17
The room was stiflingly hot compared to the chilled corridors. A blaze crackled in the corner of the dim room, spitting sparks that were sucked up into the flue of the chimney.
‘Shut the damned door! It’s bloody freezing out there,’ the voice boomed again. Fletcher jumped to obey as he noticed a figure sitting behind a large wooden desk in the centre of the room.
‘Let’s be having you, step lively now. And remove that hood from your face. Don’t you know it’s rude to cover your head indoors?’
Fletcher hurried into the room and pulled his hood down, revealing the demon that had taken refuge there soon after Fletcher had set foot in Vocans.
The figure harrumphed and then struck a match, lighting a lamp on the corner of his desk. The glow revealed a walrus of a man with a white handlebar moustache and thick mutton-chop sideburns that dominated his features.
‘I say, that’s a rare demon you’ve got there! I’ve only seen one of those, and that wasn’t on our side, either.’ The man snatched some glasses from the desk and peered at the imp. It shied away at his gaze, causing the old man to chuckle.
‘They’re fragile little things, but powerful. Who gave it to you? I’m supposed to be informed whenever someone manages to summon a demon outside of the usual species,’ the Provost boomed.
‘Arcturus sent me,’ Fletcher said, hoping that answer would be enough.
‘Impress him, did you? We haven’t had a novice brought in by a battlemage for quite some time; two years now, I think. You’re lucky, you know. Most of the commoners are given weaker demons to start off with. Mites, usually. They’re easier to capture and, when we need a new one, a battlemage is chosen at random to provide it. Doesn’t put them in a generous mood, unfortunately. Not the best system, but it’s the only one we’ve got. In any case, I shall be having words with Arcturus about it.’
Fletcher nodded dumbly, earning himself a stern glare.
‘There’s no nodding here. You say “Yes, Provost Scipio, sir”!’ the man barked.
‘Yes, Provost Scipio, sir,’ Fletcher parroted, standing up straight.
‘Good. Now, what do you want?’ Scipio asked, leaning back in his chair.
‘I want to join up, sir; learn to become a battlemage,’ Fletcher replied.
‘Well, you’re here, aren’t you? Be off with you. Registration is tomorrow, you can make it all official then,’ Scipio said, waving him away. Fletcher left, dumbfounded. He was careful to close the door behind him this time. It had all been so easy. Somehow, everything was falling into place.
Jeffrey was waiting for him, an anxious look on his face.
‘Everything OK?’ he asked, leading Fletcher back to the stairs.
‘More than OK. He’s allowed me to join up,’ Fletcher said with a grin.
‘Not surprising. We need every summoner we can find, that’s why we started making all the changes. Girls, commoners, there’s even . . . well . . . you’ll see for yourself. It’s not my place to say,’ Jeffrey muttered. Fletcher decided not to pry, instead being careful not to lose his footing on the dark stairwell.
‘There aren’t many fires or torches here,’ Fletcher observed as they trudged up the steep stairs.
‘No, the budget is strained as it is. When the nobles arrive we will warm the place up. Everything has to be just so for them, or they complain to their parents. Half of them are spoiled little popinjays, but don’t get me wrong, some are nice enough fellows,’ Jeffrey panted, pausing when they reached the fifth and final floor. Fletcher noticed Jeffrey was even skinnier than he was himself, with dark brown hair that contrasted starkly with a pallid complexion that was almost verging on the sickly.
‘Are you all right? You don’t look so well,’ Fletcher asked him. The boy coughed and then took a deep, rattling breath.
‘I have terrible asthma, it’s why they won’t let me join up. But I want to do right by my country, so I serve here instead. I’ll be all right, just give me a second,’ Jeffrey said, wheezing.
Fletcher felt a growing respect for Jeffrey. He had never felt particularly patriotic, with Pelt being so far removed from any major cities, but he admired it in others.
‘I didn’t see Scipio’s demon. What kind does he have?’ Fletcher asked, making conversation as Jeffrey began to breathe more easily.
‘He doesn’t. He used to have a Felid, but it died before he retired. They say it broke his heart when he lost it. Now he just teaches and manages Vocans,’ Jeffrey said.
Fletcher wondered what a Felid might be. Some sort of cat, perhaps?
They walked on past dimly lit corridors to the very corner of the castle, where another staircase spiralled upwards. Jeffrey eyed it with apprehension.
‘Don’t worry, I can manage from here. Just tell me where I need to go,’ Fletcher volunteered.
‘Thank God. You can’t miss it; the commoners’ quarters are at the very top of the southeast tower. I’ll send someone up for your laundry later; for now, there’s a spare uniform in every bedroom upstairs, try a couple on and see which of them fits. You don’t want to be known as the smelly one on your first day,’ Jeffrey said, already hurrying away.
Fletcher resisted the temptation to shout the question that had come unbidden to his mind. Why did the commoners have separate quarters? He shrugged it away and began his long journey up the stairs, knowing from what he had seen outside that it was quite a way.
At intervals off the staircase there were wide, round chambers, each one filled with old desks, chairs and benches, amongst other bric-a-brac. The wind whistled through the arrow slits in the walls, chilling Fletcher to the bone and causing him to put his hood up once again. He hoped it would be warmer upstairs.
As he rounded what felt like the thousandth step, he heard a boy’s voice above him.
‘Hang on, that’s one of the servants. I think they’re going to call us for breakfast!’ The boy’s voice reminded him of Pelt, the accent common, and hinting at a rural upbringing.
‘I’m starving! I hope they don’t make us sit in silence like last time,’ a girl’s voice followed.
‘Nah, it’s only because crusty old Scipio was there that they wanted us quiet, but he complained about the cold so much I doubt he’ll break his fast in the canteen again,’ the boy replied.
Fletcher rounded the corner into a large room and almost ran straight into a boy with bright blond hair and the ruddy complexion of a northerner.
‘Whoops, sorry, mate. Guess I spoke too soon. Here, let me help with your bags,’ the boy said, pulling at Fletcher’s satchel. Fletcher unstrapped it and let him carry it to a long table that sat in the middle of the room.
‘Rory Cooper, at your service,’ the boy said, shaking Fletcher’s hand. ‘Welcome to our humble abode.’
It was a round chamber, with a high ceiling and two large doors on either side of the back wall. Paintings of battlemages and their demons lined the walls, the faces stern and disapproving. Fletcher grimaced as a draught from the arrow slits blew across the room.
A fetching looking girl with bright green eyes smiled at him through a mass of freckles and wild ginger hair. A blue, beetle-like demon flickered its wings on the table in front of her. Another of them, with an iridescent green carapace, hovered beside Rory’s head, filling the room with a soft hum.
The demons were larger than any insect Fletcher had ever seen, so large that they would barely fit on a hand. They sported fierce-looking pincers, with an armoured shell that shone like burnished metal. Fletcher’s demon stirred under his hood at their presence, but was not interested enough to come out of hiding.
‘My name’s Genevieve Leatherby. What’s your name?’ the girl enquired, flashing him a welcoming smile.
‘Fletcher. It’s nice to meet you. Is it just the two of you? I thought there would be more of us . . . commoners,’ Fletcher said, hesitating at the term.
‘There’s some more of us downstairs, waiting in the breakfast hall, and the second years eat later than we do, so they are still sleeping. We decided to wait till the servants come and announce it, as the time they serve breakfast hasn’t been very consistent so far,’ Genevieve said wistfully. ‘I thought there would be more students too, when I got here. But there’s only five of us first years, including you. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, the lack of summoners is the main reason they let women join the army all those years ago—’
Rory interjected. ‘There’s seven if you count the other two. We heard them last night but they haven’t come out of their rooms yet. Don’t know what a laugh they’re missing,’ he said with a wide grin. ‘They’ll come round. Everyone loves me eventually.’
‘Come off it. You’re an annoying little prig if ever I’ve seen one,’ Genevieve teased, pushing him playfully. Rory gave Fletcher a cheeky wink and pointed at the furthest door.
‘Why don’t you introduce yourself? Maybe see if they can join us for breakfast.’