problem from entirely new directions. It was wonderful.
10
As the years passed, Jay worked, learned and grew. By the time he was nearly seventeen, he had become a young man who was more self-confident and somewhat better at hiding his natural tendency to doubt authority, query orders and try to do things in the way he thought best. He had his friends, although he was not known as one of the wild and sociable students. He was still difficult to manage but, on the whole, this was confined to his work and only rarely affected his behaviour, which was polite and considerate. It was true that he was often chastised for missing lectures, but the talks he missed tended to be judiciously chosen. Only the most tedious had reason to complain that he had not turned up again. Jay considered an afternoon sitting by the river staring at the sky with a dreamy look on his face to be more valuable and instructive and often enough Henary found it difficult to disagree.
He progressed through the levels of studentship well and without major incident; his knowledge grew, his understanding grew much faster. Only the indiscipline remained; sooner or later the frustration at the unasked question would burst forth. Some of his contemporaries nicknamed him ‘Master Yesbut’.
‘You know,’ Henary had said after one lesson, ‘that part of your training is to write your own thesis?’
Jay nodded. He also knew that soon enough he would have to appear before a committee and say what his subject would be. Most chose some old scholar, their work unread for generations, who was disinterred from the shelves and analysed. Then put back and forgotten again.
‘Do you have any ideas?’
‘I’ve thought of many. But they are all so …’
‘Boring?’ Henary said lightly. Jay blushed. ‘You are quite right. Many of the commentaries are entirely useless, except to lull you to sleep late at night. Besides, all the really good ones have been gone over again and again.’
‘Laszlo and the weather,’ Jay said despondently.
‘A fine body of work, and very useful for sailors. What is there to say apart from that?’
‘Fered on theft?’
‘Then you would end up as a lawyer. A worthy trade, no doubt, but not what you are ideally suited to do with your life. You are not nearly precise enough.’
‘What I would like to do is something on the Shrine of Esilio. You know, collect writings on the subject and compare them. I’ve read a lot about it.’
‘A bit sophisticated for one of your age.’
‘Then what? Who?’
‘I have an idea. You do not have to take it, but if you do, it will mean a little travel for you. You might also care to render me a small service and go and meet someone.’
‘Who?’
‘A man called Jaqui. A hermit.’
*
Two days after their conversation, and armed with a letter of introduction for the elders of Hooke, Jay took leave of absence from his lessons and walked out of Ossenfud on the Great West Road. It led, so he knew, to the towns and settlements that were scattered throughout Anterwold, curling down to the sea in the south, and west into the mountains. It was itself a tributary, so to speak, of other roads: Garlden had mapped them many generations back and tried to explain why they were as they were, although his account was so amateurish that no one ever read it. But the maps – annotated and corrected as travellers found errors – were the best available.
According to Garlden, he had a twenty-mile walk on the road, then had to branch off to the north for about twenty-five miles to the village of Hooke.
When Henary had made the suggestion, Jay had looked almost scornful. ‘A hermit?’
‘Yes. A very strange man. I assume he’s still alive. He is an intriguing character. I think you might consider writing your dissertation on the subject of painting. It is an interesting topic, in my opinion. We always think of the Story in terms of words, but there are countless times when a drawing or illustration has
10
As the years passed, Jay worked, learned and grew. By the time he was nearly seventeen, he had become a young man who was more self-confident and somewhat better at hiding his natural tendency to doubt authority, query orders and try to do things in the way he thought best. He had his friends, although he was not known as one of the wild and sociable students. He was still difficult to manage but, on the whole, this was confined to his work and only rarely affected his behaviour, which was polite and considerate. It was true that he was often chastised for missing lectures, but the talks he missed tended to be judiciously chosen. Only the most tedious had reason to complain that he had not turned up again. Jay considered an afternoon sitting by the river staring at the sky with a dreamy look on his face to be more valuable and instructive and often enough Henary found it difficult to disagree.
He progressed through the levels of studentship well and without major incident; his knowledge grew, his understanding grew much faster. Only the indiscipline remained; sooner or later the frustration at the unasked question would burst forth. Some of his contemporaries nicknamed him ‘Master Yesbut’.
‘You know,’ Henary had said after one lesson, ‘that part of your training is to write your own thesis?’
Jay nodded. He also knew that soon enough he would have to appear before a committee and say what his subject would be. Most chose some old scholar, their work unread for generations, who was disinterred from the shelves and analysed. Then put back and forgotten again.
‘Do you have any ideas?’
‘I’ve thought of many. But they are all so …’
‘Boring?’ Henary said lightly. Jay blushed. ‘You are quite right. Many of the commentaries are entirely useless, except to lull you to sleep late at night. Besides, all the really good ones have been gone over again and again.’
‘Laszlo and the weather,’ Jay said despondently.
‘A fine body of work, and very useful for sailors. What is there to say apart from that?’
‘Fered on theft?’
‘Then you would end up as a lawyer. A worthy trade, no doubt, but not what you are ideally suited to do with your life. You are not nearly precise enough.’
‘What I would like to do is something on the Shrine of Esilio. You know, collect writings on the subject and compare them. I’ve read a lot about it.’
‘A bit sophisticated for one of your age.’
‘Then what? Who?’
‘I have an idea. You do not have to take it, but if you do, it will mean a little travel for you. You might also care to render me a small service and go and meet someone.’
‘Who?’
‘A man called Jaqui. A hermit.’
*
Two days after their conversation, and armed with a letter of introduction for the elders of Hooke, Jay took leave of absence from his lessons and walked out of Ossenfud on the Great West Road. It led, so he knew, to the towns and settlements that were scattered throughout Anterwold, curling down to the sea in the south, and west into the mountains. It was itself a tributary, so to speak, of other roads: Garlden had mapped them many generations back and tried to explain why they were as they were, although his account was so amateurish that no one ever read it. But the maps – annotated and corrected as travellers found errors – were the best available.
According to Garlden, he had a twenty-mile walk on the road, then had to branch off to the north for about twenty-five miles to the village of Hooke.
When Henary had made the suggestion, Jay had looked almost scornful. ‘A hermit?’
‘Yes. A very strange man. I assume he’s still alive. He is an intriguing character. I think you might consider writing your dissertation on the subject of painting. It is an interesting topic, in my opinion. We always think of the Story in terms of words, but there are countless times when a drawing or illustration has
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