Equal Rites

bells rang, with their arms full of books or—in the case of senior students—with their books flapping through the air after them. The air had the greasy feel of magic and tasted of tin.
    Esk walked along between Treatle and Simon and drank it all in. It wasn’t just that there was magic in the air, but it was tamed and working, like a millrace. It was power, but it was harnessed.
    Simon was as excited as she was, but it showed only because his eyes watered more and his stutter got worse. He kept stopping to point out the various colleges and research buildings.
    One was quite low and brooding, with high narrow windows.
    “T-that’s the l-l-library,” said Simon, his voice bursting with wonder and respect. “Can I have a l-l-look?”
    “Plenty of time for that later,” said Treatle. Simon gave the building a wistful look.
    “All the b-books of magic ever written,” he whispered.
    “Why are the windows barred?” said Esk.
    Simon swallowed. “Um, b-because b-books of m-magic aren’t like other b-books, they lead a—”
    “That’s enough,” snapped Treatle. He looked down at Esk as if he had just noticed her, and frowned.
    “Why are you here?”
    “You invited me in,” said Esk.
    “Me? Oh yes. Of course. Sorry, mind wandering. The young lady who wants to be a wizard. Let us see, shall we?”
    He led the way up a broad flight of steps to an impressive pair of doors. At least, they were designed to be impressive. The designer had invested deeply in heavy locks, curly hinges, brass studs and an intricately carved archway to make it absolutely clear to anyone entering that they were not very important people at all.
    He was a wizard. He had forgotten the doorknocker.
    Treatle rapped on the door with his staff. It hesitated for a while, and then slowly slid back its bolts and swung open.
    The hall was full of wizards and boys. And boys’ parents.
    There are two ways of getting into Unseen University (in fact there are three, but at this time wizards hadn’t realized it).
    The first is to achieve some great work of magic, such as the recovery of an ancient and powerful relic or the invention of a totally new spell, but in these times it was seldom done. In the past there had been great wizards capable of forming whole new spells from the chaotic raw magic of the world, wizards from whom as it were all the spells of wizardry had flowed, but those days had gone; there were no more sorcerers.
    So the more typical method was to be sponsored by a senior and respected wizard, after a suitable period of apprenticeship.
    Competition was stiff for a University place and the honor and privileges an Unseen degree could bring. Many of the boys milling around the hall, and launching minor spells at each other, would fail and have to spend their lives as lowly magicians , mere magical technologists with defiant beards and leather patches on their elbows who congregated in small jealous groups at parties.
    Not for them the coveted pointy hat with optional astrological symbols, or the impressive robes, or the staff of authority. But at least they could look down on conjurers , who tended to be jolly and fat and inclined to drop their aitches and drink beer and go around with sad thin women in spangly tights and really infuriate magicians by not realizing how lowly they were and kept telling them jokes. Lowliest of all—apart from witches, of course—were thaumaturgists, who never got any schooling at all. A thaumaturgist could just about be trusted to wash out an alembic. Many spells required things like mold from a corpse dead of crushing, or the semen of a living tiger, or the root of a plant that gave an ultrasonic scream when it was uprooted. Who was sent to get them? Right.
    It is a common error to refer to the lower magical ranks as hedge wizards. In fact hedge wizardry is a very honored and specialized form of magic that attracts silent, thoughtful men of the druidical persuasion and topiaric inclinations. If you invited a hedge wizard to a party he would spend half the evening talking to your potted plant. And he would spend the other half listening.
    Esk noticed that there were some women in the hall, because even young wizards had mothers and sisters. Whole families had turned up to bid the favored sons farewell. There was a considerable blowing of noses, wiping of tears and the clink of coins as proud fathers tucked a little spending money into their offspring’s hands.
    Very senior wizards were