Woebegone was late. The Lackey boy might just not want to show himself, Dalliance reasoned, on account of having been beaten. By ME.

  The boy had no way to know that Dalliance hadn’t seen fit to make a big deal of it. Yet.

  "Quizzes and exams will soon be upon us," Mister Best told the class gravely. "It has been an honor to teach you this year. As we approach the culmination of your academic endeavor at this level, I find, as I typically do at this stage, that while the fields of knowledge are vast, wide, and deep, the ability to offer a useful overview of them carries rapidly diminishing returns."

  Dalliance had slept like the dead the previous night in his corner of the schoolhouse, waking to a cheerful Morality bearing blueberry muffins and a cup of frothy milk. He'd barely got his cot squared away before the others began filing into the building, to say nothing of having managed to eat. Thus, he found himself in the unique and unforeseen position of having food and drink on hand, needing eating up, as class began. Mister Best, after an instant's glance at the two of them, had pursed his lips but otherwise ignored the ongoing evidence of breakfast without comment.

  "I shall not introduce yet another level of math," he continued. "Likewise, we have no time for a second language, though now you know they exist; nor for geography, though more time could always be spent poring over and reproducing maps."

  Dalliance essayed a surreptitious bite of muffin, ignoring Charity's incredulous gaze.

  "Instead, as I always do, we shall focus upon the aspirations of our class as it stands: the remnant. To which end, I have collected various helpful references." He paused, his gaze sweeping the room. "Although we seem to be one short. Perhaps Mister Lackey will make an appearance before our list is finalized."

  What if he's still in the tree? Dalliance thought maliciously. There was no way. But it was a pleasant thought. The milk was cold and creamy, and he could feel the chill all the way in his belly.

  "As I said," Mister Best said, "we have our finalists, and their future fields of endeavor: jurisprudence, governance, magic, agriculture. We are short one magician, but it will please you all to know that Circe will make a full recovery, save perhaps for the sensation in her features, and should be rejoining us one day soon."

  There were some cheers at this intelligence.

  "In addition," he continued, sketching up a new line in sweeping chalk, "I am in the unusual position of having two students who shall be leaving us to go to the Temple. Theological matters are usually more niche, but in this class are nearly as popular as magic. With some contemplation, I have created a primer upon orthopraxy: the 'best' approach to practical polytheism."

  He held out his hand over a stack of papers and pamphlets. "Some of these," he said, "have been recycled from the chapel. The rest are my own original creations."

  He held his hand over another stack of papers. "In every class, we have those who wish to know more about dungeons, monsters, and the origins of the creatures they have risked life and limb fighting. I have covered the basics: how mana accumulation results in the formation of a heartstone, the heartstone affecting control over the local area, eventually solidifying into the creation of a grand dimensional pocket. However, behind every explanation is always a bevy of questions."

  He gestured towards another stack, this one rather taller, consisting mostly of leather-bound books.

  "Two of you," he said, indicating Sterling and Servility, "will leave here and go directly into the world of court tradition, jurisprudence, and etiquette. Whether squiring or seeking to enter law enforcement, both are noble paths and involve encounters with nobility. Then there is the expectation that you may one day be brought to a position of passing judgment on some legal or ethical matter, Charity, Effluvia, as scions of nobility. And for any of the rest of you aspiring to knighthood by way of promotion in battle, these principles may likewise share relevance."

  The final stack was quite small, being primarily composed of a journal and loose-leaf papers, weighed down with a paper-weight.

  "Zenith, as a farm girl, it would behoove you to understand plots of land, the arrangement of crops in a rotation, the ways of water and soil, and similar. This field, though not one of my specialties in my youth, has been the topic of concern for a great many of my students, and I have, if I say so myself, collected quite a definitive body of work on the topic. It is my endeavor that whether you aspire to be the best in the field or no, you shall be empowered with the basics: to know the acidity of the soil, and how to avoid being reduced in the final extremity to any one crop—carrot, corn, potato, or otherwise—come drought or blight."

  "Naturally, with the compressed timeline under which we are working, I will only be able to cover a handful of these topics in detail. And thus, first, we move to magic. Dalliance, Effluvia, as Academy hopefuls seeking to learn magic, you most likely already have some idea, but it is also useful for those who will be ruling, or those who may in the future wish to class into a magic-touched class, to touch upon the very basics."

  "To wit: you have a soul. Your soul is full of mana. The mana is of some aspect—Fire, Water, Divination, what have you. Hundreds of aspects, each of which, when expressed in a spell, is imprinted upon nearby material that resonates with its aspect as an alchemical principle. That can then be released via alchemy as mana. And so it goes: mana is neither created nor destroyed."

  Dalliance raised his hand. "What about multi-aspect spells, sir?"

  Mister Best allowed himself a thin smile. "Don't think I don't know why you're asking," he said. "Your soul is a mana engine and a mana transmitter," he continued. "For spells, this must be done intentionally. But for System Skills, any mana transportation is automatic, though at an efficiency loss."

  Dalliance drew a blank.

  "That means you pay more for the same thing," Mister Best clarified. Dalliance nodded. His teacher mimed wiping a milk mustache, and Dalliance hastily complied.

  "Mages occupy a place," continued Mister Best, turning and drawing rapidly on the board, "between the meanest knight . . . "—and here he drew the swallow-tailed tabard symbol of a landed knight—" . . . and above the most wealthy of landowners." He sketched a cheese wheel underneath.

  There was a small amount of laughter.

  "And who can explain why?" Mister Best asked.

  Earnest's hand shot up. "It's the mana. Their souls generate it, so they can spend it."

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  "No," said Mister Best. "Guess again."

  There was a confused silence.

  "I see I will have to explain from basic principles," he said with a sigh. "The defining feature of a mage is that he casts magic spells, which require him to spend mana. If he doesn't spend his mana, he might as well not have any. Do you see? Even for those who have no immediate need on a daily basis, practice is necessary."

  Slow nods passed through the room. He was getting through.

  “High Spirit commoners, then?”

  "And so we have arrived at people who don't use their mana, but still have the ability to generate it," Mister Best conceded. He gave a sharp nod to Earnest. "Quite right. Top marks."

  Earnest looked happy.

  "And now," Mister Best continued, "on to my original question. Mages. They operate at a social level above that of the landowners, and yet beneath that of the military. Why would that be?"

  "It’s the Magisters," Zenith said, though she didn’t sound certain. Sterling smirked.

  "Unfortunately, that could mean anything," their teacher said, "but the instinct that the Magisters are involved is a good one." He gave her a come-along gesture. "Explain to me how."

  "Well," she began, "they're part of . . . juris . . . prudence." She said the word as if it were unfamiliar, with a break in the middle, like 'juris' and 'prudence' were separate words.

  Nevertheless, he smiled brilliantly. "Just so! That is precisely the reason," he told her. "If mages were not at the top of the hierarchy, it is perhaps thinkable that they might be relegated to unimportant or powerless positions, despite their inherent advantages. Which, of course, were utilized to prevent that very outcome—"

  Woebegone Lackey burst into the classroom without so much as a knock.

  Mister Best looked almost lupine, ready to seize upon the interruption, but merely said, mildly, "Master Lackey. How good of you to join us."

  A large, purple bruise and a skin laceration covered half of the lanky boy's forehead, and his forearms were abraded with scratches that were dark with scabs. He sat down at his desk without a word, and, despite his earlier suggestion, Mister Best made no effort to recover the lost topic of potential future careers.

  "As I was saying, it being the most relevant to the class, with four of you being potentially affected, I believe we must devote the lion's share of our remaining time to delving into jurisprudence and Imperial Law. As such, who here can recall the tiers of citizenship and their attendant duties?"

  Woebegone raised a hand after a second’s pause, and Dalliance engaged [Prediction].

  It was as he'd feared. Woebegone would open with an attempted murder accusation levied at Dalliance.

  Sterling would make noises about how this was serious, that they were going to have to look into it, and so on—thus getting his father involved.

  Dalliance stood up.

  Mister Best's face hardened into a grim stone wall, but he did not move to stop his student.

  “He’s a MURDE—” Woebegone began, pretense at classroom proprieties abandoned on the instant.

  "Woebegone Lackey is a coward," Dalliance said. His voice didn't shake as much as he'd expected it to. "He hid in a secure room instead of joining in the fight, leading to the injury of Circe Mallow and Sterling Worth. His unwillingness to leave his place of safety—”

  “Liar!”

  “—despite my warning that it would soon have a BEAR IN IT, was clearly witnessed by Earnest, Immaculate, and me."

  "LIAR!" screamed Woebegone, his eyes wild at the unexpected attack. "He's a liar! He tried to kill me!"

  "He refused to participate in the hunt," Dalliance continued, his voice cutting through the other boy's outburst. "He locked the door in my face."

  "It's true," Earnest said quickly. Sterling looked at Immaculate, who nodded.

  "He's a liar!" Woebegone said desperately.

  "I am aware," said Mister Best, all jovial tone gone from his voice, "of his conduct, Dalliance, as you well know. A zero score had already been assessed for his Hunt contribution. This was not necessary."

  His face wasn't the stern mien Dalliance might have guessed from the words--more hopeful, if anything.

  Dalliance nodded a fraction of an inch, and his teacher's face fell. Yes, I did have to.

  Oh. Drat, his teacher's face seemed to say.

  "No!" cried Woebegone. "I was in the room with it when it died! I get points for that!"

  Mister Best massaged his temples for a moment. "Not of your own volition," Mister Best said, "And not with an eye towards contributing. Let us be frank, Master Lackey: you are not currently being considered for the scholarship, by reason of cowardice." Then, to Dalliance, "I had hoped you would avoid making me handle this in public."

  Lackey shot to his feet, his face reddening. A textbook was in his hand, and he slung it toward Dalliance, pages whipping in the air, their fluttering so fast it became a buzz.

  Dalliance avoided it with a minute twitch of his head, and pages burst from the book when it hit the wall behind him, scattering across the floor.

  There was a buzzing thrum. Dalliance glanced up to see the dagger transfixing the book, holding it into the wall. Mister Best had deflected it still further.

  Silence reigned.

  "I cannot," Mister Best said, "forbid your attendance for the final hunt, Mister Lackey. I can, however, forbid your attendance to anything else up to that point. For attacking a fellow student, you are henceforth expelled. You need not show up for the final."

  "It isn't fair."

  "Remove yourself from my class."

  "He just attacked Dalliance!" yelled Earnest angrily. Missus Best caught his eye and shook her head sharply. Earnest sat down with a look of mulish dissatisfaction.

  "For your mother's sake," Mister Best said, striding over to the uncooperative and possibly unheeding boy, "I have not called the constable. But I shall if I see you near my school on the morrow."

  He seized Woebegone by his lapels and physically lifted him out of his desk, propelling him by means of an elbow to the door in a stumbling, jerky walk. Woebegone's face was uncomprehending and blank as the door closed behind him.

  Mister Best eyed Dalliance tiredly for a moment before collecting himself.

  "We have not scored a victory, Dalliance," he said softly. "Merely secured the misfortune of two perfectly lovely women who will now have to watch their son go off to be a soldier, and must, in the future, make do with the assistance of Missus Best and myself."

  They should have raised their son right, then. Dalliance thought.

  But he didn’t say it. He could picture them both, and if he didn’t feel very guilty, he didn’t feel entirely triumphant either.