stammered. “Oh. Er. I think we should, well, you know, be able to set up a scheme to let people pay for magical information. You know, come from miles away to be told secrets.”
“Oh don’t be silly, Umberto,” said Wizard Wermacht. Wermacht was the youngest wizard there, and very proud of the fact. “You’re describing just what we do anyway.”
“But only for students, Wermacht,” Umberto stammered shyly. “I thought we could – er – sell everyone horoscopes and so forth.”
“But then they wouldn’t be secrets!” Wermacht said scornfully. “Your usual muddled thinking. I suggest—”
“Umberto and Wermacht,” Corkoran said, “you are interrupting the Chair.”
At this Umberto went pinker still and Wermacht said, “I’m so sorry, Corkoran. Please do go on.”
“I’d nearly finished,” Corkoran said. “Myrna is going to send out a letter to the parents of all students, asking for the largest possible donation and telling them their names will go up in a spell, with the ones who give most in big letters at the top. We’re bound to get a good response. That’s it. Now forgive me if I rush away. My latest moon studies are very delicate and need watching all the time.” He gathered up his lists and stormed out of the Council Chamber, with his tie flapping over his shoulder.
“I hate these meetings,” Finn said to Myrna as they walked out into the stone foyer together, where the shouts and rumbles from the arriving students echoed louder than ever.
“So do I,” Myrna said dourly. “Why do I always end up doing the work for Corkoran?”
Finn found Myrna the most ravishing woman he knew. She had brains and beauty. He was always hoping she might be persuaded to give up her bardic husband and turn to him instead. “It’s too bad,” he said. “Umberto just sits there like Humpty Dumpty and Wermacht throws his weight about and then crawls to Corkoran. Dench is useless. It’s no wonder Corkoran’s relying on you.”
“Of course he does,” said Myrna. “His head’s in the moon. And I didn’t notice you offering to do anything.”
“Well,” said Finn. “My schedule—”
“As if I hadn’t enough to do!” Myrna went on. “I’ve seen to all the students’ rooms, and the college staff, and the kitchens, and the bedding – and there’s probably going to be an outcry when someone realises that I had to give Derk’s daughter the concert hall to sleep in. She’s too big for anywhere else. How is it, anyway, that Corkoran’s teaching her? Why does he always grab the most interesting students?”
“That’s just what I was going to say!” Finn cried out, seeing his chance to be truly sympathetic to Myrna. “I’ve met most of those students. I knew them as kids when I was Wizard Guide on the tours and I tell you, it’s going to serve Corkoran right for hogging the ones he thinks are best, or richest, or whatever he thinks they are.”
“They probably are the best,” Myrna said, barely listening. “I did the admissions too. The University secretaries nearly went mad over that, and they’ll go mad again now they have to get this letter out. And on top of it all, I’ve just discovered I’m pregnant!”
“Oh,” said Finn. There, he thought, went his hopes of Myrna leaving her bard. All he could think of was to say lamely, “Well, anyway, Corkoran’s in for a shock when he sees one of his new students.”
Finn was right. Next morning, Corkoran hurried into the tall stone tutorial chamber and only just managed not to stand stock still, gaping. He bit his teeth together. He knew better than anyone that his fine, fair good looks caused most students to hang adoringly on his words. He thought of his face as his best teaching aid and was well aware that letting his jaw hang spoilt the effect. So he plastered a smile across it. But he still stood rooted to the spot.
Blazing out of the decidedly motley set of young people in the room – like a sunburst, Corkoran thought dazedly – was a huge golden griffin. He was not sure he was safe. Not exactly a huge griffin, he told himself hastily. He had heard that some griffins were about twice the size of an elephant. This one was only as large as an extra big plough-horse. But she – he could somehow tell it was a she: there was an enormous, emphatic sheness to this griffin – she was so brightly golden in fur and crest and feathers, so sharply curved of beak and so fiercely alert in her round orange eyes, that at first sight she seemed to fill the room. He noticed a dwarf somewhere down by her great front talons – and noticed with irritation that the fellow was in full war-gear – but that was all. He very nearly turned and ran away.
Still, he had come to teach these students and also to find out, if possible, how wealthy their parents were, so he pasted the smile wider on his face and began his usual speech of welcome to the University.
The students gazed at him with interest, particularly at his tie, which this morning had two intertwined pink and yellow dragons on it, and at the words on his T-shirt under the tie.
“What’s MOON SOON mean?” rumbled the dwarf. Probably he thought he was whispering. It gave a peculiarly grating, surly boom to his voice.
“Hush!” said the griffin, probably whispering too. It sounded like a very small scream. “It may mean something magical.”
The dwarf leaned forward with a rattle of mail and peered. “There’s another word under his tie,” he grated. “SHOT. It’s SHOT. Why should anyone shoot the moon?”
“It must be a spell,” small-screamed the griffin.
Corkoran realised that between the two of them he was being drowned out. “Well that’s enough about the University,” he said. “Now I want to know about you. I suggest each of you speaks in turn. Tell the rest of us your name, who your parents are, and what made you want to come and study here, while the rest of you listen quietly. Why don’t you start?” he said, pointing at the large, shabby young man on the other side of the griffin. “No, no, you don’t have to stand up!” Corkoran added hastily as the young man’s morose-looking face reddened and the young man tried to scramble to his feet. “Just sit comfortably and tell us about yourself. Everyone can be quite relaxed about this.”
The young man sank back, looking far from relaxed. He seemed worried. He pulled nervously at the frayed edges of his thick woollen jacket and then planted a large hand on each knee so that they covered the patches there. “My name is Lukin,” he said. “My father is King of Luteria – in the north, you know – and I’m, er, his eldest son. My father, well, how do I put this? My father isn’t paying my fees. I don’t think he could afford to, anyway. He doesn’t approve of me doing magic and he, er, doesn’t want me here. He likes his family at home with him.”
Corkoran’s heart sank at this, and sank further as Lukin went on, “Our kingdom’s very poor, you know, because it was always being devastated by Mr Chesney’s tours. But my grandmother, my mother’s mother, that is, was a wizard – Melusine; you may have heard of her – and I’ve inherited her talent. Sort of. From the time I was ten, I was always having magical accidents, and my grandmother said the only way to stop having them was to train properly as a wizard. So she left me her money for the fees when she died, but of course the fees have gone up since her day and I’ve had to save and economise in order to be here. But I do intend to learn and I will stop having accidents. A king shouldn’t spend his time making holes in things.” He was almost crying with earnestness as he finished.
Corkoran could have cried
