Alfie’s eyelids levered open like a pair of rusted shutters when he finally came to; the silver bubble of his consciousness floated upward from the sable river of insensibility.

The light filtering through the gauze hangings that covered the tall and unfamiliar window was blinding. It stabbed at his mind, UV needles lancing into the unsuspecting brain matter.

He tried to swear, but all that came out was an arid croak.

Suddenly, text rolled across his vision.

Quest Complete!

Spell Duel

Loser Quest Rewards:

100xp

50xp (Cabal)

Progress to Earth Fortifier Level 4: 115/1,000

Progress to Cabal Level 2: 100/2,000

“Well, that’s nice, I guess,” he said as he looked around.

A hospital room. That much was immediately obvious. The immaculate sheets, the quiet, and the lemon-scented sense of serenity was a dead giveaway. It was lacking in the general din, smell of blood, urine, and stale beer, and air of barely contained chaos that had been the hallmarks of the brief stay he’d had in the ER of London’s Royal Free Hospital NHS, but he wasn’t going to hold that against it.

He was laid out like a corpse on a bed—on his back, toes sticking skywards, arms to his side. The bed was firm and unfamiliar under him, the sheets unreasonably rough against his skin, and the smell of antiseptic and magic hung heavy in the air.

And he ached. Every single inch of him ached. His fingernails throbbed. His forehead pounded. Even his hair felt like it was silently reprimanding for letting his body take such abuse.

As his mind slowly cleared, memories of the supernatural beating that had left him unconscious surfaced. He tried not to think about the feeling of helplessness. It had been a terrible experience. An exhibition showcasing just how weak he really was in the grand scheme.

Better to concentrate on how his body ached all over. Better to focus on the dull, relentless pain that seemed to radiate from every inch of his skin. Every breath was a struggle—a sandpaper agony that left him wincing with each inhalation.

But even through the pain, there was a sense of having learned something. Alfie’s naturally indomitable spirit wouldn’t allow him to ignore the seed that Grant had planted in his breast.

Unknowingly, Grant had given Alfie the type of encouraging kick up the ass that Alfie couldn’t have given himself.

That’s the thing about kicks up the ass of the encouraging variety—or any variety—they’re hard to administer yourself, he thought muzzily.

From his prone position, Alfie could see the ceiling was decorated with strange symbols and runes, which had been carved and cut into the molding that joined walls to ceiling.

Wards in the ward? he thought, his brain sluggish and stupid.

Much of the equipment that would have adorned a mundane hospital ward, all the machines that went beep-beep-beep if you had the good fortune to still be alive, were absent. The few pieces of equipment he could see through his hazy vision looked almost archaic and made of materials he had never seen before.

The thaumaclinicians, when they materialized out of the ether, were of the dwarf persuasion. The beards were evidence of that.

And yet they’re looking down on me…

This told him his bed must be sitting about knee-high from the ground for a human.

They were dressed not in robes, which, Alfie had to admit would always be flopping into open wounds or accidentally mopping up pus, but in practical white scrubs adorned with suns and moons, and their movements were accompanied by the gentle muttering of incantations as they passed instruments over him.

The air was thick with the smell of herbs and potions, rather than harsh disinfectants.

“Water, please,” he managed to croak.

Lo, a beaker of water, complete with straw, floated—actually levitated—toward his lips.

So cool, he thought.

For someone who had almost drowned in mid-air, he was amazed at how thirsty he was. He gulped greedily.

“Mr. Turner?”

Alfie turned his head a fraction to the right, leaving the water bottle floating in the air. It was an effort just to do that. A dwarf thaumaclinician was standing next to him. She was running a bright blue eye over him appraisingly. She had a soft, lilting accent that spoke of forests and mountains. It was soothing.

“The one and only.” Even after his drink, his voice still sounded like it had been dragged over concrete by its hair. He tried a smile but gave up halfway.

“How’re you feeling?” the thaumaclinician asked.

“Oh, you know, my ego’s a little bruised.”

“Excellent. I’d hate for there to be a part of you that wasn’t.”

“How do I look?”

The dwarf cocked her head to the side and frowned slightly. “Would you like me to lie to you?”

“Sure.”

“You look great.”

Alfie chuckled and then groaned.

“Looks aside, I’m glad to say that there was no permanent harm done.”

“Well, that’s something,” Alfie said. “Will I be able to get back to studying pretty soon? We only just started and—”

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“And you have a score to settle?” the thaumaclinician asked sharply.

Alfie almost denied this automatically, but then he thought about it.

“No,” he said. “No. I just want to get back to it so that next time things might be different.”

The dwarf’s thick eyebrows raised up into the thatch of blonde hair that was only barely contained by a cloth cap. “Not the answer I would have expected from a human male of your years.”

“Notoriously immature, are we?”

“Oh goodness, yes.”

Alfie smiled. “How long will I be in here for? I feel like I’ve been scrubbed raw with the mother of all steel pads.”

“Yes, there were extensive abrasions to, well, to everywhere when you were brought in. However, we were able to administer copious amounts of fern flower ointment. Coupled with, if I may say so, an astounding natural resilience that borders on the superhumanly pigheaded, you’ve bounced back well over the past eighteen hours.”

“I’ve been in here for eighteen hours?”

The dwarf nodded. “You should be up and about in a day or two. I know you’ll be eager to get back to the academy proper, as it were, but healing is important. Too many mages make the mistake of thinking they don’t have time to let their bodies or minds rejuvenate sufficiently. You must make time to get well.”

There was a dull groan from across the ward. The dwarf straightened up.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” she said. “Young Juma is having his kneecap reattached. A regrettable byproduct of the combat exhibition the other day. It’s a painful business. If you need anything, food or drink wise, there is a menu on your side table. Just speak what you’d like into it, and one of my sisters will be along shortly.”

“Thank you,” Alfie said, sinking back into his pillows. He had never realized just how exhausting conversation could be.

The thaumaclinician nodded and left. As she hurried away, she waved her hand, and Alfie’s bed floated up so that he was at a height normal for human visitors. By the time the bed had drifted to a stop, he was already asleep.

* * *

Later that evening, after a hearty meal of smoked trout, buttered potatoes, and asparagus roasted in a balsamic glaze, Schoolman Winterbrow came to visit Alfie in the infirmary.

“I wanted to come and apologize for not stopping the altercation sooner,” he said without preamble, standing beside the bed with his hands behind his back. “When it became clear that you didn’t have a handle on your powers… Well, Charles Grant coming from the family he does, I was aware that he might have undergone some private tuition.”

“It’s no big deal,” Alfie said.

When Winterbrow gave him an old-fashioned look, Alfie snorted. He had managed to haul himself up into a sitting position to eat his meal. It had been painful, but he found that, along with slathering the worst of his cuts and grazes in the tub of fern flower ointment, the more movement he put himself through, the better he was beginning to feel.

“Seriously, Schoolman Winterbrow, don’t worry about it,” he said. “If there is one particular thing I’ve learned in the past few days, it’s that this place doesn’t pull any punches. You didn’t want to sugarcoat the sort of confrontations that might occur between mages of different levels when you were running that exhibition on the practice pitch, and the same was true in our class. The world isn’t fair. The best you can do is try and make the unfairness of it work in your favor as much as you can. I get that.”

Winterbrow looked down at Alfie with his cold, scrutinizing eyes.

“I’m of a similar opinion,” he murmured, allowing himself a half-smile. “The only fair thing in this life is death, after all. It takes everyone, regardless of whether they’re cruel or kind, sinful or virtuous, timid or bold.”

Alfie got the feeling the man had more to say. He stayed silent and waited.

“With that in mind,” Winterbrow said, “I’m not sure how much you know of Charles Grant’s family heritage…?”

“I haven’t given the wan—the guy the satisfaction of asking him,” Alfie said. “By the way my friend Howie reacted to the name when he found out, though, I guess he’s from some bunch of stuck-up hotshot aristocrats who rhyme the word ‘yes’ with the word ‘arse’.”

This time, Winterbrow had to turn to the window to hide his smile.

“Well, yes. I wouldn’t have put it quite so inelegantly as that, but you have the crux of it. When it comes to dealing with people of that kind, the Aetherbright Academy is, I’m afraid to say it, like any other prestigious school in the country.”

“Money talks, you mean?”

“It doesn’t so much talk as command, I find.”

“I’m from London. I know that one, too, don’t you worry.”

“In a nutshell, I admired the pluck you showed just getting up and facing the unknown in my lesson, Turner,” Winterbrow said, lowering his voice. “I wanted to tell you, as a reward of sorts, that Grant is from a very prominent, very rich, very old family who pull a lot of strings in the magical community.”

“And splash a lot of moolah around,” Alfie added.

Lowering his voice even further, Winterbrow said, “It is well known that they have some of the members of the Convocation, the board that helps run this academy, in their pockets. My hands are tied somewhat as far as Grant goes.”

“Well, I appreciate the honesty, sir. And you coming to see me. But, let’s face it, I got what was coming to me, really.”

Winterbrow actually let out a small laugh at this appraisal. It was a strange sound to come out of so composed a face.

“I must admit that, in truth, the whole point of the exercise was to see who knew what and the temperament of those who had more of a handle on their magical skills, as well as those that did not.”

“Exactly,” Alfie said. “Lesson learned all around, I’d say.”

* * *

When Alfie got out of the infirmary a full day later, his fellow cabal members were there to pick him up. This turned out to be good in more ways than one as Alfie’s clothes had been completely destroyed by Grant’s spell, and they had brought him fresh attire from his room.

While Alfie pulled on the slim-fitting black trousers and cinched the brown leather belt behind a privacy screen, Will asked him in specific and blunt Will fashion whether he wanted vengeance on Charles Grant.

Alfie thought about this as he pulled the white, collarless shirt on and buttoned it.

“Nah,” he said after a moment.

“What? Really?” Will blurted.

“Really.”

“You don’t want to do anything?” Will persisted.

Behind the screen, Alfie smiled. “Why? Have you got some ideas, mate?”

“Nothing too bad. I was thinking of running a gag that I pulled on a guy that gave me hell during school. Gave me hell until I sorted him out, that is.”

Alfie finished buttoning his shirt and reached for the thigh-length black jacket that was almost like Provost Sharpe’s tweed morning coat in style. “And how did you sort him out, Mr. Savage?” he asked as he pulled the jacket on.

“Yes, Mr. Savage, what did you do?” Teo asked.

“We went away on one of those school camps, you know, down to Cornwall to do rock climbing and all that other sort of stuff. Anyway, this big old bellend who made my life a misery was in my dorm, yeah? Thinking that he was a bit of a swank, right, we took this cheap bottle of aftershave that he was always covering himself with and filled it with wee.”

Alfie, adjusting his coat, heard Howie let out a little moan of disgust.

“Yeah, not a bad move, eh?” Will said. “Then we took said bottle and sprayed his pillow, mattress, and wall locker with it. Anyway, we all get back from that afternoon’s activities, and this pain in the neck smells the urine and immediately grabs his bottle of aftershave and douses everything, including himself with it.”

Alfie heard Will laughing in a reminiscent fashion. “Ah, suck on that, Gary Fowler. Suck. On. That.”

Alfie pulled back the privacy curtain and held up the tall, almost knee-high cavalry-style boots that he had been provided with. They were made of supple brown leather and were like nothing he had ever even contemplated putting on his feet.

“What are these?” he asked the three other young men.

“They were all that was in your wardrobe, Alfie,” Howie said.

“We were told in Thauma-Utilities that all mages who take themselves seriously wear ’em,” Will said defensively.

“Take themselves seriously?” Alfie repeated. “I’m going to look like I’m setting off to join the reenactment of the Charge the Light Brigade.”

“They’re actually pretty comfy,” Teo said.

Alfie looked down. He saw that the other three were all wearing the same style of boots as he held in his hand.

“Feels a bit weird at first, obviously,” Will said, “but you get used to ’em. And Schoolman Kappler said that it’s easy enough to wear your jeans or pants over them if you have to head out into the mundane world and don’t want to get any funny looks.”

Alfie shrugged with his eyebrows. “If you say so,” he said and started pulling the boots on. “Schoolman who?”

“Kappler. Lina Kappler,” Howie said. “She’s brilliant.”

“She calls a spade a spade, that’s for damn sure,” Will said.

“And a moron a moron, eh, Will?” Teo said, poking Will in the shoulder and grinning.

“How was I supposed to know that flint and tinder were used in making a fire? You know how many times I’ve had to spontaneously knock a fire up, living in the capital city of England? They sounded like the names of her dogs!”

Alfie laughed along with Howie and Teo as the four student mages walked out of the infirmary.

“Anyway,” Will said, trying to deflect attention away from himself, “you’re sure you don’t want to get a little bit of vengeance on Grant? He got you pretty good, Alfie.”

Alfie shook his head. “Not right now. I just want to get better. Thing is, I’ve got a feeling that we’re all going to learn far more from our failures here than we will from our victories. Grant’s done me a favor by decking me in front of the whole class. He couldn’t have motivated me more if he’d tried.”