The Count's Heir (1)
The head of the Magic Department was from nobility, a man whose identity as a noble outweighed his role as a mage. I'd heard he was the third or fourth son of some baron's family somewhere in the Rainplan region.
"What is it?"
I'm sitting with him now at the reception table in his office, waiting for him to get to the point. Even as a noble, he seems to be circling around indirectly, but that's not my style. When I prompted him, the department head finally started with the departmental project, as expected.
"Didn't I tell you? I'm here to inform you that the project you submitted has been approved."
"Thank you. That's great news."
The research funding for that project is thirty gold coins. After the university division and department take their cuts, about twenty-five should be left. That'll give me some breathing room. But I doubt the department head waited for me all the way out in front of the lecture hall just for this. Him, handling something like that personally?
Traperon University has a president at the top, deans for each faculty, and department heads for the departments. But a department head's status is worlds apart from the others. It's not just a matter of rank.
"Did you come in person for this?"
"Yes."
The president is basically the emperor on campus. I'd call him a 'god,' but I don't want to end up in a religious trial, so I'll hold back. Even the lord of Traperon can't treat him lightly, and within university grounds, he holds extraterritorial rights. That's Traperon for you—if it were a royal university president, he'd be on par with the king himself. At least when it comes to magic education matters. Anything else? Forget it. And the president has no reason to cross the monarch anyway, so he doesn't poke the bear.
Point is, he's not someone you can boss around even if the king shows up personally.
"A letter would have sufficed."
The dean is king of the faculty. Every professor, every lecture, every research project falls under the dean's purview. Personnel and budget too. The only reason I got a one-on-one with the dean last time was because I was the university's golden boy, carrying everyone's expectations. A typical new assistant professor might not see the dean for years after starting.
"A letter wouldn't cut it, so I came myself."
What about a department head, then? Is he like a duke or count ruling the department? Not at Traperon University. He's just a full professor whose seniority came up in rotation. Having served as department head is what earns you elder statesman status among professors. That says it all.
If it were me, I'd pass. Sure, your salary bumps up during the term, and you get some real authority. But the responsibilities pile up way more than the power. You still have to teach the same load, but now you're drowning in admin work and can't do any research. With multiple past heads around, flaunt your 'authority' and you'll just get laughed at. So the title doesn't carry much weight. Nobody thinks the department head is the department's boss.
"Wouldn't cut it how?"
That said, asking if he's just a glorified messenger is off-base too. Especially since I'm no elder—I'm a brand-new professor.
"Don't you even read your mail properly? You skip every professors' meeting and event."
"Well..."
Busted. I don't, really. But how's it already 'every time' when the semester just started? The department head had an answer for that.
"Since it came up, why didn't you show at the new professor welcome party?"
Oh crap.
*
"It clearly said attendance wasn't mandatory..."
"That's what we tell the other attendees! You're the star of the show! It was to celebrate your appointment! How does it make sense for you not to show?"
I was out of excuses. I vaguely remembered skimming it, seeing 'Attendance is not mandatory, but please try to make it,' and feeling relieved. Then I erased it from my mind entirely.
"Think of my face too! We threw it for you, and the guest of honor ghosts? What do the other professors think?"
"Sorry... But, still... there were other new professors besides me, right?"
"Yes! Thank goodness!"
I started to relax a bit, but he wasn't letting it slide.
"From the way you say that, you didn't even know! Good thing there were more—if it'd just been you, what then? Don't people at least check if they have incoming colleagues?"
"...Sorry."
This isn't right. I came here expecting congratulations on the project approval, not a scolding.
"So that's why I came to see your face too."
"I see. Thank you..."
The department head seemed to unload everything he'd been wanting to say. Was he the one who'd been asking to meet me earlier? As I pondered that, he slipped in the main topic while I let my guard down.
"Departmental project funding won't be enough, I bet. Settling in must be tough for a newbie like you."
After getting chewed out, was it okay to air my grievances? I'm not great at self-control, so I did anyway.
"Yeah. First time around, there's a ton to handle, and money flies out everywhere. Honestly, research funding is never enough, no matter how much you get."
"Perfect timing then. Good news: you've got a named commission coming your way."
"To the department?"
"No. I brought it myself."
Usually, you go for open project bids, but if someone's got a specific mage in mind, they commission directly. I'm fairly well-known, and a professor at a magic university, so it's plausible. But the way he's telling me is weird. Normally, commissions to professors go through the faculty or department. They love it—funds the department, and they skim a fee. But 'I brought it'? Not routed through department review, but personally by the head himself. What kind of commission is this?
"Who's the client? The Magic Tower?"
"No, a private individual."
Given his background, the answer's obvious. Nobility. As I said, he's a baron's son. Not like he got sidelined in succession and turned to magic out of spite. A full professor at a magic university gets treatment on par with a count externally. No way he'd covet some rural lordship.
"A noble?"
"Yes."
But right now, he's acting not as a magic university professor, but as a low-rank noble. Unlike me, who started as a commoner, he can't ignore his family ties. I don't know if the current head is his brother or nephew. Either way, they can't order around a department head at a magic university. Familial bonds? Or just noble blood he can't shake? If the latter, his birth is a chain around his neck.
"Be specific. Or just tell me the name—I won't know it anyway. I want to know who and why they named me."
"The commissioner is the daughter of a count's family. Why she named you, I don't know."
Ugh. I had a bad feeling. Nobles who don't know magic well are the worst clients. I prefer dealing with fellow mages or scholars. Worst among nobles? Unmarried young ladies. Their commissions stray far from my interests. No grasp of magic, just flaunting wild fantasies like it's impressive. Can't stomach it. Biggest issue: they keep private contact after the job's done. Even post-payment, they pester with add-ons.
"A noble lady?"
"Yes."
"Suddenly lost interest. Better to scout open bids."
No matter how powerless the department head, he could make life hard for a newbie prof. I'm being this blunt because he's ignoring protocol. This should've gone through the department. And he's the head—totally against norms. That noble must be higher up his family tree. Probably asked for minimal eyes, personal delivery. Stung, the department head switched to a humble tone, opposite his earlier grilling.
"No need to reject outright without hearing details?"
"Lady commissions are predictable. Enchant my dress or jewelry? Or blueprints for some flashy but useless invention."
Workshops do it cheaper and faster—no need for me. Why commission this crap? But he shook his head.
"If you're refusing because you hate that stuff, good. It's neither. Cutting it off on prejudice without listening is a bad habit, Professor Atwill."
"Fine, let's hear it. What's the lady want?"
I braced for dolls, crafts, or cooking magic—wouldn't faze me. But his answer blew past expectations. In the worst way.
"A sword. She's no demure lady learning housewifely arts and reading romance novels. She's walked the path of the blade since childhood, expected to become a swordmaster in a few years. And she's the family heir now."
"Swordmaster?"
"Yes, Atwill."
Dumb brute with a sword? Hard pass even more.
"What is that? Sword master's degree? I don't dine with petty master's holders. Tell her to get her sword PhD."
"Roger, please! I'm serious here. Cut the unfunny jokes!"
Noble daughters? Sword nuts? Neither appeals. Sword-nut lady? Is there a dumber combo? Sorry, but no thanks. Not just that—unofficial channels scream shady.
"Think of my face! She's on campus right now! Can't you at least meet her? I won't push you to accept!"
I nearly said no meeting needed, but 'face' reminded me of the welcome party fiasco. Guilt reared up, blocking refusal. Damn, I'm too soft-hearted.
"Sigh... So, what's the lady's name? Actually, skip that—what family?"
"Thanks... You'll know the name."
"That high-ranking?"
"No. They're close by. The Rackton family, counts of Honlake territory."
Rackton? That hit, and Stella Rackton's meaningful smile flooded my mind.
*
I accepted the meeting and got the location from the department head. Heading to the cafe, I racked my brain for barbs to hurl at Stella Rackton. I'd condemn her challenge to professorial authority, sharply criticize secular meddling in academia, interrogate her rudeness in showing up unannounced without notice...
...When you're too hyped, you miss the obvious. Thinking about it, Stella Rackton—with her soft, uncallused hands—couldn't be a swordmaster candidate. I just assumed the commissioning heir was the eldest Rackton daughter.
"Pleased to meet you, Professor Atwill. I'm Claire Rackton of the Rackton family."
Waiting for me wasn't Stella. A blonde beauty resembling her greeted me politely. I had to scrap every word I'd prepped for Stella.
Who the hell is this?