Deck stood over Quint. “Is that so?”
“Actually, I slipped walking down, sir,” Quint said.
“I see. Dinner in half an hour. Get your uniform on and those rags on your body stowed.”
“Yes, sir,” Quint said.
He sighed as he dumped the bag on his bed now that the other recruits ignored him. It appeared he was supposed to have three clothing changes, but he only had three sets of underwear and two uniforms.
The uniform fit surprisingly well, and the boots were perfect. Quint looked at his reflection in the only mirror in the dormitory. Quint looked like the others, he guessed.
He put everything else away, transferred his coins to the pants he wore, and sat down, waiting to march to dinner or whatever his captors did.
Quint thought of them as captors, and he knew he had to watch out for himself since no one else would care what happened to him. Acting the part of the subservient hubite was an easy enough role since he had practice at various willot establishments in their district.
His beatings had still raised cuts and bruises on his body. Quint noted that his face and hands weren’t touched in the beating. Perhaps that was a rule that Deck created.
Quint marched in the back by himself as they made their way to the commissary, where meals were served. Quint was surprised that the food was more than acceptable in quality and quantity. Maybe they fed the wizards a proper diet to promote magic. He wasn’t going to complain.
They marched back to the dormitory and stood in formation, with Quint still behind.
“For the benefit of the new recruit, we will have school in the morning and string training in the afternoon. You have the rest of the evening to practice,” Deck said. “Don’t do anything that will bring me upstairs. Dismissed.”
Deck went downstairs, and everyone ignored Quint, even Falco. Everyone had books and practiced strings. The dormitory was large enough to permit sixteen recruits to spread out.
After reorganizing his hastily stowed possessions and making his bed, Quint decided to work on levitation. He took off a boot, laid it on the bare mattress next to him, and sat staring at the boot on his bed.
He looked at his hands and took a deep breath. The threads came easily enough. He had a little practice earlier in the day when he was tested. He lifted the boot. Since it was lighter than the steel sphere of the tester, Quint raised it slowly. He concentrated, and the boot turned around. He made it turn the other way and then had it rotate vertically before setting the boot down.
When Quint finished, the dormitory was silent. All eyes were on him.
“How long have you been doing magic?” one of the older boys said.
“Less than two weeks. I only know three strings. This, fire, and heat.”
“But levitation is almost a psychic string,” another recruit said.
“That’s what the tester said, but I don’t know what a psychic string is. I suppose I’ll find out tomorrow.”
“We aren’t learning them yet. Our instructor said we won’t learn them until we leave the fort.”
Quint shrugged. “I’m new at all this. I was pressed into service four days after my magic came.”
“Don’t show us up,” another recruit said. “You won’t want another beating, will you?”
“I don’t even know how I’d do that,” Quint said.
“Learn too quickly,” the young man said.
Quint intended to do that. His withholding of his talent hadn’t been very successful, and he didn’t think playing around with a boot was threatening. He had a lot to learn.
Quint thought he had left his schooling behind, but he was mistaken. When he entered the classroom, the teacher told him he would have to catch up and gave him four books on Racellia: history, geography, military history, and military strategy. They wouldn’t touch the other typical subjects.
The class began, and Quint saw that the subjects were tilted towards supporting the High Council of Racellia and puffing up Racellia’s willot past. His village teacher taught a less glorious version of history.
Quint would learn the subjects but would be wary of swallowing every positive story. Maybe most soldiers needed to be fed one-sided versions to become good soldiers. Quint didn’t feel that way, and his cynicism surprised him. Remembering Sarza’s fate when he didn’t toe the line in the lobby the previous day, Quint would learn the history and adequately respond to what was taught, no matter how he felt about the truth of everything.
Everyone learned together. Quint was as well-educated as any of them, he thought. Military history was fascinating but had to be taken with a grain of salt. Military strategy seemed to be the most interesting of the four.
Quint marched with the others to the refectory for lunch before magic instruction. He wondered how it would differ from what Pogi, the village hedge wizard, taught.
Lunch was no different from the other two meals. At least Quint wouldn’t starve. They returned to the barracks for a break while Quint stored his books in his chest like the others. The recruits each carried a portfolio to the next session.
Magic class was conducted three times each week. Quint had arrived on an off day. The recruits walked into a large room the size of their barracks, but tables and chairs lined the wall. The instructor was a gray-haired older man with many badges sewn onto his uniform, standing behind the instructor’s table and holding his left hand behind his back.
Since Quint was the only raw recruit, he didn’t feel like disrupting the class by asking simple questions. He would hold them until he could get the instructor alone or if it fit into the afternoon activities.
“I see we have a new recruit,” the instructor said, looking at Quint. He looked down at a paper on the table. “You are Quinto Tirolo, correct?”
“Yes, sir,” Quint said, straightening up.
“My name is Geno Pozella. I have achieved the rank of Master in the service of Racellia’s wizard corps and have chosen to teach magic.” Pozella walked from behind the table, exhibiting a severe limp. He took his hand from behind his back and showed Quint a fingerless hand encased in a black leather glove. “As you can see, I wanted to be useful since my magic days are behind me.”
Quint noticed a few smirks from the other recruits, out of sight of the master. Quint had never dreamed of even meeting a master wizard in his life. They had to know fifty strings to begin to qualify. Even without his magic, this man would be a font of information.
“You know three strings?”
