The Color of Robes
Ten days had passed. Squad One of the Lion Pavilion had scattered across the front yard, each of them settled into a spot of their own.
"Era sultinsiabi, era ummododisia."
Ten days without the faintest touch of mana had left him jumpy. Alex barked the chant out, sharp with nerves.
"Quiet."
Chris answered, flat.
"You have to recite the secret if you're going to feel mana."
"Everyone else is doing it in their head. Do it in yours."
"Yes, yes. As you command, my lord."
"You mocking me?"
"How could I possibly, my lord."
"You little bastard. You are mocking me. You want to die?"
Their voices climbed, and the prince, seated higher up on the right, cut in.
"Quiet."
Tony added a word of his own, weary as ever.
"Fight a slave and you're the one who loses. Even if you win, it's a disgrace. A complete disgrace."
"Nngh."
Alex groaned and dragged his attention off Chris.
Around the time the sun stood overhead, David came by—his first visit in ten days. The squad broke off their meditation and gathered toward him.
Chris expected what he usually expected: that Alex would be the first to sink a shovel into his complaints. To his surprise, Catherine was the one who spoke.
"Couldn't we get a maid?"
David frowned.
"What about Juan?"
Alex was never going to sit out a conversation like this. He stepped forward and let the words tumble out.
"That man doesn't carry himself like a servant. He sets out breakfast and dinner—twice, exactly—washes the dishes, and that's the end of it. You can barely even catch sight of his face."
David looked troubled.
"Can't the rest of you divide the housework among yourselves?"
Catherine answered, irritation held barely in check.
"I have nothing left to wear. The laundry has to be done."
"If you were to do it—"
David stopped. Even he could see that Catherine was not a person who did laundry. Aside from bathing, she would never so much as touch water, and for all he knew a maid had bathed her too.
Chris had found it strange from the start. Catherine had come into the dormitory with a single bag, yet she changed into a different outfit every day. Where had all those clothes come from? Hearing her go on about laundry, he gathered that even that wardrobe had finally run out.
"Pay me, and I'll do the washing."
He had left the estate in the clothes on his back, plus two sets of old garments David had scrounged up on the road, and that was how he had gotten through the summer—rinsing them roughly in a stream and rotating what he had. He could wash hers along with his own. He thought he was offering a favor. Catherine nearly had a fit.
"Hand my clothes to you? Absolutely not!"
He assumed it was the underclothes that made her balk.
"I'll only wash the outer layers."
"Do you have any idea how delicate my clothes are? A professional has to launder them. Scrub them in water and they'll be ruined."
"Ah. Right."
Awkward, Chris scratched his head.
"I've never seen clothes that fine."
David looked over the group.
"Who needs someone to do their laundry?"
The three nobles and the two commoner women raised their hands. Frank, the commoner boy, and those born slaves did not.
"No one outside the Tower's affiliation may set foot on Tower grounds. So you can't keep personal maids or servants. Cross that mountain, though, and there's a village. Take your laundry there, have them wash it, and collect it afterward."
Alex brightened at once.
"We're allowed to go to the village?"
Being shut inside the Lion Pavilion must have been stifling.
"Normally, no. I'll allow one person."
Smith said, "So that one person runs the errands."
"That's right."
Alex's interest died on the spot.
"I'll pass."
A scion of a great marquis house, it seemed, could not bring himself to run errands for other people.
Smith answered, "I'll pass too."
Chris leaned toward him and whispered, "Why not you?"
"I'm sick to death of waiting on people. Did enough of that as a slave to last me."
The prince and the noble heirs were never going to fetch and carry, and sending the women over a mountain was hardly fitting. In the end only Frank and Chris remained.
"I'll do it. Just pay me well for the errand."
Catherine sagged with relief.
"I will."
Chris turned to David.
"Which way do I go?"
David took out paper and a pen and sketched a simple map.
"You are not to wash them anywhere else. Not under any circumstances."
Then he handed over a token of metal.
"Never cross the boundary without a pass. Not if you want to live."
Chris put the pass away as if it were something precious.
"To the parlor."
David led the squad inside the Lion Pavilion. When he had seated himself, the others brought chairs and settled in a ring around him.
"Is the training going well?"
No one answered.
"Has anyone sensed mana?"
The prince answered for them.
"No one has."
Alex spoke next.
"Are we surplus?"
David didn't follow. His brow creased.
"What do you mean?"
"I heard noble houses send their surplus to the Magic Tower."
Alex's nose twitched, thick with resentment.
"Is that why the mages treat us however they please? Because we were thrown away, so they look down on us?"
David's brow creased further.
"After the first lesson you should have been shut up in the Lion Pavilion. Who told you that?"
"Juan."
David sighed.
"Juan has been at the Tower a long time, yes. He's picked up a great deal. All of it scratches the surface, though, and a good part of it simply isn't true."
Mark said, "Then what is true, and what is false?"
"It's true that mages—especially the ones in robes—treat you however they please. That has nothing to do with your houses. It's because you are insects."
"What?"
"You are insects. Even if the eldest son of your house walked in here, the reception wouldn't change."
Tony muttered, "That can't... be right."
David laced his fingers and rested them over his stomach.
"In this world, most of the important truths lie behind a heavy veil."
Mark said, "You're saying I don't know."
"That's right."
"I am a prince of the great Grant Kingdom. You aren't about to tell me my father doesn't know either."
"The king knows a great deal. He wouldn't have told you."
"Why? Because I was thrown away?"
The prince's voice rose.
"Is that why he hid it?"
"Because it is a secret that must not be spoken. He may also have kept his mouth shut because he didn't want to disappoint you."
Alex asked it outright.
"So are we surplus, or aren't we? Were we discarded, or weren't we?"
"It depends on the circumstances."
"And what, exactly, are those circumstances?"
"First. If someone who truly understands mages sends a son or a grandson to the Tower, that child has not been discarded. If anything, you may take it as love—or as the house sending its cleverest, most capable child for the sake of its glory."
"Second. The guardian doesn't really know the Tower. Then, just as you fear, it can be seen as dumping a troublesome surplus here to keep the house from tearing itself apart."
"Third. People who know nothing and think nothing. Other noble houses send about one person a generation, so they follow along. They imagine it might be nice to have a single mage in the family."
"Fourth, there are special cases. When a household is tangled, for instance, and a bastard's life is threatened by the legitimate heir, they send him to the Tower to keep him alive."
"There will be others, but that's roughly what comes to mind. Which of these you fall under, I don't know. Honestly, I don't want to know."
"The first would be best, but it may be the second or the third. Even so, don't be disappointed. Become a mage, and you will feel that being cast off by your house is nothing at all—that it was, if anything, for the best."
Alex grumbled.
"Are mages really that great?"
"I will say it without hesitation. A mage stands above a noble."
Mark said, "Above a king...?"
David did not answer that.
He talks as if a mage outranks a king. Is that actually true, or is it just pride? Chris wasn't sure.
Alex said, "There's a mage on our estate too. He never looked all that impressive."
David's face went hard.
"Never compare a halfwit like that to a mage of the Tower."
A rime of ice edged his voice.
"Do that, and you die."
"Die?"
"If you don't want to die, never speak carelessly to a mage."
To Chris, all this talk of surplus and abandonment, of being loved or not, was nothing but the whining of people with full stomachs. A worry for nobles. He had not the slightest interest. He kept two things in his head—that mages had their secrets, and that mages were genuinely formidable—and let the rest run off like water.
Once the nobles' complaints seemed to have wound down, he raised his hand.
"Why are the mages' robes different colors? Is it rank, or each mage's own taste?"
"Closer to the former. Apprentices like you may wear no mark at all. Sense mana and enter the realm of Spirit Awakening, and you receive a yellow belt."
"What!"
Alex's eyes went round.
"I thought a yellow belt meant a Tower laborer."
"They handle a great deal of the Tower's practical work, so you might take them for laborers. They are not. They have taken the first step onto the path of magic, and they are called Spirit Awakeners. A Spirit Awakener may not kill you, but they can break a limb or two. Treat them with respect."
Talk of those who stood above mere apprentices brought Juan to Chris's mind. That man really might be a senior.
David went on.
"Pass Spirit Awakening and enter the next realm, and you receive a yellow robe. Only then can you say you have truly set foot on the path of magic. From that point you are treated as a mage in your own right. There is a separate name for a stage like ours, but you don't need to know it. Advance again and you are recognized as a high mage. From then on the robe changes color according to your primary attribute. Earth mages wear brown, water mages blue, fire mages red, wind mages white, and metal mages purple."
He licked his lips and continued.
"That is only inside the Tower. Outside, they dress differently, so don't let the colors dazzle you. You could make a very serious mistake."
Chris asked, "Why dress differently outside?"
"A mage's attribute is important information. Better to hide it. Better still to lie."
"Why lie?"
"Not every mage belongs to our Mickclonia Magic Tower. Treat mages of other towers as enemies, and kill them if you can."
"Why kill them?"
"Because many mages want resources, and resources are limited. Fewer rivals is better than more."
"Does lying about your attribute help in a fight?"
"It does. Suppose you see a mage in a purple robe, decide he is a metal mage, and attack with fire—only he is in fact a water mage, highly skilled in water magic. Who has the advantage?"
"The water mage."
"Exactly. That is why you conceal your attribute. A favorable matchup does not decide the fight by itself, though. It only plays a part. Remember that it is not absolute, and rather than that you would be better off—no. That is too far ahead."
"If hiding your attribute is wiser, wouldn't it also be wiser to wear a different color inside the Tower? Rumors could leak out."
"It is a Tower rule. Inside, you dress according to your attribute."
David rose.
"Do not repeat anything I told you today."
He swept his eyes over the noble boys, sunk deep in thought, and walked out.