Even his friends agreed that Theobald would never make more than a mediocre mage. There were some, Antimodes among them, who questioned how he had managed to pass the Test in the first place. Par-Salian was always evasive whenever Antimodes brought up the subject, and Antimodes was left to believe that Theobald had been passed on the condition that he accept a teaching assignment, a job no one else wanted.

Antimodes could offer no better suggestion. He himself, given the choice, would have preferred going to Mount Nevermind to instruct the gnomes in pyrotechnics to teaching snot-faced human children magic. He had grudgingly gone along with the majority.

Antimodes was forced to admit that Par-Salian and the others had been right. Theobald was not a particularly good teacher, but he saw to it that his boys-the girls had their own school in Palanthas, taught by a slightly more competent wizardess-learned the basics, and that was all that was necessary. He would never light any fires in the average student, but where the fire of greatness already burned, Master Theobald would stoke it.

The two mages met with a show of amicability in front of the children.

"How do you do, sir?"

"How do you do, my dear sir?"

Antimodes was gracious in his greeting and lavish in his praise of the classroom, which to himself he thought was unbearably hot, stuffy, and dirty.

Master Theobald was profuse in his welcome, all the time certain that Antimodes had been sent by Par-Salian to check up on him and bitterly resenting the fact that the archmage was carelessly wearing a luxuriant cape made of fine lamb's wool that would have cost the teacher a year's salary.

"Well, well, Archmagus. Are the roads still snow-covered?"

"No, no, Master. Quite passable. Even up north."

"Ah, you've come from the north, have you, Archmagus?"

"Lemish," Antimodes said smoothly. He'd actually been much farther north than that quaint and woodsy little town, but he had no intention of discussing his travels with Theobald.

Theobald had no use for travel of any sort. He raised his eyebrows in an expression of disapproval, manifested his disapproval by turning away and ending their conversation. "Boys, it is my great honor to introduce to you Archmagus Antimodes, a wizard of the White Robes."

The boys sang out an enthusiastic greeting.

"We have been practicing our writing," said Theobald. "We were just about to conclude for the day. Perhaps you would like to see some of our work, Archmagus?"

Actually there was only one pupil in whom Antimodes was interested, but he solemnly walked up and down the aisles and regarded with feigned interest letters that were every shape except the correct shape, and one game of x's and o's, which the player made a vain attempt to cover up by overturning his ink bottle on top of it.

"Not bad," said Antimodes, "not bad. Quite. creative. some of these." He came to Raistlin's desk -his true goal. Here he paused and said with sincerity, "Well done."

A boy behind Raistlin made a noise, a rude noise.

Antimodes turned.

"Pardon, sir," the boy said, with apparent contriteness. "It was the cabbage for lunch."

Antimodes knew that noise hadn't been caused by cabbage. He also knew what it implied, and he immediately realized his mistake. He remembered the ways of small boys-he had been a bit of a troublemaker himself as a youth. He should not have praised Raistlin. The other boys were jealous and vindictive, and Raistlin would be made to suffer.

Trying to think of some way to rectify his mistake, prepared to point out a flaw-no one was perfect, after all-Antimodes looked back at Raistlin.

On Raistlin's thin lips was a pleased smile. One could almost call it a smirk.

Antimodes swallowed his words, with the result that he very nearly choked on them. Coughing, he cleared his throat and walked on. He saw nothing after that. His thoughts were turned inward, and it wasn't until he came face-to-face with Master Theobald that Antimodes realized he was still in the classroom.

He stopped short, looked up with a start. "Oh. er. very nice work from your pupils, Master Theobald. Very nice. If you wouldn't mind, I should like to speak to you privately."

"I really should not leave the class…"

"Only for a moment. I'm certain these fine young gentlemen"-Antimodes gave them a smile -"will be content to study on their own in your absence."

He was fully aware that the fine young gentlemen would probably take advantage of the opportunity to play marbles, draw obscene pictures on their practice scrolls, and splatter each other with ink.

"Only a moment of your time, Master Theobald," Antimodes said with the utmost respect.

Scowling, Master Theobald stomped out of the classroom, leading his way into his private quarters. Here he shut the door and faced Antimodes.

"Well, sir. Please make haste."

Antimodes could already hear the uproar break out in the classroom.

"I should like to talk to each pupil individually, if you please, Master Theobald. Ask them each a few questions."

At this, Master Theobald's eyebrows nearly took wing and flew off his head. Then they came together over the puffy eyelids in a suspicious frown. Never before in all his years of teaching had any archmagus ever bothered to visit his classroom, much less demand a private chat with the students. Master Theobald could only jump to one conclusion, and he did, landing on it squarely with both feet.

"If the conclave does not find my work to be satisfactory." he began in huffy tones.

"They do. Quite the contrary," Antimodes said, hastening to reassure him. "It's just some research I'm conducting." He waved his hand. "Investigating the philosophical reasoning that prompts young men to choose to spend their time in this particular course of study."

Master Theobald snorted.

"Please send them in to see me one by one," said Antimodes.

Master Theobald snorted again, turned on his heel, and waddled back into the classroom.

Antimodes settled himself in a chair and wondered what in the name of Lunitari he was going to say to these urchins. In reality, he wanted only to talk to one pupil, but he dare not single out Raistlin again. The Archmagus was still pondering things when the first, the eldest boy in the school, entered the room, abashed and embarrassed.

"Gordo, sir." The boy made an awkward bow.

"And so, Gordo, my boy," said Antimodes, embarrassed himself but attempting to conceal it, "how do you plan to incorporate the use of magic into your everyday life?"

"Well,'s-sir," Gordo stammered, obviously baffled, "I don't rightly know."

Antimodes frowned.

The boy grew defensive. "I'm only here, sir, 'cause my ma makes me come. I don't want to have nothing to do with magic."

"What do you want to do?" Antimodes asked, surprised. "I want to be a butcher," Gordo said promptly.

Antimodes sighed. "Perhaps you should have a talk with your mother. Explain to her how you feel."

The boy shook his head, shrugged. "I've tried. It's all right, sir. I'll stay here until I'm old enough to be apprenticed, then I'll cut and run."

"Thank you," Antimodes said dryly. "We'll all appreciate mat. Please tell the next boy to come in."

By the end of five interviews, Antimodes's antipathy for Master Theobald had changed to the most profound pity. He also felt alarmed and dismayed. He had learned more in fifteen minutes talking to these five boys than he had in five months of traveling throughout Ansalon.

He was well aware-he and Par-Salian had often discussed it-that mages were viewed with suspicion and distrust by the general populace. That was as it should be. Wizards should be surrounded with an aura of mystery. Their spellcasting should inspire awe and a proper amount of fear.