He trailed
off, his eyes far away.
“Did they burn him?” I asked with the morbid
curiosity of the young.
“What? No, of course not. I’m not that old.” He
scowled at me in mock severity. “There was a drought and he got run out of
town. His poor mother was heartbroken.”
There was a moment of silence. Two wagons ahead of
us, I heard Teren and Shandi rehearsing lines from The
Swineherd and the Nightingale.
Abenthy seemed to be listening as well, in an
offhand way. After Teren got himself lost halfway through Fain’s garden
monologue, I turned back to face him. “Do they teach acting at the University?”
I asked.
Abenthy shook his head, slightly amused by the
question. “Many things, but not that.”
I looked over at Abenthy and saw him watching me,
his eyes danced.
“Could you teach me some of those other things?” I
asked.
He smiled, and it was as easy as that.
Abenthy proceeded to give me a brief overview of
each of the sciences. While his main love was for chemistry, he believed in a
rounded education. I learned how to work the sextant, the compass, the
slipstick, the abacus. More important, I learned to do without.
Within a span I could identify any chemical in his
cart. In two months I could distill liquor until it was too strong to drink,
bandage a wound, set a bone, and diagnose hundreds of sicknesses from symptoms.
I knew the process for making four different aphrodisiacs, three concoctions
for contraception, nine for impotence, and two philtres referred to simply as
“maiden’s helper.” Abenthy was rather vague about the purpose of the last of
these, but I had some strong suspicions.
I learned the formulae for a dozen poisons and
acids and a hundred medicines and cure-alls, some of which even worked. I
doubled my herb lore in theory if not in practice. Abenthy started to call me
Red and I called him Ben, first in retaliation, then in friendship.
Only now, far after the fact, do I recognize how
carefully Ben prepared me for what was to come at the University. He did it
subtly. Once or twice a day, mixed in with my normal lectures, Ben would
present me with a little mental exercise I would have to master before we went
on to anything else. He made me play Tirani without a board, keeping track of
the stones in my head. Other times he would stop in the middle of a
conversation and make me repeat everything said in the last few minutes, word
for word.
This was levels beyond the simple memorization I
had practiced for the stage. My mind was learning to work in different ways,
becoming stronger. It felt the same way your body feels after a day of
splitting wood, or swimming, or sex. You feel exhausted, languorous, and almost
Godlike. This feeling was similar, except it was my intellect that was weary
and expanded, languid and latently powerful. I could feel my mind starting to
awaken.
I seemed to gain momentum as I progressed, like
when water starts to wash away a dam made of sand. I don’t know if you
understand what a geometric progression is, but that is the best way to
describe it. Through it all Ben continued to teach me mental exercises that I
was half convinced he constructed out of sheer meanness.
CHAPTER TEN
Alar and Several
Stones
B EN
HELD UP A chunk of dirty fieldstone slightly bigger than his fist.
“What will happen if I let go of this rock?”
I thought for a bit. Simple questions during lesson
time were very seldom simple. Finally I gave the obvious answer. “It will
probably fall.”
He raised an eyebrow. I had kept him busy over the
last several months, and he hadn’t had the leisure to accidentally burn them
off. “Probably? You sound like a sophist, boy. Hasn’t it always fallen before?”
I stuck my tongue out at him. “Don’t try to
boldface your way through this one. That’s a fallacy. You taught me that
yourself.”
He grinned. “Fine. Would it be fair to say you
believe it will fall?”
“Fair enough.”
“I want you to believe it will fall up
off, his eyes far away.
“Did they burn him?” I asked with the morbid
curiosity of the young.
“What? No, of course not. I’m not that old.” He
scowled at me in mock severity. “There was a drought and he got run out of
town. His poor mother was heartbroken.”
There was a moment of silence. Two wagons ahead of
us, I heard Teren and Shandi rehearsing lines from The
Swineherd and the Nightingale.
Abenthy seemed to be listening as well, in an
offhand way. After Teren got himself lost halfway through Fain’s garden
monologue, I turned back to face him. “Do they teach acting at the University?”
I asked.
Abenthy shook his head, slightly amused by the
question. “Many things, but not that.”
I looked over at Abenthy and saw him watching me,
his eyes danced.
“Could you teach me some of those other things?” I
asked.
He smiled, and it was as easy as that.
Abenthy proceeded to give me a brief overview of
each of the sciences. While his main love was for chemistry, he believed in a
rounded education. I learned how to work the sextant, the compass, the
slipstick, the abacus. More important, I learned to do without.
Within a span I could identify any chemical in his
cart. In two months I could distill liquor until it was too strong to drink,
bandage a wound, set a bone, and diagnose hundreds of sicknesses from symptoms.
I knew the process for making four different aphrodisiacs, three concoctions
for contraception, nine for impotence, and two philtres referred to simply as
“maiden’s helper.” Abenthy was rather vague about the purpose of the last of
these, but I had some strong suspicions.
I learned the formulae for a dozen poisons and
acids and a hundred medicines and cure-alls, some of which even worked. I
doubled my herb lore in theory if not in practice. Abenthy started to call me
Red and I called him Ben, first in retaliation, then in friendship.
Only now, far after the fact, do I recognize how
carefully Ben prepared me for what was to come at the University. He did it
subtly. Once or twice a day, mixed in with my normal lectures, Ben would
present me with a little mental exercise I would have to master before we went
on to anything else. He made me play Tirani without a board, keeping track of
the stones in my head. Other times he would stop in the middle of a
conversation and make me repeat everything said in the last few minutes, word
for word.
This was levels beyond the simple memorization I
had practiced for the stage. My mind was learning to work in different ways,
becoming stronger. It felt the same way your body feels after a day of
splitting wood, or swimming, or sex. You feel exhausted, languorous, and almost
Godlike. This feeling was similar, except it was my intellect that was weary
and expanded, languid and latently powerful. I could feel my mind starting to
awaken.
I seemed to gain momentum as I progressed, like
when water starts to wash away a dam made of sand. I don’t know if you
understand what a geometric progression is, but that is the best way to
describe it. Through it all Ben continued to teach me mental exercises that I
was half convinced he constructed out of sheer meanness.
CHAPTER TEN
Alar and Several
Stones
B EN
HELD UP A chunk of dirty fieldstone slightly bigger than his fist.
“What will happen if I let go of this rock?”
I thought for a bit. Simple questions during lesson
time were very seldom simple. Finally I gave the obvious answer. “It will
probably fall.”
He raised an eyebrow. I had kept him busy over the
last several months, and he hadn’t had the leisure to accidentally burn them
off. “Probably? You sound like a sophist, boy. Hasn’t it always fallen before?”
I stuck my tongue out at him. “Don’t try to
boldface your way through this one. That’s a fallacy. You taught me that
yourself.”
He grinned. “Fine. Would it be fair to say you
believe it will fall?”
“Fair enough.”
“I want you to believe it will fall up
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