Book II. Chapter 147. Homecoming

He studied her bright green eyes. Now they were in shadow as the dawn sun rolled lazily up beyond the russet roofs of the Metropolis. The roofs gleamed like sleek cats basking in the summer warmth, and in her eyes he saw two shards of the morning steppe, where the sun strode through the clouds behind the herald birds.

Ardi stroked her velvety skin with his fingertips, moving gently down from her shoulder to her waist, lingering for a moment on the thin sheet they had slept beneath through that sweltering night. They didn’t open the windows until several hours after their reunion, when they realized they’d had their fill of breathing each other in and now wanted to listen to the city. And anyone who overheard them then would have found their conversation far less embarrassing than what had come before.

That was how they spent the entire evening and night, pausing for brief naps in each other’s arms. Chatting, talking over each other as they told their stories, sometimes listening intently and sometimes falling asleep. Sometimes they slept in turns, each carefully guarding the other’s sleep, though more often they slept together.

She threaded her slender, graceful fingers through his hair, which was a little tangled and damp from the heat.

“You need another haircut,” she said with her unfailing smile, and for just a moment Ardi felt the cool metal Allane’Eari had forged from the night sky touch him.

They never took those rings off. Ard never said it aloud, but perhaps the ring on his finger was the very thing that had let him endure the past four months without losing his mind.

“I’m free this evening,” Ardan declared in a mock-serious, almost businesslike tone.

“Really?” Tess played along, furrowing her brow slightly. “Are you serious, Mr. Mage? Well then, I simply must contact your secretary. Could you tell me how to find her?”

“Why assume it’s a woman?” Ardi kept up the act. “Maybe it’s... a man.”

“Ardi.”

“What?”

“You’re breaking character.” Tess laughed. “You’re supposed to be a pompous Senior Magister who does nothing but hit on his secretaries...”

“My dear Taisia, would you join me for dinner?”

“...and I’m the poor, miserable petitioner, forced to... Ardi?”

Ardi gave a start and pushed the image of Senior Magister Chaz Nalensky from his thoughts; close behind it came the image of Magister Tikhonov cradling the bloody remains of “Dear Chaz” in his arms. Arkar had been right about everything: he couldn’t bring his work home with him. It could wait outside the door, not in here.

“Sorry.” Ardan smiled a little awkwardly and brushed his knuckles over her fiery red hair. “I guess I just...”

“Yeah.” Tess nodded. “You reminded me of my father. Sometimes, when we gathered for breakfast, a chance remark would make him stare into space.”

Ardan smiled a little wider, and Tess looked into his eyes. Remarkably, Ardan felt no temptation to cross the threshold of her mind or, perhaps, the minds of his own flesh and blood, even with their doors flung wide before him.

“Was it hard?” That was all she asked.

The first question in almost twelve hours of nonstop conversation to touch on the past four months. After all, Ardi hadn’t told her anything except some funny, at times downright stupid stories, more about daily life and his relationships with the other hunters than about the assignment itself. He’d complained about Miss Shpritz, especially about the vulgar way she talked. And not once, not once, had he mentioned Bors, Rita, Zalessky, Tikhonov, or any of the others whose ashes might already have followed the wind’s paths back to the capital.

Without waiting for an answer, Tess drew him close, tucked his head against her chest, then cupped the back of his head with both hands. Ardan wrapped his arms around her and held on so hard that their skin whitened where they pressed together. He would have squeezed tighter still, but he was afraid he might hear bones crunch. Ardi was afraid of hurting her. More than he already had by the mere fact of his service.

“Can you believe it, Ardi? Mr. Brolid is now a prominent figure on the music scene in the Metropolis,” she said, very softly. She stroked his hair, sometimes winding the strands around her fingers.

“Really?” came from somewhere below.

“Of course!” Tess all but exclaimed. “He’s got long lines of people waiting for a chance to perform at the Arena. It’s gotten to the point that the Guild of Arts is demanding he obtain licenses of some sort for public events on this scale. But can you imagine? They don’t exist! The licenses themselves don’t even exist!”

Ardi felt his eyelids grow heavy. He tried to keep them open, though not very hard, and they kept slipping closed, drawing him into darkness that felt almost welcome.

“I don’t think we’ve ever seen crowds like that in the Metropolis. Maybe not anywhere in the world. Not in arenas, not in public squares. For example, Olanda Yelbom, one of the most famous jazz artists, performed there recently. What’s really amazing, honestly, is that she can still sing at seventy... I’d love to be able to do that too. Imagine: all those years devoted to the stage, and she can still give an hour-and-a-half concert.” Tess kept talking and talking, and Ardi listened. Just listened. “So many people came to see her that Mr. Brolid had to find a way to add more seats. In the end, almost forty thousand people crammed into the Arena. And Mrs. Yelbom put on something truly spectacular!”

“Spectacular?” Ardi forced himself to ask, a beat too late, as though he were already speaking from the threshold of dreamless sleep.

“Yes, Ardi! Mr. Brolid said shows like that are the future.” Tess pressed her cheek to the crown of his head, nuzzling a little as she settled more comfortably. “Star mages performed with her, creating all kinds of illusions. They looked almost like stage sets. Then there were all kinds of fireworks, a troupe of dancers, and a real orchestra accompanying the performance! People all over the capital were talking about it for more than a month, Ardi! The next show wasn’t for another six months, and the tickets sold out the very next day. No one had ever seen anything like it!”

“Still, Ard, what is it?”

He tightened his hold on her just a little, barely at all, but enough to make Tess suddenly fall silent.

“Ardi.”

“Yes.”

“What do you want to ask me?”

“What makes you think there’s something I want to ask?”

“Because, Ardi the wizard, you don’t always have to say something aloud for me to hear you.”

Ardan really did want to ask a question. One question, and one only. But he was afraid to hear the answer, just as he had been long ago, before they were bound together for good.

Oh, Sleeping Spirits, how afraid he was... Yet at the same time, he couldn’t let himself surrender to the icy fear that had haunted him since childhood, its fingers forever scraping at his back.

“Tess.”

“What is it, darling?”

“Tell me... am I... like them too? Am I... a monster too?”

Scenes from the past flashed before Ardi’s mind’s eye: how he’d lost control trying to tear the leader of Shanti’Ra apart; how, without a shadow of a doubt, he’d sent those dim-witted Firstborn to the hospital on his very first day in the Grand’s dormitory. He remembered the crunch of the vertebrae in Lorlov’s neck, the man from Selkado, Tantov, and...

The memories never stopped. Not for a second. Not for an instant. He smelled copper. But unlike in childhood, it no longer gave Ard any pleasure at all. It frightened him. Frightened him because he knew he was capable of more. And not only with magic...

He still remembered Lesser Viroeyr and what he would have done to everyone who happened to be on that street if Tess hadn’t called out to him. And he remembered that he’d seen no difference between Husk’s bandits and Arkar’s two bouncers. Ardan didn’t want to ask himself the question. He resisted it with every ounce of strength he had, doing whatever he could not to ask: Was there any difference between Husk and Arkar himself?

“When we were children, Ardi the wizard, father always told us that the difference between a monster and a hero depends on exactly who’s telling the story,” Tess whispered in his ear as Ardan held her tighter and tighter, breathing in her warmth and scent. “And no matter what story you tell me, my love, in my eyes you’ll always be its hero.”

“Even if…”

“No ‘ifs,’ darling,” Tess said firmly, cutting him off. “Even if everyone else in the world thinks otherwise, you’ll never be a monster to me.”

Ardan gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. He believed her. Believed with every fiber of his being. As long as she was here, as long as she was beside him, as long as he could chat lightheartedly with her and take walks with her right up until dawn, everything would be all right. As long as Tess was with him, he would never ask himself questions he didn’t want answered.

“Not all knowledge can be gained from books and scrolls, little Speaker. And in fact, the most important knowledge you discover will come to you from somewhere other than books.”

As long as she was here, Atta’nha could never turn out to be right. Tess’s very existence disproved Atta’nha’s claim. He already knew you could not learn everything from what you read and heard, but he refused to believe that…

Ardan fell asleep. For the first time in a long while, he slept soundly, with no dreams at all.

* * *

“Well, I haven’t seen you in ages, Mr. Student.” Mr. Aern cleared his throat behind his bushy mustache.

“Mr. Aern!” Ardi immediately held out his pass.

“Careful, Ard, with a yawn that wide, you’ll swallow my box of sandwiches any second, and I haven’t even had breakfast yet!”

They laughed. Mr. Aern was the longtime conductor on tram 3214, which ran on Route 27, linking Markov Canal and Star Square. For several years, Ardi’s schedule had put him on this same little car day after day. It was powered by Ley-cables, and over those years he had gotten to know Mr. Aern and struck up a friendship with him.

“I was starting to forget what you look like, Mr. Student.” Once he was sure no one else had boarded the car, Mr. Aern leaned against a handrail and relaxed a little.

Wearing his blue coat, which the Transport Guild had designed to resemble a military uniform, and his cap with its brown visor, he looked even leaner and more spare than usual. The work kept him on his feet, and he got by on the meager snacks he carried in a little chest-shaped tin box with a worn leather handle. And of course, Mr. Aern always had his thermos with him.

“Traveling,” Ardan answered evasively.

The tram turned at the bridge, and the sun came gliding over the rooftops once more, sending a narrow ray straight into Ardan’s face. The capital hurried awake, shaking off the half-sleep of nights that had grown bright but had not yet become true white nights. Summer was drawing near, making the sidewalks and embankments sparkle with fine morning rain, and people coming outside into the fresh air narrowed their eyes in pleasure and drew deep breaths.

Car horns blared. Occasionally, hooves clopped along the street, the horses still a little drowsy; most belonged to mounted units of the Guards’ corps or municipal services. If you looked closely, you could see shining towers of glass, concrete, and steel reaching toward the sky in the distance, beyond the roofs of palaces intent on passing themselves off as houses. New City was waking too, though you could reasonably argue that, like Baliero, it had never fallen asleep at all.

“How are your grandchildren?” Ardan asked, looking away from the familiar view, a scene that might have stepped straight out of a painting of Old City.

“Good, Mr. Student, good.” Mr. Aern rarely called Ard by name. “My oldest grandson has nearly finished his training as a mechanic in college. He keeps hoping he can enter the competition the Guild of Workers and Builders is organizing before it’s too late.”

“What kind of competition?”

Aern snorted and adjusted his broad mustache.

“For building the airport, of course,” Aern replied, not without pride, as though he were personally running the construction. “They’ve already put up all the main parts. The concrete and the metalwork, I mean. But they need specialists for all the finer work. So my grandson is trying to land a spot. The pay there, Mr. Student, is really decent. Even entry-level mechanics get twenty-two exes a month. The Crown must have opened its coffers. Exes are raining down on everyone these days. Not that I’m complaining. They raised my own salary by ten percent.”

Ardan tried to whistle, without much success.

“Exactly,” Aern said, without noticing Ardan’s botched attempt. “The rascal went and got his own younger brother hooked on all this flying. It isn’t all bad, of course. Before that, his brother did nothing but fool around. Chased skirts. Tried to sneak into taverns, even though he was only fifteen. But now look at him. He’s buckled down to his studies.”

NovelPhoenix is the page where the author publishes this chapter, yet this version was copied without approval; reading there supports the author.

“How come?”

“Yesssh.” Mr. Aern made that rather odd sound and waved the question away. “You know, a couple of months ago the paper said they were going to open flight schools all over the country. To teach people to ride those... what do you call them... gliders. Or fly them. I don’t even know which is the right word. Didn’t you read that, student?”

“I missed a few issues of the paper.” Once again using what Skusty had taught him, Ardan sidestepped a direct answer.

“A-a-ah, I see,” Aern drawled, giving his mustache another twist. “Well then, Mr. Student, it seems cranking out gliders isn’t much of a problem. Though it probably isn’t cheap. But who’s going to... what do they call it... there’s a word for it... be a pilot, that’s it! Who’s going to fly them when people have never seen anything of the kind in their lives?”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Ardan agreed.

His heart tightened a little. A heaviness settled over him, as if... as if something were about to happen, though Ardi couldn’t tell exactly what. But it could hardly have anything to do with Mr. Aern’s words. More likely, it came from the damned exhaustion he still felt, even after spending the past hour sound asleep in Tess’s arms.

Oh, Sleeping Spirits. Perhaps it was time to stop relying on his own body to purge the poison from his blood and get to work on it himself. Besides, Driba and the documents they had acquired that winter meant Ard would have to take up alchemy anyway.

“Yep,” Mr. Aern agreed, continuing their easy, meaningless conversation, the kind that required no effort from either man. “These days, every boy who’s barely started growing hair below the belt won’t shut up about these gliders. Have you seen one, by the way?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, if you ever get curious, Mr. Student, stop by the airport sometime... They’ve extended the Underground Tram Lines right to it... S-o-o-o... Up there in the sky, you can often see the first pilots flying strange, hulking machines. Like iron birds, only bigger. Much bigger.”

Ardan nodded and thanked him for the advice. He was about to say something else, but at the next stop more passengers boarded, and Mr. Aern bowed and hurried back to work. So Ardi rode the rest of the way to Star Square in relative quiet. Beside him, an old woman kept holding forth to her neighbor about how potato prices had gone up yet again. They were already nearly three kso per kilogram higher than the year before. Her neighbor chimed in, recalling that despite a good harvest, all the other vegetables had gotten more expensive too.

“They say, Ardi, that before the War of the Mercenaries, the price people were asking for loot... for goods, I mean, in crispers... in money, I mean... went up noticeably then too.”

Ardi mentally brushed Arkar’s voice aside and went back to taking in Metropolis, which in the morning was only a little less beautiful than in its evening finery.

After another twenty minutes, the little tram came to a stop. Ardan stepped down from the tram into Star Square. At the opposite end, the Main Building of the Imperial Magical University gazed back at him.

The corners of Ardan’s mouth rose slightly. He’d already come to miss this place.

All around the square, the faculty buildings, student dormitory, and auxiliary buildings stood in a tight row, pressed side by side and linked by heated passageways; their polished windows gleamed. They formed a long semicircle, or rather a horseshoe. Its ends met at a colossal tower, a lone giant that loomed proudly in the Old City. It was the only structure permitted to rise higher than the spire of the Palace of the Kings of the Past. As always, its facade made the tower look as though it had been molded from hundreds of “miniature” towers left by mages of the distant past. But its splendor was not what captured Ardan’s imagination. It was the sense of wonder that seemed to radiate from it.

“I think I’ve forgotten every single formula.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t remember a single table.”

“Ludmila! You’ve never retaken a single exam in your life!”

“Well, I’ve got a feeling that right before my final year, I’ll finally be right there with you numbskulls, taking some stupid exam in the middle of summer!”

The square teemed with students. The overwhelming majority wore Green cloaks that rustled as they moved. Military Faculty and Healer Faculty patches were far less common; you could spot them only by looking closely at the students’ jackets or blouses.

With rare exceptions, Red cloaks were nearly impossible to find. It all came down to the exam schedule: only first-years took their exams in a single day, while everyone else’s exam period stretched over the entire week.

Ardan joined the crowd, and before long he was in the atrium. As usual, he greeted the gargoyles with a glance. They loomed like silent sentinels over the fountain with its monument to one man: the First Emperor and the Last King of Galess.

“Oh, cowboy, I can’t say I’m entirely delighted to see you,” a familiar voice said, roughened by booze and cigarette smoke. The unmistakable scent of women’s perfume hung around the man.

Bazhen Eorsky himself appeared out of nowhere. Behind him, several girls from Ard’s faculty, all a year ahead of Ard, were oohing and ahhing. He looked the same as ever. Painfully thin. Tousled hair, slightly crooked glasses, a keen gaze, and a face so sharp it seemed honed.

“There’s my buddy.” Bazhen walked over to his “business partner,” grinning at Ard like a hungry beast not even trying to hide its intentions, and wrapped an arm around Ard’s shoulders. “I’m so glad to see you that I don’t even know whether to kiss you or shoot you. What’ll it be?”

“I—”

Bazhen lowered his voice to a coaxing whisper.

“You know, Ardi, next time you decide to blow up some little town, don’t think small, okay? Just... I don’t know... blow Tazidah sky-high.”

Eorsky probably didn’t mean the entire country, but its namesake capital, the seat of the Empire’s northern neighbor.

“How’s the pharmacy?”

“Still afloat, but we’ve got a whole list of problems.” Bazhen grimaced. “And I mean it. We really do have a whole list now. First on it: Helga flat-out refuses to go on a date with me.”

Helga was the pharmacist Ard and Bazhen had hired so they wouldn’t be constantly chained to the cash register and counter. A native of Skaldavin, she had proved utterly immune to Eorsky’s charms. Those same charms had worked on dozens of ladies from the Grand, and that was no understatement. As for how many women Bazhen had been with in Baliero, no one would even venture a guess.

“But that’s all minor stuff.” Eorsky waved it off. “I’m glad you made it back alive and more or less in one piece, buddy.”

They hugged and clapped each other on the back. To his own surprise, Ard realized that he, too, was genuinely glad Eorsky was all right. More than that, he was simply glad to have him around.

“Seen Boris yet?”

“No.” Ardan shook his head. “We must’ve missed each other. How are they doing?”

“They’re busy looking after Agness. They drop in at Bruce’s now and then, but separately. One of them is always with the baby.” Bazhen shrugged. “You hardly ever see Boris out anymore. He’s even cut back on those idiotic socialist meetings of his. He spends all his time with his daughter. Honestly, I’d never have guessed Lord Fahtov would make such a responsible dad.”

Ardan smiled. Somehow, he’d never doubted for a moment that this was exactly how it would turn out.

“Maybe you can meet up with him if your schedule allows.” Eorsky pulled his own exam schedule from his bag and gave a soft, effortless whistle, something Ard had never managed. “All right, my first torture starts in fifteen minutes. It’s on ‘Juris...’” Bazhen looked up at Ard uncertainly. “Then again, I don’t think you’d be interested.”

Ardan wasn’t about to lie or try to persuade his friend that he was wrong. Ardi had little interest in the legal intricacies of a Star mage’s life, beyond the obvious things he needed to know to avoid breaking the law. Nor did he know any more than he needed to pass his exams.

This year, of course, the grading system meant he wouldn’t qualify for a scholarship, but he hoped at least to hold on to the Crown’s sponsorship. Even with his income from the Spell Market and the Pharmacy, plus payments from Mr. Brolid, the cost of tuition at the Grand was still far too high. Beyond the obvious costs of research and his Star science work, Ard had other expenses ahead.

He and Tess still needed to furnish the apartment properly and buy kitchen cabinets and Ley-appliances, including a freezer. Not to mention a car. And truth be told, Ardan had begun thinking more and more often about how sick he’d grown of living at his landlord’s mercy and constantly wondering whether he might be thrown out on his ear simply because the paperwork read “Firstborn or immediate descendant.”

He hadn’t brought it up with Tess yet, but perhaps it was time to seriously consider buying a place of their own. On the Markov Canal, even the cheapest places started at seventeen-five. And that was for a small room with a tiny kitchenette and no bathroom.

“All right, cowboy. Don’t be a stranger, and try not to flunk out of the Grand.” Eorsky clapped him on the shoulder again, as if he’d read Ardan’s mind. “Next year they’re raising prices by almost a third.”

“A third?” Ardan nearly choked.

“Yeah.” Eorsky nodded. “At the same time, they’re making it easier to sign contracts with the Guilds, while the Army plans to recruit almost anyone who wants to join. Meanwhile, they’re imposing a strict quota on foreign student enrollment. No more than three students a year from any country, with exceptions for the Islanders and the desert folk. That’s down from the previous limit of forty. The newspapers haven’t reported it yet, but I don’t think they’ll be able to keep it under wraps much longer.”

Students bustled around them like a cheerful swarm of bees. They scattered into lecture halls, streamed from floor to floor, packed the elevator lobby, and swamped the information desk with papers and requests. In the middle of it all, Bazhen and Ardan stood in silence. Both understood what educational reforms like these meant for a Star university that ranked first not only in the Empire, but in the world.

“So that joke about Tazidah is only partly a joke, cowboy… All right, then. Good luck.”

“You too,” Ardan called after Eorsky as he walked away.

He lingered for a moment, then squeezed through the crowd to the desk, apologizing even as he elbowed people aside. There, he snatched his exam schedule from the tray labeled for his faculty and year.

“Looks like the Sleeping Spirits are smiling on me today,” Ardan said, exhaling in relief.

On the first day, his schedule listed a two-and-a-half-hour written exam in “History of Magic,” followed by a ninety-minute lunch break and then a four-and-a-half-hour “Star Engineering” exam.

And a simple calculation was enough to show that his exam day wouldn’t end until eight that evening.

* * *

Ardi stood by the window, leafing through a handbook of seal formulas. It wasn’t that he needed it; he simply wanted to keep his hands busy. There was no point in even dreaming of a scholarship. All he could do was hope his answer on the “History of Magic” exam had earned him at least half the available points.

Given that the question read, “List the causes and circumstances that led to the Mages’ Guild’s first expedition to the Great Glacier in the year 17 after the Fall of Ectassus,” Ardi wasn’t expecting much. Why? First, he hadn’t even known such expeditions existed. Second, he had absolutely no idea why the hell the Mages’ Guild had sent research groups there, apparently several times.

But as always, Ardan kept in mind that the worst sin a student could commit was writing “I don’t know” as an answer. So he drew on every rhetorical skill he possessed and stretched a thin layer of disconnected thoughts across several pages.

All he could do was hope that would earn him at least a couple of points, perhaps even three. Perhaps solely as a reward for his reckless refusal to give up.

“Hel—” Ardan started. Until then, Ella Riitova had always been warm to him: more than once she had invited him, Boris, and Elena to student parties, and she had always found a few minutes for a casual chat. Now she simply pretended not to notice Ard and walked right past him with an expression almost worthy of Tina Eveless.

Beside her, the Nelvir sisters, Ishka and Veshka, each gave Ard a haughty, faintly contemptuous once-over, then walked past him as well, their heels clicking.

Ardan merely scratched the back of his head in confusion. What could possibly have happened in four months to make everything change so much? Could he somehow have offended them? Then again, how could he have offended anyone when he had quite literally been clear across the country?

Still, Ard spent only a few moments thinking about Miss Riitova’s change in mood, not because he was indifferent, but simply because the lecture hall doors opened and the women of second-year Group Two at the Faculty of General Knowledge hurried inside, sweeping a rather bewildered Ard along with them. Dresses rustled and jewelry jingled as they tugged their cloaks straight and tapped their staffs on the floor.

Professor Convel, unchanged since they had last seen him, greeted his students from behind the lectern with his customary, almost solicitous smile.

Tentative murmurs of discussion rippled through the students. By the second year, the advancement exams were very different from the ones they had faced at the beginning of last summer.

This time, some two dozen miniature blanks sat on the professor’s desk, along with several potbellied spools of Ley-cable and whole stacks of small boxes. Inside, all manner of engines rested on straw in sturdy parchment cradles, waiting their turn. Somewhere off to one side, pristine plates and handheld, mechanically driven engraving needles gleamed.

When Ardi left, Professor Convel had only just begun teaching their group the basic skills needed to assemble simple Ley-constructs. They had clearly come a long way in the months since. Still, judging by the size of the parts, Ardan was sure he would be finished a little early.

He and Tess planned to visit several automakers’ factory showrooms that day. Over the past four months, Ardan had managed to set aside a respectable sum. Tess planned to dip into her own savings as well. Given her busy schedule at Baliero Concert Hall and the frenzy with which people were snapping up her records, Ardan suspected his wife might have much more put away than he did. He knew he and Tess were husband and wife now, but he still couldn’t bring himself to overrule the beast-raised boy lodged somewhere inside his skull, however foolish that boy might be. He was flatly opposed to Tess’s proposal.

Perhaps the fangs and claws of his forest friends had carved their rules too deeply into his skin, rules not all that well suited to life in human society.

“Well, well, Mr. Egobar. And here I thought you’d miss the exams too.”

Ardan blinked a few times. Then he realized that, while he’d been thinking about what he still needed to buy, he hadn’t noticed he was up to draw a card.

“Hello, Professor Convel,” Ardan said, with a hint of guilt. “I’m sorry. I had to travel because of—”

“Family matters, yes, yes.” Professor Convel bobbed his head with undisguised enthusiasm. “Your dean, of course, notified the faculty and provided all the paperwork. Well then, I do hope that during your forced academic leave in glorious Delpas, you nevertheless managed to steal a little time from wicked Fate to sink your teeth into the sciences.”

Ardan raised one eyebrow slightly. He knew Convel and Professor an Manish were friends, but it seemed Convel had laid it on a little thick with the flowery language. Then again, he was probably just in good spirits. Professor Erik Convel, one of the Empire’s foremost minds, adored the Azure Coast. Every summer, he spent his entire two-month vacation there. At times, especially in winter and fall, he lamented that he couldn’t move to a warm part of the country for good.

What kept him in the Metropolis was his own company, which built complex systems for factories and industrial plants. Anything that had to do with Ley-mechanics. Naturally, like Talis an Manish, Professor Convel had long since withdrawn from the company’s direct management. Instead, he served more as its public face and chief scientific adviser.

“Yes, Professor Convel. I’ve had a chance to get in a little practice with Ley-mechanics,” Ardan said, unable to muster much enthusiasm.

“Oh, Eternal Angels, Ard! What are you waiting for?! They’ve almost reached the city already! ”

“And that’s excellent!” Convel whispered, careful not to disturb the students already working on their papers. “And now…”

Ardan reached for the remaining exam cards on the lectern, but Convel quickly slid a folder over them.

“Oh, no, no, no, Ard. I did promise you’d receive special treatment from now on.” Convel winked. Making little effort to conceal what he was doing, he pulled open a drawer, took out one lone exam card, and set it on top of the folder. “Draw, Ard.”

Could Ardi have refused? Could he have said he preferred the cards Convel had hidden under the folder?

Of course.

Would there have been any point at all? For that matter, did Ardan himself even want to? Both questions had the same short answer: no.

“Of course, Professor.” Ardi felt excitement mounting in his chest as he took the card. He and Convel exchanged nods, then Ardi made his way up to the amphitheater’s back row.

His usual seat was waiting for him, as always. Far from everyone else, beside the window. Ardi unfastened his cloak, then pulled everything he needed from his bag. A few pencils, a mechanical sharpener, a stack of paper, and, for the clean copy of the calculations he would submit, a pen and a jar of ink. Plus, of course, several rulers and a compass. So while everyone else’s fingers were already tapping away on their arithmometers, Ardi sharpened his pencils and read what was written on the card:

“Problem: A manufacturing facility requires a device that can temporarily take over for a motor to keep a conveyor belt moving.

Additional requirements:

1. The device must begin operating automatically, without requiring operator involvement or manual activation of the safety modules.
2. The device must be isolated from the main system so that it will not be damaged during a system-wide shutdown.
3. The device must be able to send a signal when it has been activated.
4. The device must be installed in an easily accessible location for regular maintenance.

Clarification: Your task is to assemble a scaled-down version of this device.

Required result: The device must pass a quality assessment and be deemed fit for use in accordance with the requirements and criteria of the Mages’ Guild.”

Ardan looked from the exam card to the tables covered with components, then back to the card. A slow, wild, almost idiotic smile spread across his face.

Ardan was not being modest, and he was not exaggerating: the exam problem had him completely stumped. He didn’t even know where to begin.

Ardan took his father’s watch off his wrist and set it to one side so he could keep track of the time.

The puzzle in front of him was incredibly difficult: simple at first glance, but in fact quite intricate.

Sleeping Spirits.

He was so glad to be back in the capital.

To be home again…

Ardi licked the tip of his pencil, then began his calculations.