Seventeen Stones (12 page)

Mia
loved the History class.  It was so far away from memorizing the names and
dates of the principle people who founded the major villages that she felt like
weeping with relief.  The girls chatted about it all the way back to the dorm
for lunch.   Sarah joined them at the table for another exceptional meal.

“You
missed a fantastic History class!”  If Mia was secretly hoping that Sarah would
switch to their class her hope was immediately laid to rest.  “Professor
Tate?”  At Mia’s nod she grinned.  “I have her for Advanced Research. 
Brilliant isn’t she?”   

After
they ate, Mia and Sarah grabbed their bags and started toward Government.  Government
was in the same building as the History class, which would have been very
convenient, if they hadn’t had lunch in between the classes.  Unfortunately,
Government was as dry and bothersome as she’d expected History to be. 

The
teacher, Professor Wassermann, was a large carrot-topped man who also taught
the boy’s rowing team.  He introduced himself at the beginning of class, told them
to read the first chapter in the seven-hundred page doorstop that was posing as
a text book, and to do the questions at the end of the chapter.  Sarah caught
Mia’s eye while the Professor’s back was turned and mimed snoring.  Mia locked
her jaw so she wouldn’t giggle.  It wasn’t funny, really…she gave in and tried
to turn her sudden laugh into a cough.  It fooled only the unobservant
Professor.

She
was normally was a fast reader, but she found herself reading each sentence
over and over again while the meaning escaped her.  Irritated, she read the
questions in the back, and then returned to the chapter and plowed through on
sheer stubborn tenacity.  She finished the chapter well before the chimes, and
turned in her paper.  The professor grunted when she placed her work on his
desk, never looking up from some sort of wooden game he was playing.  It looked
completely ordinary, simply a series of levers one pressed to keep a small red
ball from falling in the hole at the bottom.  Mia pulled out one of the slim
volumes Professor Fain had loaned her.  Sarah was completely absorbed in her
own book until the chimes sounded.

Mia
waved goodbye to Sarah and walked to Magical Theory alone.  It was the only
class where she didn’t have a single dorm mate.  She got turned around inside
the building, and had to consult one of the talking directories.  The
directories were maps of the campus that morphed into a face when asked
directions.  Some of the older ones were a little grouchy.  “Well young lady,
you’re completely turned around all right.  You can always pick out the first
years.”  The map sighed gustily, though Mia wasn’t sure how…he was a flat map,
so he didn’t have lungs.  It must just be to illustrate how put-out he was with
her.  “You need to go up three flights of stairs and take a right.  The Magical
Theory class is three doors down on your left.  Next time try coming in the
Southwest entrance.”  She thanked it and quickly ran up the stairs to the
proper classroom, sliding into a chair seconds before the chimes sounded.  She
felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up, and knew that Martin Ainsley
was in the room.  As she went through her bag extracting pen and parchment, she
saw an expensive riding boot attached to the person in the seat behind her. 

The
professor limped into the room seconds after the chimes.  A long red scar
marred his face from chin to forehead; it was the first thing you noticed when you
saw him.  Other details registered as he limped in.  He was 5’8”, with a head
full of curly, dark brown hair.  His skin was the color of leather, with scars
on every visible surface.  His hands were especially bad, they were traced with
lines: from a nasty-looking puckered wound that was still pink, to old knots of
scar tissue that cris-crossed and bisected other lines.  Under the scars, he
still had vestiges of boyish good looks.  He walked with the aid of a highly
polished walking stick, and moved like every step was excruciating.  His suit
was obviously from one of the top tailors in the City, the fit was perfect.  His
charcoal-gray jacket and pants contrasted nicely with the striped canary yellow
waistcoat and matching silk tie (knotted just so) about his neck.

“I
assume that all of you have looked over the books I assigned for the course. 
Can anyone tell me why I chose three books when there are numerous course books
available with titles like
Magical Theory Revealed
and
Understanding
Magical Theory
?  Anyone?”  Mia was too busy listening to his accent to
really pay attention to his question.  It was the first time she’d ever
encountered the brogue native to the fishing villages north of the City.  The
rich accent reminded her of a cat purring.   

She
heard Martin Ainsley move behind her.  The professor nodded to him.  “Did you
want us to have a clearer picture of Theory than any single book provided?” 
The Professor nodded.  “Exactly Mr. Ainsley and exactly what your father said
when he took this course twenty-five years ago.  But you’ll find that I don’t
particularly care how you get the right answer, as long as you get it. 
Background research is as valid to me as independent thought, though you might
find independent thought more useful later on.”  He walked toward them with the
sound of the cane announcing every step.  Tap, shuffle, tap.  “I expect you in
my Mental Defense class next year.  Your mind is an open book to anyone with
the power to read a mind, and with a mind like yours I expect you’ll want to
cover that gap as soon as possible.” 

Mia
choked trying not to laugh, and it quickly turned into a real cough.  She looked
up at the Professor.  He was suddenly staring at her.  “Did you find my
comments amusing?”  She hung her head wretchedly.  Martin was glaring at her
from his seat behind her, and she resolved to move as quickly as possible. 

The
professor didn’t seem annoyed but he did continue staring at her until she
looked up again.  “Now your mind is as tight as a drum.  Have you studied
mental defense?”  Mia shook her head, wondering if she’d insulted the professor
in the first five minutes of class.  She realized he was going to make her say
something.  “I’m Mia” she said in a very small voice.  The professor nodded. 
“And I am Professor James T. Patrick, Magical Theory, Mental Defense, and
Magical Combat.” 

He
limped back to his desk and sat down.  “Before I digressed, and I do that a lot
so all of you should get used to it: before I digressed, Mr. Ainsley correctly
answered my query about why this course will use three books instead of a
single volume.  These books are very special, very special indeed.”  He patted
a stack of books on his desk affectionately.  “You see, all of them were
written by Belinda Morrow, also known as the mother of modern magical theory. 
Do any of you know who she was?” 

Half
the class raised their hands.  One of the older girls in the class answered
“Didn’t she marry Roger H. Morrow, the famous composer?”  The Professor
nodded.  Another hand went up “She was Magus about three hundred years ago.”  A
boy glared at the speaker.  “She was the only other Head
mistress
the
college ever had.”  The professor stilled the impending argument with a
glance.  “Correct.  Belinda Morrow was indeed the first Headmistress of the
college, and followed her brilliant teaching career with a stint as a council
member and Magus.  She had a much publicized marriage to Roger Morrow, arguably
the greatest composer in City history.  The papers in her time spent more time
reporting about her marriage than they did her decisions as headmistress.”  He
picked up the first leather bound book on his desk. 

“At
fifteen, she wrote the first book in our syllabus,
The Art of Magic
. 
You’ll find the book speaks in a direct way about the possibilities inherent to
wanded magic.  A period of invention followed the release of this book which
created a renaissance in the way many things were done here in the City. 
You’ll cover the repercussions in History.”  He sat the first book down and
picked up the second.    “At twenty-four, while she was in the country awaiting
the birth of her second child, she wrote
The Meaning of Magic
.  It’s a
more ‘down to business’ book building on some of her early work in Art.  During
the next hundred years, give or take, she was too busy to publish another book,
but after her retirement as Magus, she did publish her last and perhaps
greatest work, the
Treatise on the Application and Theory of Magic
.” 

He
picked up the third book and put it down quickly, sadly, and shook his head.  “She
died twenty years later, after destroying all of her journals and notes.  No
one knows why she would have denied the world a last glimpse into her mind. 
Many of us believe that she felt that people were too interested by her
personal life: her famous marriage, her two son’s various magical antics in
their youth, followed by long and brilliant careers of their own.  Some feel
she might have worried that people would take a random phrase that she had
written in pique at some point and turned it into an ideology.  At least that’s
one theory.  Others think she just went stark raving mad when her husband
died.”  He shrugged his shoulders.  “Regardless, she did leave us these three master
works.  If you will open the first book to page six, we’ll skip the
introduction and get straight to the meat of the thing…”

Mia
took notes until her hand cramped.  She never knew when the professor’s off-handed
comments (he
did
digress with alarming regularity) would suddenly erupt
full blown into a valid point, so she wrote down everything.  She was writing
so fast, she didn’t realize at first when the chimes rang, until Martin brushed
her arm on his way out, causing an ugly black line across her notes.  Professor
Patrick limped over, took out his wand, and removed the line.  “I’ll see you
next class Miss Rusticov.”  He limped out of the class with a large stack of
books levitating behind him.

It
was a shame to hurry through a meal at the dorm, but Mia did hurry.  She had
homework in both History and Magical Theory and Astronomy was at eight
o’clock.  Mia managed to read the chapters assigned by Professor Patrick before
Lizzy popped her head in to tell her the rest were leaving.  Mia grabbed her
cloak and bag and ran after them. 

Astronomy
was held at the old theater, which was perhaps the oldest part of campus.  This
was nothing like the graceful glass building that she took music in: the old theater
was literally a hole in the ground.  Stone seats started at ground level and
stepped down to a flat stone area with a raised dais on it.  A woman stood on
the dais, shrouded in a black cloak from neck to foot, obsidian hair wound
about her head like a crown.  Wisps of mist were floating here and there,
giving the entire scene an eerie feel.  Other students were already seated down
in the bowl.  Mia looked at the others, and Vivian plucked up her courage first
and started down the uneven stone steps.  The rest followed.

“I
am Professor Simms.”  She looked at the class intently before moving on. 
“Every semester some irritated child asks me why we study the stars if we can
do magic without them.  Every semester I tell them the same thing.  The stars,
if used correctly, are the most accurate timepiece in the world.  Our ships use
them to guide them when no other landmarks are available.  Greatlords and Ladies
use the stars as markers in their most complex protective spells, to give
perimeters on when they should begin or end a function.  That said, please pull
out your star maps.  Who can direct me to the north star?”

The
next morning the girls arrived in Botany.  Professor Cavendish quickly got the
class started on a project: he had a smallish apple tree in a pot in the middle
of the greenhouse.  The tree was covered in bright red crabs, which were waving
their claws at any attempt to pick them.  The class was supposed to figure out
why crossing an apple tree to a crabapple resulted in this magical mishap. 

Mia
asked the professor while they were walking “They didn’t try to graft the tree
with magic after using unicorn dung to fertilize it, did they?”  The professor
beamed.  “Actually, they used a type of fertilizer made from finely crushed
seashells and unicorn dung.  Doomed from the start; though I must admit the
crabs have an excellent flavor, very sweet.” 

They
went into Greenhouse two, and the professor said “Here we are, night-blooming
snake vines.  They grow on the edge of the Western desert.  Let me show you
what to do, it can be a bit tricky…”  And with speed that belied his age, the
Professor poked the vines with a long stick with one hand while holding a venom
jar in the other.  Six “heads” struck out in every direction.  The professor
deftly caught one and forced the “fangs” (two very long thorns), into the jar. 
“We use the sap in a lot of anti-venoms for the western area.  Now, I have a
cream on the shelf over there, Professor Ambrose whipped it up for me, rub a
bit on any scratches you get.  The plant’s not poisonous, but it itches dreadfully
if those thorns sink into you.”  Mia eyed the snake-vines with some concern; it
looked like it would
hurt
if those thorns sunk into you.

An
hour and a half later, Mia was dabbing three of the longest scratches with the
cream.  She was sweating, scratched and dirty, but she’d milked three quarts of
sap from the plants.  She’d also managed to avoid having the fangs sink into
her, though the last scratch on her forearm was six inches long and deeper than
she’d like. 

Professor
Cavendish was pleased with the sap, and quickly healed the scratches with a
flick of his wand.  “Thank you Mia.  That’s excellent work.  There never seems
to be enough time to tend the plants, teach, and gather all of the by-products
of my labors.  This term my third years are worse than useless; most of them
couldn’t tell a nut from a bulb.  I normally have a few that I can trust to
help.”  Mia blushed.

“Did
your guardian ever use snake vine sap in her curative potions?”  Mia shook her
head.  “No, but I’ve read that you can use it in place of Troll’s Foot
Mushrooms.  Living in Forestreach we used them in most of the anti-venoms. 
Unicorn grass will work in a pinch, but Emma made sure to add a little grated
lemon peel to it if she had to substitute…or lime juice if she was making the
anti-venom for spider bites.”  The professor nodded.  “I’ve never used limes
myself, I like a little lemon peel in all my anti-venoms…but of course you
can’t use lemon with most spider bites since their venom causes a severe
allergic reaction to the color yellow.” 

He
pulled a small leather bound book out of his pocket.  “I want you to read this
before next class; it’s one of the better collections of desert flora
available.  Not that’s perfect, mind you.  Since this is my personal copy, I’m
afraid you’ll notice that it’s been scribbled on a bit.  I couldn’t stand to
read some of the blatant nonsense that Horatio McLinnin passed off as
research.  You’ll be glad of those scribbles if you ever end up in the desert
area.  Two of the so-called ‘edible’ plants Horatio described are poisonous.”

Mia
rushed to catch up to her friends, only to find them waiting on her outside the
greenhouse.  They eagerly asked about her project, so she described milking the
snake vines.  “Better you than me” Vivian said with a slight smirk.  Then her
expression darkened.  “That Martin Ainsley is a nightmare to be around.  The second
you left with the professor, he started talking.  We had to tell him that we
already had enough fertilizer in the room, thank you, without him adding more.” 

Mia
looked at her friend in real alarm.  “You leave Martin Ainsley to me.  His
parents are wanded, so he could make trouble for you.”  Sarah lifted her chin. 
“I’ve said it before Mia, don’t worry about Ainsley.  My grandfather out-ranks
his, and so do Lizzy and Beth’s Grandmother.  He’s not related to a Greatlord
anywhere in his direct line.  Your mother was a Greatlady.  He’s outclassed.” 
Mia accepted Sarah’s certainty.  After all, she knew Martin better than the
rest of them, and her parents moved in those circles. 

The
six of them arrived in good time for Alchemy and Mia showed Professor Ambrose
the potion she intended to make: a tricky acne remedy from the northernmost
corner of the City bounds.  The professor rummaged around in the school stores
and found the frozen eel eyes and ice drake hair that Mia was missing, and Mia
turned her cauldron to the proper temperature and began. 

The
rest of the class was trying the rudimentary runny nose remedy again, this time
with explicit instruction from the Professor detailing where they went wrong
last time.  “Most of you didn’t sift the sage, the temperature of the distilled
water was too low or too high, and almost no one remembered to add the two drops
of gorgon oil.  Just because the recipe calls for a small amount of something,
it doesn’t mean you can skip the step entirely…there’s a reason why it’s there!” 

Meanwhile,
Mia was working on her potion.  Near the end of class she decanted the mixture and
took it to the professor.  “Let’s see.”  She did that complicated twist with
her wand as Mia awaited her judgment. “Well, it says in the book that the vapor
should be pale lavender, and this looks violet.  Did you chill the wintergreen
oil to the proper temperature?”  Mia checked the recipe.  “It says room
temperature.”  Professor Ambrose cocked an eyebrow at Mia.  “Yes, but in the
furthest reaches of the north, room temperature is in the low sixties.  Still,
this looks useable, which is a fine complement for your first try with such a
fiddly, temperamental brew.  I want you to make a room temperature conversion
chart for every area in the City bounds.  That way you’ll have that information
at your fingertips next time you need it.” 

Professor
Ambrose hummed to herself as she walked toward another student’s cauldron (which
was spewing sparks and making a noise like a wounded harpy).  Mia cleaned up
quickly, mildly concerned with the amount of homework she’d suddenly acquired.

Once
Professor Ambrose was satisfied with her potion making skills, Mia was
occasionally assigned other tasks that had little or nothing to do with
brewing. “Mia!  Thank goodness I have you today.”  The Professor was levitating
a large crate of bottles as the class meandered into the potions room.   “Can
you levitate these over to the infirmary?  I meant to take them this morning,
but I was running a bit late.”   Professor Ambrose had a live baby opossum in
her hair, so Mia didn’t doubt she’d had a rough morning.

“Can
you levitate them all by yourself dear?”   Mia smiled and nodded, while Vivian
looked disappointed.   She hadn’t had a chance to visit the infirmary yet as
far as Mia knew, and Vivian was as bad as a pixie for wanting to know every
nook and cranny of every place she went.   But Mia knew very well that she
didn’t actually need help with the box, so she set out alone to find the
infirmary.

In
point of fact, Mia had no idea where it might be located, but one of the
directories was willing to help her.  “Ah, good!  Hurry along now, down the
path to your right, and turn right again when it forks.   Second building you
come to, you can’t miss it.   They’ve been waiting on those potions all
morning!”  The directories were terrible gossips. 

Mia set out at a fast walk
and found herself at the infirmary within a few moments.   The bottles clinked
as she set them down in the busy entrance.  She tried to catch a passing third
year student as she rushed by, but the girl just shrugged her off and pointed
Mia toward an empty desk.  “Someone will be with you eventually.”  

So
Mia waited, and waited, and waited.  Eventually, her feet began to ache from
standing still in place for so long.  She flagged down the next person she
saw.  He looked to be an apprentice. 

“Excuse me…”

 “Whatever it is, it will
have to wait…”  She stamped her foot.   “I was told that you needed these
potions as quickly as possible.”

His eyes widened.  “Why
didn’t you say something sooner!  We’ve been waiting hours for those!” 

Mia
let out an exasperated sigh.  “I’ve been waiting nearly an hour right here.”  

He
didn’t even notice her tone.  “Sorry.  That happens when we have an influx like
this.  Seven of them are catatonic.”  He rummaged through the box.  “Run these
up to the third floor if you don’t mind…there’s supposed to be a couple of
wandless orderlies to do this sort of thing, but I’m sure they were pressed
into service first thing this morning.”  He handed her six bottles and pointed
to the stair.  “Up three floors and two doors to the right, and I’ll be
grateful.  Those might still do some good for the ones up there.”  He turned a
sorrowful face to his own rooms and picked up a dark amber bottle.   “There’s
not much left for us to do for these down here except ease their pain, if they
are feeling any.”   With that he turned and left her.

The
hallways and stairwell were unnaturally white…a stark, blinding sort of white
that seemed to produce light rather than merely reflect it.   She was ninety
percent sure that was an optical illusion, but short of taking the time to test
for spells on the paint, she couldn’t be certain. 

The
second room down the corridor was the same blinding white as the hall.  The
difference was that it was full of silent, still forms.  Face after face, two
rows of youngsters, absolutely unmoving.  She was staring when a sour-faced
woman stepped into the room.  “Hey there, you’ve no business coming here to
gawk while we’re too busy to stop you….”

Mia
held the bottles out in front of her to ward off the woman’s scowl.  “I was
told to bring these up here.”    The woman’s eyes softened.  “Ah, finally!”  
She didn’t waste any time, but immediately pulled needles out of a cabinet and
started injecting the youngsters with the contents of the blue bottle.   “I
assume you are Professor Ambrose’s student?”   Mia nodded as she watched. 
“We’ll need more of this if any of these are going to make it back to us with
their magic intact.  Run her the message, won’t you?”   Mia nodded and backed
out.  Then she turned and fled.  All those silent bodies…alive, but empty. 
She’d seen death a few times, but this was worse…just incalculably worse.  

She arrived at back at her
school room just as the chimes sounded.  She gave her professor the message,
and left.  She didn’t go to lunch.  For some reason, she felt rather ill.   She
went up to the dorm and washed her face, then grabbed a book and an apple out
of the basket on the edge of the dining room.  Outside, in the sunshine, she
finally managed to compose herself before she had to face her friends.  She
fobbed off Vivian’s questions with polite non-answers.  It seemed terribly rude
to gossip about those poor people in the infirmary.      

***

Mia
soon had enough homework that she seriously started wondering if there was a
spell to slow down time.  If there was, it would probably turn your skin
paisley or something as a side effect.  Otherwise everyone would use it. 

Two weeks into term she wrote
Emma.

     Dear Emma,

How
are you?  How is everyone in Forestreach?  I was sorry to hear that        wolves
managed to get one of Bob Hollingsworth’s ewes, but glad to hear that no one
was hurt.  If Annabeth Trull hasn’t gotten over her cough before you get this,
see if she’s pouring the medicine out of her window at night.  She did that
with the Wart Remover last spring.  She’s seven years old now, old enough to
know better than that.   I warned her that if she did it again I would tell you. 
  

Class
is going well; Beth is trying to help me with my piano, though sometimes I
wonder how she can have so much patience with me.  I’m beginning to think my
fingers are messing up on purpose just to thwart me.  Professor Petrov thinks
so to: she threatened to turn me into a moose during the last class when I made
six mistakes doing scales.  She said I make noises on the piano that sound like
a moose call anyway so it won’t be much of a change.  But the more she glares
the harder it is to do it right.  I already know what you’ll say, more
practice. 

I’ve
been doing very well in Botany and Alchemy, but then, I had a great teacher. 
Professor Cavendish says he needs to order three bags of sagewort and a pound
of powdered unicorn mint.  He also said that he’d like to get a few live
unicorn mint plants if you think they’d travel well enough during the fall.