find your pathetic pleasures somewhere else, because I find your attitude just a little wearing. You may find Shael an easy target, and there are always the servants to belittle, if you run out of inspiration.'
For a moment, to Grimm's immense satisfaction, Guy's eyes looked as if they might burst from their sockets, and the two Questors stood almost nose to nose for several seconds. Grimm allowed a small flicker of blue fire to quiver at his fingertips.
At last, Guy laughed, a hearty guffaw bursting from his lips. 'I like you, Questor Grimm; perhaps adolescents today do have some spirit, after all! I'll see you around, youngster.'
With that, the self-possessed Questor sauntered away, chuckling as he went.
May the Names prevent me ever turning out like you, Guy, Grimm thought, with a shudder. He knew Guy Great
