On Tuesday after the start of the summer term, Ramasu halted Arram on his way out of the infirmary and handed him a document. “For Thursday, pack for seventeen days—no robes, no good clothes, only plain stuff. Bring both your mage’s workbag and your healer’s kit. A hat, strong sandals. I suppose the bird will come, too. Double-check that everything in your kits is filled and up to strength, the knives and needles sharp, that sort of thing. Meet me at noon at the university’s Arena Gate.”
Arram swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yes, Master Ramasu.”
The man smiled and patted his shoulder. “You are ready. I’ve already arranged matters with your teachers.”
Arram frowned. “But—are they going to assign work for the time I’m away? I’ll need my books. Usually—”
Ramasu said gently, “They will not. They know you will be unable to do it. Now, off with you. I have packing of my own, and time to spend with my man.”
Arram bowed and left as ordered. Walking to the dining hall, he pondered the days to come with discomfort. He didn’t want to let Ramasu down. He also didn’t want to vomit on any of his patients-to-be. What if he made a serious mistake? He had yet to do so, but as Tristan was so very fond of saying, “Everyone gets a first time.” Preet murmured softly and groomed Arram’s hair with her beak, telling him that all would be well. Arram tried to cheer up, both for her sake and because he didn’t want his friends plying him with all manner of questions over lunch.
It didn’t work. The moment Varice and Ozorne joined him at the table, they knew something was on his mind. Tristan and Gissa had come to their own conclusions or, rather, Tristan had.
“He’s not worth bothering today,” the young man told everyone. “He’s in one of his ‘I’m so talented and powerful, I must be doing something wrong’ moods.”
Several of the others, including Gissa, laughed. Even Ozorne hid a smile behind his hand.
Preet said something insulting in sunbird.
Varice glared at the others. “That shows what you know,” she said tartly, running her fingers down Preet’s back. The girl looked at Arram, her blue eyes sympathetic. “It’s the arena, isn’t it? Remember? You mentioned it when we were on the river.”
Ozorne clapped his palm to his head. “Already? Arram, I’m sorry—I’d take your place, I swear, but I don’t have medical training!”
“What about the arena?” Tristan demanded.
Arram ate his long bean and lamb tajine doggedly. He let Varice and Ozorne explain how he was to accompany Ramasu to the gladiators’ camp for two weeks.
“You’ll be there for the games, then!” one of their other companions exclaimed. “What’s to mope for?”
Arram glared at him. “Yes, I’m there for the games,” he retorted. “And while people are cheering as men and women are mutilated, I’ll be in back, trying to keep what’s left of them alive.”
Tristan rolled his eyes. “They’re slaves, Draper. Criminals. They’ve lived longer in the arena than they would in the mines or fields or galleys, trust me.”
“Not all of them,” another young man at the table argued. “There were a few in that last new batch that didn’t know right hand from left. They went down fast.” He smirked at Arram, who clenched his fists on the table. “So you don’t have to worry your pretty head about healing the likes of them. They were dead when they hit the—”
Arram’s palms were tingling. He thought it was because he was clenching them too tightly. Then Varice squeaked. Preet pecked him sharply above one ear. The others, with the exception of Ozorne and Varice, were thrusting themselves away from the table. Ozorne pointed down. Arram looked: small bolts of lightning danced to and fro between his hands. His tajine was now a charred black lump.
The student who had smirked got to his feet, pointing at Arram. “They shouldn’t give you special work if you can’t control yourself!” To Ozorne he said, “Be careful, or your pet might just cook you!”
Ozorne looked up at him, a sweet smile on his lips. “Be careful of what?” he asked. “I saw nothing odd, did you, Varice?”
Varice carefully cut the fish on her plate. “Not a thing,” she replied calmly.
Sergeant Okot, noting the fuss, came over. “Is there a problem, Your Imperial Highness?” he asked.
“I believe some people don’t care for my friends,” Ozorne replied, eyeing those who were still on their feet. Four were already resuming their seats. “We will be fine once they have taken their leave.”
Okot inspected those who were standing. “His Imperial Highness expressed a preference.” His voice was chilly. They gathered their things and left.
When the young man and one of his friends were gone, Okot picked up Arram’s spoon and jabbed the blackened mass on his plate. It crumbled to ash. Putting the spoon down, Okot said, “I’d complain to the cooks. It’s overdone.”
Varice began to giggle. Soon everyone at the table did the same, even Arram.
Ozorne put a hand on Arram’s shoulder as he was about to go for more food. “You have a good heart, but be watchful,” he cautioned. “Gladiators are beaten and starved till they’re little better than animals. You don’t want to turn your back on them.”
Arram nodded. Ozorne knew more about these things than he did. He would be careful. He wanted to come home again with every part of him still in its proper place.
—
Arram was waiting at the gate at noon on Thursday when he heard someone call his name. He looked up and down the road. All he saw was the distant shape of what he was sure was Ramasu and the cart.
“Arram!” He turned. Varice was running toward him down the broad path from the school. He hadn’t seen her at breakfast, which had disappointed him more than he realized until this moment. His heart lifted. She was beautiful in the sun, her fast pace hugging her blue cotton gown against her curves. Her golden hair streamed out behind her. “Arram, you great dolt, didn’t you hear me call?”
Preet flew into the air before Arram caught Varice up in a strong hug. He thought for a moment that Varice fumbled with his backpack, but then she wrapped her arms around his neck. She even kissed him on the mouth, though he expected that was because she missed his cheek in her hurry.
“I wanted to say goodbye,” she said as he put her down. She straightened her gown and smoothed her hair. “It’s going to be so boring with you away. I know,” she said, holding up her hand when he would have argued. “I have other friends. But Ozorne is forever talking politics with people, and…” She rested her palm on Arram’s chest. “I never know what you will say or do. You make me laugh. You don’t make me feel silly or stupid.”
He put both of his hands over hers. “You aren’t either one. Varice, who has been telling you such things?”
She smiled up at him. “They don’t have to tell me. They laugh and they change the subject, or they say ‘Nobody cares about that, Varice,’ or…you know what I mean.” She looked around him and withdrew her hand. “There’s Master Ramasu. Will you bring me back a keepsake from Musenda? He’s absolutely magnificent.”
Arram smiled. “I shall manage something.” He turned and waved to the master, who was perched on the seat of a loaded cart near the gate. He could feel the tiny bit of her power shimmering there atop all the things that carried his own Gift. “What did you put in my things?”