learning is not quite dead.’
As Master Scrivener, it was one of his duties to assist in all matters of education and learning within the former capital city of Brum, which, as all hydden with any love of lore and tradition will know, lay within the heart of the human city of Birmingham, but far down out of sight among its sewers, conduits and waterways, in the tunnels and subterranean arches of its railways, and in the interstices of roads and buildings which humans cannot reach. Brum’s rich and fabled culture was in sorry decline, yet not quite lost.
‘Our archives remain the best in Englalond, and there I found a text that might serve this special purpose. As it was rare and valuable, I entrusted it to a staverman whose integrity was well known to me, namely Mister Pike yonder – the same who is the leader of the five accompanying me today.’
Brief discreetly pointed out the fiercest-looking of the small group. He had the familiar bearing of one who has done military service, his garb clean and well pressed, his cloak heavy but short, his bare arms muscular and his hair cut close.
Brief added confidentially, ‘Pike is very intelligent, utterly dependable, and a fearsome fighter when need be. He also has experience of the Welsh Marches, which is no terrain for the faint-hearted. The grammar I sent him to convey covered the basics of the Welsh language, as well as the topography, history and the strange folklore of that wild and dangerous country. I did not expect to hear much more regarding Wardine, and on his return Pike revealed little about his mission.
‘But, not long after, I had a further missive from my former colleague. He explained that his pupil, who you’ll guess was Bedwyn Stort, now required something rather more advanced so far as his Welsh studies were concerned. He also wanted any similar texts dealing with the other Celtic languages, such as Breton and Irish, but also the lost languages of Pictish, Ivernic and Lube – the last being the mystic language of the ancient bards, of which even I had barely heard.’
Imbolc looked both surprised and impressed.
‘You may very well imagine that my interest was now aroused,’ continued Brief. ‘Again I sent Pike off to deliver the texts. On his return he this time expressed the view that young Stort might benefit from a little of my attention, but . . . I was busy and I put the matter to one side.
‘A year passed and then I had a further request, this time for texts on a much wider variety of subjects.’
‘Such as?’ asked the Peace-Weaver.
‘Well . . . certain other lost languages, also mathematics, the history and lore of the Mirror-of-All, something on Beornamund, founder of Brum, as well as a tome or two on cosmology and mystic knotting, which, as you know, are somewhat complex subjects for someone barely more than a child.’
Imbolc nodded. Mystic knotting was not a subject most youngsters even knew about let alone desired to study, even assuming a topic so abstruse could be studied at all.
‘So what did you do, Master Brief?’ She noticed that Pike was watching them carefully.
‘I immediately summoned Pike again, and asked him to tell me more about this talented student. What he told me . . . but let him tell you for himself. I think he realizes we’re now talking about him and Stort – of whom he can be somewhat protective.’
He signalled to the staverman, who came over, still looking at Imbolc suspiciously. Close to, he exuded a definite aura of physical strength and strong purpose.
Not a hydden ever to cross lightly , thought the Peace-Weaver.
‘Is she making inquiries after Master Stort?’ Pike growled, eyeing her coldly.
Brief admitted that was so but added, ‘She may be trusted, Mister Pike.’
‘Which means she ain’t really a pedlar,’ he replied at once, ‘seeing as pedlars and their kind are not to be trusted, eh?’
He stood looming over Imbolc, who smiled and said, ‘You’re right, Mister Pike,
As Master Scrivener, it was one of his duties to assist in all matters of education and learning within the former capital city of Brum, which, as all hydden with any love of lore and tradition will know, lay within the heart of the human city of Birmingham, but far down out of sight among its sewers, conduits and waterways, in the tunnels and subterranean arches of its railways, and in the interstices of roads and buildings which humans cannot reach. Brum’s rich and fabled culture was in sorry decline, yet not quite lost.
‘Our archives remain the best in Englalond, and there I found a text that might serve this special purpose. As it was rare and valuable, I entrusted it to a staverman whose integrity was well known to me, namely Mister Pike yonder – the same who is the leader of the five accompanying me today.’
Brief discreetly pointed out the fiercest-looking of the small group. He had the familiar bearing of one who has done military service, his garb clean and well pressed, his cloak heavy but short, his bare arms muscular and his hair cut close.
Brief added confidentially, ‘Pike is very intelligent, utterly dependable, and a fearsome fighter when need be. He also has experience of the Welsh Marches, which is no terrain for the faint-hearted. The grammar I sent him to convey covered the basics of the Welsh language, as well as the topography, history and the strange folklore of that wild and dangerous country. I did not expect to hear much more regarding Wardine, and on his return Pike revealed little about his mission.
‘But, not long after, I had a further missive from my former colleague. He explained that his pupil, who you’ll guess was Bedwyn Stort, now required something rather more advanced so far as his Welsh studies were concerned. He also wanted any similar texts dealing with the other Celtic languages, such as Breton and Irish, but also the lost languages of Pictish, Ivernic and Lube – the last being the mystic language of the ancient bards, of which even I had barely heard.’
Imbolc looked both surprised and impressed.
‘You may very well imagine that my interest was now aroused,’ continued Brief. ‘Again I sent Pike off to deliver the texts. On his return he this time expressed the view that young Stort might benefit from a little of my attention, but . . . I was busy and I put the matter to one side.
‘A year passed and then I had a further request, this time for texts on a much wider variety of subjects.’
‘Such as?’ asked the Peace-Weaver.
‘Well . . . certain other lost languages, also mathematics, the history and lore of the Mirror-of-All, something on Beornamund, founder of Brum, as well as a tome or two on cosmology and mystic knotting, which, as you know, are somewhat complex subjects for someone barely more than a child.’
Imbolc nodded. Mystic knotting was not a subject most youngsters even knew about let alone desired to study, even assuming a topic so abstruse could be studied at all.
‘So what did you do, Master Brief?’ She noticed that Pike was watching them carefully.
‘I immediately summoned Pike again, and asked him to tell me more about this talented student. What he told me . . . but let him tell you for himself. I think he realizes we’re now talking about him and Stort – of whom he can be somewhat protective.’
He signalled to the staverman, who came over, still looking at Imbolc suspiciously. Close to, he exuded a definite aura of physical strength and strong purpose.
Not a hydden ever to cross lightly , thought the Peace-Weaver.
‘Is she making inquiries after Master Stort?’ Pike growled, eyeing her coldly.
Brief admitted that was so but added, ‘She may be trusted, Mister Pike.’
‘Which means she ain’t really a pedlar,’ he replied at once, ‘seeing as pedlars and their kind are not to be trusted, eh?’
He stood looming over Imbolc, who smiled and said, ‘You’re right, Mister Pike,
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