skin, but a second corona of green says you are nature’s child, and a loving son to her—’
‘And that sort of nonsense is exactly why you were not allowed to stay up to greet him! Bid him the good god’s blessing, Epiny, and then he must be on his way. Nevare cannot let a silly little girl and her play-pretend nattering delay him on an important day like this.’ True impatience and perhaps a bit of embarrassment had crept into her father’s voice. I stood still as she pattered up to me, her little slippers peeping from beneath her robe. She stood on tiptoes to kiss me on the cheek and bid me god speed. ‘Come to dinner soon! I regularly die of boredom here!’ she whispered hastily, and then she let me go.
‘Blessings of the good god be on you, cousin,’ I managed to say, and bowed again to my uncle before climbing into the carriage. Epiny stood on the steps, holding her father’s hand and waving to us as the footman held the carriage door open for us. I scarcely knew what to think of her, but decided my uncle was correct to be concerned. No wonder the young woman on the jankboat had seemed so amused to find Epiny was my cousin. I felt a belated blush over that.
My uncle’s carriage was a much grander transport than the wagon that had carried us the night before. His crest, the ‘old crest’ of my family, gleamed on the polished wood door. There was a driver, attired in my uncle’s colours of maroon and grey, and a fine team of grey geldings with maroon touches on their harness and headstalls. My father and I climbed into the carriage while a footman held the door for us. We climbed in and took our seats on the plush grey upholstery. There were little burgundy cushions with soft charcoal tassels in each corner of the seat and window curtains to match. I had never been inside a conveyance so fine, and despite the fact that only my father accompanied me, I sat up very straight.
The driver cracked his whip to start the team, which made me leap in my seat. My father allowed himself a small smile and I found myself grinning back. ‘Don’t be so tense, son,’ he counselled me gently as we set off. ‘Show the alertness of a fine spirit, but do not make Colonel Stiet think the Burvelle family has sent him a Nervous Nellie.’
‘Yes, sir,’ I replied, and forced myself to sit back on the seat. The carriage rolled thunderously over the cobbled streets of Old Thares. At any other time, I would have been fascinated at the sights outside the window, but today they could scarcely hold my attention. We first passed other fine houses with manicured grounds, not very different from my uncle’s domain. Beyond the well-kept walls and gates, I had glimpses of tall oaks and fine lawns, pathways and statuary. Then we wound down into the merchants’ districts, and trees and open space were left behind. Commercial establishments stood wall to wall, with residential quarters above them. We stopped at the cobbler whom my uncle had recommended. He made swift work of measuring my feet and promised my new boots would be delivered to my rooms at the Academy within a fortnight.
Then we were on our way again. It was now full morning and more people were astir. Wagons of merchandise and hurrying apprentices crowded the streets, slowing the passage of our carriage. In one busy street, a clanging bell warned us of a streetcar drawn by a stout team of horses. Women in hats with extravagant feathers and men in their morning coats gazed from its open windows as they enjoyed the leisurely ride to their day’s errands. Prosperity ruled in this part of town, and I suspected that many of the folk I saw strolling the street did so only to show they had fine clothes and the leisure to display them.
Gradually we left the heart of the town behind. The streets grew narrower and the shops smaller. Slowly the houses changed, becoming first unkempt and then decrepit. The coachman shook the reins and we went more swiftly through noisome streets past cheap taverns and houses where painted sluts lounged in the open windows. I saw a blind boy singing loudly on a corner, his begging pan at his feet. On another corner, an itinerant priest preached loudly, exhorting the straying souls of these slums to turn their minds and heart to the next world. The coach passed them and his voice faded behind us. Somewhere, a bell tolled, and then another took up the solemn telling of the morning-prayer hour. My father and I bowed our heads silently.
Finally we turned onto the river road. It was wider and better kept, and yet there again we were forced to go more slowly, for traffic of every kind flowed into it. I saw wagons full of logs freshly unloaded from the waterfront, and loads of newly cut timber. A traveller’s wagon and a string of nags for sale fell in behind our carriage. In our turn, we followed a coal-man’s cart.
‘Have we far to go, Father?’ I asked when it seemed that several days had passed in the space of one morning.
‘It’s a good drive. When they decided to build a separate school for the Academy of Cavalla, they looked for a location that offered space for horsemanship drills, as well as ready access to pasturage and water. That placed the Academy somewhat outside of Old Thares. But that, too, we considered an advantage. You young men will focus more on your studies if you are well away from the distractions and vices of the city.’
It seemed a rebuke that he felt I must be kept away from such temptations in order to stand strong against them, and I said as much.
My father smiled gently and shook his head. ‘I fear more for your companions than I do for you, Nevare. For I do not know what strength of character they bring with them, nor how they have been taught at home. But this I do know of men, both young and old. When they are in groups, they are likelier to sink to the lowest acceptable behaviour rather than rise to the highest possible standards. And this is especially true if there is no strong leader holding his men firmly accountable for their behaviour. You will be living among your peers, and it will become easy for you to believe that your ethics are, perhaps, provincial or outdated if the young men around you are dissolute or self-indulgent. So, I caution you, beware of those who mock goodness and self-discipline. Be wise in choosing your friends. Above all, be true to what you have been taught and to the honour of your family.’
And those were the words on his lips as our carriage left the main road and turned up the long tree-lined drive that led to the arched entry of the King’s Cavalla Academy.
My father left me too soon in that place.
The memories of that first day whirl and mingle in my mind now, for so many things happened so quickly. At the end of the long gravelled drive, we passed under a stone arch that bore the inscription King’s Cavalla Academy. Marble sculptures of mounted knights flanked the entrance. A tall wall of worked stone surrounded the property, and within it, groundskeepers were at work everywhere with rakes and barrows and pruning hooks to prepare for the new term. Lush green lawns were studded with old oaks and bounded by tall laurel hedges. We stopped before the Administration Building, which was made of red brick and was several storeys high with a white portico. Well-tended footpaths led away from it across grassy swards to classroom buildings and dormitories. To the east of the residence halls, I saw a stable and several paddocks, and beyond that, an exercise arena.
I had only a moment to look about and get my bearings, for our driver had climbed down and opened the door for us. I followed my father out of the carriage and he instructed the driver to wait, then led me up the steps of the imposing central building. Before we had reached the top of the stairs, the door swung open and a lad emerged smiling and greeted us. He could not have been more than ten years old, yet his head was cropped in a military style and he was attired in clothing that mimicked a cavalla uniform. He bowed to my father and asked in a clear voice if he could be of service.
‘Perhaps you can, young man. I have brought my son, Nevare Burvelle, to enter him into the Academy.’
The
