Alfie was feeling at ease after a brief interaction with the transit guards—a pair of mages with brightly colored robes—where he detailed the altercation with the elves. After taking down a brief report, the transit guards had carried on to the other carriages. The entire time during the conversation, Will had kept his head low. Alfie had been surprised that the guards didn’t seem to care all that much about the property damage or the fact that the potential first years had come within a fly’s fart of death. He guessed that magical mayhem was just part and parcel of this new world he found himself in.
After passing through the heart of the High Weald, a landscape of rolling hills and wooded valleys, characterized by a patchwork of small fields, ancient woodlands, and historic towns and villages, the wyrm slowed. Through the window, in the side of the carriage that had not been blown open, all Alfie could see was a wall of leaves.
On disembarking from the wyrm, the wall of green turned out to be a massively tall hedge, at least twenty-five feet high, which disappeared off into the distance on either side. In this verdant barrier, positioned right where the doors of the first year’s carriage opened, was a circular hole. This hole was identical to the arches found at the entrance to the underground stations. Above the arch, the words ‘AETHERBRIGHT ACADEMY’ had been clipped into the topiary. In front of this entrance stood a figure. A very short figure.
“Is that… Is that a dwarf?” Alfie asked Will out of the corner of his mouth. The figure certainly looked like a dwarf. He had a beard and everything. “Like, a real, honest-to-goodness dwarf?”
“They prefer ‘little folk’,” Will told him.
“Really?”
“Nah, not really,” Will said with a grin.
While the other students from farther up the wyrm disappeared through a secondary entrance in the hedge line, the three dozen or so first years gathered awkwardly in front of the stationary dwarf. While they waited to see what happened next, Alfie studied the little figure.
The dwarf was the epitome of stoic austerity. How he managed to pull this off in a plum-colored velvet suit with matching bowler hat, Alfie didn’t know. He was rotund, verging on the spherical, and his beard rested neatly on his gut. His carefully blank face—the little that Alfie could see through the mass of beard, eyebrows, and mustache—reminded him of the professional butlers of the British aristocracy that he’d seen on TV. He had his arms behind him and was gazing this way and that along the wyrm. When he seemed to be happy that all had disembarked who would be disembarking, he cleared his throat.
The hubbub of subdued chatter amongst the first years died down.
“Welcome to the Aetherbright Academy,” the dwarf said without preamble and in an accent that was almost as plummy as his clothes. “If you would follow me, ladies and gentlemen, I will conduct you to the manor.”
Without another word, the dwarf turned on his heel and strode into the entrance in the hedge. Coming along at the rear of the group, Alfie and Will followed.
The hedge was a lot thicker than Alfie had guessed. When they emerged from what was essentially a rustling green tunnel, it was to see a pristine lawn running away from them toward a gargantuan, and quite stunning, manor house that sat elegantly alongside a small lake. This lake fed an encircling moat, which Alfie presumed looped around the whole structure.
The Aetherbright Academy looked like many other classic English country estates—not that Alfie had extensive knowledge of such places. It was a grand, stately manor house surrounded by a decent spread of rolling hills, agricultural fields, and pockets and belts of dense forests. The manor itself was constructed of some variety of pale stone. Its massive, imposing, five-story walls were dotted with an array of tall windows, and its red clay tile roof seemed to glow in the sunshine.
Will let out a low whistle. “Not too shabby, is it?” he said to Alfie.
“This is the rear entrance to the Aetherbright estate,” the dwarf said, his rich voice carrying easily to Alfie at the back of the group. “The estate has a long, securely gated, tree-lined driveway that meanders in a rather lazy manner from the nearest B road. This gravel road leads up to the Academy itself, ending in a circular drive that has a fountain in the middle. The rear entrance is used when large numbers of our students are required to arrive or leave, as is the case when the start of term wyrm pulls in or departs. Otherwise, the main drive is used.”
They continued toward the main building. As they walked briskly across the grass, Alfie looked around at the park-like grounds. It really was extraordinarily pretty. Off to their right, he saw a series of long greenhouses with tasteful arcs of metal painted a gleaming white. As they adjusted their angle of approach slightly, Alfie also noted that behind the main academy building there appeared to be raised stands. He wondered at that but could make nothing else out.
“The grounds of the estate include, amongst other things,” the dwarf continued, “a variety of wild and tamed magical plants—”
“Did he just say tamed plants?” Alfie asked Will.
“—as well as a bigger more conventional veggie patch,” the dwarf carried on before Will could answer. “The lake that you can observe from here is used for practicing water magic by our conjurers and for swimming on more clement days.”
“Are you positive that there’s not anything you can recall about what happens next?” Alfie muttered in an aside to Will.
“Look, like I said, there’s not a whole lot that’s known about what goes on in ‘ere,” Will told him. “Very hush-hush, wink wink, nudge nudge sort of thing.”
Alfie swallowed. Now that they were actually here, he found that he felt just a couple of little butterflies zipping about in his belly.
Will glanced around at the other prospective first years surrounding them.
“I reckon I can tell you one thing though, mate,” he said. “And that’s that this lot is going to be whittled down something fierce.”
“Why’s that?” Alfie asked.
“Ain’t no way the Aetherbright Academy takes this many new recruits in each year. Otherwise battle mages would be thruppence a dozen.”
“Then what happens to all these people?”
“Fed to dragons?” Will suggested.
Alfie swallowed.
“Nah, just kidding,” Will said.
Alfie felt himself relax a little.
“Nah, I was just being silly. Do you know how much paperwork and how many permits you’d need to have a live dragon on the premises? Easier just to shoot anyone who doesn’t fancy signing up then wading through all that red tape.”
Alfie tried not to betray his fluctuating apprehension.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that, chum,” Will said. “After all, the magical government ain’t exactly just made up of elite trained warriors, is it? Nah, they need just as many folks who are happy to train in killing people with a pen as a battle mage might kill with a sword.”
The dwarf led them to a small, but solidly built stone bridge that leapt across the moat encircling the huge country estate. At one end of this bridge, they found Provost Cornelius Sharpe waiting for them. He was pacing along the low parapet of the bridge, his back to them, seemingly lost in thought. He was dressed in an immaculately tailored three-piece tweed suit, trousers tucked into brown leather cavalry boots, and a deerstalker cap.
With respect and tact, the dwarf porter cleared his throat. When Sharpe failed to turn around, instead starting to balance on one leg, the dwarf cleared his throat a little louder. When this attempt too failed to snare the provost’s attention, the dwarf said, “Sir?”
Sharpe, still standing on one leg, spun around slowly. For a moment, his face had the blank expression of one still tangled up in whatever knotty thoughts they had been ruminating over. Then, he beamed wildly, his strange hawk eyes gleaming as he ran his gaze over the collection of new students. His eyes alighted on every single face in front of him. His lips moved slightly as if was speedily counting. When he’d made this quick scan, one of his eyebrows quirked up in a slightly bemused manner, then he clapped his hands.
“Ah, welcome and well met to all of you,” he said, hopping agilely down from the parapet. He dusted off his suit and twisted his cuffs, took off his cap, ran a hand through his mane of silvery hair, and gave his mustache a peremptory groom with thumb and forefinger. Then he replaced his deerstalker and gestured at the building behind him. “And welcome to the Aetherbright Academy. Your new home away from home.”
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Alfie watched the moat moving sluggishly by, glittering in the afternoon light. He absent-mindedly noted that the moat would only be flowing at all if it was being fed or joined to another waterway like a river or stream. A standalone moat would have no flow. This meant there was likely some subterranean watercourse flowing through or under the grounds.
He peered up at the warm sandstone-colored building drinking the sun in. The sound of trees rustling in the light breeze filled his ears.
I’m sure there are worse places to study magic than this, he thought. And worse places to call a home away from home.
“Now, there much for you to learn about this place and what we do here,” Provost Sharpe said. “Some of you might have some idea as to the primary function of this academy—why it is that we teach, hone, and nurture the magic users we invite inside these walls.”
An almost inaudible snort of contempt came from Alfie’s left. He glanced over and saw one of the first years elbowing another guy standing next to him and exchanging a bored look with him. He was a broad-shouldered young man with an arrogant set to his handsome features. His auburn hair was cut short and divided by a neat side parting. He looked athletic, cocky, and entitled.
Alfie returned his attention back to Sharpe, who looked not to have heard the derisive expulsion of breath.
“Much of what we do here will be made clear in due time,” the head of the Academy said. “As I don’t doubt the sedulous Jollux here has warned you about the myriad magical plants we have here, so too must I caution you about the Academy building itself: do not take it for granted. Be always on your guard. Being always on your guard, always ready, is one of—if not the—key traits we wish to instill in our student body. To stop them from becoming student bodies.”
A few people, including Will, chuckled politely at this. Alfie smiled. Sharpe’s expression, on the other hand, did not alter. He was still smiling, but it was a wry one now.
“There are unknown aspects to this place that even I do not know of,” he said.
“How do you know there are unknown aspects of the place if you don’t know?” blurted one of the girls—the same girl who had been clutching the little eldritch tortoise, in fact. She clapped the hand that was not holding her pet to her mouth and went the color of a beetroot.
Sharpe smiled delightedly. “An excellent question! And don’t be embarrassed, my good woman, please. We run a tight ship here in many ways, but we are not the sort of stuffy educational outfit that castigates students for asking questions—as much as the Grand Prism might wish us to be,” he added.
Alfie looked at Will. His face was etched with excitement. Clearly, whatever he had been expecting the Academy, and Sharpe, to be like, it hadn’t been this. His expectations were obviously being exceeded. Alfie felt the same.
“It is my policy, and the policy of the schoolmen I hire, to judge a person by their questions rather than by their answers,” the provost said, sweeping the group with his amber gaze once more. “Now, before I run the risk of rambling on and keeping you standing here until the sun sets, let us get this perfunctory tour underway. Please, step forward so I might shake your hand and see your keys.”
Alfie and Will waited at the back of the group while the first years shuffled one by one to where Sharpe stood at the start of the bridge like some aristocratic guardian. The girl with the tortoise was the first to shake the provost by the hand, having shoved her way excitedly to the front of the group. She shook the proffered hand and then produced a small brass compass from where she had it hanging around her neck.
“Ah, yes, that seems to be in order, Miss Hookway,” Sharpe said. “Thank you. If you’d be so good as to wait at the end of the bridge for me.”
The line of new students moved forward. Alfie noticed that, as Sharpe shook each of the fresh students by the hand, they also showed him their key. No two keys were the same. Many of them, like the one belonging to the girl he had called Miss Hookway, weren’t even keys. They just appeared to be random objects or talismans that were imbued with magic.
While Alfie hung back with Will and waited for their turn, he couldn’t stop looking up in wonder at the beautiful building and around the grounds. It was, simply put, the most decadent and fancy building Alfie had been invited to set foot in. Looking over at Will, Alfie could tell that neither of them could believe that this place would be their home for the foreseeable future. To his surprise, there was an oddly wistful look on Will’s face.
“You all right?” Alfie asked quietly.
“Yeah,” Will said, frowning. “It’s just. Well, it’s pretty damn impressive, isn’t it. I just wish—”
“Mr. Turner, here you are,” Cornelius Sharpe said, acting as if he had only now seen Alfie. “You found your way to the Ignotus Markets then?”
“I did,” Alfie replied.
The two men shook hands.
“And how did you find them?” Sharpe asked.
Alfie glanced at Will over his shoulder and traded a grin with the blond man.
“Eye-opening to say the least,” he said.
Sharpe’s eyes twinkled as they flicked from Alfie to Will and back to Alfie.
“Did you purchase anything?” the provost asked.
“No, but I learned a few lessons,” Alfie said.
“Ah, knowledge: the best and most precious gift and resource of all.” Sharpe clapped his hands and adjusted his deerstalker. “Now, your key, please?”
Alfie produced the intricately worked brass key and held it up, dangling on its chain.
“Excellent. That’s all in order,” the provost said. “If you’ll kindly wait at the far end of the bridge?”
Alfie walked on ahead, trying his hardest not to bounce as he walked. He felt, for the first time in a long time, that this was really the start of something. Something that was substantial and meaningful, in a way that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. This buoyant move was quickly curtailed though as Cornelius Sharpe’s next words drew him up short.
“Good day to you, my young friend,” Sharpe said. “And who might you be?”
Alfie halted with a jerk and turned hurriedly around. The provost had greeted every other person by name. How was it that he didn’t know who Will was?
“Um, the name’s Will Savage, sir,” Will replied.
Even from a distance, Alfie could tell that Will, although he was looking directly at Sharpe and holding his gaze with his habitual chirpy cheerfulness, was unsure of himself.
“Savage… Savage…” Sharpe mused. “Hm, your name, robust though it is, must have slipped my mind. My apologies. Now, might I see your key?”
Alfie watched Will shift from foot to foot. There could be no doubt, the young thief was squirming internally.
“The thing is, guv, I lost it,” he said, trying for an apologetic smile that came out more as a grimace.
Sharpe said nothing. From behind, Alfie saw the long-limbed provost tilt his head to one side.
“That is to say…” Will said, with a light little laugh. “Well, me being such a scatterbrain and all, I’d most likely lose my key if, um…”
“If you had, in actual point of fact, been given one?” Sharpe asked. There was no rancor in the head of the Academy’s voice. On the contrary, Alfie thought he sounded faintly amused.
“Um, well, yeah, you could put it like that, guv—sir, I mean,” Will said.
Sharpe held up a hand. “Please, don’t let propriety or the inconvenient fact that your subterfuge has been rumbled alter your cheeky cockney lad routine. I’m rather enjoying it.”
Alfie took a few steps back down the bridge. He replayed the display Will had put on outside Down Street station, patting his pockets down.
He doesn’t have one. He never had a key.
Alfie found that the deception didn’t bother him half as much as the realization that his short-term friend wouldn’t be coming with him. He found, to his surprise, that he had come to enjoy the thief’s company. What was more, he felt that he could trust the guy. This was somewhat peculiar, as Will Savage was, on paper at least, one of the least trustworthy people Alfie had ever met.
While he wrestled with this logical conundrum, Alfie’s feet brought him back along the bridge.
“You don’t have a key?” Alfie asked, looking past Provost Sharpe. “You’re not supposed to be here?”
Will gave a little one-shouldered shrug, but before he could answer or explain, Cornelius Sharpe cut in.
“Ah, ah, ah, Master Savage might not have been invited, but that does not mean he is not meant to be here.”
Sharpe made a show of weighing Will up. While he cogitated, Alfie and Will exchanged looks.
“Sorry, I lied to you, mate,” Will said, “but when you said you had a key… Well, I’d always wanted to come here, you know. Somewhat of a dream you might say, stupid as it sounds. Dreams are bastard things,” he finished bitterly.
Refusing to be intimidated by the fact that they were standing in front of the head honcho of what was, admittedly, quite a formidable and weighty-looking educational edifice, Alfie addressed the provost.
“Come on, Provost Sharpe,” Alfie said. “Surely there’s room for one more. It’s not like you can’t turf him out if he does anything overly bad, but why not give him a shot? We had some trouble on the train and Will saved my ass—my bum. He’s a good guy. And learning how to fight for something bigger than yourself, as part of a team, surely there are worse dreams to have?”
Sharpe seemed to come out of whatever cloud bank of thought he had been flying through at these words. He chuckled softly to himself and shook his head.
“A dream? A dream is one of those things that, fifty years from this moment, you will regret not doing. That’s what regrets most often are—not the things we did, but those things we didn’t have the courage to do. If this uninvited sojourn out to the High Weald is about chasing a dream, young man, then I understand why you were willing to flout the unwritten rules of the Aetherbright Academy.”
“Doesn’t help me much now that you’ve rumbled me, does it?” Will said. “Speaking of which, I don’t want to make a barney of this, Mr. Sharpe. If you’ll just let me go back to the wyrm, I—”
“It was deemed by the Convocation, who are essentially the Academy’s board of trustees, that you did not possess the qualities that they look for in a potential student,” Sharpe said placidly, ignoring Will.
“But not what you look for in a student?” Alfie asked, picking up on the provost’s subtle choice of words.
Sharpe smiled, leaned his elbow on the stone railing of the bridge, and then made a little noise of surprise and looked down. When he took his elbow away, there was a simple silver signet ring lying on the stone.
“Well, well, would you look at that?” he said, picking up the ring. “A spare key. How convenient.”
He presented it to Will. Alfie, who was now standing next to his friend, saw that there were two straight vertical lines engraved into the face of the ring.
Will was clearly lost for words—something Alfie imagined did not often happen to him.
“These lines, they’re part of the Thieves’ Codex. They mean, ‘the sky’s the limit’,” Will managed to say, turning the ring over in his fingers.
“I wouldn’t know about that,” Provost Sharpe said, stroking his beard enigmatically. “But I’d best put it on if I were you. What with you being a scatterbrain and all,” he finished, his eyes twinkling more than ever as he quoted Will’s words back to him.
“You mean it?” Will croaked after a moment. “I’m really in?”
“Who am I to deny spirit?” Sharpe said airily. “Too often strong spirits have encountered ferocious opposition from second-rate minds. I have many deficits in my character, but I am glad to say a mediocre mind is not one of them. It is sound people who make sound places.”
Will slipped the ring onto his finger. Alfie punched him on the shoulder.
“Glad to have you along,” he said, meaning every word. Growing up and frequenting some of the rougher areas of London, Alfie knew the value of having someone watching your back.
Will grinned back at him and puffed out his cheeks.
“Now, gentlemen,” Sharpe said, motioning toward the other end of the bridge, “shall we?”