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“Why are the windows barred?” said Esk.
Simon swallowed. “Um, b-because b-books of m-magic aren't like other b-books, they lead a -”
“That's enough,” snapped Treatle. He looked down at Esk as if he had just noticed her, and frowned.
“Why are you here?”
“You invited me in,” said Esk.
“Me? Oh, yes. Of course. Sorry, mind wandering. The young lady who wants to be a wizard. Let us see, shall we?”
He led the way up a broad flight of steps to an impressive pair of doors. At least, they were designed to be impressive. The designer had invested deeply in heavy locks, curly hinges, brass studs and an intricately-carved archway to make it absolutely clear to anyone entering that they were not very important people at all.
He was a wizard. He had forgotten the doorknocker.
Treatle rapped on the door with his staff. It hesitated for a while, and then slowly slid back its bolts and swung open.
The hall was full of wizards and boys. And boys' parents.
There are two ways of getting into Unseen University (in fact there are three, but at this time wizards hadn't realised it.
The first is to achieve some great work of magic, such as the recovery of an ancient and powerful relic or the invention of a totally new spell, but in these times it was seldom done. In the past there had been great wizards capable of forming whole new spells from the chaotic raw magic of the world, wizards from whom as it were all the spells of wizardry had flowed, but those days had gone; there were no more sourcerers.
So the more typical method was to be sponsored by a senior and respected wizard, after a suitable period of apprenticeship.
Competition was stiff for a University place and the honour and privileges an Unseen degree could bring. Many of the boys milling around the hall, and launching minor spells at each other, would fail and have to spend their lives as lowly magicians, mere magical technologists with defiant beards and leather patches on their elbows who congregated in small jealous groups at parties.
Not for them the coveted pointy hat with optional astrological symbols, or the impressive robes, or the staff of authority. But at least they could look down on conjurers, who tended to be jolly and fat and inclined to drop their aitches and drink beer and go around with sad thin women in spangly tights and really infuriate magicians by not realising how lowly they were and kept telling them jokes. Lowliest of all - apart from witches, of course - were thaumaturgists, who never got any schooling at all. A thaumaturgist could just about be trusted to wash out an alembic. Many spells required things like mould from a corpse dead of crushing, or the semen of a living tiger, or the root of a plant that gave an ultrasonic scream when it was uprooted. Who was sent to get them? Right.
It is a common error to refer to the lower magical ranks as hedge wizards. In fact hedge wizardry is a very honoured and specialised form of magic that attracts silent, thoughtful men of the druidical persuasion and topiaric inclinations. If you invited a hedge wizard to a party he would spend half the evening talking to your potted plant. And he would spend the other half listening.
Esk noticed that there were some women in the hall, because even young wizards had mothers and sisters. Whole families had turned up to bid the favoured sons farewell. There was a considerable blowing of noses, wiping of tears and the clink of coins as proud fathers tucked a little spending money into their offspring's hands.
Very senior wizards were perambulating among the crowds, talking to the sponsoring wizards and examining the prospective students.
Several of them pushed through the throng to meet Treatle, moving like gold-trimmed galleons under full sail. They bowed gravely to him and looked approvingly at Simon.
“This is young Simon, is it?” said the fattest of them, beaming at the boy. “We've heard great reports of you, young man. Eh? What?”
“Simon, bow to Archchancellor Cutangle, Archmage of the Wizards of the Silver Star,” said Treatle. Simon bowed apprehensively.
Cutangle looked at him benevolently. “We've heard great things about you, my boy,” he said. “All this mountain air must be good for the brain, eh?”
He laughed. The wizards around him laughed. Treatle laughed. Which Esk thought was rather funny, because there wasn't anything particularly amusing happening.
“I ddddon't know, ssss-”
“From what we hear it must be the only thing you don't know, lad!” said Cutangle, his jowls waggling. There was another carefully timed bout of laughter.
Cutangle patted Simon on the shoulder.
“This is the scholarship boy,” he said. “Quite astounding results, never seen better. Self-taught, too. Astonishing, what? Isn't that so, Treatle?”
“Superb, Archchancellor.”
Cutangle looked around at the watching wizards.
“Perhaps you could give us a sample,” he said. “A little demonstration, perhaps?”
