On Sunday I went back to the bakery, doing an honest day’s work. Along with my sixpence from Saturday, I was up to a shilling, a penny, and a halfpenny (or thirteen-point-five pence). Lottie was kind enough to meet me in town and walk me to the store in the morning, so I didn’t have to worry about getting lost, and she walked me back after. I treated Gwen to cake for that, Pete letting me buy a slice for a halfpenny. That put me at a shilling and a penny.

Now it’s Monday morning break after having passed the morning remembering my busy day yesterday. I didn’t think standing around for most of the day would be so tiring, but I barely made it back to my room after dinner. At least I’ve already done my homework due today.

A form was handed out at morning registration for those who want to take magic classes. Although the classes only properly start in two weeks, they’ll be running until then so you can go in and check your talent and stuff. I say classes, but they’re more like clubs, I guess? They all run for an hour at the end of one of the weekdays. Well, metal magic is super unpopular and runs at the same time as earth magic class; fire and water magic also run at the same time since it’s rare for someone to be good at them both. That way, seven types of magic fit into five days.

I was thinking of trying them all again, but I’m already feeling lazy. Choices…. I guess fire magic classes won’t offer anything new, so water. Metal, earth—I guess earth might be nice for a bit of gardening? Air and light, well, I’ll see. Spirit magic class, I’m looking to ask the teacher to run a club, so I’ve got to make a good impression.

Checking the form, today is light magic. Maybe I should just… no, I’ll have a look. But I could… no, I need to stop thinking like this. I mean, it’s not like I’ll do anything interesting if I don’t go.

With such an exciting class to look forward to, I make it through the afternoon without falling asleep more than twice. (Luckily, I don’t snore, or rather no one makes fun of me for it so I assume I don’t.) As always, I wait for most of the rush to be over before I get up and leave the room, walking to the room listed on the sheet.

I said before, my class is Rose in the junior year, or Junior Rose. That is also what the room is called. With such a naming scheme, it can be fun to go up the stairs, come out in the middle of a corridor, and then go right when you’re supposed to go left.

Not that I did such a thing.

I mean, I always go left when given the choice.

On the right side of the corridor, I found the Senior Tulip classroom with its door ajar. A handful of girls are already here—three small groups, keeping to themselves—and a few boys who are spread out and looking at nothing in particular. There’s a teacher as well, a middle-aged woman. If I remember the introductions at the start of the year, she’s Ms Derby, and she teaches philosophy (to the seniors).

I find a seat towards the back. If this goes anything like at my last school, it will be quite bright at the front. In the next few minutes, only a couple more girls come in. Ladies. Ah, I’m still not sure what to call us.

Ms Derby closes the door and the people standing sit down. She then stands at the front of the classroom, her hands looking like they’re holding an invisible football and—I close my eyes.

“Leig a-mach solas,” she chants, the words echoing around the room, an almost ethereal air to her tone as if the world itself resonates with her thoughts, bringing forth such melodic sounds.

And an intense light shines, the other students, so fixated on her, gasping aloud in surprise and wonder.

Or something. I mean, she actually just said those words in a kind of choir voice, and the light was bright, but she can’t go around blinding children as she wishes. An “open the heavy curtains and there’s the sun” brightness.

From there, she just has us recite the chant a few times, appearing stern yet clapping happily when some of us start to get the hang of it. I hold off at first, joining in when half the others get it so I don’t stand out. I guess everyone who has learned some light magic before is either going to sign up without coming to this test class, or they know there’s nothing new to learn. It’s probably the latter. I mean, I’m really only here to pass the time.

Though I say that, someone does get my attention: a guy with a strong talent. I can’t help but notice the bright light. Literally. Ms Derby can’t either, abandoning everyone else as she tries to convince him to join the class.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Well, better him than me.

She eventually drags herself back to the front and talks a bit about the lessons. I feel sorry for her, light magic really the hardest thing to make interesting. From what she says, I won’t be coming back, making a light all light magic can do. Different colours are great and all, but I’m not so clever that I could, like, come up with a way to make a movie theatre projector or something.

Next is Tuesday. There’s a heart-pounding moment when I remember I didn’t do the history homework, but then most of the class hasn’t, so Mr Willand extends it until our next lesson on Thursday.

After school is the fire / water magic class. Since I decided on water magic, I head to the back of the school. I guess they don’t want us ruining a regular classroom. This room kind of reminds me of a swimming pool, the floor concrete, walls neatly covered in small tiles. There’s a trough at one end and a tap to fill it. Twenty odd chairs are set out, but no desks.

Most of those chairs are filled by the time the teacher comes, Ms Rowhook. It seems she has a few tricks planned out. Carrying a teapot and cup, she sets them down on a windowsill and uses magic to pull a stream of tea out into the cup.

Not that she’d ever let us do that, you know, pampered children and boiling water.

Then she shows off how she can move a big splodge of water, how she can dry a cloth by pulling the water out of it, and even freeze a saucer of water. That’s impressive, requiring a good amount of talent. (It’s a lot easier to heat water than cool it, so I mean it when I say that it’s impressive.)

My own talent hasn’t improved since I last tried, barely able to lift a tablespoon of water. Well, two tablespoons? I haven’t exactly measured…. Still, some can’t do it at all, and she tells me I’m welcome to attend the classes.

I guess I will, maybe learning something from her.

Wednesday is air magic class. This is held indoors and enough students come to fill up the room, a latecomer forced to stand by himself at the back. Mr Horley puts on a bit of a show, but, at the end of the day, it’s just a bit of wind blowing about. I get the feeling it’s going to be a much emptier class next week.

However, I am a little surprised to find my talent is a little better? I use an air-fire magic to “blow-dry” my hair, but it’s always been weak on the blow before….

Anyway, Thursday puts metal and earth magic against each other, and I already decided on earth magic. The class is set in a single-room building to the back and side of the main building (the opposite side to the library building) and is otherwise the same as a classroom; it is also beside a pair of greenhouses and a flower garden.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the focus is on flowers rather than, say, wheat. Mr Churt has a vast knowledge of flowers for a man in these times.

Again perhaps unsurprisingly, it’s nearly entirely ladies here. It would be entirely, but a single guy has turned up. I say guy, but he has a rather small stature, shorter than some of the ladies, and his blond hair curls. Some might say he has a feminine appearance because of that, but it somewhat reminds me of Joshua, making me see him as more of a baby brother. Though I know he’s sixteen, I can’t help but think of him as twelve or so.

And he reminds me of a certain “sneezy prince”. Julian Hastings. He is the first son of the count of Hastings, a town on the verge of becoming a Crown City and so his family soon to be rather rich when the crown has to buy the land off of them.

However, his charm (in the story) is his gentle and delicate nature, and the kind of gap between his usual composure and his dramatic sneezes—mild hay fever compounded by smelling flowers.

With my plan for the princes still not entirely… well, I’ve maybe forgotten to think about it more after my busy weekend. I leave him to be the subject of the other ladies’ gazes for now.

The lesson itself is interesting. Ms Oare wasn’t good with earth magic and the books she gave me talked about it for farming; in that case it’s mostly weeding and, for really talented people, mixing the soil? It was boring, so I didn’t read much. However, Mr Churt is talking about potted plants. With only a bit of soil, there’s more things magic can do—or rather, more things the faeries can do. They seem to love plants, so you can sort of ask them to make the soil right for the plant. Like, it’s a bit of a ritual, dumping a bunch of stuff on top of the seed or around the stem, and then the faeries mix in what the plant needs and push away what they don’t. Stones, or fertiliser, even getting the right dampness.

Ah, despite my little talent, I’m looking forward to the classes! There might not be dogs, but a rose or daffodil is almost the same, right? Something happy to see me in the morning, feed it everyday….

Okay, I might be a bit too lonely.

Friday is the long-awaited spirit magic class. Not so much for the class, but the teacher. Ms Berks. Nearly no one else is here, just me and a group of four ladies. I guess fire and metal magic are the guy-heavy classes.

Anyway, Ms Berks seems nice. She has a very delicate appearance, one of the younger teachers and there’s small frills on her clothing, the pale red a rather soft colour almost pink. However, out her mouth comes words like a certain governess, sharp and without a smile.

“Now then, ladies, which of you has as much as touched a needle before?”

One of the other ladies raises her hand, as do I.

“Wonderful,” Ms Berks says—to herself, turning her head away along with a sigh through her nose. “Well, it is not necessary to sew for this class, yet you will find the lessons quite dull if all you plan to do is read whatever book takes my fancy. More than that, I would rather none of you signed up and I took this hour off.”

I like her.

“With that out of the way, if you wish to take your leave now, I will make no note.”

The members of the group look at each other, their eyes settling on the “leader”. She eventually (her neck and cheeks flushed) stands up and shuffles out the room without meeting the teacher’s gaze, the others following behind her.

They need not have worried, that gaze on me the moment they decided to leave.

I may have bitten off more than I can chew.