Chapter Text
“I still don’t understand why we couldn’t do it my way,” Policant groused.
“Well, let’s see.” Myrna began ticking off imaginary agenda items on her fingers. “First we peremptorily summon every magic user on the continent and drag them here kicking and screaming—”
“They would come. The enchantment requires it. We’ve already been over this.”
“Yes, and when they came they’d need lodging, refreshments, washing facilities—and don’t forget, some of them are dragons. And then we’d have to sit down and talk to each and every one of them, and try to figure out which ones to take. Consider the scheduling problems alone! And then whichever ones we ended up choosing, we’d shove into the classroom regardless of whether they wanted to be there —”
“It doesn’t matter whether they want to be here or not,” Policant said severely. “It is their duty as wizards. “
“If we’ve learned nothing else from our experience with Mr Chesney, we should at least have figured out that coercion leads to substandard wizardry,” Myrna said. “No one’s going to do their best work if we’re forcing them into it.” She met Policant’s eyes without flinching, and he looked away first.
“And what exactly is an ‘adjunct professor,' anyway?” he continued, in exactly the same tone. The change of subject nevertheless signaled to Myrna that she had won this round. She was careful not to let any satisfaction show in her face.
“I’ve explained that already. It’s someone who’s here on a part-time, temporary basis. Usually they have some other type of job as well, so they have practical experience to share. My husband tells me the bardic college has a lot of them. There’s one fellow who spends half the year teaching and the other half singing with mermaids.”
“It’s practical for us as well,” she continued, in the face of Policant's scowl. “Easy to bring them on quickly-–we’re going to need a lot, to, er, fill all the new openings, and to cover for me while I’m on maternity leave. Then we can keep them if we like, or let them go just as quickly if they don’t work out.”
“If they’re rubbish, you mean.”
Myrna was saved from having to formulate a reply by the arrival of Finn and Umberto, their arms full of scrolls. “More pigeons just arrived with another load of applications,” Umberto explained. “Have we missed anything?”
“Nothing of importance, only Myrna’s explanation of why we need to advertise the positions and form a hiring committee.” Policant pronounced ‘advertise’ and 'hiring committee’ as though they were unspeakable words in the forbidden tongue of the demonic realm.
“I’m all in favor of committees,” Finn said cheerfully, “so long as I don’t have to chair them.”
Myrna rolled her eyes. “Yes, what an astonishing coincidence that I’ve somehow ended up as chair.”
“Better a chair than a stool, eh?” Finn said with a chuckle.
Myrna privately thought this was not in the best of taste, considering what had happened to Wermacht. Still, there was no use getting sidetracked. So she merely smiled thinly and began dividing the applications into four piles.
“Here’s an interesting one,” she remarked some time later, holding up a letter. “Barbara the Bold. ‘Experience: pirate captain on the Inland Sea; outcompeted Olaf Gunnarsson in achieving treasure acquisition benchmarks. Skills: raising demons, persuasive rhetoric, accounting."
“We could use her in the bursary,” Policant said, gesturing for Myrna to hand him the scroll. “She’d be a vast improvement over Dench. Imagine the fundraising possibilities!”
“Why do we need more fundraising?” Finn asked. “Wasn’t your pedestal made of gold?”
“First rule of running a university: there is no such thing as too much funding,” said Policant. He filed the application in a folder marked “Development.”
Finn snorted at the next scroll he unrolled. “This one sounds as though they got the pigeon to write the cover letter as well as delivering it. Listen to this: ‘In addition to lending my talents to the expansion of young magical minds, I am eager to delve into the multifarious fascinating aspects of wizardry as they relate to today’s society. Moreover, the practical applications of fields such as biomagic should not be overlooked. As an example, Wizard Derk has recently developed a three-headed unicorn, which—’”
Umberto, who unfortunately had just taken a sip of coffee, gave a bark of laughter that devolved into a series of coughs and splutters. “Wouldn’t… wouldn’t that make it a tricorn?” he managed to wheeze eventually.
“Perhaps it’s still only got the one horn, and the three heads take turns wearing it,” Myrna suggested.
“‘… which is uniquely adapted to the frozen tundra in the Empire of the South,’” Finn continued. “Can’t be a pigeon after all–-they’d have a much better grasp of geography than that! And it goes on: ‘In my own research, I intend to delve into original ideas such as the application of astrology to schedules for toenail clipping, flavored dental floss for vampires, and the use of magical substrate memory to reconstruct lost items.’” Policant gave Finn a sudden sharp look at this, but he carried on reading the letter without seeming to notice. “Oh, and this is the best part: ‘I would be thrilled beyond words to join the faculty at [Name of University]. Sincerely, [Name of Applicant].’”
Myrna frowned. “You don’t want to share their name?”
“No, it literally says `[Name of Applicant],’ in brackets. No idea who it might be, even if we somehow wanted to hire them.”
“Whoever it is seems very fond of delving,” Umberto said. “Perhaps it’s a dwarf.”
“Or one of the fae–they’re notoriously secretive about names,” Myrna suggested.
“In any case, I think we can safely consign this one to the circular file,” Finn said, scrunching the letter into a ball and starting to aim a toss toward the rubbish bin.
Policant snatched the wad of paper out of his hand. “I’ll hold onto that for the moment, I think.”
Finn looked momentarily startled. Then he shrugged and unrolled another scroll. Policant smoothed out the crumpled application and tucked it away somewhere inside his robes.
For a while, there were no sounds in the room but the rustling of paper and the scratching of pens. Policant had three enchanted quills going at once, making notes on three separate applications. Myrna considered asking him for the spell, but thought better of it: it would be more fun to work it out for herself.
“Ha!” exclaimed Umberto suddenly. “How’s this for a letter of recommendation? It just says, ‘hire him.’”
“Succinct,” commented Policant. “I approve of that. Who wrote it?”
“I can’t make out the signature. Looks like it might begin with a D… not much for professional formatting, whoever it is. Look at these scorch marks along the side.”
“What are those holes in the corners?” Myrna asked. “They look almost like the talon holes I always see in Elda’s papers–-but much bigger.”
“Let me see that.” Policant reached across the table to grab the paper. He muttered something and snapped his fingers, then passed his hand over the scorched area. The letter emitted a purple glow. “Just as I thought: dragon fire.”
Umberto looked confused. “What does that mean?”
“It means we do what he says, obviously,” said Policant. “Hire him.”
It abruptly dawned on Myrna what the D in the signature must stand for. “You want us to hire Deucalion?”
“Not Deucalion. The wizard he wrote the recommendation for.”
***
“Blade! Hello!”
Blade turned and looked across the courtyard at the plinth where Policant’s statue no longer stood. Some months ago, a team of dragons had melted down the solid gold pedestal, formed it into bars, and carried it away for safekeeping at the bank in the city–taking an appropriate cut for themselves in payment, of course. This was top-quality gold, chock-full of essential vitamins for dragons. In place of the statue, they had lowered a stone block on which dwarf artisans had carved the words `The Year of the Griffin’ and a brief summary of the events surrounding Policant’s return. Blade wasn’t thinking about any of that just now, however, because the person who had called his name was standing beside the edge of the plinth.
Being rid of her jinx apparently suited Claudia very well indeed. Her posture was more confident and relaxed than he remembered. Her hair curled exuberantly around her head, moving independently of the breeze, and her green eyes were alight as she smiled and waved at him.
“Claudia! It’s good to see you again.” He held out his hand to shake, realizing too late that she was coming in for a hug. He quickly rearranged his arms, just as she was recalibrating into handshake position. They both laughed awkwardly and stood with their hands at their sides, a few feet apart.
“Elda said you got in last night, but she wasn’t sure we’d see you today,” Claudia said. “I’m sure they’ve given you a busy schedule.”
“Yes, I’ll have five courses this term. Dragonlore, naturally–-”
“I can’t imagine there’s anyone better qualified to teach that–-aside from Deucalion, I suppose, and he wouldn’t fit into the lecture hall.”
“No, and Kit says he hasn’t the patience for teaching, so they’re stuck with me, I’m afraid. Then there’s Basic Magic, Foundation Spellcasting, Herbal Studies, and Intro to Alchemy. They wanted me to do Demonology as well, but I refused that on principle. They’re desperately short of instructors for the first-year courses.”
“So you won’t be doing any of the second-year classes, then?”
“No, you and Elda and your crowd are lucky enough to escape being my students.”
“Oh, good,” said Claudia, with such obviously heartfelt relief that Blade wasn’t sure whether to laugh or take offense.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he said dryly.
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean that!” Was that dark greenish tinge her version of a blush? “I know you’re a good teacher; you explained things so well when we went to Mars. I just meant that I don’t like the idea of you up at the front of the classroom, being so formal with us. I’d rather think of us as… as friends.” A few tendrils of Claudia’s hair curled forward as if they might be trying to hide her face, but she pushed them back impatiently.
“Oh! Oh, yes.” Blade was uncomfortably aware that his own skin tone was much more conducive to displaying a blush than Claudia’s. “Me too. Friends. Definitely. Um… what classes are you taking, then?”
“I'm still deciding about my electives, but the ones I know for certain are Intermediate Magic with Bettony, Astrology 2 with Umberto, Alchemy 2 with Policant–-it’s a bit intimidating to be taking a class with him, when I’m used to thinking of him as a famous statue. Then Physical Foundations of Magic with Betula; I’m quite excited about that one. I’m actually on my way to the library so I can start reading ahead. But I hope I’ll see you around?”
“Absolutely! We should, ah, have lunch sometime.” Blade valiantly resisted the temptation to brush back several errant strands of Claudia’s hair, which had begun creeping over her face again. “Er… I suppose I’d better get to work on my lesson plans. Teaching is shaping up to be quite a lot of work, for all Deucalion always made it look so easy.”
“Well, he’s at least three hundred years old and capable of breathing fire,” Claudia pointed out.
“Whereas I’m twenty-three, and capable of having quite strong garlic breath if I put my mind to it.” Oh, brilliant; now that association will pop up in her head any time she might… Firmly, he squashed the thought back down into his subconscious.
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Claudia said. “Maybe not breathing fire, as such, but I know you can throw massive fire spells. I’ve seen it, when you got rid of those horrid griffins.”
“The fire was Kit’s,” said Blade. “I did the air blast underneath them. But I take your point. Although I hope it doesn’t come to that with the students–-not in the first week, at least.”
“Fingers crossed.” Claudia lifted both hands to illustrate. “Anyway, it’s good to know you like garlic; I’ll keep that in mind.” She gave him a dazzling smile before gathering up her things and turning to leave.