Professor Kal

He detested carriages, the way they magnified each small bump and pothole, jarring his aging body making his back hurt even more than it already had. The stuffiness of the air was suffocating, even with all the folding windows open, the breeze snubbed his invitation to enter and rescue him from the oppressive midday heat. The persistent scent of horse manure and sweat only added onto his misery.

Dean Petticoat shifted uneasily inside, clutching the royal letter in one hand. He was on his way to the Palace, and he was dreading it. King Alexander requested his presence and only gave him until the sun's zenith to arrive. That time was swiftly approaching, he had rushed to put his affairs in order. Being the Headmaster of the Academy of Magic and the Mysteries meant that he was an extremely busy individual, and he couldn't just drop his schedule at the drop of a hat, but with this, he had no choice in the matter.

The letter didn't go into detail the subject of whatever it was the newly crowned King wished to discuss, but from what little was written he surmised that it was of the utmost importance. He let out a begrudged sigh, his perfect posture melting as he stared out the window. The sun was out in full force, not a cloud in the sky could be seen for miles. He envied the people going about their lives seemingly without a care in the world.

He knew deep down that they had their own problems to deal with. Maybe a troubled child getting into fights with the other children or caught stealing from a food cart peddling their sweets. Maybe they were behind on their rent, the landlord pressuring them to cough up the copper coins, or else. Everyone had their own problems, but when compared to your own, they appear so insignificant. The gilded carriage continued down the main road, the commoners looking on with jealous eyes, their thoughts aligning with the carriage's inhabitant, wishing to exchange places.

"We've arrived Sir." The carriage driver said, dragging Dean Petticoat out of his fantasies.

"Very well." He said dabbing his sweat slicked forehead with a white cloth.

As soon as the carriage stopped, the head steward opened the door with all the etiquette one would expect of someone in his station. He gave Dean Petticoat a deep bow and motioned for him to follow him inside the palace.

Stepping through the threshold of the mammoth double doors, he already felt that the atmosphere was odd to say the least. He had been summoned to the palace several times before, always, without fail, a group of maids would receive him and cater to his every need. Now it was different, only the head steward came to greet him, no maids or manservants could be seen. He held his suspicions close to his heart and continued to follow the steward deeper into the palace.

The thick indigo rugs lining the halls muffled their footfalls, accentuating the curious silence that hung in the air. A figure veiled in black appeared down the hall, with their footsteps absent and the way they seemed to glide, brought to mind a grief filled apparition. The head steward immediately stepped off to the side of the hall, Dean Petticoat mirroring his movements as they both bowed deep, their back parallel to the floor.

"Your Highness." They both said in unison as the widowed queen disregarded them both and continued past them.

Everyone dealt with the loss of loved ones differently. Certain people became angry, lashing out at those around them, blaming anything and everything for the fact that they could never see their loved one again. Others would rejoice, not that the person had died, but because they were able to share some part of their life with them. Taking comfort in that what little time they had together, it was filled with love and happy memories.

But others, others would sink into the pits of despair, never seeing the light of day again. The invisible claws of depression wrapping their hearts in their impenetrable embrace, denying them the happiness of ever loving again. They would find once enjoyable activities too painful to bear, people that once brought them joy would now only remind them of the pain of losing them. So, they would distance themselves from the ones that loved them the most, thinking that they were keeping them safe from feeling pain such as theirs.

That is what the Queen had done, walled off her heart, keeping anyone that cared for her at arm's length. The loss of the King, her beloved husband, was just too much for her to bear. For the last month, her remaining children attempted to bring her out of her depression, but to no avail. All they could do was pray that she would be able to overcome her anguish.

The two men remained in a lowered position well after the Queen had rounded the corner. Dean Petticoat was the first to rise, looking at the steward as he too corrected his posture. "How is her Majesty? I'm sure it hasn't been easy on her, or the King."

The steward let out a despondent sigh, his eyes searching the empty hall. "No, it hasn't been easy at all. She refuses to eat most days and spends her time just roaming the palace, never talking to anyone. At night, she weeps over His Majesty's sarcophagus, refusing anyone else entry, even King Alexander."

A frown spread over Dean Petticoat's face. "How awful, I shall ask the King for permission to speak to her."

As dean to the Academy, he had grown close to the crown over time. He was much closer to the late King than his wife, but they were on friendly terms, nonetheless. Maybe a friendly face was all it would take to break the Queen from her misery, or at least help her see that she wasn't alone. That remained to be seen, first, he had to get through whatever it was the king required from him.

Nodding, the steward turned to walk down the hall. "It may do little to alleviate her woes, but I pray it helps."

He continued to follow the steward forward, passing many closed doors, hiding unknown secrets behind them. Keeping his eyes forward, Dean Petticoat was beginning to wonder just how far they would have to walk. It had already been several minutes since the Queen had graced them with her presence, and they had walked for several minutes before that. Turning one final corner, they found themselves at the end of the uncommonly long hall.

Standing before a plain looking door were two knights in full ceremonial dress, standing at attention. Not saying a word, one knight opened the door, beckoning Dean Petticoat to enter with silent eyes. Leaving his escort behind, Dean Petticoat passed the knight with a nod, entering into a lavish suite filled with novelties from across the world.

Ornate crystal bottles holding multicolored liquids rested on polished dark wood shelves. Incense burned, giving the air inside the room a palpable woody scent. Busts of long dead mages sat on wooden pedestals, their lifeless eyes seeming to follow him as he walked by. Two leather chairs sat in the corner of the candle lit room; a decanter sandwiched between them, sitting on a matching table. A taxidermized bugbear stood nearby, dwarfing the Dean in size and ferocity, even in death.

"Sit." A man sitting on one of the chairs said to him, his legs crossed at the knees. "Have a drink, it's from the Monroe Valley. They make the best brandy."

"Of course, Your Highness." Dean Petticoat done as he was told and sat down in the other leather chair. He poured himself a drink, the amber brandy swirling in his clear glass, giving off a sharp scent of charred oak and citrus.

Before he took a sip from his glass, Dean Petticoat propositioned the King. "How is your mother fairing? If at all possible, I would like an opportunity to speak with her."

Nodding slowly, the King put his glass on the small table between them. "You must have passed her on the way here, did you? My father was a good man, I'm only alive because of him, I can see why she is so distraught." He stared off into the distance before speaking again. "I think she blames me for it, his death. Hells, I blame myself for it, so there is no way I'm free from blame in her eyes." He let out a sigh. "You have my permission, but any given order from me might not allow you to speak with her if she is not in the mood for it."

"I understand, Your Majesty, I thank you wholeheartedly just for the opportunity." Dean Petticoat said, giving a small bow.

"Now, enough of such a gloomy subject. Let's discuss the reason I have summoned you here." King Alexander said enthusiastically, attempting to bring a more cheerful atmosphere into the room. "I want to offer you a chance to serve your kingdom, a promotion you could say."

The Dean ċȯċked his head, one bushy eyebrow raising above the other. "A promotion Your Highness? I am already the Dean at the most prestigious academy in all the kingdoms, what else is there for me?"

His current appointment was one that was coveted by all of those that cared for status. Officially, he would not outrank a Duke or even a Marquis, but even they would pay him his due respect, even in private. He answered to no one but the crown and had the freedom to run the institution in any way he saw fit. There was only one other position that he could even fathom to guess what it was the King was suggesting, and he was loathe to discover if his ȧssumption was correct.

"There is always something to reach for, no matter how high a station you achieve. Even for me, a King of a prosperous nation." King Alexander explained, before picking up his glass.

"Those are wise words, Your Majesty, but I must admit my ignorance in not knowing what could possibly be higher than a king." Dean Petticoat said, in a joking tone, but fearing the answer.

A smile crept onto the King's handsome face; the shadows cast by the burning candles morphing it into anything but attractive. "We're not here to discuss me, but you, my friend. Surely you can contemplate what it is I'm talking about; you would not have climbed to being Dean if you could not use your brain."

"I would hate to hazard a guess, but something does come to mind." Dean Petticoat said reluctantly. "But as far as I know that position is already occupied and has been for many years now."

"I must admit that you are right, it is filled, but in name only." A disgusted look flashed across his face, quickly hidden away by a more amiable expression. "I'll be honest with you; Mage Reginald is getting on in years."

"But he is bȧrėly sixty-five…..." Dean Petticoat interrupted, before being silence by the King's raised hand.

"His age is not the problem; it is his mind. I've lost faith in him to be able to uphold the oath he had taken all those years ago. I require someone with a strong mind, someone with the mental fortitude needed to guide me in all matters related to magic." King Alexander explained in what sounded like a practiced speech.

"I'm honored that you see me in such a way Your Highness." Dean Petticoat started. "But I cannot just leave my post at the Academy. I am willing to advise you wherever I can, but I just do not believe I would be able to live up to your standards."

A friendly smile was on the King's face, but it never reached his eyes. "I thought that might pose an issue, so I have already taken care of it."

"Taken care of it?" Dean Petticoat asked, his stomach doing silent somersaults.

"Yes, although he may not be skilled in the mystical arts, his business acumen is second to none. He's ȧssured me that the transition will be smooth, with very minimal disruptions in the day-to-day operations."

Dean Petticoat refused to believe what he was hearing. He was essentially being forced out of his coveted position and into one that, although it was higher than his, he surely did not want. He sat there in front of the King of Amine, gaping like a fish out of water, looking for the words that could prevent what was happening but found none.

Leaning back in his chair, King Alexander laughed. "If only I had someway to capture this moment forever, the look on your face is priceless. I know that it must be hard to wrap your mind around this good fortune. Duke Hutchens looked much the same way as you when I suggested that he take up your mantle."

The King's words were so outrageous that they managed to bring Dean Petticoat out of his stupor. "Duke Hutchens! Duke Hutchens! But he isn't even a mage!"

"Now, now, I'm not blind to how unorthodox it is." The King said, trying to reassure the Dean. "Duke Hutchens has ȧssured me that he will not change any of the standing policies for at least one year, and that he will take on some of the current professors as advisors."

Dean Petticoat shook his head, he refused to believe what the King was telling him, he just couldn't. This was an outrage, absolutely unacceptable. He couldn't imagine how Duke Hutchens weaseled his way into the King's good graces, then even convinced him to usurp his position. A sudden migraine washed over him, causing him to rub his temples.

This had to have been because of his son, his awful child. He remembered the words that the duke had screamed at him the day after his son had been expelled from several of his classes. For years, his job had been free from the politics of the royal court, that was the case no longer. He felt pity for Professor Kalcifer, it seemed that whenever he did return from his trip, there would be nothing waiting for him here, only the barred gates of the Academy.

Utterly defeated, Dean Petticoat picked up his still untouched glass of brandy then drained it in one large swallow. Feeling the burning sensation go from his throat to his stomach, he mentally prepared himself before asking a question. "How long do I have?"

"Ha! Don't say it like that, you look like you're walking towards the executioner's block! You should be excited; this is a grand occasion!" King Alexander said, standing to his feet and slapping the Dean on the shoulder. "You'll have a week to get everything in order, Duke Hutchens will shadow you during that time in order to become more acquainted with the work."

Dean Petticoat kept his eyes straight ahead, images of the past fifteen years spent as dean flashing before his eyes. "Alright." He said in a monotone voice.

"Wonderful!" King Alexander exclaimed. "In two weeks' time we will hold the official ceremony, inducting you into the Royal Court as Mage Alfred Petticoat, Royal Mage. Use the first week to speak with Reginald and to learn what duties you are expected to undertake."

The newly appointed Royal Mage, Alfred Petticoat spoke in a meek voice.. "Yes, Your Majesty."