“One less recruit suits me just fine,” the man said. “I am Sergeant Deck.”
“My name is Quinto Tirolo, sir. I’m from southeast Racellia.”
“You don’t have to remember where you are from. All you need to understand is the here and the now. You are a member of Wizard Corps. Any life before today is gone, washed out, invisible.”
“Yes, sir,” Quint said.
“You are a recruit. How many strings?”
“Three, sir.”
“How long have you been a wizard?”
“A week and a bit,” Quint said.
Sergeant Deck paused. “You must learn ten strings before you rise to Soldier.” The sergeant looked away from Quint. “Falco!”
One of the younger recruits stepped smartly to the side of Deck and saluted, hands clasped together and thrust forward.
“Yes, sir!” the boy was probably younger than Quint.
“First floor supply room. Get this recruit some clothes so he can dress for dinner.”
“Yes, sir!”
Quint followed Falco out the door and down the stairs. His stomach rumbled. He had missed lunch through all the testing and the interviews.
Falco didn’t say a word while Quint walked behind the recruit until they walked through a door emblazoned with the sign “Supply.”
“New recruit, sir,” Falco said to the man behind the counter. “He didn’t bring anything with him.”
“Pressed?” the man said.
Falco shrugged. “I guess, sir.”
The man came from around the corner, measured Quint, and told Quint to stick out a foot. He disappeared and returned with a filled bag and a rolled-up blanket.
“This is your first kit. Name?”
“Quinto Tirolo, recruit, sir,” Quint said.
“Sign, Recruit Tirolo,” the man said, flipping around a ledger on the counter and giving Quint a pencil.
“Should I see what’s inside, sir?” Quint asked.
“Do you think I’m a crook!” the man said.
“No, sir. I won’t bother you.”
Falco pulled on Quint’s sleeve, and they walked back to the stairs with Falco carrying the bedroll.
“Lisina didn’t give you a list, so what are you going to compare what you have with?” Falco said.
Quint sighed. “He is doing a fiddle, isn’t he?”
Falco nodded. “I don’t know what a fiddle is, but if it involves a swindle, likely, yes.”
“I hope there is a uniform and underwear,” Quint said.
When Falco and Quint returned to the dormitory, Sergeant Deck was gone, but eleven angry stares greeted Quint. All were willots. Quint didn’t know if that was going to be a problem or not.
“We heard you were responsible for what happened to the other recruit,” one of the others said.
“No,” Quint said. “He was asked his name, which he didn’t say, and nodded instead of saying ‘yes, sir.’”
“A likely story,” another said.
They converged on Quint. Falco took Quint’s bag and stepped away.
“It is a capital offense to fight with strings,” one of the recruits warned.
Quint settled in for a beating. He looked at all the older bodies and decided to drop to the floor and curl into a defensive ball like he used to when his brothers were angry at him. The expected fists and feet pummeled him while he was down. In a few minutes, steps were heard, and the recruits ran to their beds, pulled out books, or ran into the washroom while Quint struggled to stand and hobbled to his bed before opening the bag of his new possessions.
Deck walked into the room. He had a smirk on his face.
“Did you give Recruit Tirolo a wizard corps welcome?”
“We did, sir,” one of the older boys said. “He slipped walking up the stairs from Supply, sir.”
