Aelfinn goes for his dream job, with unhappy results:
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I take a deep breath. “As you say, I am a son of Gethelread. But I am no warrior, nor am I the king’s heir. I would like to know how one might become a student here.”
The head aeward still says nothing, just stares at me with pale eyes.
The silence rattles me, makes me lose concentration. “I’m a good student.” Collect yourself, Aelfinn. Don’t waste this chance. “Master Alebeate says I learn even the most complicated things as quickly as anyone he’s ever seen. I can do sums involving large numbers, and more advanced calculations, such as areas and volumes. I can read and write well, and can translate from any language of the Coastal Lands into Haeasenluni.”
“As any young man of decent education should be able to do,” the man with the moustache says. “What about Measirai?”
“What?” Not good. I’ve never been instructed in it.
He sighs. “Can you read Measirai? The language spoken by those of Ishla-Re? What about Tarkhelan? Several new manuscripts have come in, and we could use more help with their translation.”
I stare at the floor. Master Alebeate never taught me Ishlan or Tarkhelan. I don’t think he knows them himself. “No, Master. I haven’t learned those. But,” I try to put a good face on it, “I would be willing to learn. I promise I would work very hard.”
“We rarely accept adults,” the young man says. “I started here when I was seven years old. By your age I had already developed a dozen new ways of measuring the movement of the stars.”
“That is truly amazing, Master. You must be very learned indeed.” I keep my eyes down. “It would be a great honour if I could study under you.”
The bald man looks at me with distain. “You seem to have a middling-good education.” I look up hopefully. “For a warrior, but not a scholar.”
“As you can see,” I say, my chest so tight I can hardly make the words audible, “I’m not a warrior. It would be a dream come true if I could study here.”
“Why did you never come before? If you had come here as a child, perhaps something could have been arranged. But at your age? Ridiculous!”
“Truly, Master, I had no idea of the glories of this Shrine until I saw it with my own eyes. If I had, I would have begged my father to send me as soon as possible.”
I’ve said something wrong. The bald man’s eyes narrow and the young man sits back, as if I have somehow sealed my fate.
“So. The king sent you,” the bald man says. It’s a statement rather than a question. “Why? What does he want?”