Summoner: Book 1: The Novice by Taran Matharu Page A

offer to come here, then change your mind?’
    ‘Arcturus sent me . . .’ Fletcher said, unsure how to answer.
    ‘Ahh, I see. You must be a special case then. We’ve already got two more of those upstairs,’ Mayweather said, his voice low and mysterious. ‘Though they’re a little stranger than you, I’ll grant you.
    ‘We don’t get many noviciates brought in personally by a battlemage,’ he continued, stepping closer to peer at Fletcher’s imp. ‘It’s usually the Inquisitors who find the gifted and bring them in. Battlemages rarely enlist any adepts themselves, because it means they have to give away one of their demons to them. They need every demon they can get their hands on at the front lines. Seems strange for Arcturus to give you a rare demon like this one, though. I’ve never seen the like!’
    ‘Is there someone I need to present myself to?’ Fletcher asked, eager to get away before Mayweather pried further. The more people who knew how Fletcher had become a summoner, the more likely that his whereabouts would get back to Pelt.
    ‘You’re lucky. The first day starts tomorrow, so you haven’t missed much,’ Mayweather said. ‘The noble-born candidates will arrive tonight; they tend to spend the week before in Corcillum, it’s more comfortable for them there. As for the teachers, they’ll be arriving from the front lines tomorrow morning, so you’re best off speaking to the Provost. He’s the only battlemage that doesn’t spend half the year on the front lines. Go straight ahead through the front doors and one of the supporting staff will let you know where to find him. Now if you’ll forgive me, I have breakfast to prepare.’ Mayweather spun on his heel and waddled away.
    Despite the demon nestled around his throat, Fletcher did not feel like he belonged here. The ancient stone spoke of opulence and history. It was not for the likes of him.
    Fletcher mounted the wide stairs and pushed through the double doors. Best to find the Provost before breakfast was served; then he could introduce himself to the other students over the morning meal. He was not going to be a loner again.
    He stepped into a huge atrium with twin spiral staircases to his left and right, stopping on each floor. Fletcher counted five levels in total, each one bordered by a metal railing. The ceiling was supported by heavy oak beams; massive struts that held the stone above in place. A dome of glass in the ceiling allowed a pillar of light into the centre of the hall, supplemented by crackling torches set in the walls. At the very end of the hallway was another set of wooden doors, but it was the archway above them that drew Fletcher’s eye. The stone was carved with hundreds of demons, each one more breathtaking than the last. The attention to detail was extraordinary, and the eyes of each demon were made up of coloured jewels that sparkled in the light.
    It was a huge space, almost wasteful in its design. The marble floors were being polished by a young servant, who gave Fletcher a weary look as he walked his dirty boots over the wet surface.
    ‘Could you point me in the direction of the Provost?’ Fletcher requested, trying not to look behind him at the footprints he had left.
    ‘You’ll get lost if I don’t show you,’ the servant said with a sigh. ‘Come on. I’ve got a lot of work to do before the nobles arrive, so don’t dawdle.’
    ‘Thank you. My name is Fletcher. And yours?’ Fletcher asked, holding out his hand. The servant stared at him with surprise, then shook it with a happy smile.
    ‘I can honestly say I’ve never been asked that by a student,’ the servant said. ‘Jeffrey is the name, thank you for asking. If you’re quick I’ll show you up to your quarters afterwards, and sort out any laundry for you that you might need doing. Begging your pardon, but from the smell of your garments it seems you need it.’ Fletcher reddened but thanked him all the same. Although he had washed himself