The Apprentice’s Path

Chapter 2-2

Monday morning, the classroom was busy and noisy. I had come exactly on time, but it seems that was a mistake. The lecture hall was packed. I found just one spot — in the middle of a row, with a rucksack on it. Most people would not bother everybody in the row just to sit, but I wasn't that nice. So I maneuvered across the feet, bags, and tables on the row. When I reached that spot, I lifted an eyebrow. The girl sitting by the rucksack glanced at me, and silently removed the bag. That's right — nobody leaves me standing! I sat down and took out a notebook and a refillable ink pen. Great invention — don't have to carry an inkstand with me.

The class went with the usual conversations before the professor entered, confidently walking in, right on time. He was dressed in a suit, a very formal attire for a light arall, as they usually like to dress rather informally. He looked kind of familiar — which was strange, considering I had never seen him before.

"Good morning. I'm sure you're aware that this course is very full, so I want to make sure that everybody who signed up is here. Wouldn't want to keep a spot for somebody who isn't interested enough to come. I will now call out your names, and you should lift your hand."

The class groaned. This was highly unusual. The lecture hall was full, and it could fit a hundred students. Was he really going to call out all the names on the list?

Apparently, he was.

I started to absentmindedly draw a sketch of the professor. Drawing people helped me understand them since I had great difficulties reading people. I sketched his face, copied his stern, serious expression. The way he stood, with his back straight, one foot on a sharp angle from another. There was something on the back of my brain telling me I had seen it all somewhere…

"Miss Bedwen. Is Miss Bedwen not here?"

I stood up, notebook still in my hand, and looked at the stand.

"Here."

"Next time, Miss Bedwen, make sure to pay attention. Don't make me call you twice." He seemed annoyed, and he licked his fingers to turn the page. That gesture — how he absent-mindedly put both his index and middle finger to his lips before turning the page — made me realize…

"You can sit, Miss Bedwen. No point in standing."

I had been too surprised by the realization and hadn't sat down. My notebook fell out of my hands. I bent to pick it, struggling to organize my thoughts.

I had seen that gesture before. Hundreds of times, when my mother read books at night, first to me, then to my brothers. My brothers also had a tendency to do that. And they also looked a lot like the professor. Besides, his surname was identical to mine. And my family had adopted mother’s surname when father married her. Professor Bedwen was my grandfather.