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By Root 481 0

of it, the sun itself isn’t even permitted to rise at dawn. The Sif-Hanar see to that. Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Your first order of business is to grant the housemagi their gifts of Life for the day. Then, after resting from that fatiguing chore, which takes you all of five minutes, you are occasionally requested to do the same for the Master or Mistress, should they have any important work to do, such as feeding the peacocks or changing the color of milady’s eyes to match her gown. Then, if they have children, you have to educate the little buggers in their catechism and give them sufficient Life so that they may tumble about the house, delighting their parents by wrecking the furniture. After that you may rest until evening when you will escort milord and milady to the Royal Palace, standing by in order to assist milord in creating his usual phantasms that leave the Emperor yawning or to grant Life to milady so that she may win at Swan’s Doom or tarok.”

“Are you serious?” asked Saryon, rather anxiously.

Looking at him, Dulchase burst out laughing and received a reproving glance from the serious-minded novitiate.

“My dear Saryon, how naive you are! Perhaps old Vanya is right. You do need to get out in the world. I’m exaggerating, but only slightly. Still, it’s an ideal life, especially as far as you’re concerned.”

“It is?”

“Of course. You have all the resources of magic at your fingertips. You can spend the afternoon in the Library at the University here in Merilon, which, by the way, has one of the finest collections in the world on the lost magic, containing some volumes not even available at the Font. Step onto the silver bridge and you’re there. Want to pursue some studies with the Guilds or show them your newest equation to cut the time in conjuring up a fainting couch? Step into milord’s carriage and have it take you to the Three Sisters. Perhaps you want to see for yourself how milord’s crops are doing. The Corridor whisks you to the fields where you can watch the little seeds sprout or whatever those poor wretches of Field Catalysts do. You’ll be set for life. Why, you could even marry.”

This was so obviously aimed at the novitiate that the girl tossed her head disapprovingly, but she could not refrain from casting another glance at the young Deacon.

“I think I might like it at that,” said Saryon after a moment’s reflection, “from an academic standpoint, of course,” he added hastily.

“Of course,” Dulchase replied dryly. “I say, my dear”—this to the novitiate—“you haven’t gotten us lost, have you? Or are you leading us into some remote part of the Cathedral to rob us?”

“Deacon!” murmured the novitiate, blushing up to the roots of her curly hair. “It—it’s down this corridor, the first room to your right.”

Turning, with a last, doe-eyed glance at Saryon, the girl almost ran down the hallway.

“Was that necessary?” muttered Saryon irritably, his eyes following the novitiate.

“Oh, lighten up, boy,” returned Dulchase crisply, rubbing his hands. “Lighten up. You’ll see what kind of life Merilon offers tonight. At last! We can escape this moldy old tomb! We’ll get this little twerp through his Tests, declare to the world that it has a Living Prince, and it’s time for us to mingle with the rich and the beautiful. You do know what you’re supposed to do, don’t you?”

“With the Tests?” Saryon asked, thinking for a moment Dulchase might have been referring to the rich and beautiful. “I hope so,” he answered with a sigh. “I’ve read the ritual until I can say it backwards. You’ve done this before, haven’t you?

“Hundreds of times, my boy, hundreds. You’re responsible for holding the kid, aren’t you? Most important thing to remember is to hold him with his little—mmmm … you know—pointing toward you, away from the Bishop. That way, if the little bastard urinates, it’s on you and not His Holiness.”

Fortunately for the shocked Saryon they had arrived outside the room now. Dulchase was forced to silence his cynical tongue and Saryon was spared responding to this last bit of advice that he had found just a bit too irreverent,