Matabar Chapter 36 - The Grand

Ardan adjusted the collar of his suit and glanced at himself in the mirror. Staring back at him was the sa unfamiliar dandy dressed in expensive clothes, holding a staff in one hand and a small satchel in the other, with a backpack slung over his shoulder. Draped over his arm was the warm coat his mother had sewn for him.

He looked around, taking in the palace room that had served as his temporary shelter for a while, however brief that ti may have been. Through the window, he could see that the black river was still crashing against the granite walls, its slow-moving waves capturing the glow of Ley-lamps. Ardi would no longer get to see any of this. The thought brought with it an unexpected sense of... calm.

Over the weeks he’d spent at the Anorsky estate, followed by the coronation, the ball, ending with a couple of days in the guest chambers of the Palace of the Kings of the Past, the young man had realized with striking clarity that this world was not his.

And so, as he left the room, Ardan felt more relief than disappointnt.

At the door, soone was already waiting for him on the other side of the corridor. It was a short man with gray hair, though his face was too soft and smooth to guess his exact age.

"Let’s go," the man said in a low, gruff voice.

Dressed in a simple but sturdy, gray woolen suit and an obviously-not-new tweed coat, his guide hurried down the corridor, occasionally stopping to check their direction. He would pause briefly, as if recalling sothing, and then continue.

Soon enough, they reached the "main thoroughfare." Ardi recognized it by the way his guide began walking beside him rather than ahead of him — there was simply no space for anything else. The corridor was packed to the brim with people.

All of them were polished, waxed, draped in absurdly expensive clothes, adorned with jewelry, and drenched in so many different perfus that Ardan’s head spun from the overwhelming mix of scents. And yet, despite all of this, they pressed together like sardines in a can.

The young man tried to distract himself by turning toward the stained-glass windows, but quickly regretted it.

A pompous man in a black suit paraded past him, strutting like the only rooster in a henhouse. He looked rather like a balloon — one of those children’s toys parents bought for them at festivals. His thin legs sohow supported a bloated belly, which was barely contained by his pants and shirt, both of which were cinched tight by a wide, silk sash that had been wrapped several tis around his middle. In his hands — which were softer than a child’s — the man held a long cane with a crow-shaped tip, and he was leaning heavily on it, making Ardi worry that at any mont, the rings on his sausage-like fingers might snap, sending the enormous gemstones flying like bullets from a revolver.

The man’s chin was impossible to find, as it rged with the collar of his shirt and rested on his chest. A few strands of hair, slicked to one side, failed to conceal his baldness, instead only emphasizing its glossy shine, which reflected the tiny glints of light from the chandeliers above.

Ardi smiled, watching the interplay of these little reflections. It was amusing how sothing so ridiculous could unintentionally create sothing delicate and beautiful.

Though perhaps not quite as beautiful as the lady who was walking beside the peacock — no, no, he was more like a turkey. Two heads taller than him and coming up to Ardan’s chin, she wore a green dress embroidered with a fine sh of sparkling stones — diamonds, perhaps? Ardi wasn’t sure; he’d only heard of them in stories from his grandfather and had read a couple of lines in a textbook about them. Her elaborate hairstyle, high heels, and fur collar only added to her grandeur. She carried herself with an air of majesty, as if the long, sharp ears she proudly bore were a crown.

"What are you smiling at?" Ca a breathless wheeze from the portly man. "Is there... sothing amusing... about our appearance?"

Ardi quickly wiped the smile from his face, but it was too late. Two fishlike, gray eyes bore into him, and despite himself, Ardan — caught off guard by the confusion he had felt in recent days — t his gaze. The mont he did, it seed as though he wasn’t looking into eyes at all, but into two dark holes where ravenous pikes awaited, eager to tear apart his mind.

"How dare you!" The already crimson-faced gentleman flushed even deeper, blotches of purple rising on his cheeks. He attempted to raise his cane to strike him but wobbled and nearly fell over, once again leaning all his considerable weight on the unfortunate staff.

"You... What course are you in?" He hissed, his voice resembling that of a snake in the underbrush.

Ardi could only open and close his mouth in stunned silence. How many tis… How many tis had people warned him that one day, his Witch’s Gaze would land him in trouble?

And it seed like that day had arrived.

"I-"

"Mr. Egobar," Ardi’s guide interrupted them abruptly, cutting off the rotund noble. "We must hurry. Our car should be waiting at the entrance."

With that, the guide grabbed Ardan by the elbow and began cutting through the crowd of aristocrats and imperial dignitaries as if he were clearing a path through a crowd of children gathered around a bakery door. They hurried down a wide staircase and into the hall, heading toward freedom.

Through the open doors of the grand entrance, they stepped into the cool air, but Ardi barely had ti to take a breath of fresh air (though the air of the tropolis could hardly be called fresh) before they were pulled farther along.

Still ignoring the murmurs of the crowd, nearly stepping on the feet of people wearing outrageously expensive shoes, and snatching the keys from a valet, the guide flung open the doors of a car. It was far bulkier and less elegant than the vehicles the Anorskys owned.

The guide practically shoved Ardan inside, causing him to bump his head on the roof — not a fabric one this ti, but tal. After slamming the door shut, the guide quickly entered the driver’s seat, spun the wheel, and drove away from the glittering mass of automobiles leaving the palace.

Inside, instead of plush upholstery, the cabin slled of tobacco and, oddly enough, sothing salty. The seats were covered in the cheapest leather, worn down to a point where they could be used as sandpaper. Rust, like hungry mold, crept across the tal parts here and there.

The engine rattled like a sawmill in full swing, while the vehicle itself groaned like an old man grumbling about the youth of today.

The guide, who’d now transford into the driver, adjusted the rearview mirror — not to see the road but to keep an eye on Ardi. Their gazes t, and just in ti, Ardan turned his head away.

"You should have done that earlier," muttered the driver, his voice unexpectedly pleasant.

They retraced the familiar route Ardi had traveled once before, and after presenting docunts to the guards with rifles, they drove onto the avenue, leaving the palace lights behind.

It was only when they were swallowed by the flow of cars, pedestrians, and trams all rushing in the sa direction that the driver seed to relax a little.

Ardi, just as he had on his previous trip, observed the buildings. These silent stone beauties adorned with various hues and lights lined the streets like mute sentinels watching over the people. Beneath the wheels, the cobblestones clicked with a slightly playful rhythm.

Thanks to the Anorsky library, Ardan had learned that the streets in the city had different surfaces. The closer to the center one got, the more old cobblestone roads there were, still echoing the clatter of horseshoes and the creak of carriage springs. Farther out, toward the modern high-rises of steel and stone, lay the lifeless, gray asphalt made from granite chips and petroleum bitun.

In the poorer areas, especially near the factory dormitories, they could boast of neither.

"You picked the wrong mind to delve into, boy," the driver sighed.

Ardi glanced at him through the sa rearview mirror. His companion mostly kept his eyes on the road, but occasionally cast glances at his passenger.

"Is the Second Chancery going to take issue with because of that?" Ardi asked.

The driver didn’t flinch, but the slight twitch of the car told Ardi he’d hit a nerve.

"What gave away?"

"You’re not even going to deny it?" Ardi was surprised.

The stranger remained silent, his jaw clenching slightly.

"Honestly, it seed like you weren’t trying too hard to hide it," Ardan shrugged.

The dangerous, steely glint in the driver’s eyes that he could see through the mirror said it all.

"Are you mocking ?"

"No," Ardi replied earnestly, though he imdiately rembered Yonatan’s, Cassara’s, and Mart’s warnings. "Sorry, I’ve only recently co from Evergale, which is in the Foothill Province. We tend to be a bit more straightforward there and-"

"I know where you’re from, Ard Egobar," the Cloak interrupted. "I also know your age. I know that you practice the art of the Firstborn, possess seven rays of the Red Star, enjoy cocoa, avoid eating livestock, and, oh, you lost your virginity to a farr’s daughter. So, spare the small talk."

Well, of course... Of course his... what was the right term for it? Dossier? Obviously, every Cloak had read his file, each one more detailed than the last. Ardi could only hope he’d never have to deal with any of them again.

All he needed to do was stay quiet until the New Year, then return ho with a clear conscience.

"So, how did you figure out I wasn’t one of the palace servants?" The Cloak repeated his question.

Ardi stayed silent for a few seconds but, after realizing that they had a long journey ahead of them and that the silence hanging in the air wasn’t exactly healthy, saw no reason not to answer.

"You didn’t seem very familiar with the layout of the palace," the young man began listing off his observations. "And yet, you weren’t uncomfortable around aristocrats, like you see yourself, if not as their superior, at least as their equal. You weren’t afraid of that mage, either, but hurried away. And I don’t think servants usually shove aristocrats out of the way like they’re dispersing onlookers."

"That’s it?"

The incredulity in the man’s voice was so thick that it could have fueled several cars.

"No."

"What else?"

Ardan took another deep breath and looked at the Cloak again through the mirror.

"You sll like cheap alcohol and gunpowder — just like Lieutenant Kornosskiy. And when you walk, you keep your hand close to where most people wear a revolver. You also favor your right leg, but only when you walk quickly — those kinds of injuries are rare in ordinary life and are usually sustained during hunting... or in combat."

"Anything else?" The Cloak wasn’t letting up.

"When you grabbed my elbow, I noticed a scar on your right wrist. It was too deep and too long for a simple cut. It was left by a knife — not a kitchen one, either. And while we walked, you made sure we were never surrounded by more than two or three people. And most importantly," Ardan spread his arms out to indicate the car, himself, and the Cloak, "we’re here, alone. No guards. Which ans you think you can handle if I try to escape."

"Are you going to try?"

"Is there any point to trying?"

"Who knows."

Ardi nodded briefly and turned back to the window. Outside, lights shone brightly and pedestrians and all manner of cars flowed down the streets. So were smaller, nimbler, with only two doors, zipping in and out of traffic, eager to reach their destinations.

Even though the celebrations after the Emperor’s coronation had ended, the capital hadn’t stopped rejoicing. If anything, the city now seed to be awaiting sothing truly magical and extraordinary: the beginning of the academic year at the Grand.

"There’s no point."

"What?"

"There’s no point in running," the Cloak clarified. "Not because I think you can’t beat , mage, but because I know you won’t."

And there wasn’t even a hint of bravado in his voice, nor a shred of doubt. The Cloak was utterly, unquestionably certain that Ardi wouldn’t be able to harm him.

Ergar’s apprentice might have grabbed his staff, slamd it into the brake pedal, and grabbed the Cloak’s neck in a chokehold.

From reading the newspapers, Ergar’s apprentice knew that automobile accidents were common in the city. Not frequent, but frequent enough that it could be passed off as an unfortunate incident.

But Skusty’s apprentice... Skusty’s apprentice would’ve found that to be an incredibly foolish idea. For one, it would be too many coincidences for a single descendant of the Dark Lord’s right hand, who was already viewed with suspicion. Secondly, why bother?

It was much smarter and simpler to endure for four months. It wasn’t even half a year.

"You wouldn’t have succeeded."

"What?" Ardi repeated.

"You’re thinking about grabbing your staff and hitting the brakes, but it wouldn’t work, Ard. Do you know why?"

The Cloak raised his left hand. All this ti, Ardi had only seen his right hand on the wheel, occasionally tugging the… What was it called... the gearbox. He’d naively assud his left hand was there, too. But when the Cloak wasn’t holding the wheel, he was steering with his knees. And his left hand had been holding a revolver, which had been pressed against the back of the seat all along.

Ardi slowly raised his hands, palms facing outward in a gesture of surrender.

"Relax," the driver winked through the mirror and lowered his hand, revolver and all, keeping the barrel pressed into the back of the seat. "Your file says you’re clever, but cowardly. So, this is more for show than anything."

Ardan remained silent. The older he got, the more he understood why Skusty’s title was "The Sage of the Tree Crowns." Emphasis on Sage.

"Eternal Angels, mage," the Cloak suddenly chuckled. "With a mind like yours and those eyes, you’d make an excellent investigator. It’s almost a sha... such talent going to waste."

Ardi didn’t flinch. Even so, the thought of actually, voluntarily working for the Second Chancery was laughable. The idea was utterly absurd.

"What we teach so people for years, if we even find anyone teachable at all, you..." The Cloak trailed off as he swerved the wheel and honked the horn. A small, nimble car zipped past them.

For a brief mont, the air in the cabin grew thick with tension. As the Cloak focused on the road, Ardi had a split-second opportunity to act on his plan. The driver, no matter how skilled, wouldn’t have been able to fire his weapon — not while his attention was elsewhere.

They both knew this.

But Ardi didn’t move. What would he gain, except satisfaction for his own pride?

"Indeed," the Cloak snorted. "Clever... but cowardly."

Ardan was about to respond, perhaps with sothing biting or witty, but the words caught in his throat.

By this ti, they had turned off the main road, weaving through narrow streets and slipping past a raised barrier, where the guards stood to attention without even bothering to check their papers. The car zigzagged through the alleys before erging into a wide square.

The square was filled with people, so many people that nearly a kiloter of space had turned into a living, roiling mass. But even this enormous gathering, the likes of which Ardi had never seen before (when the Emperor had been giving his speech to the people, Ardi had heard them, but had not seen them) and could scarcely believe even existed, paled in comparison to the building standing at the far end of the square.

Only now did Ardi truly understand why the Imperial Magical University was called the "Grand."

The building was as tall as the smallest of the Alcade Peaks. It looked like no other structure Ardi had seen from a train car or automobile.

It was taller than all the skyscrapers, yet just as wide as a mountain slope. Its façade was an endless sea of columns blending seamlessly with the sprawling wings of long walls. Between them, slender windows glead with bright light. But upon closer inspection, one thing beca clear — they weren’t columns at all, but countless towers. Dozens of them!

It was as if a mythical giant had taken them in their hands, fused them with clay, and molded them together, paying homage to the legends of the past, those days when mages built their tall dwellings in an effort to reach the clouds. Only now had they truly succeeded.

And at the very top of the colossal structure stood what appeared to be a miniature castle. It poured out ribbons of pure, white light, which cascaded down through the twilight sky in long threads of silver.

And below, at the foot of the Grand, stood a majestic entrance arch, glowing with the sa light. Yet this light was joined by the shimr of stars, softly floating outwards and, as if on a staircase, climbing toward that castle, creating the illusion of a waterfall.

Ardi had never seen anything like it, not even in his imagination, back when he’d sat as a child on his great-grandfather’s lap, listening to stories about Ectassus.