your study of sigils in your class on the written word and writing technique in the afternoon. Both your masters feel that you have made enough progress to manage the combination.’
Arram nodded, fingering the paper. Fish and shellfish meant more cutting dead animals up, as he did with birds and lizards, and drawing their insides. It was interesting in a peculiar way.
‘Is something wrong?’ Master Cosmas asked, his bright blue eyes worried. ‘Have I loaded you with too much? Several of your masters say you are outpacing what they planned for you this term.’
Arram smiled at the kind older man. Cosmas often checked to see how he was doing, slipping Arram a handful of sweets or an interesting book in addition. ‘No, sir, I’ll be fine. I’m twelve now, you know.’
Cosmas’s eyes danced. As head of the school, he had access to Arram’s records. He knew Arram’s true age, but he never let on that he did. ‘I believe I gave you a birthday present at the time,’ he replied seriously. ‘But you appear concerned.’
‘Oh, I was only thinking that Varice will fuss over me working with fish and shellfish. She’ll make me change clothes before supper, probably.’
Cosmas chuckled and looked up as the university’s bells chimed. ‘There’s the hour – I’ll walk you to mathematics. I have no doubt that she will do exactly that,’ he said, continuing their earlier discussion. ‘She is very precise. Did you expect her to make a fuss over your cutting up animals?’
‘I did a bit when I started with birds and reptiles,’ Arram confessed. ‘But she was assigned to teach me how to do it. She’s very good at it.’
Cosmas nodded. ‘It’s her experience as a cook,’ he murmured. ‘It makes her the most nimble-fingered student in this academy.’ He looked at a group of rushing young students and called, ‘You will get there in time. Proceed at a normal pace.’
One of them squeaked at the sight of the headmaster. They promptly obeyed, swerving to the opposite side of the corridor from Arram and his intimidating companion.
‘Truthfully, I was never so happy as when Varice and Ozorne took you up,’ Cosmas went on. ‘Varice has been a wonderful friend to Ozorne. She brought him out of his shell after his father’s death, but they both drew away from the school at the time. They turned inward, associating largely with one another. Now they have taken a liking to you, and it has made them more sociable. Introducing you to the university has got them to be part of it again.’
Arram remembered that upon his new placement, the three of them had usually sat alone. Then slowly others decided to become part of their small group. Now new students joined them for meals, study sessions, and explorations in town. Ozorne, who used to talk largely to Varice and Arram, did so now with the others, if not as much.
‘But why?’ Arram enquired. He couldn’t decide if he meant ‘Why me?’ or ‘Why are you telling me?’
‘Some special thread among you three,’ Cosmas said quietly. ‘It is not only that you are the most rapidly advancing students in the Lower Academy, either. A thread that has brought you together, perhaps. Here is your class.’ He left Arram standing in front of the room. ‘Good luck.’
For the first week of the term Arram tried to observe his two friends, looking for that special connection, but if it was there, he didn’t see it. He watched them so intensely that others noticed. One day at lunch a schoolmate joked, ‘What, are you in love with Ozorne? You goggle at him enough!’
Arram gaped at him. Then he snapped, ‘Who invited you to sit here?’
Ozorne led the laughter from the others and slung his arm around Arram’s shoulder. Varice did the same from the other side and told Arram’s tormentor, ‘If you can’t be witty, you may seat yourself somewhere else.’
His cheeks flaming red, the boy gathered up his things and left the table. One of the others left with him. Varice and Ozorne released Arram’s shoulders, each with a firm squeeze. Arram lowered his head, smiling and teary-eyed at the same time. They were such good friends!
‘That was unkind,’ Ozorne said. ‘I didn’t know you had it in you!’
Arram glanced up; Ozorne winked at him. ‘I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to be rude,’ Arram explained.
Varice patted his arm. ‘Nonsense. You are far too polite. Since we can’t hit bullies without getting into trouble, we learn to say cutting things.’
‘To start with,’ Ozorne added.
‘You’re always joking,’ Varice said, crinkling her nose. ‘May we please finish our meal?’
Cosmas was right: Arram could handle the combined sigils and writing classes, which Arram considered to be a blessing. Fish and shellfish anatomy was as difficult as birds and reptiles, though his ability to sketch improved week by week. He even found himself making idle sketches of people and plants when he was daydreaming. He was so busy that it was a month before he noticed that Ozorne was escaping their lunch group several times a week to eat by himself. All of them did it now and then – the pace of schoolwork was so intense that sometimes it was necessary to find a corner to oneself. Ozorne had done it before, but this was more frequent.
He also talked less once he put his bedtime lamp out as February wore on into March. At study times they all talked only when they needed help with a problem. Arram noticed no difference there, but he felt snubbed when Ozorne replied briefly to anything he said and turned away.
One Friday night Arram asked, ‘Do we have plans for tomorrow?’
‘No, I do not have plans, and I do not want to join in plans,’ the boy on the other side of the wall snapped. ‘How many times can you look at the same stupid vendors and the same stupid animals? Just leave me be!’
Arram trembled at the sharpness of the reply to a perfectly ordinary question. He hugged his pillow to his face and tried to think of a proper retort. All those he considered were too extreme, too rude, or too childish.
He was still considering mighty retorts when he heard a deep sigh and bare feet on stone. Ozorne pulled out Arram’s chair. ‘Are you trying to smother yourself?’ he asked.
‘Go away,’ Arram said, his voice muffled. He lifted the pillow to admit air and to emit his voice. ‘I said, go away.’
‘Arram, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped. I don’t have so many friends that I can afford to insult them – please forgive me.’ Ozorne nudged the bed with his foot. ‘Please? I must be coming down with something. My head aches. I just want to stay in and sleep, understand?’
Arram wanted to ask if he’d been getting ill for three weeks, but let it go. ‘Anything I can do?’ he asked.
‘No. Look, I just get a little … cranky this time of year. Don’t mind me, will you? Whatever I say?’
‘Have you any idea why you turn … cranky?’ Arram asked cautiously.
Ozorne gave an unprincely snort. ‘Why does anybody get cross when the weather’s like this, day after everlasting day? Even you … I’ve noticed you’re forever sneaking down to the river. You come back with sand on your shoes. How are you getting out of the grounds, anyway? All the gates are closed and locked at sunset, and there’s guards on duty.’
Arram sat up and shrugged. ‘There’s a tree with branches that hang over the wall in the citrus garden.’
Ozorne smiled. ‘I’m surprised old Hulak hasn’t caught you yet. Stop going there, will you? It’s too dangerous in the dark, especially during the winter floods. They say Enzi, the crocodile god, roams the banks, looking for fresh meat.’ He boosted himself from Arram’s chair. ‘I’ll tell you what. I will try to be sociable, and you will stay away from the river, all right? It’s been known to rise four feet in a day.’ He didn’t wait for an answer, but returned to his cubicle. He could be like that sometimes, thinking his requests – the ones that