The Sinners of Erspia

Despite his gloom Harmasch chuckled. “The people here like their misery,” he explained. “It is their mental climate, and if they travel abroad they always want to return to it, just as we want to return to the merriment of Cherie, our own country. Still, it is good to travel and experience foreign emotions."

“Well, I still feel like killing myself."

“To be honest, I also will be glad when we reach the border."

The train continued to trundle on its way, swaying through fog and rain. Occasionally it stopped at some wretched halt around which clustered a few decrepit hovels, where pale faces streaming with rain peered in through the windows, as if the train's arrival was the only bright spot in their owners’ wretched existence.

After what seemed like an interminable time the engine again ground to a standstill, hissing steam. They had reached the frontier. Before allowing the train to proceed, dour-faced border guards visited each carriage in turn, taking names and searching luggage.

Such was the routine. Anyone who entered Brodonia was recorded, anyone who left Brodonia was recorded, in case he had stolen something, or had committed some other crime, or was attempting to rescue a Brodonian from the country's weather.

At length the train chuffed slowly forward. For those on board it was like passing through a curtain. No transition could have been more sudden. The passengers entered bright sunshine and saw green meadows sprinkled with flowers, while the chill faded away behind them.

Looking back, the frontier could be seen as a wall of rain wavering its way from horizon to horizon.

Harmasch chuckled as his mind emptied itself of despondency. Peadul, too, grinned with relief.

At first Harmasch's native chortling gaiety reasserted itself and he regaled Peadul with quips and jokes.

Soon, however, the mood endemic to Pastorale, the country they had now entered, laid itself on him.

This was a mood of tranquil delight in nature. The magician and his apprentice gazed delightedly at sunny meadows and neat green woods reeling past. What a change from miserable Brodonia!

Admittedly Brodonia was not the worst. Their journey had taken them through Feroce, a fiery land of roaring volcanoes and crashing lightning where the ruling emotion was one of angry exasperation. It had caused not a few of the train's passengers to come to blows.

The transit of Pastorale lasted less than an hour. Briefly they crossed a corner of Wymptia, a land of fatuous silliness where pink snow fell without pause even though the climate was warm and balmy.

The whimsical Wymptia mood passed the instant they crossed the frontier into Neutralia.

Neutralia: a small country, hardly more than a region, with no emotional climate of any kind. This was an eerie experience to come upon so abruptly, possibly one which only a trainee in magic could withstand.

The train pulled into Klyston, Neutralia's single town, and ground to a halt at the central station.

Harmasch cleared his mind of distractions and aimed a thought at his apprentice.

Well, here we are, Peadul. Keep your wits about you.

Yes, master, Peadul thought back.

“Good, Peadul!” Harmasch congratulated out loud. “The atmosphere is marvellously clear here, is it not?"

And indeed it was. Magicians from all over Erspia were stepping down from the box carriages and on to the broad platform, making for a spacious plaza lying next to the station. All around them stood the white stone buildings of Klyston. The air was clear and bright, but somehow empty of quality, as though all mood colour had been extracted from it.

Perfect for the testing of magical ability.

After a shouted warning to any who had yet to embark or disembark, the train chuffed out of the station to continue its endless circling of the world.

The examinations were already in progress, some candidates having arrived by horseback or on foot.

The place was familiar to Harmasch. He had been tested five times here, in order to reach his present grade of Magus Adeptus. He made his way with Peadul among the tables that had been laid out, and presented himself at the registration desk, displaying his certificate of wizardry with its five degrees.

“My apprentice here, Peadul Hobsot, applies for marking in the first degree."

Wearing a green shift, the registrar examined the certificate carefully. He scanned the plaza. “Place number seven is vacant. And please, Magus Adeptus, do not forget your cap."

“Of course,” muttered Harmasch. He dipped into his bag and brought out his conical headdress with its five gold-coloured pentacles. He set it on his head.

Coloured balls were dancing in the air over the examination tables as they walked to table number seven.

The examiner was a slim, middle-aged man who himself wore the cap of a Magus Adeptus. He smiled indulgently as Peadul settled himself nervously in the candidate's chair.

“This shouldn't take too long, young man."