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Authors: Michael Pryor
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things are going on the continent, hints
of war and such.' He paused, then plunged ahead. 'There
are rumours of Holmland aggression in the Goltan states,
and even that they've used new magically enhanced
weapons.'
Dr Tremaine was silent for a while, then he grinned
and slapped the armrest. 'Damn me, Fitzwilliam, I like
the way your mind works!' He turned to the head of the
table. 'Headmaster, let me know if he wants to study
magic at university. I'll put in a good word for him.'
Aubrey smiled, but he didn't fail to notice that Dr
Tremaine hadn't answered his question.
Dr Tremaine pounded a fist on the table, pushed back
his chair and stood. 'Staggeringly good meal, headmaster!'
The headmaster rose and looked worried. 'You'll stay
and talk to some of the boys?'
Dr Tremaine shook his head and picked up his cane. 'I'd
love to, but I have a young lady I promised to meet at the
theatre. Hopeless actress, but you can't have everything.'
The headmaster looked nonplussed, but Dr Tremaine
saw the direction of Aubrey's gaze. 'You like my cane, do
you, Fitzwilliam?'
Aubrey had actually been wondering how he'd look
with a cane like that. It was a dashing accessory. 'Yes, sir.'
'Well, I'd love to give it to you as a reward for your
stimulating company, but,' he held it up in both hands,
at chest height, 'this is special. Damned nuisance, but
special.'
'It's handsome, sir.'
Dr Tremaine rubbed the pearl head with a thumb and
stared at it. 'My sister gave it to me. Just before she died,
she made me promise that it would never leave my side.
Like a fool, I agreed.'
'Is it magical, sir?'
Dr Tremaine's face was thoughtful and he didn't take
his gaze away from the pearl. 'No, not unless you mean
the ordinary magic of memory.' He sighed. 'Every time
I look at it, I remember her.' He shook himself. 'Enough
of that.' He seized the headmaster's hand. 'Goodbye, headmaster.
Best of luck with the gout!'
After Dr Tremaine left, driving an outrageous open
automobile, Aubrey and George strolled back to their
rooms. A spindly figure appeared around the corner of
the gymnasium and tottered towards them.
'I wonder what Addison wants?' Aubrey said.
Addison was by far the oldest porter at Stonelea
School, being young when Aubrey's grandfather was at
the school. It was rumoured he'd been in the place longer
than many of the buildings.
Bandy-legged and bald as an egg, he hurried towards
them. One outstretched hand held an envelope and he
had a newspaper tucked under his arm. 'Master Fitzwilliam!'
he called. 'Master Fitzwilliam! Letter for you!'
'On a Sunday?' George said. Aubrey shrugged and held
out his hand.
It was obvious that the letter was important. The envelope
was a heavy, cream paper and when Aubrey turned
it over the blob of red sealing wax stood out. He
scratched at it with a thumbnail and its greasy solidity
spoke of someone with money, a sense of tradition and
extremely good taste. Someone very familiar.
A very formal approach, Father , he thought, then he read
the letter. When he had finished, he carefully folded it
and placed it back in the envelope. He ran one finger
along the length of the envelope, thinking. 'Thank you,
Addison,' he said vaguely.
Addison tipped his cap. As he turned to go, he remembered
what was under his arm. 'Your newspaper, Master
Doyle.' He thrust it at George and hurried off.
Aubrey began walking towards the boarding house,
thinking deeply. George fell into step beside him. As they
walked past the cricket nets, he burst out, 'Dash it,
Aubrey! Who's that letter from?'
Aubrey blinked. 'Sorry. I was miles away.' He stopped and
rested against the fence. He looked down at the envelope
he still held. 'It's from my father. It's his official stationery
and seal. He wants me to do something for him.'
'Something official?'
'Yes.'
'And you're wondering why he didn't ask you last night.'
Aubrey glanced sharply at George. His friend's broad,
friendly face frowned back at him. With his height,
massive frame and
of war and such.' He paused, then plunged ahead. 'There
are rumours of Holmland aggression in the Goltan states,
and even that they've used new magically enhanced
weapons.'
Dr Tremaine was silent for a while, then he grinned
and slapped the armrest. 'Damn me, Fitzwilliam, I like
the way your mind works!' He turned to the head of the
table. 'Headmaster, let me know if he wants to study
magic at university. I'll put in a good word for him.'
Aubrey smiled, but he didn't fail to notice that Dr
Tremaine hadn't answered his question.
Dr Tremaine pounded a fist on the table, pushed back
his chair and stood. 'Staggeringly good meal, headmaster!'
The headmaster rose and looked worried. 'You'll stay
and talk to some of the boys?'
Dr Tremaine shook his head and picked up his cane. 'I'd
love to, but I have a young lady I promised to meet at the
theatre. Hopeless actress, but you can't have everything.'
The headmaster looked nonplussed, but Dr Tremaine
saw the direction of Aubrey's gaze. 'You like my cane, do
you, Fitzwilliam?'
Aubrey had actually been wondering how he'd look
with a cane like that. It was a dashing accessory. 'Yes, sir.'
'Well, I'd love to give it to you as a reward for your
stimulating company, but,' he held it up in both hands,
at chest height, 'this is special. Damned nuisance, but
special.'
'It's handsome, sir.'
Dr Tremaine rubbed the pearl head with a thumb and
stared at it. 'My sister gave it to me. Just before she died,
she made me promise that it would never leave my side.
Like a fool, I agreed.'
'Is it magical, sir?'
Dr Tremaine's face was thoughtful and he didn't take
his gaze away from the pearl. 'No, not unless you mean
the ordinary magic of memory.' He sighed. 'Every time
I look at it, I remember her.' He shook himself. 'Enough
of that.' He seized the headmaster's hand. 'Goodbye, headmaster.
Best of luck with the gout!'
After Dr Tremaine left, driving an outrageous open
automobile, Aubrey and George strolled back to their
rooms. A spindly figure appeared around the corner of
the gymnasium and tottered towards them.
'I wonder what Addison wants?' Aubrey said.
Addison was by far the oldest porter at Stonelea
School, being young when Aubrey's grandfather was at
the school. It was rumoured he'd been in the place longer
than many of the buildings.
Bandy-legged and bald as an egg, he hurried towards
them. One outstretched hand held an envelope and he
had a newspaper tucked under his arm. 'Master Fitzwilliam!'
he called. 'Master Fitzwilliam! Letter for you!'
'On a Sunday?' George said. Aubrey shrugged and held
out his hand.
It was obvious that the letter was important. The envelope
was a heavy, cream paper and when Aubrey turned
it over the blob of red sealing wax stood out. He
scratched at it with a thumbnail and its greasy solidity
spoke of someone with money, a sense of tradition and
extremely good taste. Someone very familiar.
A very formal approach, Father , he thought, then he read
the letter. When he had finished, he carefully folded it
and placed it back in the envelope. He ran one finger
along the length of the envelope, thinking. 'Thank you,
Addison,' he said vaguely.
Addison tipped his cap. As he turned to go, he remembered
what was under his arm. 'Your newspaper, Master
Doyle.' He thrust it at George and hurried off.
Aubrey began walking towards the boarding house,
thinking deeply. George fell into step beside him. As they
walked past the cricket nets, he burst out, 'Dash it,
Aubrey! Who's that letter from?'
Aubrey blinked. 'Sorry. I was miles away.' He stopped and
rested against the fence. He looked down at the envelope
he still held. 'It's from my father. It's his official stationery
and seal. He wants me to do something for him.'
'Something official?'
'Yes.'
'And you're wondering why he didn't ask you last night.'
Aubrey glanced sharply at George. His friend's broad,
friendly face frowned back at him. With his height,
massive frame and
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