The Fall of The Kings (Riverside) by Ellen Kushner, Delia Sherman Page B

the village school to lend him book after book, and finally the means to make his way to the city and its university, where he’d been feeling like a prize fool ever since.
    “So you see,” Justis concluded, “our society grows out of his. We cannot understand what we are if we do not understand where we came from.”
    Basil St Cloud smiled, and Justis felt as if he’d just scored a difficult goal.
    “I agree with you, Blake—it is Blake, isn’t it?” Justis nodded. “What do you make of that story about Placid and Anselm, by the way?”
    “Do you really want to know?” Justis was incredulous; Doctor Crabbe was seldom interested in what his students thought of the material he taught them.
    “Yes,” said Doctor St Cloud simply. “I do.”
    “Trevor says . . .”
    “I know what Trevor says,” St Cloud interrupted. “I want to hear what you think.”
    “It seems pretty obvious, sir. Anselm must have taken Placid’s indictment of luxury and vice in Of Manners and Morals as a personal attack.”
    “Pretty obvious indeed. What if I were to tell you that Anselm banished the man because he found him a sententious bore?”
    “I’d say that you were just guessing,” Justis answered promptly. “There’s nothing like that in any of the histories.”
    A man like a fence-post draped in black leaned over his shoulder and said truculently, “Careful. Someone might think you were calling Doctor St Cloud a liar.”
    “Let him be, Fremont. It’s a fair point.” St Cloud turned to Justis. “But consider: you yourself have noted that Anselm was instrumental in limiting the power of the wizards, so he certainly wasn’t going to banish Placid for disliking them. Furthermore, papers do indeed turn up from time to time—in attics, in old chests, even in the University Archives.” A slight young man whose long, fine hair was the color of copper laughed appreciatively and was rewarded with a smile. “In this case, it’s a notation on the writ of banishment itself. I don’t think it’s been looked at since the Fall, but it’s in the Archives. You can see it for yourself, if you’re interested. In the margin, above the king’s signature, there’s a single word. Ass! It’s the same hand as the signature.”
    “And he was, too,” said the fence-post. “ ‘A man who would live well must live wisely.’ ” He minced out the words savagely. “What does that mean, anyway?”
    “That you should think before you speak, Fremont,” said Doctor St Cloud repressively.
    Justis shook his head. “If you don’t mind my saying so, sir, that doesn’t contradict what I said. On Morals and Manners was pretty hard on Anselm’s whole court, after all, not just the wizards.”
    St Cloud looked at him so blankly that Justis began to wonder just how stupid he’d been, and then smiled slowly, like the sun rising over the Hill. “No more it does, Blake.” He slapped the astonished young man on the shoulder. “Overlooking the obvious can be as dangerous as not looking beyond it. And you’re not afraid to speak your mind. Good for you.”
    Justis grinned. It was good to feel intelligent again.
    “Someone else’s monograph doesn’t constitute evidence,” Fremont pointed out.
    “Shut up, Henry.” The speaker’s voice was high and clear, like a girl’s, but full of authority. A boy, no more than fourteen, with a fine suit of clothes under his black robe.
    “It does if the author went to the original documents,” St Cloud said. “Which he did. I know. He was one of my students.”
    Justis was inspired with a sudden and overwhelming desire to have the young magister say the same of him someday. “Doctor St Cloud,” he said. “I . . . I’d like to attend your lectures formally, if you’ll accept me.”
    St Cloud put his hand on Justis’s shoulder. “I’m flattered, Master Blake, but I need to be sure you’ve thought this through. You’ve already begun with Doctor Crabbe, who is interested in the Fall of the