Alanna The First Adventure - By Tamora Pierce Page 0,10
youngling.”
The next class was in deportment, or manners as they were practiced by nobles. Alanna had learned very early to say “Please” and “Thank you,” but she quickly realized that these were only the rudiments of deportment. She did not know how to bow. She did not know how to address a Lord as opposed to an Earl. She did not know which of three spoons to use first at a banquet. She could not dance, and she could not play a musical instrument. The master gave her a very large tome of etiquette to read and ordered her to start lap-harp studies instantly—in her free time.
“But I have to read the first chapter of this tonight in my free time!” she told Gary and Alex, thumping the book of etiquette. They were sitting on a bench during their morning break—all ten minutes of it. “And four problems in mathematics, and the rest of that stupid poem—”
“Ah,” Gary said dreamily. “‘Free time.’ I’ve heard about that. Don’t fool yourself, Fire-Top. What with extra hours of lessons for punishments, and the work you get every day, free time is an illusion. It’s what you get when you die and the gods reward you for a life spent working from dawn until midnight. We all face up to it sooner or later—the only real free time you get here is what my honored sire chooses to give you, when he thinks you have earned it.”
“And he doesn’t give it to you at night,” Alex put in. “He gives it to you when you’ve been here awhile, on Market Day and sometimes a morning or afternoon all to yourself. But never at night. At night you study. During the day you study. In your sleep—”
The bell rang.
“I could learn to hate that bell,” Alanna muttered as she gathered up her things. The older two boys laughed and hurried her along to the next class.
To her surprise, this one was different. The boys sat upright in their chairs, looking as if they were interested in what was about to happen. The walls were hung with maps and charts. A board with several large, blank sheets of paper fixed to it stood before the chairs. A box containing sticks of charcoal for drawing on the paper sat on the table beside it.
The teacher entered to friendly greetings This man was not a priest. He was short and plump, with long brown hair streaked with gray, and a long shaggy beard. His hose bagged at the knee; his tunic was as rumpled as if he had slept in it. He had a tiny, delicate nose and a smiling mouth. Alanna met the man’s large green-brown eyes and smiled in spite of herself. He was the oddest mixture of disarray and good nature she had ever encountered, and she liked him on sight. His name was Sir Myles of Olau.
“Hello,” he greeted her cheerfully. “You must be Alan of Trebond. You’re very hardy to have made it this far the first day. Has anyone said what we try to learn in here?”
Alanna said the first thing that came to her lips. “The only thing I know is that I jump when I’m told to and I have no free time.”
The boys chuckled, and Myles grinned. Alanna blushed. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I wasn’t trying to be pert.”
“It’s all right,” Myles reassured her. “Your life here is going to be difficult. Our Code of Chivalry makes harsh demands.”
“Sir Myles, are you going to start on the Code again?” Jonathan asked. “You know we never agree that it asks too much from us.”
“No, I’m not going to ‘start on’ the Code today,” Myles replied. “For one thing, you boys won’t agree with me until the glamour of being knights and nobles has worn off and you can see the toll our way of life has taken from you. And for another, Duke Gareth has given me to understand that we are somewhat deficient in our coverage of the Bazhir Wars and that he hopes to find us more knowledgeable when next he stops to visit.”
“Sir?” someone asked.
Myles looked at Alanna with a twinkle in his eyes. “I often forget—not everyone is a scholar like me, and I tend to use obscure language. Therefore, to translate—Duke Gareth wants me to go over the Bazhir Wars because he thinks I spent too much time arguing the Code of Chivalry and not enough time on the history of Tortall and the history