Chapter 2
“Pardon me, is Master Seradar in?” Celice asked a passing
Acara.
“I’m afraid not, Lady Anfel,” the Acara said. He was not
dressed in mages’ robes, but rather in a smart tunic and trousers, his
feathered cap at a jaunty angle. “He was called away on urgent business to
Tyrannia by the Order of the Red Erisim.”
“Shame,” Celice said. “I’ve got everything I need to do my
presentation. Would you inform the department chairs and tell them to meet me
in the west demonstration hall?”
Pharazon only vaguely heard their conversation. He was too
preoccupied looking around Brightvale Castle in amazement. The castle was warm
and spacious, filled with light filtering in from immense stained-glass
windows. Books lined the walls of every room and sometimes even spilled out
onto the halls. Already they had passed through three libraries—it was enough
to make the Draik swoon. Clearly King Hagan was a ruler worth his salt.
The Draik was jolted out of his reverie by furry knuckles
rapping on his head. “Oh—sorry,” he said.
“Are all faerie Neopets as absent-minded as you?” Celice
asked. “Or is that a trait intrinsic to Draiks?”
“Uh—I don’t know,” Pharazon said. “But wow, you have so many
books here! I want to read all of them!”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Celice said. “Even I don’t have
the proper clearance to handle some of the more volatile magic volumes. At any
rate, let’s get you started on the admissions process, shall we? Fortunately
for me, I’ll be able to witness your aptitude firsthand.” She readied her notebook.
Pharazon gulped and said, “Aptitude? I have to take an
aptitude test?”
Celice patted him on the back, but wiped her paw on her
robes afterward as though the Draik had just climbed out of the Meridell
Rubbish Dump. “Nothing to worry about,” she said. “You’ve just got to fill out
some forms and then display your talent in magic.”
“Magic?” Pharazon squeaked. “I-I don’t know if I can study
magic, milady. I mean, I’m painted faerie, but I’ve never really done magic
before, and I was hoping to maybe go into history or science—“
“Pah!” the Lupe said. “My friend, those musty subjects are
for those who lack true genius!” She spread out her paw in front of him, as if
gesturing for him to behold the panorama of his potential. “We magicians dabble
in the realm of possibility. And I
think you’d go much farther in magic than any of those other subjects.”
“Er, well…” Pharazon said as he twisted his tail. “If you
say so.”
“Oh, I do,” Celice said. “After all, you’re faerie! Magic is
in your blood! I mean that quite literally, by the way.”
“I know,” Pharazon said as he examined his paw. “I got a
paper cut on my finger once. Weirdest thing ever. My owner said she’d never seen
anything so sparkly.”
“You don’t say,” Celice said, scribbling in her notebook.
“And besides, I want to see your skill in magic, not hear you recite historical
facts. You’re supposed to be doing me a favour, remember?”
“Of course,” Pharazon said.
As they continued down the hall, he couldn’t help but feel
disappointed. He’d never considered studying magic before and he still really
had his heart set on history or science. But he didn’t want to let Celice down,
not after she had been so accommodating to him. Still, an uncomfortable feeling
grew in the pit of his stomach.
***
“When you said ‘a copious amount of paperwork’, you weren’t
kidding,” Pharazon said to Celice as an enormous stack of parchment was
deposited on the counter in front of him by a Jubjub receptionist.
Celice sat on the couch in the lobby, jotting things down in
her notebook. “Would you rather wait a few weeks for Master Seradar to return
from Tyrannia?” she asked. “Or would you like to seek him out and probably get
stepped on by one of those boors from the Brute Squad in the process?”
“All right…” the Draik said as he began trying to lift the
column of paperwork. After several vain attempts to heft the whole thing, he
settled for picking it up portions at a time and carrying it piecemeal to a chair
by the couch.
“Keep them in order,” the receptionist snapped, barely
glancing up from the book she was reading. “If you wind up putting Form 230-A
before the Arcana Non-Disclosure Agreement, it could result in the unleashing
of eldritch horrors! Or worse—Fyora could take away our accreditation!”
“Uhh, r-right,” Pharazon said as he picked up the first page
to read it.
Celice reached over
and took the paper out of his hand, hurriedly sorting through the first several
pages until she handed him one with blank spots to fill out. “Oh, don’t worry
about the fine print!” she said. “It’s all legal nonsense anyway, and I’ve
scheduled your aptitude test in half an hour, so be quick about this!”
“Sorry,” Pharazon said, ignoring most of the page except for
where he needed to write things.
For the next few minutes, the lobby was stiflingly silent
save for the scratching of his quill and Celice’s pencil, and the receptionist
turning the pages of her book. Pharazon wondered what kind of hijinks Blynn and
Hyren were getting into, and if Terra was feeling any better. He missed them
already.
“’Have you ever been a) zapped by Boochi, b) handed a
transmogrification potion by Dr. Sloth, or c) bought stocks from Skeith Feeding
Ltd.?’” Pharazon read the question out loud and then looked up at Celice. “What
does Skeith Feeding Ltd. have to do with magic?”
“You’d be surprised,” Celice said. “Hurry! You’ve only got
ten minutes to spare!”
A few pages later, Pharazon read, “Would you rather have
lunch with the Brain Tree or the Esophagor?”
“I don’t know, would you?” Celice asked. “Are you really
only that far in?”
Pharazon flipped through the last few papers and said, “I’m
sorry, some of these questions just seem rather… irrelevant. Like which member
of Wock ‘Til You Drop I most identify with.”
“Just scribble something in,” Celice said. “Trust me, they
don’t even look at half of those forms. They’re just required by law. Simple
rigmarole, that’s all.”
“’Simple rigmarole’ sounds like an oxymoron…” Pharazon said.
“I wasn’t expecting just applying to go to school here to be so… annoying.”
“Well, I’m sorry life isn’t all sunshine and cheery blossoms
for you,” Celice said. “Now hurry it up! You’ve only got five minutes! Sign
your name at the end and then you’re done!”
Pharazon rushed through the rest of the forms, filling them
out as quickly as he could and not even having time to properly read them. When
he finally finished the last page, with just a minute to spare, he let out a
huge sigh. Waving the paper so the ink would dry, he turned it over on top of
the previous sheet. His wings had developed a cramp from sitting so long, and
he winced as he gave the papers back to the receptionist.
“Took you long enough,” the Jubjub said, not even looking up
from her book.
“He is dreadfully slow, I’m afraid,” Celice said, standing
up. “Well, now that that’s over with,
it’s time to test your aptitude.” Swinging an arm around the Draik’s shoulders,
the Lupe steered him out of the lobby and down a new hallway.
“Are you sure I’ll do all right with this?” Pharazon asked. “I’ve
never even tried doing magic before.”
“Oh, positive,” Celice said. “The results ought to be very favourable.”
She grinned so widely that her fangs showed.
At the end of the hall were two great oaken doors engraved
with images of sorcerers and their magical accomplishments, further
intimidating the Draik as Celice turned the handle on one of the doors and led
him inside. The interior was dim and windowless, and Pharazon could barely see
his own two feet on the smooth wooden floor, but he heard whispers in the air
around him and he gulped. What sort of magic was he expected to know, and who
would be judging him?
They stopped, Celice snapped her fingers, and a bright light
shone down on them from above. They stood in the middle of a circular room, and
around them were rows of arena-like seating filled with Neopets wearing ornate
robes—watching them.
Pharazon’s tongue suddenly felt like a wad of cotton and he
thought he was going to be ill. He never did well in the spotlight.
Celice spread out her arms. “Ladies and gentlemen!” she said.
“Thank you all for coming to my demonstration on the unique properties of faerie
Draiks! My findings in this area should be quite illuminating to scholars
specializing both in painted pet studies and faerie magic!”
Pharazon turned and looked up at her. “Wait—what?! I thought
this was my admissions aptitude test!” he squeaked. He could practically feel
the audience judging everything about him.
“Yes, well—“ Celice cleared her throat again. “I may have…
fudged the facts a bit. There is no aptitude test.”
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