Chapter 739 — The Imperial Academy

"Simple enough. Go to school and you learn a lot; learn a lot and you can find good work. In the factories, in the government offices, in the army — all those respectable places want people who can read and figure," the passerby said with a laugh, a touch of pride showing. "Take me. I used to do hard labor up in the mountains, but now I'm a technician in a factory, and that's because I went to night school back then..."

The young man listened somewhat blankly as the loud-voiced man before him said all this, and found himself growing faintly astonished.

These were crude "principles," but principles they were nonetheless.

An ordinary commoner, speaking these "principles" to him with such confidence and delight — it was truly an experience unlike any he had ever had.

"Anyway, young man, just study hard," the passerby said, suddenly putting out a hand and giving the young man's shoulder two hearty slaps. "I can tell you've got what it takes, and this is a place that welcomes people with talent. How did that saying of Master Godwin go... ah, right — these are good times!"

The young man's eyes had already gone wide with shock the moment that hand was about to land on his shoulder. By instinct he frowned and meant to dodge, but his body only shifted slightly before he stopped where he stood, and the hand struck his shoulder squarely all the same.

The force of the blow made the young man sway twice in spite of himself. For an instant a rather strange expression crossed his face, which he then masked with a somewhat stiff smile; after a few vague words of agreement, he turned aside and squeezed his way out of the crowd.

He meant to walk to the edge of the plaza and slip away unnoticed down some small path, back to the guesthouse where he was staying — but he had taken only a few steps when, as if sensing something, he stopped.

The young man raised his head and narrowed his eyes slightly. In the bright sunlight he saw two figures approaching from not far off.

One was a golden-haired man about his own age, though not anyone he knew.

The other was a man in a dark blue silk coat with short silver hair, wearing a cheerful smile.

This one he knew.

Another family's child.

The heir to the Northern Duchess — Fendirveld.

That distinctive, icy magical aura was hard to mistake, and the young Northern heir had plainly not yet learned the essence of Duchess Victoria's command of magic; the moment he appeared in the square, his faint magical fluctuations were impossible to conceal.

The young man with the short brown hair smiled and walked toward the two figures not far off, and they had clearly noticed him as well — before he could open his mouth, the Northern heir had already raised a hand and called out loudly, "Eleven! So you're here too?"

Eleven Franklin strode forward, his brow knitting despite himself. "Shouting like that in the middle of the square, Fendir, is hardly the bearing befitting a marquis."

"Come now, I had a devil of a time slipping out from under my aunt's eye," Fendirveld said at once, waving a hand. "And is wedging yourself into a crowd to watch a rally any more befitting a marquis?"

Beside them, the blond young man, Felm, had meant to greet his friend's friend, but now his eyes went wide and vacant; he looked at Fendir, then at the stranger called "Eleven," and at last his gaze settled back on Fendir. "...Huh?"

"...Damn it, I hadn't worked out how to say it yet," Fendir said, catching himself abruptly; he pressed a hand to his forehead and shot Eleven another look. "How many times now have you gone and ruined my plans?"

Eleven paused, seeming to guess at something; he looked at Felm, still wholly bewildered, then back at Fendir. "Then this gentleman is...?"

"My traveling companion. We met aboard the Highlander — the Highlander is an arcanomechanical ship, do you know it? It's—"

"I know mechanical ships; I've ridden one on the Whitewater River," Eleven said with a helpless shake of his head. "So. You haven't told this companion of yours who you are?"

"I didn't want to spoil this rare journey," Fendir said with a bitter smile, turning to Felm. "I'm sorry, Felm. I never meant to hide it from you. I simply didn't want the title of heir to the Northern Duke to come between us — making a friend outside the castle is no easy thing."

"Heir to the Northern Duke..." The blond young man from Balen finally confirmed the words he had heard, and the sheer shock left him almost breathless. "Gods above... so your full name is..."

"Fendirveld," Fendir said, then pointed to Eleven beside him. "And this is Marquis Eleven Franklin, son of the Western Duke. Ah, on an occasion like this I ought to introduce his title and all his many honors in full, but that would be far too much trouble, so we'll skip that step.

"Eleven, the gentleman before you is Mr. Felm of Balen, creator of the Magic Shadow Play, an outstanding playwright... at least, that is my opinion of him."

Felm's gaze bounced once more between the two ducal heirs; a man who had set his heart on becoming an outstanding playwright, he found himself at this moment somewhat doubting his own gift for writing scripts.

Set against a reality so thoroughly dramatic, his imagination as a playwright had suddenly come up a little short.