Year of the Griffin. Diana Wynne Jones

griffin’s left wing. “And you?”

      “Felim ben Felim,” the young man replied, bowing in the manner of the eastern countries. “I too wish to say little about myself. If the Emir were to discover I am here studying, he would very likely dispatch assassins to terminate me. He has promised that he would, at least.”

      “Oh,” said Corkoran. “Er, is the Emir likely to discover you?”

      “I trust not,” Felim replied calmly. “My tutor, the Wizard Fatima, has cast many spells to prevent the Emir noticing my absence, and she furthermore assures me that the wards of the University will be considerable protection to me also. But our lives are in the laps of the gods.”

      “True,” Corkoran said, making a particularly black and emphatic scribble beside Felim’s name. He did not know Wizard Fatima and certainly did not share the woman’s faith that the University could protect anyone from assassins. Myrna must definitely not send a letter to Felim’s parents. If the answer came in assassins, they could all be in trouble. A pity. People were rich in the Emirates. He sighed and pointed with his pen at the other young woman in the group, sitting quietly behind Lukin. Corkoran had her placed in his mind, almost from the start, as the daughter of Wizard Derk. He had met Derk more than once and had been struck by his unassuming look. Quite extraordinary, Corkoran always thought, that the man whom the gods had trusted with the job of setting the world to rights after what Mr Chesney had done to it should look so modest. The young woman had a similar humble, almost harassed look. She was rather brown and very skinny, and sat huddled in a shawl of some kind, over which her hair fell in dark, wet-looking coils on her shoulders. She twisted her long fingers in the shawl as she spoke. Corkoran could have sworn her dark ringlets of hair twisted about too. She gave him a worried stare from huge greenish eyes.

      “I’m Claudia,” she said huskily, “and the Emperor of the South is my half-brother. Titus is in a very difficult position over me, because my mother is a Marshwoman and the Senate doesn’t want to acknowledge me as a citizen of the Empire. My mother was so unhappy there in the Empire, you see, that she went back to the Marshes. The Senate thinks I should renounce my citizenship like Mother did, but Titus doesn’t want me to do that at all. And the trouble over me got worse when it turned out that the gift for magic that all Marshpeople have didn’t mix at all with Empire magic. I’m afraid I have a jinx. In the end, Titus sent me here secretly for safety, hoping I could learn enough to cure the jinx.”

      Corkoran tried not to look as amazed as he felt. His eyes shot to Olga. Was she Derk’s daughter then? He switched his eyes back to Claudia with an effort. He could see she had Marsh blood now. That olive skin and the thinness, which always made him think of frogs. His sympathy was with the Senate there. Perhaps they would pay the University to keep the girl. “What kind of jinx?” he said.

      A slightly greenish blush swept over Claudia’s thin face. “It goes through everything,” she sighed. “It made it rather difficult to get here.”

      This was exasperating, Corkoran thought. Something that serious was almost certainly incurable. It was frustrating. So far, he had a king’s son with no money, an obviously wealthy girl who would not say who she was, a young man threatened with assassins if the University admitted he was here, and now the Emperor’s jinxed sister that the Empire didn’t want. He turned with some relief to the dwarf. Dwarfs always had treasure – and tribes, too, who were prepared to back them up. “You now,” he said.

      The dwarf stared at him. Or rather, he stared at Corkoran’s tie, frowning a little. Corkoran never minded this. He preferred it to meeting students’ eyes. His ties were designed to deflect the melting glances of girl students and to enable him to watch all students without them watching him. But the dwarf went on staring and frowning until Corkoran was almost uncomfortable. In the manner of dwarfs, he had his reddish hair and beard in numbers of skinny pigtails, each one with clacking bones and tufts of red cloth plaited into it. The braids of his beard were noticeably thin and short, and the face that frowned from under the steel war-helm was pink and rounded and young.

      “Ruskin,” the dwarf said at last in his peculiar blaring voice. The voice must be caused by resonance in the dwarf’s huge square chest, Corkoran decided. “Dwarf, artisan tribe, from Central Peaks fastness, come by the virtual manumission of apostolic strength to train on behalf of the lower orders.”

      “How do you mean?” Corkoran asked.

      The dwarf’s bushy red eyebrows went up. “How do I mean? Obvious, isn’t it?”

      “Not to me,” Corkoran said frankly. “I understood ‘dwarf’ and ‘Central Peaks’ and that was all. Start again, and say it in words that people who are not dwarfs can understand.”

      The dwarf sighed, boomingly. “I thought wizards were supposed to divine things,” he grumbled. “All right. I’m from one of the lowest tribes in our fastness, see. Artisans. Got that? Third lowest. Drudges and whetters are lower. Six tribes above us, miners, artists, designers, jewellers and so on. Forgemasters at the top. All ordering us about and lording it over us and making out we can’t acquire the skills that give us the privileges they have. And around this time last year we got proof that this was nonsense. That was when Storn and Becula, both artisans and one a girl, forged a magic ring better than anything the forgemasters ever did. But the ring was turned down for treasure because they were only artisans. See? So we got angry, us artisans, and brought in drudges and whetters – and it turned out they’d made good things too but hadn’t even submitted them as treasure because they knew they’d be turned down. Oppression, that’s what it was, black oppression—”

      “All right. Don’t get carried away,” Corkoran said. “Just explain how you come into it.”

      “Chosen, wasn’t I?” Ruskin said. A slight, proud smile flitted above his plaited beard. “It had to be someone young enough not to be noticed missing, and good enough to benefit here. They picked me. Then each one of them, young and old, man and woman, from all three tribes, put down a piece of gold for the fees and a piece of their magic into me. That’s the apostolic part. Then I came away secretly. That’s what we call virtual manumission. And I’m to learn to be a proper wizard, so that when I am I go back and smash those forgemasters and all the rest of them. Overthrow the injustice of the old corrupt order, see?”

      And now a dwarf revolutionary! Corkoran thought. Bother! He saw that if Myrna sent out her letter to Central Peaks fastness, it would almost certainly bring an enraged party of forgemasters (and so forth) here to remove Ruskin and his fees with him. He made another note by Ruskin’s name, while he asked, “Is that why you’re in full armour?”

      “No,” Ruskin answered. “I have to come before my tutor properly dressed, don’t I?” He eyed Corkoran’s tie and T-shirt again, and frowned.

      “I advise you to leave it off in future,” Corkoran told him. “Iron interferes with magic and you won’t know enough to counteract it until your second year. You’re going to have trouble anyway, if you’re working with bits and pieces of other people’s magic.”

      “Don’t think so,” Ruskin blared. “We dwarfs are used to that. Do it all the time. And we work with iron.”

      Corkoran gave him up and turned, finally, to the griffin. “You.”

      All this while, the griffin had sat, brightly swivelling an eye on each student who spoke, and quivering with eagerness for her turn. Now she fairly burst forth, both wings rising and tufted tail lashing so that Felim and Olga had to move out of their way. “I’m Elda,” she said happily. “Wizard Derk’s daughter. I used to be his youngest child, but now I’ve got two younger than me – Angelo and Florence. Flo’s wings are pink. She’s the baby. She’s beautiful. Angelo’s wings are brown, a bit like Callette’s without the stripes, and he’s a magic-user already. Mum says—”

      “Hang on,” said Corkoran. “Wizard Derk is human. You’re a griffin. How come—?”

      “Everyone asks about that,” Elda said sunnily. “Dad made us, you know. He put some of himself and Mum and eagle and lion