The Apprentice’s Path

Chapter 2-3

Mother never told us anything about her family. As far as I knew before, we didn't have any extended family. Why had she kept that secret? Why did she not tell me he was living in Ashford? Why did she lose contact with him — was it because of my father's origin? Or was it because I was born dark arall in a light arall family, a very rare occurrence, an oddity, a freak.

After the class finished, I decided to approach that man. Although I refused to take part in my father's sessions of ancestor adoration after my sixteenth birthday, I was still the firstborn of the family, and making sure everybody in our family was taken care of was my duty. Being raised Yllamese is quite a burden. I lingered, which was quite easy, considering I was in the middle of the row and I had to wait for everybody to exit if I didn't want to step on everybody's toes again. I try to do that only when necessary.

He was surrounded by excited students, who were blabbering about how excited they were to listen to the lecture (very common in light uninitiated young arall). My brothers always showered me in adoration, and I know enthusiasm like that can be grating. Being the infallible older sister is a very high standard after all. I stayed, waiting for them to finish talking. They weren't really saying anything, just purging their feelings, and he wasn't paying too much attention to them. His eyes were wandering the classroom, and he noticed me. I stood there, with my bag on my shoulder. I would wait for him.

He got rid of the adoring crowd quite quickly, seemingly with lots of experience.

"So, Miss Bedwen." The classroom was almost empty, the last few students heading towards the exit. "Did you stay to apologize for your behavior earlier?"

"That also. Look, I'm sorry about being so distracted. It's just that I was so excited to finally meet you, I've heard so many things…" Buttering up people was the usual tactic when caught in the wrong.

He seemed exasperated.

"Look, Miss Bedwen." He tapped his messenger bag impatiently. "You are probably a relation of mine, but, considering I've never even heard of you before, we are very distant relatives. There are certainly few people who share our illustrious family name…"

Illustrious family name? Seriously? Who did he think he was? Mother never mentioned our family was noble or anything like that.

"…but I would like you not to spread any rumors on our family ties, or expect any leniency."

So my grandfather is a pompous fool who thinks everybody wants something out of him. Poor guy.

He may have been a very respected lawyer, and all that, but money was never the objective for me. Money is just a way to keep score, and unearned money doesn't help much in that. I certainly would not cling on to a man who didn't want me for money. I would earn it all myself.

Still, getting close to my grandfather was probably a good idea.

There is an Yllamese story about Karim, whose demented father had rejected him, and who came every day to wash his father's feet and feed him, only to be kicked out every time. My grandfather had rejected me, and if I was a proper Yllamese firstborn, I would come back and show my respect, lower myself, until I was accepted into the family.

I'd always thought Karim was an i***t.

I smiled at this man who didn't want to be my grandfather.

"Fine. But could I write my minor thesis with you, sir?"

There was a bit of Karim in me, I guess. Somebody had to take care of this rich old fool.

"If the work is interesting enough, I could take a look at your proposal, Miss Bedwen. But why the sudden interest?"

"Well, sir, I didn't have any classes on the law before," I avoided them because they were boring and useless, "but I've realized today that the law is quite relevant for the material development of alchemy."

He seemed skeptical.

"Alright, then, Miss Bedwen. Try to interest me." And he left.

* * * *

Collecting rumors about my grandfather was quite an easy task. First, I had to verify he was indeed my grandfather, and I wasn't embarking onto a fool's errand of saving somebody else's relative. Unlikely, considering the likeness, but still possible. Prof. Bedwen did indeed have a daughter named Claire. She apparently died in a train robbery twenty-one years ago (my parents moved to Crow Hill twenty-one years ago), and she would have been the same age as my mother.

Why did my mother decide to disappear like that? I wrote her a letter. I would not get an answer for at least two weeks; the train takes a week to get to Crow Hill, and mail needs to be sorted and delivered.

I would stay close to that man, whatever the answer was. He raised my mother, after all. He couldn't be too bad, considering what an amazing woman she was.

My mother never shared much about her family, or, for the matter, about her life before she met my father. I knew virtually nothing about my parents' lives before me. But I knew my mother was educated in a university at a time when that was still considered inappropriate for a non-magical woman. The fact that she got an education said good things about my grandfather, and their disagreements are not my business.

* * * *

I actually got a call about the job I applied for. It was a bit weird, though. They asked me to sign a confidentiality agreement, which they gave me a week in advance. They also told me to go to a different location; the induction would happen quite close to campus, in the old Alchemy Department building. The mystery was drawing me in; arall tend to be very nosy, a trait I usually kept under control.

The old Alchemy Department had been built in an era when the worst thing alchemists could do was burn it. It had been built in solid brick, with big windows that gave plenty of light, and no air filters. Modern Alchemy was quite a bit more dangerous, so the new building had been built with solid, reinforced concrete, each corridor blocked by solid fire doors. Windows were only used for lecture rooms, and labs were lit with a closed-loop smokeless gas lighting system. The air vents contained filters that could get rid of most poisons. It was a death trap designed to keep whatever creative students came up with inside the building.

I had never gone into the old Alchemy building, as it was occupied by administrators. The occupation of this beautiful, brightly lit building, that should belong to alchemists, by paper-pushers offended my sensibilities.

After I signed the confidentiality agreement and gave it to the secretary, who also witnessed it, I was escorted to an office. The door sign said "Capt. Greggs".