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dead-ended on their own court and traveled eastward, away from the center of town but toward more of the same sort of houses. There were occasional stores here, or rather, “discreet business establishments,” mostly dressmakers, milliners, and the like. From the street, except for a gown or a hat prominently on display in a window, it wouldn’t be possible to tell these places from an ordinary house.
    Archer wasn’t disposed to conversation, but finally he made an effort. “You’ll be getting in with some lads your age, then,” he said heavily. “More like back at the village.”
    Lan couldn’t imagine a situation less like home, but he murmured, “That would be good.”
    â€œAye.” That sentence seemed to exhaust Archer’s store of conversation, and the rest of the walk continued in silence.
    There was a much larger building on the right side of the street they were on, one that towered over its already impressive neighbors and was enclosed by a high wall. Where the town houses were two and three stories tall, this was six; and it occupied a lot that was easily five or six times the size of any of that of the magnificent homes around it. Lan had never been this far on any of his reluctant walks.
    â€œThat’ll be the school,” Archer said with satisfaction as he surveyed the exterior, his expression as pleased as if he owned it himself. “You’ll be coming here every morning about this time; lessons start early, but we’re going to meet the Master first.”
    Lan still couldn’t comprehend what sort of “lessons” could be taught here, and thought for certain that his father must be mistaken. But the nearer they came to the building, the less certain he became.
    His father showed no evidence of hesitation. He led Lan along the high wall—easily a story tall itself—until they came to the wooden gate. It must not have been locked, for Archer pushed it partly open, and motioned Lan to precede him.
    Lan moved hesitantly past his father, and into a mathematically precise courtyard. Most of it was paved. Along the base of the building were pruned evergreen bushes, cone-shaped ones alternating with bushes of three spheres, one atop another. Defining a pathway toward the door were long flower boxes containing neat stands of greenery. Ivy planted in similar boxes climbed the inside of the fence.
    â€œCome along, then. Master’s waiting,” Archer said, pulling the gate closed behind him. He led Lan to the front door of the building, a surprisingly small door for such an edifice. It appeared no larger than the door of their own home.
    Archer pulled open that door without knocking, revealing a long corridor with more wooden doors on either side of it, a corridor far plainer, with ordinary wooden floors and plastered walls, than Lan had expected. There was a hum of voices, a murmur that drifted along the corridor like the murmur inside a major temple during a festival.
    Archer immediately turned to the first door on the right and rapped on it. A muffled voice invited them in.
    Lan found himself in a small, plain room, furnished only with a brace of chairs and a large desk that faced the door. An older man sat at the desk, a man with close-dropped gray hair and a stern face, all sharp angles, a face made by a mathematician rather than an artist. This gentleman looked up at their entrance, and gave Archer a thin smile.
    â€œAh, Master Chitward,” the man said, his voice no warm-er than his coolly pleasant expression. “I have been expecting you.”
    â€œThis is the boy,” Archer said, putting his hand squarely in the middle of Lan’s back and pushing him forward, so that he was between Archer and the desk.
    â€œLavan, isn’t it?” the man said, making a note on a piece of paper in front of him. “Lavan Chitward. Very good; as soon as I know where to place him, we’ll have him settled in no