Noticed

It was times like this when I wished my mother had sold me to the circus when I was a baby instead of figuring she could raise a kid single-handed on less money than it took to keep a cricket alive. Not that I was so keen on being part of some carny freak show, you understand, but the alternative really wasn't nothing to get excited about either.

Seeing as how Maybelle Epting hadn't planned that far in advance, even before she'd ended up in over her head with some drug pusher's gang in the Lower City, I guess it wasn't no use blaming her. So instead I wished Leon's mother had wrung his neck when he was in the crib. 'Cause I couldn't imagine as how he could ever have been a sweet-natured baby, and it was just plain irresponsible of the woman to allow that nastiness time to grow.

Look at him, standing there like he owned the world and the gods counted themselves lucky that he was around to keep the stars spinning, like the glowering Collegiate Council weren't no more than a pack of dirty street urchins begging for alms. Blessed saints, forget the circus; I'd be grateful if the floor could just open up and swallow me whole.

"Do you have anything to add, Mr. Jeffcoat?" And I'd've been happier if Headmaster Tremain'd yelled his head off rather than using that quiet tone of his as made you feel like you weren't no taller than maybe two inches on a good day. I held my breath and concentrated on keeping still, sort of hoping the Council'd forgotten about me, 'cause I was sure they were about a hair's-breath shy of incinerating Leon with their eyes, and I didn't want 'em to make a mistake by looking my way or nothing.

Leon gave them this tiny, thin little smile, like he had a hundred things to add but was too polite to tell them exactly where he thought they could shove their rules and regulations -- and I thought that expression alone should've been grounds for expulsion -- and said, "I think we've said all that need to be said, Headmaster."

"Very well. You're dismissed. Wait in the antechamber while we confer." You had to give the man credit for keeping his cool and ignoring the fact that a few of his colleagues looked like they were on the verge of an apoplexy.

A mocking half-bow, and Leon whirled and sauntered toward the door. I sketched a clumsy bow myself -- half-way between polite and still not wanting them to remember I existed -- and scrambled after him.

"Well, that could've gone better," he announced with a brittle smile. The page and secretary both gaped at him like he'd grown an extra head, but he paid them no more attention than he did the potted plants beside the door. "Do you suppose you could run down to the kitchens, Dean, and grab us a bite while we wait?"

Sure enough, we'd missed dinner, and not that I'd ever felt less like eating in my life, but we both knew that wasn't meant as a suggestion so much as a command. I took a malicious sort of satisfaction in knowing that sometimes I grated on Leon's nerves just as bad as he did on mine. It meant that under his careful, sardonic mask, he was still the counsin I knew, still the boy I'd fought for and fought against so many times it was like the bruises had impressed him up under my skin. Not that he needed me to fight for him anymore, I thought, and tried to tell myself I didn't care one way or t'other. Today's little fiasco had proved that to quite spetacular effect.

It being so close to curfew, the halls were deserted and dim, like the mageglobes were getting tired of forever being bright and cheery. I let my feet carry me along without paying much attention; I'd walked these corridors for years, trotting behind Leon as he went from class to class, watching him become a mage and trying to keep him from getting in too much trouble. And what a bloody fine job I'd made of -that- too.

If I hadn't been so caught up in my own thoughts, they'd never've caught me unawares. Pure carelessness, the kind that would've gotten me knifed but good for a couple of coppers in the Lower City. Seeing the grim set of Leslie Yarborough and Jamie McKinzie's jaws, I couldn't help but wonder if maybe that might've been a better idea after all.

"Mr. Epting," Leslie acknowledged, with that particular inflection of hers that always said as how she doubted I deserved the title. Her eyes flickered past me, but seeing as how Leon didn't obligingly pop up out of the shadows, she refocused them on me before I could slip off. "We were hoping to see you."

Yeah, and I'd been hoping for a one-on-one chat with the Headmaster myself, I thought, but had the wits not to say. Most of the time Leslie, and all of Leon's other friends, did a pretty good job of ignoring me, which I was fine with. Or, if they did look at me, it was like I was an old, ragged footstool that Leon insisted on dragging everywhere, like I was offending their eyes, but they'd put up with it for his sake. And they never spoke to me if they could help it.

"Miss Yarborough, Mr. McKinzie," I mumbled, trying not to fidget. I hated the way they wouldn't look at me straight on, the way most people avoided staring at a wart or something.

"What did the Council say? Have them come to a decision?"

"No ma'am. They're talking it over."

"Where's Leon?" Jamie interrupted, like he thought I was hiding him under my coat.

"Back there," I waved behind me. "Look, if y'all don't mind?"

Apparently they did mind, because neither made to get out of my way. "They can't -really- be thinking of expelling him, can they, Leslie? I mean... he's -Leon Jeffcoat-." Jamie said, in the same tone he would've used to invoke a patron saint.

"Yes, you're right. I doubt they will. His father would never stand for it, and the College needs his support." It was a good effort, but the way that frown wouldn't leave her face told me that she wasn't any too sure that even Elias Jeffcoat's influence would be enough to save his son this time around.

And that plain pissed me off, enough that I didn't just keep my mouth shut and skulk off when they weren't looking like I'd meant to. And it wasn't even because Leon didn't use his father's name to get his way something awful. No, it was the way these two uptight, spoiled brats just assumed that it was going to take Jeffcoat money to get him off the hook this time, and maybe not even then.

"They ain't gonna expel him 'cause he didn't bloody do it," I growled.

They both gave me a surprised and disappointed look that I'd speak without being spoke to first, like I was a well-trained dancing monkey that had peed on the carpet and they had been expecting better. "Of course not," Leslie agreed, a beat too late to have been sincere. "Well, good night, Mr. Epting."

I spent the next five minutes silently cussing them up one side and down the other, and myself along with 'em, for being such a half-wit that I had to go and open my mouth and prove it. It was about the only thing I -could- prove too. I mean, it's not like anyone in the whole Collegium except for Leon -- on a good day -- would pause to give me the time of day. It was along the lines of me having come from the Lower City, see, and how they'd all of 'em would've liked to pretend that the slums down there didn't exist, and that everything was all just as rosy for everyone else as it was for them. Saved them the trouble of having to try to do something about the not-so-pretty bits of life, didn't it?

Except that I sort of messed that up, by having the nerve not've died on the streets on account of how my mother had been related to Leon's mother and so the Jeffcoats had taken me in when she'd died. Not that Elias had been happy about it, and I think if Leon hadn't already known I existed, he'd've had me dumped in a river to save himself the trouble. And of course, I couldn't work magic anymore than I could flap my arms and fly around the Collegium, so then they had even less use for me. Sometimes I wished they'd just left well enough alone and let me run loose in a street gang like all the other urchins I knew growing up.

I'd managed to cool down a little by the time I reached the kitchens. The place was empty, of course, but I found a loaded tray sitting by the door, with the steam still rising off of the dishes too. The Feylings, bless them. I wondered if they were still watching, but didn't try to look for them. It would only have alarmed them. I did mutter a quiet "Thanks" into the darkness, and heard maybe this quiet shuffling in the back.

Most people as visited the Collegium remarked on how smoothly everything ran. Clean sheets and hot showers and the food always ready just whenever a guest got peckish. The Masters would smile and thank them for their kind words and promise to relay them to the serving staff. Which they never did of course, 'cause the Collegium didn't have no serving staff. Well, I mean, except for me maybe, but I only served Leon and ain't nobody ever thanked me for -that-, let me tell ya.

What the Collegium did have were the Feylings. Tiny, ragged little creatures that wouldn't come out full into the light if you hitched 'em to a team of four. I never did figure out where they came from. There were stories, told to the youngest kids to scare 'em, that the Feylings were freshmen who'd messed with the wrong upperclassmen, or that they were the failed experiments of the Masters, or imps from another plain that were bound in service but who wouldn't mind a taste of blood if they could corner a new student in some deserted hallway. The newest kids always moved around in packs, but by the time they reached their second or third year, most of 'em had realized that the Feylings were about as dangerous as a toothless hamster.

I doubt most folks noticed them much past that. How they got around was one of those mysteries of the Collegium that makes it into legend within a generation or so. There wasn't no way to get anything like an accurate count of how many of 'em there were, and they had some kind of small magic of their own, and they plain hated being noticed. But whether you saw 'em or not, they were always there, hovering out of sight and doing all the stuff that ain't none of the loftier folk could be bothered with. I thought sometimes that nobody besides me would probably even slow down if they ran over one of the little fellas. Not that I went out of my way for 'em or anything, mind. That would've been awkward as anything for 'em, seeing how shy they are, but sometimes I'd leave out a piece of sweetmeat or something, and find it gone the next morning. I figured I sure as hell wasn't in no position to look down on anyone else's life, that's for sure.

And then it hit me, and I must have been thick as a rock not to've thought of it before. 'Cause who else but the Feylings would know what had been going on in the Great Hall in the dark of night? I mean, if they could track me from the Council to the kitchens and make sure the food on my tray weren't even cold when I picked it up, they could sure as hell have kept an eye on a big, glowing, magical ball. The problem was, would they talk to me?

Only one way to find out, I thought, and changed direction to head to the room Leon and I shared. Now, like I said, I was about the only person in the whole Collegium who paid the Feylings any attention at all, but I'd've been lying if I said I knew 'em well or anything. But there was a Feyling who served the hall Leon and I lived on, by the name of Mimi, and I thought a few times as how she might've appreciated the way I'd sort of straighten up our room as best I could sometimes, to make things easier on her. If any of 'em would talk to me, it would be her.

There was this little closet she used sometimes, with a pile of dirty blankets in the back corner, hiding behind the cleaning supplies and whatnot, and that's where I found her, all curled up and asleep.

"Mimi?" I whispered, as loud as I dared, and I could've kicked myself at how she startled up like I'd just bellowed her name in her ear. It took a while to calm her and convince her that she didn't do nothing wrong and I wasn't mad or nothing, and all the while I could just imagine what a time I'd have if anyone else came in and saw me trying to sweet-talk a Feyling.

"Young master wanted me?" she asked at last, in a funny little squeak and her eyes went round.

"I ain't no master," I told her, "but yeah, I could use a bit of help, if you don't mind."

She drew herself up like I'd just offered her the world, with sugar on top. "What can Mimi help young master with?"

"Err, well, it's my cousin. Y'know. Leon?" I eyed her cautiously as I said it. Leon had a temper like a boiler with just one valve, and I didn't know if the Feylings were as terrified of him as some of the younger classmen, though I knew for a fact that he never gave -them- any thought, if he even knew they existed.

Mimi just nodded, looking eager, so I pushed on. "Right. See, he's kind of in trouble. And it ain't nothing that he did this time," I added, 'cause Mimi was frowning like she knew what kind of trouble Leon usually found himself in. "Look, I've been with him all day, so I -know- he could've have taken the Jadion alright? But they're saying as how he's the only one who could've had enough power to remove something like that, and if I don't find it in a hurry, they're gonna expel him for sure this time."

There was something a little odd about Mimi's expression, and suddenly I realized what I'd just said. I may not know nothing about magic, but sit in enough lessons and something's bound to seep through even a skull as thick as mine. And one of the first lessons Leon had ever been in, the Masters were saying how the Collegium'd gotten started 'cause mages who didn't have enough magic found they could band together and do loads more stuff that way. And wasn't I just thinking earlier about how the Feylings had their own little charms and such?

"Mimi," I said, keeping my voice low and gentle. "Do -you- know what happened to the Jadion?"

For a moment she looked like she was thinking of lying to me, but then her eyes filled up with tears and she started shaking and I felt about as low as a snake's belly in a wagon rut when she started wailing.

"I's sorry, young master, I's not knowing better! We wants the magic for our picture people, but we ain't never meant to get Master Jeffcoat in trouble!"

I didn't have a clue about expect maybe half of what she was talking about, but the one thing that was clear was that the Feylings -did- have something to do with the Jadion's disappearance. I mean, a great big magical stone like that, glowing like a tiny little sun... who else could've taken it and hidden it anyway? Well, besides Leon, like the Council thought.

I tried my best not to be impatient, so it took a while to get her calmed again. "Mimi, I ain't mad" --hell, I could care less about the mages' magical focus-- "but I need to get it back." Though I doubt I'd get any thanks for it, but it beat having Leon expelled and having to go back to the Jeffcoat household by a long-shot, that's for sure. "Can you show me where it is?"

She sniffled, but I guess she must've agreed, 'cause the next thing I knew, she'd pulled me in further back into the closet. And I never did see what brick she pushed or whatever, but suddenly it was like the whole back wall just wasn't there anymore. My mouth fell open like someone'd forgotten to put the screws in at the hinges of my jaws, but Mimi just tugged me inside the passage.

It wasn't until we were a few steps in -- and I'd gotten lost faster than a silver mark under a con man's shell -- that I figured out just what I was seeing. How Mimi could see anything was beyond me, so I just followed her obedient as a puppy on a string, but what I was thinking was that if any Master knew about the tunnels inside the Collegium's walls, I'd eat my boots. And I mean, they were a bit small for me, but these weren't no mean little cracks, but walkways that must've taken the Feylings centuries to build and buttress. And wasn't the idea that they were all the time burrowing into the stone of the Collegium around us a nice thought!

I don't know how long we spent in that darkness, taking more turns than a carvinal maze and always heading down. I could almost hear Leon's voice saying -"They should really add this to the official campus tours"- but I couldn't help but think that if Mimi wanted to get rid of me, all it would take was her slipping her hand away and I could probably spend the rest of my life here and never find my way out. And then, so sudden it was like falling down a well, we turned a corner and found ourselves out of that bloody tunne.

The first thing I noticed was that I could stand up straight again, and the second was that there were about a million little candles, shining on the walls like the stars had all decided to meet up in this one place and have some tea together.

And the third thing was that there were pictures -everywhere-. Portraits. Thousands of 'em, all hung up and looking down into the center of that circular room. Big ones and little ones, metal frames and wood, and all kinds of different styles, some dating back to what must've been popular when the Collegium itself was nothing more than a heap of unmortared bricks. And the devil of it was, in that flickering candlelight, it purely did look like every pair of eyes was staring straight at me no matter how I moved. I could just feel my neck hairs standing up to attention like the City Guard on a parade ground.

"Uh, Mimi?" I didn't know why I was whispering, except that maybe I didn't want to draw those pictures' attention to me anymore than I already had, which just about tells you how spooked I was. "Where are we?"

"Feyling's place," she said happily. "You like?"

"It's... lovely. You guys sure have a lot of... of pictures."

She beamed at me, then at the portraits like they were the greatest thing in the world. "Thankee, young master," she said, patting a nearby frame. Then suddenly she looked frightened. "Feylings not steals them. Masters tells us to get rid of, then we brings them here."

"I'm not saying you stole 'em" --and I wouldn't've care if they had-- "I'm just wondering why so... many?"

"They watch," she said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Uhm, watch -what-?" I asked, trying not to give into the screaming horrors.

"Watch -us-," she replied. "They sees us. They never close their eyes."

For the space of a heartbeat, I couldn't understand what she'd said, and then I did and I wanted to sit down right there and cry. Had to swallow a couple of times on account of not wanting to get choked up and scare Mimi. No, those moldy old portraits never did close their eyes. Here, in this dim-lit, forgotten underground, the Feylings had the unswerving attention of hundreds, maybe thousands, of the same kind of folks as wouldn't look at 'em to spit on 'em in the world up top. There was this scuffling sound from all around us, and I realized that this must be where all the Feylings spent their time when they weren't serving the Collegium. I could sort of hear them moving in the shadows, and I thanked every saint I could name that I'd never known a Feyling to be violent in any way. Not saying that they wouldn't pick now to try something new, but I was kind of pegging them for traditionalists.

"The, err, Jadion?" I hinted, and tried to tell myself that the way my voice had wobbled was on account of the size of the room, and not 'cause I was thinking about what I'd do if all them Feylings decided to set on me at once.

Mimi looked unhappy for a moment, but she turned and made her way to another side door. There were a few long, nasty minutes when I was standing all alone and way too aware that I wasn't a mage and that the only eyes watching me where those of the Feylings and the paintings. I put my arms behind my back and strolled over to glance at one or another frame, hoping I looked casual and not strung up tighter than a wound clock.

I could've hugged Mimi out of sheer relief when she reappeared, for all that the way she popped up suddenly beside me almost gave me a heart attack on the spot. She was holding the Jadion -- or rather, the bubble they had used to trap the Jadion in -- in one hand. Her eyes were as big as saucers, and I had the distinct impression that the shadows had gotten unfriendlier all of a sudden.

"We is going now," she said, with a fearful look around.

I didn't argue.

The pattering of feet behind us followed us down the passages -- a new set this time, although now at least I could see where we were going thanks to the Jadion's glow.

"They gonna try anything?" I asked, more out of curiosity than because I could do anything about it if they did.

"They isn't happy to see magic rock go," she whispered back. "We is living so long in shadows... until old Lorry figure out to use magic for lights. Mimi doesn't know what we is doing now," she added sadly.

I made an on-the-spot decision never to mention to the Headmaster that the Feylings had been using his most precious magical focus to light all their little candles. Then I realized that I couldn't mention none of this to Tremain anyway, 'cause the saints only knew what he'd do to the Feylings, and I wasn't going to have that on my conscience even if I had to tell 'em I'd borrowed it myself.

I don't know which god was watching over us that night, but the Great Hall was empty and twice as spooky as normal when we got there. Mimi had to stand on my shoulders to reach the plinth that normally held the Jadion -- and those were a hair-raising few seconds, let me tell you -- and I knew the moment it caught again, 'cause the light doubled and we both of us started back with a cry and ended up in a tangled heap on the floor. There was a shout from nearby, and we froze for about half a second before haring out of there together like the devil himself was on our tails.

***

Back in our room, with Mimi filling in, Leon sat there and listened as I talked. Never interrupted, and for once he didn't even bother to correct my grammar or nothing. When I'd finished, he still didn't make a sound, just frowned a little like he wasn't quite all there and pulled at his earlobe like he does sometimes when he's thinking real hard.

Finally, "Show me," he said.

I gaped at him in sheer disbelief, but he gave me this impatient look that said he wouldn't think anything of using magic to make me move faster if I didn't hop, so I figured maybe he was serious after all.

He didn't have any expression as I could see as we led him back to the picture room, and I could almost feel the Feylings' fear around us this time, instead of t'other way around. I wasn't too sure myself what he'd do. Leon could hold a grudge tighter than a scrouge with his coins, and I swore that I'd knock him over the head and drag him back up top if he thought he was gonna hurt any of the little fellas 'cause they wanted some lights for their pictures.

Once we'd gotten there, he ignored both of us and spent a good hour just walking up and down, looking at the portraits and muttering under his breath.

"Amazing... some of these date back centuries... this one must have been made during the Krion dynasty..."

Finally, just as I was thinking he'd lost it for good, Leon stopped in the dead center of the room and gave me a little grin.

"I always told the Headmaster that displaying the Jadion and allowing anyone with enough magic near it was just asking for trouble. Still, I doubt that he's moved it already, so I guess he won't mind if I use it for a little working of my own."

And then he held up his hands... and he clapped... and all the candles popped into flame like someone had switched them on, only a hundred times brighter. I blinked away stars in time to see him wipe a hand across his brow.

"There. Ever-burning candles." He grinned again. "Powered by the Jadion, and no one will ever even know." He patted Mimi absently, not even noticing how she was looking at him like he had made the world by hand. "You can close your mouth now, Dean. And let's get out of here. Tremain might not be able to prove that I was the one who just drained all that energy, but he won't be any happier with me if he catches us coming out of the walls."