13. Sam Spirit Casting
Sam: Spirit Casting
It is possible to guard one’s thoughts from the uninvited gaze of a spirit thew, and no enchantment is required to do so.
One requires only deliberate focus on a neutral object or subject.
With practice, even the flightiest young person can train his thoughts on a distracting object of interest to avoid a thew’s scrutiny.
Of course, with today’s youth, who can say?
—Joaquín Rubio Villasenor, Encanto avanzado
It was clear to me that the words scored onto Quinn’s back were only a first warning.
Simeon, and the larger Society around him, would not stop at a few malicious scratches.
But Quinn behaved as if he could simply continue his studies as normal.
He didn’t ask Vera for help with the solution, as I’d expected him to.
Instead, he attempted to apply the liquid himself with the dropper, peering over his shoulder and looking into the mirror of his wardrobe.
He did a passable job. The solution didn’t heal the injuries instantly—thews are not especially skilled at healing bodies.
An enchanter, mired in the flesh, is generally more capable at mending cuts and purging disease.
But thews are able to work on the inner being of a person; that is their talent.
And so in this case the cuts began to heal from the inside out, looking less blighted, less livid within a day.
This, perhaps, inspired him with more confidence than it should have.
It was strange to me that Throckmorton’s thew had gone to such trouble for a mere student, but thews are unpredictable creatures.
Some are so rigidly disciplined by their enchanters that they are a mere appendage; others, less coerced by pressures to the shroud, are able to keep some semblance of their human will.
Throckmorton seemed a lenient figure; perhaps Livia felt some sympathy for the student assistant.
Whatever the reason, her assistance made it possible for Quinn to pay the warning less attention than he should have.
By the end of the week, he’d apparently made considerable progress with the Gleason manuscript.
He read and read for hours—all while wearing the helmet—and took meticulous notes.
He completed his work for his classes. He studied the abominable Introduction to Appraisal textbook.
He took no steps, that I could tell, to understand the nature of the threat against him.
And then on Friday, he attended Spirit Casting, and his circumstances changed irreversibly.
As usual, he arrived with a bouncing step, his good humor entirely undimmed.
The class took place in Pebbles, and as he stepped through the doorway, the chaos of the room checked his mood.
At least seventy students had arrived already, making it by far the most crowded class he had attended.
This should not have come as a surprise.
Spirit Casting is taught by the venerable Professor Selwyn Mead.
His spirit thew, an ancient one by the name of Cassandra, was said to be as lovely as she was powerful.
Everyone wanted to get into Spirit Casting with Mead, and Quinn had been lucky to secure a spot.
Getting a seat was another matter. I rather suspected that many students who were not enrolled in the course had decided to attend on the first day anyway.
Quinn began making his way toward the front of the room when he stopped in his tracks.
He had spotted Barney and Sikes, who were energetically playing the court jesters to Simeon Trench’s languid monarch.
Simeon sat surrounded by a crowd of admiring fellows, laughing contentedly with his excessively straight teeth, his bobbing blond curls, his angelic air.
Detestable. I took advantage of the moment to press a feeling of dread upon Simeon, to little enough effect.
Quinn, looking regretful, slunk away to the back of the room and sat down. No one took any notice of him.
Along one wall, tall windows ushered in the warm September light between navy velvet curtains.
A small stage stood empty at the front of the room.
The stage curtains, navy velvet as well, were partially drawn, showing only a few feet of wooden floor.
Some students sitting near Quinn were talking with excitement about the appearance of Mead and Cassandra.
“I’ve heard,” said one young man, “that she sings to him when he retires for the evening.” He was one of those young men who use tokens to alter their appearance selectively, seemingly unaware that broad shoulders and bulky arms cannot overcome the effects of poor grooming.
Bushy eyebrows, an unkempt beard, and rumpled clothes gave him the appearance of an overstuffed scarecrow.
The other two widened their eyes, grinning. “Do you mean that she stays by his bedside all night?”
“Why wouldn’t she?” the bushy young man demanded.
“Spirits don’t sleep, do they?”
“I don’t think they do.”
“I wouldn’t mind waking in the arms of a beautiful spirit every morning.”
The others, evincing as much wit as they had decorum, laughed loudly.
“And just imagine,” said the third young man, who had been quiet until now. “He’s had her for decades. He’s gotten older, while she’s remained as young as ever!” He had a look of suppressed energy, and he bounced his chin as he spoke.
The bristly expert chuckled. “Indeed. Thews have several advantages over women.”
“Is she legacy?”
“No—I heard he bound her himself.”
Throughout this delightful exchange, Quinn had been staring earnestly at the empty stage, seemingly engrossed by the lectern, or perhaps reviewing some of the more fascinating aspects of the appraisal textbook in his head.
The conversation was interrupted by the sudden sound of a bell, ringing from some hidden place behind the stage curtains.
The room fell abruptly silent, and in a few moments of scurrying, every young man in the room took his seat or moved to stand quietly by the side walls.
For several silent seconds, the stage remained empty.
Then Professor Selwyn Mead shuffled out onto the stage, carrying a sheaf of papers.
The light in the room changed just a shade, as if dimming one degree closer to the duskiness of twilight.
A sudden tang laced the air, briny and sharp as an ocean breeze.
The men in the room gasped with a single breath. In Mead’s wake trailed the spirit thew Cassandra.
I had to admit, she was as lovely as rumor claimed: tall and stately, with a commanding presence.
Tendrils of hair wafted around her face, and her clothing undulated, clinging to her and then billowing, swept about by an invisible current.
Dressed in loose robes, she had the look and bearing of an ancient Roman.
Her graceful arms were bare, and her dark hair was drawn into a careless but elegant pile.
Black eyes looked out at the audience of men with an air of utter indifference.
When Mead stopped at the center of the stage, she halted beside him and fixed her gaze on the windows, as if seeing through the sun-soaked glass a picture far more interesting than anything to be found within the room.
Mead was rather less striking. A few inches shorter than his spirit thew, he had a white, bulging forehead that gave way to unruly gray hair.
His eyes were nearly invisible, thanks to the combined efforts of owlish eyebrows and jowly cheeks.
He was portly, but he had clearly once been a thinner man and never owned up to the change.
The result was that he could barely raise his arms in his strained jacket, and his buttoned vest looked on the verge of bursting.
And yet everyone in the room understood that this ridiculous-looking man who didn’t bother to alter his appearance with tokens was not in the least ridiculous.
He had acquired control of a magnificent spirit thew, and consequently everything about him that in another man would have seemed ludicrous instead spoke of power, accomplishment, and dignity.
“Ahem,” said Mead, shuffling his papers.
He looked up at the audience with the dark crinkles of his eyes.
“Gentlemen.” He coughed, cleared his voice once more.
“The title and subject of this course is Spirit Casting.” He spoke clearly and with unstudied authority as he surveyed the audience.
“Many of you here, I observe, are not enrolled in the course, since there should be no more than thirty of you.” There was an embarrassed shuffle in reply.
“That’s no matter,” Mead said, looking down at his papers.
“You may stay for today, and when we next meet I’ll ensure that only those enrolled in the course are in attendance.
We absolutely cannot have more than thirty students.
” The room let out a little breath of consternation.