Batshit Mages - 3. Necromancy Nerd

"Who invited you?"

"Magister Braegan," said Teague.

The fat man with the dried scales all over his face consulted his little leatherbound folder, then nodded. "And you?" he asked Kjeld, who was standing a little behind Teague.

"He's with me," said Teague.

"This isn't a dinner party. You can't just bring a plus one to a demonstration," said the scaly man. Kjeld looked at Teague and started fidgeting with his sleeves. Teague's gaze stayed fixed on the man's. In fact, his dry, level expression never changed and he only quirked a brow. The man looked to the side and let out an irritated breath, then waved them both through. Teague walked past him with his expressionless face and Kjeld followed him nervously.

"What was that?" he asked quietly as they were walking through the narrow, gloomy hallway, passing the odd torchholder and an iron door here and there.

"A bouncer," said Teague, looking ahead.

"No, I mean... he said you couldn't bring me and then he just let us through anyway?"

"Yeah?"

"What was that about?"

"He's a very important man. With a very important job," said Teague with a sideways glance at Kjeld. "To turn away people who haven't signed up for the demonstration. Because if anyone could just come and watch without an archmage's reference, where would we be? Anarchy," Teague explained drily. Kjeld laughed.

"It does feel a little... forbidding," he said with a smirky look around the dark, grimy hallway. "As though a lot of really secret secrecies are going on down here." He glanced back at Teague, who just seemed as if he had smirked a bit.

The demonstration turned out to be surprisingly boring. Kjeld had expected an exclusive necromancy show for teachers' pets to entail at least a walking dog skeleton or a snapping skull or two. But instead, they sat through a two-hour lecture over a severed human leg that was getting picked apart layer by layer. Teague listened intently. He seemed very engrossed and barely moved. For a while, Kjeld was convinced the boy didn't even blink. But when he finally did, even that looked extremely focused.

Necromancy. Nerds.

"Why was that such a secret affair?" Kjeld asked during lunch. He would have asked the point of the whole boring lecture earlier, but Teague had been too preoccupied scribbling things into his little notebook and looking thoughtfully absent. Now he had had to put the book and his pencil away to be able to hold his bread.

"What?" He looked up at Kjeld.

"The lecture."

"It wasn't secret."

"But down there in the dungeon? With a bouncer who turns away people who haven‘t been invited by an archmage?"

Teague shrugged. He didn't seem to understand quite what Kjeld meant.

"It was so exclusive. But they only talked about skin layers and bone and stuff."

"Well, it was pretty advanced," Teague offered. Then he smirked a bit. "Told you you would be bored."

"I think I nodded off a few times," Kjeld admitted.

"So you probably missed the interesting bits."

"What interesting bits? The bonesaw? The fat layer wriggling?"

Teague laughed. Kjeld had to grin. A laughing Teague, what a rare and not altogether unappealing sight.

"The bits that were directions to creating reviving spells," Teague explained. "Those are actually dangerous if you don't know what you're doing. That's why they don't let just anyone listen."

That actually made sense. Kjeld nodded and looked down at his lunch. He didn't much care for the stale bread and even staler cheeses they had here. At home, his diet had consisted of meats, herbs and flat stonebaked breads for the most part. Here on the island, however, this mostly human-civilisation-based food had to keep for a while and be as simple and inexpensive as possible, apparently. The tower was wealthy and powerful, but it seemed as though no worldly pleasures were supposed to dull the acute minds of the magic students here, and not one bit of silver could be wasted on them if it could buy a vial, some ink or an interesting ingredient instead. Kjeld felt like a conscripted monk.

He felt Teague's scrutinizing attention on him. The boy never knew when he was staring. He looked up at him.

"You're really picky," Teague observed calmly. "Whenever you do try some of your lunch or dinner, you pull a face and stop eating after a few bites. What do you live on?"

"Breakfast. And I do not 'pull faces'." He really didn't. He was a proven expert at facial neutrality. Teague held up his hands and smiled apologetically.

"Sorry, my friend, but you do. Like a spoilt toddler."

"We can't all be masters of The Perfect Stone Mask like yourself." Kjeld shrugged. Teague mirrored the shrug and smiled ruefully.

"I get that a lot."

This peaked Kjeld's interest. "That you have an expressionless face?" He had meant that as a joke. Teague's expressions and gestures were always calm and controlled, very understated, but very expressive nonetheless. They were subtle, but if you cared to look and listen, you could see and hear every last bit of meaning and emotion. Now Teague nodded once. As usual, it was a very short and small nod. But it said what it needed to say. Kjeld smiled. "People are blind."

Teague kept staring at him thoughtfully.