Carom's Hight

            The Old Campus of the Royal Academy was on the west coast, set upon a rather dramatic cliff that overlooked the misty ocean. An ancient stone tower rose above it, a seeming anachronism while most of the buildings looked more like grand manor houses of the Imperial style. The tower was called Carom’s Hight, and predated the reign of Queen Elona by nearly two centuries. Below, the waves crashed against the cliff, the sound only muted by distance.

            Dense fog perpetually surrounded the Old Campus. It was here that the Fog Wall had first been created, providing Retrein with the protection it needed from the routine Sardok incursions throughout the ages.

            Richard stepped from the cab and then extended his hand for Isabelle to hold as she stepped down herself. Whispering Jim required no such assistance, and freely drifted along beside them.

            “Was it always this dreary when you were here, dad?” asked Isabelle.

            Richard took off his glasses and wiped the fog from them with his handkerchief. “The dreariness outside only compelled us to stay indoors and study more. Every aspect of this place is designed with purpose.”

            Isabelle looked up at Carom’s Hight. “That tower looks like it is about to fall into the ocean.”

            Richard nodded. “Also by design. That is where the arcane physics department resides. The notion is to warn off anyone who is controlled by fear.”

            “What about a very practical concern for adherence to building codes?” she asked. Richard smiled.

            “I remember when this place was a pig farm,” said Whispering Jim. “Hundreds of pigs, as far as the eye could see. They used to raise them like sheep here, letting them roam about. I recall a girl of about thirteen who would beg her father to let her kill the pigs when it was time to slaughter. Now, she led a very, very interesting life, which I can tell you about…”

            Richard cut him off. “Do not, Jim.”

            Jim smiled sheepishly. “Just trying to give a give a sense of the history of this place.”

            They made their way across the campus and into the library. The building was one of the largest on the campus. The lobby was floored with marble, with a huge grand staircase leading to the upper floors. The area was alive with students bustling through.

            “I will meet you back here in an hour, Isabelle. See what you think of the place.”

            “Where are you going?” asked his daughter.

            “I have some business to attend to.”

            “Can I come with you?” asked Isabelle.

            Richard shook his head. “No, you cannot.”

            Richard walked away, with Jim trailing behind him. Isabelle exhaled a half-growl. Her father had made it very clear, growing up, that he did not want her to go into study – much less practice – of the arcane.

            It was not something she discussed with her friends, but the Airbrights did not want for money. Thanks to their one particularly infamous ancestor, Paul Airbright, whose Castlebrook Manor was seized by the Narcian government after his crimes had come to light, few people made much inquiry into their family’s affairs. The source of the family fortune was actually quite mundane – Paul was not the only Airbright, and the wealth that the family had was not all seized along with the manor. That money was simply invested in many companies and also held in bond by the governments of Retrein and Narcia – the result was that between all of their properties and investments, the family had enough income to live lives of leisure, especially given how few remained.

            Still, it was one thing to have means and another thing to have something to actually do with one’s life. Isabelle found it difficult to understand why her father was so adamant about keeping her from pursuing what she had always considered (and the history books supported her) the family trade.

            She resolved to find the arcane section of the library, and get a head start on her education.

            Carom’s Hight smelled of mold and wine, as if the two scents had mingled and soaked into the wooden beams that stood inside. The tower was still traditionally lit with candles, which gave everything a yellow tint.

            “You know, I once corrupted a student here, in this very room,” said Whispering Jim as they entered the foyer. There was a suit of armor that stood in the center of the circular room, and no apparent method with which to climb up the tower. “I helped him gain entrance to the tower and in exchange he allowed me to convince him to seduce his professor – suggesting it would help him get better marks, if I recall. He was kicked out of the school and drank himself to death. The professor, as far as I knew, just went into a quiet retirement.”

            “Jim, as fascinating as these stories must be to someone out there, I’d prefer that you keep to yourself.”

            “What would you prefer that I do?”

            “I need you to be a silent witness. I know your kind’s power – to gaze into unguarded minds, to become the dreams of men. I wish to make use of only that first skill, for now at least.”

            “Who are we meeting with here?”

            “I am meeting with Esmeralda Locks. You will merely be observing.”

            Richard approached the suit of armor. There was a strange sound, like distant howling wind, coming from the helmet. “There is only one truth,” he said. “Everything else is inference.”

            There was a sound of grinding stone, and then a disk descended from the ceiling. Richard stepped onto the disk and said “Professor Locks.”

            With that, the disk rose, and Whispering Jim quickly flew to Richard’s side so as not to be left behind.

            They seemed to move in many different directions, always surrounded by a tube of strange, shining stone, like obsidian. If this were an ordinary tower, they would have been somewhere above the ocean when the disk finally came to a stop, yet when it did, they found themselves in a fairly ordinary-looking hallway with linoleum floors and several office doors with fogged glass windows.

            Richard came to the door labeled “Esmeralda Locks, Professor of Projective Dynamics.” He knocked.

            “Yes?”

            Richard stepped in, taking off his hat and holding it in front of him.

            “What the hell are you doing here?” asked Locks. She was the same age as he, her greying hair tied back in a tight bun. She had a stack of papers on her desk. The office smelled of the strange mushroom tea Richard remembered she was fond of. It was strange to see how old she had become, but of course, he imagined the same was true of him.

            “Ezzy. You look well.”

            “I cannot believe that they let you on the campus.”

            “I’ve made my amends. My daughter is here. She’ll be going off to university in a year, and I think she might like it here.”

            “You have a daughter?”

            “Isabelle. She is sixteen.”

            Locks remained seated. The two had not parted on the best of terms, but beyond that residual conflict, he did not get a sense she was hiding anything from him. Richard sat in the chair across her desk.

            “So why are you here?” asked Locks.

            “You remember our friend?”

            “Our… you don’t mean…” She sat up very straight, the color draining from her cheeks.

            Richard nodded. “I do.”

            “Richard, tell me. He’s… he’s not back, is he?”

            Richard nodded. “I’m afraid he is.”

            Locks stood up. She was visibly shaken by the news. “We need to prepare. I must tell the dean at once.” She began to pace.

            “That would be wise,” said Richard.

            “When did you find out?”

            “Not long ago. I came to tell you first.” He did not mention the familiar he had gained. He made a special effort not to look at Jim. While Locks could not see Jim, a wayward glance might stir up her suspicions. For now, Richard preferred to play close to the chest.

            Locks slowed her pacing. “That was kind of you.” There was a reluctant tone to the statement. The last time they had spoken, over twenty years earlier, she had berated him for his selfishness. “You know that my first responsibility is to the students here. If Henry is really back…”

            “Consider yourself warned.” Richard stood up. “And do try to get some air in here. This place reeks of your disgusting mushrooms.”

            They descended again, exiting Carom’s Hight and striding out into the yard. The wind was blowing very hard now, and it had begun to rain. Richard pulled his collar up higher, his glasses becoming hard to see through, clouded with condensation and speckled with raindrops. Jim’s body whipped wildly in the gale like a ragged black cloth, though from the expression on his face one could tell the sensation was not painful – or rather, if it was painful, he did not mind it.

            “I doubt he will be coming here, but it seemed prudent to give them some kind of warning.”

            “Who is Henry?” asked Whispering Jim.

            “He is my best friend,” said Richard, and then began to walk toward the library.

(Copyright Daniel Szolovits 2012)