Chapter 149: 149: Academy Life Starts VII
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A few other teachers spoke. A thin woman with ink on her fingers said something about the scribe halls and how not to ruin ink. A broad-shouldered man with gentle hands explained the gymnasiums, how to sign up for drills, and why you should not challenge a wall to a contest. A short, round proctor with a loud voice that sounded like it had been trained in markets told them where to find the lost-and-found (under the stairs where the stairs think you cannot see them), where to find soup (west side, smells like onions all day), and where not to kiss (everywhere, but especially not in the stair mouths because the stairs gossip).
Fizz took furious fake notes. "No kissing in stair mouths," he whispered to John. "Add to rule sheet."
Then the hall shifted without moving. The air seemed to sit up. Even the dust looked like it was trying to pay attention.
Headmaster Snake walked onto the stage.
His long robes made no sound. His hat cast a quiet shadow that seemed to know where to fall. His beard was white, but not like milk—white like winter light on stone. He did not lean. He did not need a cane. He did not need help. He carried a small stack of papers, but he did not look like a man who needs paper to say what he means.
Fizz, who had bravado for breakfast every day, went still. "Hat," he breathed. He recovered at once and became a statue of pure innocence.
Snake set the papers on the table, touched the top one with two fingers, and then looked up.
"Good morning," he said.
He did not speak loud. The room decided on its own to be quiet. Even Ray—wherever he was—could not have made noise here and gotten away with it.
"You have arrived," Snake said. "Some of you by letters, some by tests, some by luck, some by stubbornness, some by mistake that turned out not to be a mistake. I will tell you a thing you will not believe yet: your work begins today, but the part of you that brought you to this door began years ago. You have been building a table. We will put plates on it. Eat well."
He let them breathe. Then he went on, calm and sure.
"The academy exists to do four things. One: keep the peace by making power understand itself. Two: keep knowledge from drowning. Three: help the next set of fools become the next set of wise people without killing themselves or too many others along the way. Four: remind the kingdom that what it fears can be taught to sit down."
A faint, scattered laugh. He let it pass.
"Some plain news," he said. "Classes for first years begin in one week. Use this week. Walk everywhere you are allowed to walk. Sit in on one lecture that is not on your plan just to see if it belongs there anyway. Find a corner of the library with a book you did not think you’d like. Introduce yourself to a person whose coat tells a story different from yours. Fail at one small thing on purpose and learn how to fix it. It will make the first big fail feel less like the end of the world."
He lifted a paper, glanced at it, put it down again without needing it. "You will choose your classes," he said. "This week is for choices. There are a few you all must take. Basic Circles with Master Venn. Safety and Ground with Master Hale. Library Method with Ink-Hands Sade. Gym Drill with Arms Master Ren. If you are a contracted spirit pair, you must attend Contract Conduct on even days. If you throw fire without being told to, you must attend Even Breathing on odd days."
Fizz elbowed John’s shoulder gently. "Even Breathing class," he whispered. "For cabbage knights."
"Clubs exist," Snake continued. "Some are useful. Some are dangerous. Some are both. The dueling club requires a signed form and a warden’s eyes. The cooking club does not require fire in your hands to enter. The spirit study circle has rules; obey them; if you are a spirit, do not let them poke you. The dance hall is open after bells on third days; dancing is not required to live, but it helps."
He let his eyes move across the room and touch the benches softly, like a hand on a door on a winter morning.
"You will see people today," he said. "Some will look strong. Some will look weak. You will be wrong about both. Learn to be wrong quickly and kindly. You will see teachers. Some will look kind. Some will look scary. You will be wrong about both. Learn to be wrong without breaking your neck."
He made the faintest smile. It made the hat look more serious, somehow.
"One more thing," he said. "Names. They are heavy. Leave your house name on the coat hook when you come into class. Bring your given name and your work. If you have no house name, you bring nothing a coat hook can hold, and that is fine. We will give you enough nails to hang work on."
John felt something unbuckle inside his chest and then buckle again, straight. He kept his eyes down. He did not trust what his face might say.
Snake finished like a man who knows exactly how long a rope should be. "Welcome," he said again, softer than the first time. "It is a good day to begin failing correctly."
He stepped back. The room did not clap at once. It breathed once and then remembered itself and clapped like rain on a roof.
Fizz clapped with his paws over his head and then pretended he had not. "It was an adequate speech," he lied, eyes shiny.
John’s mouth had a small, stubborn smile on it that he did not try to hide.
Master Venn returned, gave three short announcements about where to collect maps, where to find the sign-up boards, and why you should not sign your enemy up for latrine duty as a joke. Then the proctors opened the side doors. Benches scraped. Students stood, turned, and flowed.
As they filed out, John kept his eyes open. He saw the hot and the cute, the proud and the shy, the girls who wore steel rings on their hands and the boys who wore ink like honor. He saw older students waiting in the side hall to stare at the new ones and feel old. He saw a boy with a carved wooden hand. He saw a girl who walked with a bad leg and a fierce chin. He saw a boy in a coat like Ray’s, eyes full of too much gold. He did not see Ray.
Fizz rode John’s shoulder like a captain on a tired ship. "We will need a plan," he said, very serious now for a moment. "A study plan. A snack plan. A ’do not make enemies before lunch’ plan."
"Good," John said.
"Also," Fizz added, whispering in the tone he used for secrets that were not secrets at all, "in two days you are eighteen. We must plan a party. The best party. A quiet party that is still the best."
"Do not break any rules," John said at once, automatic as breathing.
"I will not," Fizz said, hand to heart, eyes huge. Then he made a tiny face. "I think. Probably. Most likely. I will ask first. If we can leave for Bent Penny, we will do it safe and proper. If not, we will host a party in a teacup and call it art."
John glanced at him. "Who would you invite."
Fizz counted on his toes. "Penny. Pim. Maybe Elara if she promises not to throw you out a window for smiling. Sera if she is not busy being holy. Edda if she promises to bring bread and not bells. Also the cat from the shed roof. He is a gentleman."
John shook his head, but his eyes were warm. "We will see."
They stepped into the bright yard. The morning had ripened to a clean, good light. New names clustered around signboards, craning to read the small script. A boy tried to climb the back of a friend to see higher and was pulled down by a proctor with a finger and a look. The tree shadows were short now, like a promise that the day still had a lot to give.
A shout came from the far arch.
"Late!" a voice barked. The word cracked like a stick.
Ray stumbled under the arch, coat half buttoned, hair attempting victory and losing, eyes red and trying to look proud anyway. He saw the crowd, saw the empty stage, saw the last tails of Snake’s robe vanish through a side door, and his face did a complicated thing like a cat who thought the chair was there but it was not.