More Tales From The Guilds Ch 05

"Mo-ommmm, Wolfie's cheating!"

Sinestra, Lady Woodbead, rolled her eyes upward and sighed. Her children had been getting on her nerves this morning so she'd sent them outside to practice edificeering on the walls of the family winery. She's figured that some fresh air and physical exercise would take the edge off their squabbling and give her an hour or so's peace. Probably, she thought, she should have known better. Opening the French doors onto the veranda, she looked down at her daughter Aranae's protruding lower lip.

"Dear," she began, "you were supposed to be wall-climbing. How could Wolfe possibly 'cheat' at that?"

"He stopped climbing and ran up the wall!" Aranae was rigid with nine-year-old indignation.

Sinestra blinked. "He ran up the wall."

"Yeah, I was climbing faster than he was so he just stood up and ran ahead of me. That's cheating!"

"Is not!" Wolfe glared at his younger sister, "There's no rule against it."

Motioning her offspring to come inside with her, Sinestra sat down, gestured for the children to do the same and folded her hands on her lap.

"Wolfe, dear, explain to me. How do you stand up and run up a wall?"

"I don't know. I was just annoyed that Aranae was ahead of me so I stood up and ran. It was easy."

"Son, you were on the side of a three-story building. Normally, when people on the side of a building let go with both hands, they fall off. It's called 'gravity'."

"Oh. Yeah, they do, don't they? I forgot all about that." Wolf's face fell into twelve-year-old confusion. "But wouldn't it be a good thing to be able to do if you were on a commission? It won't get me disqualified from the Guild School, will it?"

Sinestra sighed. Life had been entirely too good and too easy, up until now. She and her husband, Baldor, had graduated simultaneously from the Assassins' Guild School. During holidays they had both accumulated enough in commissions from inhuming obnoxious aristocrats and greedy members of Ankh-Morpork's rising commercial classes to retire comfortably to the Quirm countryside, plant grapes, start a winery and begin a family. As members of the landed squirarchy, they should have been able to look forward to a life of relative ease, send their children off to Ankh-Morpork for an appropriately aristocratic education and enjoy bucolic delights. The Duchess of Quirm had even made Baldor a baronet. Now this.

"Wolfe, you said it was easy. Remember what we learned about Magic? It's easy—too easy. But it has an unfriendly life of its own and when you least expect it, it sends you a bill for all the 'easy' things you did with it. And that bill is always more than you can pay. And what do we do with young men who suddenly find that they can do Magic?"

Wolfe paled. Magic—that's what Wizards did. And most Wizards lived in Unseen University in Ankh-Morpork eating huge meals and never having anything to do with women. Wolfe was now on the verge of finding girls (except for his sister) rather pleasant to be around. And he really liked helping his father grow grapes and make wine. He didn't want to have to live in a big, overcrowded, smoggy city.

"Uh, if I promise to never do it again, would that be okay?"

Sinestra shook her head sadly. "I'm not sure you can. The way I understand it, once you've worked Magic you can't help but do it again so the only way to survive is to learn to control it. However, you're only twelve. We have another year before you leave for school. Right now, I want you to control yourself and not take the 'easy' way to do

anything

. When your father gets back from Quirm City I'll tell him what's happened. He has to go to Ankh-Morpork next week on business, anyway, so we can start trying to figure out how to manage this. At least we have lots of time."

*****

Sir Baldor, Baronet Woodbead of Quirm, sat at a table in the corner of the Patrician's Purse, a relatively respectable pub across the bridge from The Fronts of Unseen University. There he was joined by Lord Downey, Headmaster of the Assassins' Guild School and Mustrum Ridcully, Archchancellor of Unseen University. The sight of two of the continent's most formidable Assassins and the man in charge of what was effectively a thaumaturgical Arsenal of Mass Destruction was enough to ensure that even in the fairly crowded room there was a large, open space around them. Having finished the story of his eldest's exploits of the week before, Baldor took a very small sip of the landlord Caskwell's notorious apple brandy, set down the glass and waited for a response.

Lord Downey lowered his chin and looked quizzically at the Archchancellor. "Well," he began, "this a novel turn of events."

" 'Ndeed it is," Ridcully responded, wiping the ale foam from his mustache, "We're used to young chappies firin' sparks from their fingers, but havin' one stand up and run up a wall is different, t'be sure. And it can't poss'bly be acceptable behavior for an Assassin."

"No, no I'm sure it wouldn't be allowed by the Guild Council," Downey shook his snowy mane, "But since the question has never occurred, there is no way to know for certain which way the vote would go. However, I'm quite positive that Miss Band, at the minimum, would be mortally offended by the idea. Just walk up to a client's second floor bedroom and calmly open the window? Where is the style, the

panache

in that?"

Baldor sighed, "It's just that young Wolfe has had the Assassins' School in his dreams as far back as he can remember. And he has recently been very definite that he wants nothing to do with a career as a faculty member of Unseen. If he can't inhume people and live in the countryside—well, I don't know what to tell him."

"No reason he can't live in th' country," Ridcully responded. "Why, after I finished my Seventh Level Mage at UU, I went back to the family estates and lived there quite hap'ly for another forty years. Young Wolfe can learn t'deal with magic

somewhat

safely and then go back t'makin' and drinkin' yer family's renowned vintages and lettin' his little sister take care of any inhumin' that needs be."

"I don't suppose there's any way he could take degrees from both?"

Lord Downey rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well, he could hardly attend classes in both locations simultaneously—and to take degrees consecutively? Difficult. At the Guild School he'd need all his youthful physical capabilities to survive."

"And at UU, he'd have to concentrate verra keenly on his studies just to stay alive there," added the Archchancellor, "No, I don't see that workin' out well. Besides, t'other students might not take kindly to havin' a fellow so knowledgeable in fatality livin' down the hall from 'em."

Baldor sniffed. "They're likely going to have enough problems with that as is. Wolfe is already a dead shot with a pistol crossbow and none of the other children in the neighborhood will wrestle with him, anymore. He gets, shall we say, enthusiastic?"

"Still, there isn't any real choice here, Sir Baldor," Ridcully was gently emphatic, "Runnin' up the side of a three-story buildin' is not silly buggers Magic. The lad is sittin' on a whole bloody cauldron full o' power and it's either get him well trained in its

non

-use or risk havin' another round of Wizard Wars startin' up. And we don't want that! There are still areas of the Disc from the last time that happened where the grass will never grow again. So it's not just for his own good but for the good of society that we bring lads like Wolfe (and the occasional lass like Eskarina Smith) in and teach 'em how carefully they need t'tread. Are you sure y'haven't any Wizards or witches in yer family history that might have leaked down through the blood?"

"I really haven't any idea," Baldor responded ruefully, "Poor families rarely

have

any history. My father died young and I only got into the Guild School through a lucky draw. My uncle, who did much the same thing, was my role model while I was growing up and I honestly expected to become a Dark Clerk like he was. I really owe Cakewalk a great deal for trying to push me around and goading me into beating the stuffing out of him."

Downey smiled, reminiscing, "Yes, you surely did. Young scoundrel was out for a year recuperating. But, as his mother hoped, it most assuredly improved his manners and his respect for those of—less elevated class. Did you know that he ended up with a degree in diplomacy? His Lordship recently appointed him Ambassador to Klatch and we're looking forward to improved relations with the Seriphate after his successful tour in Ephebe. That scuffle was just as good for him as it was for you."

Baldor brightened. "Was it, now? That's good news. By the time I graduated, I was really pretty sorry I'd smote him so thoroughly. Still, all's well that ends well. I hope Wolf has as good a school experience."

*****

Two autumns later Wolfe was

not

on his way to a good school experience. Standing in front of the full-length mirror in his room, he regarded his new ensemble with distaste. The black frock coat, waistcoat and trousers were fine but the glaring white of his high-collared shirt and bow tie were, to an Assassin manqué's eye, garish. Even the silk top hat irked. It would gleam in the moonlight and would have made him an immediate target for any client's defenders. Oh, well, he only had to wear it long enough to secure firm control over his apparently substantial talent. Four to eight years would be bearable—perhaps. And besides, possibly some judiciously applied little Magical pushes could make the family's wines even better. There might be some light at the end of this tunnel, after all.

He stepped out into the Commons to see other new students all milling around, their proud families bidding fond good-byes and pressing a few coins into the lads' hands. Hmmm, all boys. Damn. Another reason that Wolfe had really wanted a course of study in the Assassins' Guild School was that the Guild accepted girls. Except for Aranae, he liked girls. And little sisters didn't count as

real

girls, anyway. Now here he was locked in for the next four to eight years like some monk with a vow of celibacy. Damn, again.

"I say, fellow, who're you?" a bray sounded from one side.

Wolfe turned to see an unpleasantly bunny-faced blond chap, dressed just as he was, staring at him imperiously. Dislike was immediate.

"My name is Wolfe. Who are you?

"I'm Archibald, Viscount Puddingstone of Brokley Hall. I have eight quarterings."

"Oh, yeah? My father is Sir Baldor, Baronet Woodbead and my mother is Lady Sinestra of Cob Priory. They've

inhumed

forty-eight quarterings."

Wolfe hadn't spoken particularly loudly but the word 'inhumed' seemed to carry over the entire courtyard. All chattering and conversation stopped, and Archibald took a step back.

"And since I'm quite sure that no one has put up a commission on any of you," Professor Jeremy Barcbeadle said to the group soothingly, "I'm sure we can all take up our magical studies in good humor and fellowship, secure in the knowledge that we're in no more danger than the usual from magical books and the like. After all, Assassins never inhume anyone unless they have been paid, highly paid. Isn't that right, Master Wolfe?"

"Nil Mortifi Sine Lucre," Wolfe said with a happy smile. He rubbed his thumb on two fingers in the Guild's official sign, "So unless one of you is worth more dead than alive, you should all be perfectly safe. Besides, I'm just a student. I can't ever take the black, unfortunately, because the Archchancellor and Headmaster Downey think I'm too magically dangerous to be sent anywhere but here. And I'm not happy about that!"

At luncheon several seats on either side of Wolfe were pointedly empty until a slight bespectacled student came up and hesitantly asked, "Is this seat taken?"

Wolfe grinned. "Not a bit. Have a seat. I'm Wolfe; what's your name."

"Consideration Stibbons. Call me Connie. I'm pleased to meet you, Wolfe."

Wolfe blinked. "Stibbons? Are you . . .?"

Connie sighed and nodded. "Yes, the Vice-Chancellor is my second cousin. I didn't want to come here but one of the neighbor girls kept running up and pulling my hair until the last time she grabbed it a small lightning bolt burned her fingers. I really want to be a farmer. Our family grows nut trees."

Wolfe nodded sympathetically. "My family grows grapes and makes wine. Living in the country is a lot more fun than being stuck here. I only came because my sister and I were having a race up the side of the winery and when she got ahead of me I stood up and ran."

Consideration's jaw dropped and his eyes popped open in delighted surprise. "You

ran

up the side of the building? Strewth, that's brilliant! You must have a lot of magical talent."

Wolfe sighed. "I guess. That's what the Archchancellor thinks, anyway. He said I had to come here to learn how to control it. Otherwise things could get ugly. I thought he was exaggerating until my father took me to see some of the ground where the grass will never grow again. Man, those Wizard Wars must have been bad. Whole mountain sides all bubbly and black? And they glow blue and yellow and green at night? Father says that anyone fool enough to try and walk across that stuff was likely to have a different kind of feet

if

he reached the other side."

Connie nodded. "That's kind of what Cousin Ponder told me. And the worst part is that you might end up with feet of two different species. Imagine trying to buy shoes."

About that time the serving girls came by with trays of dishes. Wolfe looked at the set of plates in front of him and was about to pass some to Connie when the girl put an identical set in front of the smaller boy. Looking up and down the table he saw that the enormous servings seemed to be the norm. Looking up to the Head Table where the University Council sat, he saw servings of even greater abundance. And the Wizards were already digging in with the kind of concentrated steady pace that indicated that they expected to be at it for the next hour.

Connie just sat, stunned and open-mouthed. At last he turned to Wolfe. "We're supposed to eat all of this? Soup, bread, Cabbage surprise, a steak and a quarter chicken? And an Augustan salad? This is enough to keep me going for the rest of the week and it's only lunch."

Wolfe took a sip of the soup. "And don't forget, there's still dessert. On the other hand, it's awfully good. I guess we'll just have to do our best. Do you edificeer? Climbing around the walls and roofs would help burn some of it off."

Consideration shook his head vigorously. "You don't want to climb

these

walls and run around

these

roofs. I've heard stories of the things that live here. Talking, intelligent ravens, ants with a civilization, Eaters of Socks—this isn't like Town. UU is a dangerous place and it's even worse in the Library. You want to watch your step in there and don't let your concentration slip. Magical books

eat

students who get careless."

Wolfe broke the drumstick off the thigh of the chicken. He took a bite and though it was delicious, he shook his head sadly. "I knew I didn't want to come here. Magic is nasty, sneaky and smart. I wonder how many of us won't get through to graduation. At least at the Guild School, no one deliberately tries to kill you. Here? Man!"

*****

Classes began the next morning. All the newly enrolled students were given a table with a candle stick on it.

"Now," began Professor Phoebe Emergent-Weatherwax, the faculty's sole woman, "your job is to light the candle using nothing but Magic. Just light it. Don't get carried away, just light the candle."

Archibald stepped forward, raised his nose in the air and with a sweeping gesture flung out his arm at the candle. It lit, alright. In fact, it exploded and oily, smoky billowing flames roared back in Puddingstone's face. Two seconds later, only a pair of charred boots remained.

Phoebe put her face in her palms. Every year some over-confident student ended up in the infirmary with wax burns but this was the worst ever. Student mortality at Unseen University was actually greater than at the Guild School but it didn't usually start on the first day of the term.

"Ewww?" The whole class was equal parts horrified and fascinated. They were, after all, thirteen.

The instructor rang a bell and when a serving maid arrived she was quietly asked to remove the shoes, sweep up the ash and pack up the boy's belongings for shipment home.

"Now," Professor Emergent-Weatherwax said quietly, "I want you to try and light the candle. And this time do try terribly hard to be careful. Only the wick has to burn,

only the wick

."

I'm sitting on a 'whole bloody cauldron full of power'

, Wolfe thought,

the Archchancellor himself said so. And if anyone would know, it would be him. How do I dip out just a teaspoon of that power and apply it to 'only the wick'?

Focusing his attention to the point that other sights and sounds faded away, Wolfe cupped both hands around the wick. He took a deep breath, held it, and thought warmth. A golden haze grew between his palms, the wick began to smoke and then popped into flame. The boy dropped his hands and stepped back fast but the candle just stayed lit. He let out the air in his lungs and looked at the teacher.

"Like that?"

Phoebe applauded softly. "Yes, Master Woodbead, just like that. Everyone else understand, now? Use only the amount of Magic you must. It has a kind of intelligence and it isn't friendly, as the late Viscount Puddingstone discovered rather too late. Abuse the power and it will demand a payment no one can afford."

*****

Even with teenagers' metabolism, the boys were in danger of prematurely joining the University ranks of portly-dom. Wolfe, especially, craved exercise and so it was with delight that he discovered that UU had an actual gymnasium. Like all the other strangeness of the place, it existed for those who wanted it and if no one wanted it, it didn't exist. However, as Granny Weatherwax had discovered many years before the University had a kind of lithic awareness and puppy-dog friendliness. When it realized, for want of a better word, that someone among the latest entering class wanted to play, it was only too happy to oblige. So it was that one day between classes, as Wolfe and Connie were walking through the gardens, a never-before-seen path opened up and led them to a door labeled, simply, 'Sport'.

"Sport?"

"That's what it says."

"You know, Connie, I've heard stories that a long time ago there was this wizard named Evans the Striped who was Sports Master? The Archchancellor was just a student then. Do you suppose that no one has come here since?"

"Cousin Ponder says that his spirit still lives on in the foot-the-ball whistle. When someone blows it, they turn into him and start screaming about boys having to play in their pants if they didn't bring their kit."

"Really? In their pants? Seems kind of embarrassing and cruel to me. I wonder if it's open."

The doorknob turned easily and the door swung open. If it hadn't been used since the days of Evans the Striped, someone or something must have been oiling the hinges. The boys looked in. The wooden floor was still smooth and polished, the rings, weights and Indian clubs were dust free. Climbing ropes vanished into the darkness overhead, rubber mats hung from hooks on one wall and another wall was covered in protrusions and fingerholds.

Wolfe let out a soft, girlish squeal of delight and then his eyes caught sight of a door marked 'Student Lockers'. He pointed.

"But we don't have any kit," Consideration pointed out.