Ch. One (Large-Hearted Boy), Part Two

It didn’t take long for the boys to take their seats. Rian sat first and then the others. Most followed Rian in their actions, if not their interests. It was another kind of mimicry, more subtle than Rian’s humor and done with the same gentle intentions. They gravitated to the boy, and encircled him like the seven planets. There were some–only a few of the boys at the school–who were jealous of Rian and they made fun of the lapping servitude the other boys showed him.

One boy in particular filled with anger when he saw Rian earn yet another honor or favor, or even a smile. His name was Brodrick, changed to Brodank in the boy’s first days at school after he wet his bed the second time. And he grimaced under his classmates’ further taunting: Even in the village below the school the boys called him Dank, an insult even in Common Speech. All could hear it and understand.

Brodrick seethed, like the shattering of an ice dam. And Rian could feel the distemper. It was wondrously cold, like what a fenny monster might breathe in its hate and grieving. Rian grieved, too, and Brodrick despised the pity even more.

Once the boys found their places, each pulled out from underneath the desktop a few sheets of paper on which they were expected to write in the smallest of hands. Paper was a prized commodity at the school and, outside of it, a rarity. Papermaking was a task that took two brothers nearly all their time of work–and when the Archmage had writing to do–nearly all their time of leisure. Only prayer came first. When the need was especially great, the brothers would even take meals in their workroom. The Archmage himself would deliver the tray, with his apologies for this burden on them, their having to work ‘round the clock to make and remake the paper that challenged the boys’ minds and played a role in their cramping fingers. (It was the boys’ burden to fill the scraps with translations from the High Tongue and, of course, every day they would transcribe remarkably long lists of True Names.)

The master cleared his throat. The boys fell silent.

"Today, I should like for you to consider Alhazen’s Problem. First formulated by Ptolemy in the second century of our age, we are asked, "Given a light source and a spherical mirror, find the point on the mirror where the light will reflect into the eye of a specific observer."

"Have you got that?" the master asked. The boys nodded yes, when in fact the words were already flowing past them as harmlessly as rain off a duck. This would be a long lecture, involving equations of the fourth degree and conic sections, and geometry, and no telling what else.

"There is no algebraic solution," the master told them. "At least not yet. It is, in fact, the subject of my own work when I have free moments."

Incredible, the boys thought, to a man. But what else would interest a mathematics master?

"What, indeed?" Rian asked himself. It was a question he asked frequently of himself, one that troubled him like a stone in his shoe. A calculus is a stone, Rian remembered. And stones were used for counting...

Rian tried harder to focus his attention.

"Of course, one uses this solution each time one visits the public house."

The master waited for smiles, but the boys only stared. It was the master’s rather sad attempt at humor and Rian felt sorry for the man. Of course he referred to the game of carom. Rian knew, but the others were still trying to fish it out, or were too far off in their own dreaming to care.

"Do you mean, hlaford, aiming the ale to one’s lips?" one boy asked; he thought it might be on a quiz!

"No, boy! Carom! Carom, of course! Can’t you see it?"

"Oh, yes, I do. I do now."

And all the boys nodded their agreement.

"Enlightenment comes to you all so uniformly," the master mused, his understated irony made Rian grin.

He’s not a bad sort, Rian thought. He always understood that somehow the mathematics master was his protector. Or his champion? Or the eyes of the Archmage? Rian didn’t know.

He couldn’t have known, because the mathematics master knew so little himself about the Archmage’s intentions.

He was asked by the Archmage to go to Cald Mere and test the boy, just a few days after Rian turned sixteen and received his True Name.

"Please see what are his intellectual aptitudes," Primus asked. And he added, "He has the gift. You’ll see that when you meet him. It’s remarkably developed him in, and he’s had no training to speak of. But just concentrate on the surface, will you? If the boy is bright enough, we’ll invite him to the school. His parents are already hopeful, but I made no promises. The boy himself seems happy enough in his village. He hunts and paints, and plays the recorder, I believe. He’s cheerful and made up well enough. The girls are already mooning over him. Beyond that, I know very little." Primus paused. "Except for this empathy he promises. One can feel it just by meeting his eye, Selden. You’ll see."