The Continuing Cost of Higher Education

Room 101 of the Morley Acadamae of Wizardry was a complete and utter ruin.

It was part of the original school old Morley himself had established centuries ago -- one of the few rooms surviving an unfortunate lab explosion in 823 AC, after which former Headmaster Fizzban had run a fund drive to build additional wings. Set in the floor was a stylized bronze plaque commemorating the school's first graduation, bearing the names of every student, teacher, and Board Member from that year. And although exquisite tapestries detailing ancient heroes and impossible exploits had dressed the walls over the centuries, none had ever replaced the rough blackboard upon which mages of past fame had inscribed their first primer lessons. The same hardwood desks and tables had been aligned neatly in rows, the same bookshelves had held their positions of prominence around the room, full of the same scripted tomes and scrolls describing basic and advanced aspects of the magical arts. The room had long been a shrine of Morley Acadamae's wizardly heritage.

Until today.

Now it seemed that a hurricane had traversed the chamber without any regard for antiquity. The infamous bronze plaque was pocked and marred, covered with a fine black soot. The old blackboard hung in jagged shards. Expensive tapestries lay charred and unraveled. Desks that had seated thousands of young students over the years were smashed into matchsticks, bookshelves full of tomes were overturned and shattered. It didn't help that most of the walls (including a large chunk of the ceiling) were now missing, allowing the afternoon breeze to blow shreds of ancient priceless manuscripts across the scuffed tile floor.

Master Portage stood in the middle of Room 101, a deposed king in his overturned royal chambers. His portulent cheeks were flushed like cherry blossoms in full bloom. His hands continually wrung at each other like two large, ugly, hairless spiders.

Headmaster Glinkfinkle stared at him, beady eyes even beadier through the spectacles perched on his pointed nose. "Summon Dragon?" he asked. "I didn't teach Dorkin the Summon Dragon spell. No one in his right mind teaches students how to summon dragons. Did you do this?"

"No, of course not!" blubbered Portage. "Are you insane?"

Glinkfinkle still had his suspicions. After all, he had never liked Portage much from the start, considering him sloppy and impulsive. Unfortunately, Portage's doctorate work and his blood relations to the Board Chairman had overridden all of Glinkfinkle's initial protests. Just as predicted, Portage's three years of undisciplined tutelage had caused some trouble, albeit of minor impact: torches exploding, apprentices sprouting hair from their noses, cats losing their fur, an occasional indoor rainstorm or three.

However, nothing like THIS.

"These... these accusations are absurd!" continued Portage. "I told the children repeatedly that strange spells were not to be brought to class."

"Not even for Show-and-Tell?"

"Definitely not!" said the teacher. "Absolutely, positively, ESPECIALLY not!"

Headmaster Glinkfinkle shook his head. Unlike Portage, he was not a newcomer to the Acadamae. In fact, he had been at the school for over forty years, considered a wizard emeritus after his long years of service, and most people referred to him as a "tough nut." He knew when he was being lied to.

Rumors had it that Glinkfinkle's stare could pierce the hide of a stone gargoyle, if he chose so. He now leveled its full force directly upon the portly teacher.

Portage's feet shuffled. His hands continued to crawl. Drool trickled from one corner of his mouth. Glinkfinkle's gaze never wavered.

"Okay!" Portage wailed finally. "So I didn't like the boy! I didn't like him at all. I just wanted him out of my class--that's it, nothing more, nothing less! It's not a crime to not like a boy! He was obnoxious!" He sniffed. "I had no idea the Dragon would EAT him--I just thought it would FRIGHTEN him a little."

Glinkfinkle snorted. "It was a Dragon, you fool, not a scarecrow. That's what Dragons do. And the rest of the class?"

Portage positively yelped this time. "It's not my fault! I had no idea that Dragons were so hungry!"

Angry parents. A public outcry. A lengthy inquisition. Glinkfinkle carefully ran through the calculations in his mind a fourth time. Damn. "I suppose we'll have to refund their tuition. It would be the only decent thing to do. But you know we'll have to take it out of YOUR paycheck."

Portage predictably blanched: Glinkfinkle knew that he already considered himself underpaid. "Oh, please, no. Not that. Maybe we could find some other excuse, another reason for this whole mishap. Perhaps not refer to the Dragon at all. It's such a BAD word. Maybe just say the students all went out to pick herbs, and never came back. Yes, that's it: Herb-picking, without permission. You know how dangerous mistletoe can be, especially in mid-summer, in full bloom."

"Only if they drink it," pointed out Glinkfinkle.

"Well, people HAVE been known to drink it. The brew is rumored to have an enticing fragrance--"

"Enough! These were the top intellects in Harndin!" snapped Glinkfinkle. "The best of their age! Twenty brilliant children, culled from over five thousand mewling brats all trying to worm their way into our esteemed institution! We studied, prodded, dissected and reassembled these students with a slew of exams pinpointing the greatest mental acuity and magical sensitivity! And you expect everyone to believe that each and every one of these children went outside to cook and drink MISTLETOE? These weren't imbeciles, Portage. These were our mental PROGENY!"

"Only half the children," decided Portage thoughtfully. "No one really knows the effects of magic on the fragile young mind. With no winter furlough this year, it's no surprise that they went mad before spring finals. And the other half? Well, it's been a long semester. They probably cracked, and... killed each other in a fight. Yes, a horribly violent fight. That's what happened. Didn't we teach Flame Ball last fall?"

Glinkfinkle rolled his eyes. "I suppose you'll throw a bear into it now."

"Yes! Summon Bear was taught just last week."

"Master Portage," said Glinkfinkle, "I believe I only have one thing to say to you."

Portage's hands continued their writhing, but now his feet shuffled as well, and he could not meet Glinkfinkle's gaze. "It's not ALL bad, you know," he mumbled, "not bad at all. We'll get the summer off for once, at least. Some of us haven't had a decent break since we arrived. Everyone will be very appreciative."

When Glinkfinkle said nothing, Portage glanced up hopefully. "And the summer off means that we wouldn't need to be paid either."

"I'm listening," muttered Glinkfinkle. To be honest, he hadn't much liked that boy Dorkin either.

"And the general rule of the Acadamae -- I mean, the main thing that we all try to remember, or encourage -- well, isn't it that each teacher is in charge of his own classroom? Autonomous? Allowed to determine class curriculum without interference from the administration?"

"What's your point, Portage?"

"I guess I'm saying that this was a pop quiz, and my students just weren't prepared. Perhaps the next batch will be more diligent."

The Headmaster stared at the pitiful teacher for a long time. "Clean up this mess," he muttered finally. "I wouldn't be surprised if you've got old Morley rolling over in his grave right now."

Portage almost collapsed in relief. "I'll have things in order momentarily, Headmaster. I promise."

"See that you do. And after that, there's really only one problem left to resolve." Glinkfinkle tapped at his chin with one skinny finger.

"What's that?"

Suddenly a small gust of wind sent paper shreds scattering against the far wall. A shadow fell across the room, bringing a chill.

"How to get rid of a Dragon after one has been summoned." Glinkfinkle picked his way back to the only door left standing in the room. "You can't expect him to get home on his own, now can you? I'm sure there's a Return Dragon spell around here somewhere. All you need to do is find it, and then you can have the rest of the day off."

"Find it?" quivered Portage. Even as his eyes jumped around the room, taking in the mess, the shadow darkened and the wind increased in volume.

"Only a minor problem for a wizard of your caliber. Your resume was quite impressive, if I remember correctly." Glinkfinkle stepped into the corridor and reached for the door.

"Wait!" shrieked Portage. "You said... I thought... you just can't LEAVE me here!"

"Of course I can. After all, this is your classroom, and I wouldn't deign to instruct you on how to run it. Good day, Master Portage."

The room was almost black at this point, and both of them could hear audible snorting from outside. Glinkfinkle carefully shut the door behind him.

He allowed himself a slight smile. A Dragon. Now THAT would certainly come in handy when the teachers demanded wage increases next semester. Perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps Portage had made a valuable contribution to the Acadamae after all.

Hosted by www.Geocities.ws