CHAPTER 3

Edward Frederick looked at Thomas, who did not dare look him in the eye after the words he had spoken. In all his time working at Pendragon, this was the first time he had been asked to take a child in for training simply because they feared for their own lives—as if the boy was being handed over to a juvenile detention centre on bail, and not for training. An unpleasant feeling.

"Well, I must say, you intrigue me, Viscount. Where is the boy?"

"Behind the door. I took the liberty of bringing him with me."

"Well, call your unique person; let's look at him now."

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I entered the office where there was a sign:

*Director of Pendragon Academy* 

*His Excellency, the Count* 

*Edward Frederick Harrington*

My father was waiting for me inside, and a stranger in dark glasses was sitting in the next chair. He must have been the school principal—a strange man. Why wear dark glasses indoors, I wonder? But despite this, I liked him—like the whole place. Finally, my father had brought me to a place where there was at least something interesting, and not to another brain doctor.

"My name is Edward Frederick Harrington," the stranger introduced himself. "I am a master of magic and also the director of this place."

"I guessed, Your Excellency; you have a sign hanging on your front door."

"Well done," he smiled. "Some people don't realise. Do you know what this place is?"

"Yeah, Pendragon Academy. The richest nobles study here."

"You wanted to say the strongest Gifted," the Count corrected me. "Although there are plenty of offspring of wealthy families here, I won't argue, but there are also not very rich ones, and there are plenty of them too."

Well, as you say, you can put the question that way. But I don't really understand what I'm doing here personally? Even if we assume that my father somehow convinced the director to take me to this school, it's still too early. You can only go here to study after you're fourteen, right?

"Your father says that your ancestral Gift has awakened, and you already have a pretty good understanding of herbology and the making of elixirs—a future genius alchemist!"

"I wouldn't say so. I think I still have some work to do."

"I don't even doubt it," he agreed. "And yet tell me, do you by any chance know what substances are included in a regular cough elixir?"

"Coltsfoot, plantain, and liquorice," I replied. "That's the standard elixir. If you want, you can change it a little depending on the type of cough."

"Not bad, not bad at all," smiled the headmaster. "A worthy answer for a twelve-year-old young man. Now let's make the task a little more difficult. Since you are studying herbology, perhaps you can tell me something about the red shield?"

"I can, but not very much. It doesn't grow here, and there's very little written about it in herbology books."

"What books do you mean?"

*Herbology for Beginners* and *First Lessons of Mastery*. My father hasn't given me the others yet."

In fact, I have read other books, of course—there are plenty of them on the Internet. But I don't want my father to know about it.

"How did you manage to create an elixir, the recipe for which is not in these books? Your father says that you somehow made something special."

"It happened once. I found a couple of torn pages between books in my grandfather's library," I lied. "I have no idea where they came from."

"Yes? Okay, let's say… Well, what do they write about the red shield bug in the books you've read?"

"Grows in North Wales, best collected at night in the last week of July. Very useful for making ointments against burns. In dried form, it should not be stored for more than a couple of years, after which it loses its properties and becomes useless. According to popular belief, if you rub your heel with red shield mushroom on Christmas Eve, then the whole next year will be accompanied by luck."

Edward tilted his head to the side.

"So what do you think about this, Miles?" he asked.

"I didn't make ointments out of it, I won't lie, but rubbing your heels with it is complete nonsense. I wouldn't do it."

"Why is that?" the Count asked.

"There is nothing that can bring good luck."

"How do you know this?"

"From the book by Derik Stoff, *White Magic Rituals: Truth and Myths*."

The smile disappeared from the school principal's face, and this made me a little wary—did I say something wrong?

"Really? So where did you get this book?" he asked.

"My grandfather has one in his library. Can't I read it?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Well, you asked so sternly…"

At that moment, the director looked at my father, who only shrugged in response.

"No, of course you can read it; it's just… Tell me, what other books on magic have you come across?"

I won't tell you that—too many questions. And you'll also want to know about my friend Eldric Varnwythe, who moved into me a couple of years ago. He doesn't want anyone to know about him.

"We've come across different ones, Mr. Director."

"Hmm… You really are an interesting young man, Miles Fielding; your father turned out to be right."

The Count suddenly got up from his chair, went to the far corner of the room, took something there, and returned. In his hands was a small aquarium in which a pot-bellied orange fish was swimming.

"This is a goldfish," he said. "Her name is Medea."

I looked indifferently at the fish, which lazily moved its fins and stared at me with wide eyes.

"You can't by any chance make her die?"

"For what?"

"Don't worry about her; I'll figure out how to revive her later," Edward Frederick assured me. "So what? Can you?"

"No, I don't want to," I shook my head. "But I can do it like this."

I looked at the fish and ordered it to jump out of the tank, which it promptly did. The director suddenly looked at me strangely, then picked up Medea and put her back in the tank, where she continued to lazily move her fins. I wonder if she even noticed that she had briefly left it?

The room became quiet. The adults were silent and looked at each other, and all I could do was look at the fish, which had now retreated to the far corner of the aquarium. How boring.

"Listen, Miles, I've been thinking…" the director finally spoke. "Wouldn't you like to stay here for a while? I think a guy like you would like our school."

The Master looked at me for a while and then continued:

"True, all our guys are a little older… But I heard it's even more interesting for you this way, huh? What do you say?"

"Actually, I already go to a school not far from our house. But I really like it here much more."

"You see, how good it is," the Count nodded. "And don't worry about that school. Your dad will sort everything out there and tell them that you are studying here now. He will tell your mum everything too, so that she doesn't worry."

"Well, I don't know… Do you have good food here?"

"Finger-licking good," Edward Frederick grinned. "By the way, four times a day, and on weekends the best students get a double portion of dessert."

That's how I ended up at Pendragon Academy.