Gareth and th Lost Island (5 page)

“The Conclave recognizes Doctor Granitestaff, Tenured
Professor of the School of Medicine,” the Chancellor intoned, as
Tralnis climbed to the top of the stepstool. “Before we hear of
Professor Mintel’s qualifications, I ask if there are any among us
who oppose this candidate being granted tenure?” he inquired.

To everyone’s surprise, the Head of Political
Philosophy stood and announced, “Esteemed Chancellor, and fellow
Conclave members, I, Jamice Nutleiss, the Head of Political
Philosophy, strongly oppose this…
professor’s
candidacy for
tenureship!”

The Chancellor was so surprised, he had to be nudged
by another professor to continue. Never in his 60 years of being
Chancellor had anyone opposed a candidate. With a wave of his
withered hand, the Chancellor indicated the empty lectern. “The
Conclave recognizes Professor Nutleiss, Head of the Political
Philosophy Department,” he stated.

Gareth and Tralnis looked at each other, stunned at
the turn of events. There had been words exchanged between the
three of them as Tralnis and Gareth both said what they thought of
a school devoted to teaching politicians how to lie, cheat, and
swindle the masses. While that’s not exactly how the Department of
Political Philosophy worded their training, the end results were
the same. Gareth and Tralnis never thought the arguments were
severe enough to rate a professor interfering in the affairs of a
department that wasn’t their own.

“Oh no,” Gareth moaned just loud enough for Tralnis
to hear. Before Tralnis could ask what was wrong, he asked, “Does
the Dryad’s husband from last night remind you of anyone?”

Tralnis thought for a moment and looked closer at
Professor Nutleiss. Sharing the same pudgy face, and extra-long
nose, Professor Nutleiss had to be the man’s brother. “I thought
there was a reason why I instantly disliked that bloke from the
stables. I mean other than that whole bit about him wanting to kill
us and all,” he joked.

Once Professor Nutleiss was standing behind his
lectern, the Chancellor nodded towards Tralnis. “Doctor
Granitestaff, you have the right to speak first,” he stated, proud
of himself that he remembered the procedures he had read about so
many years ago.

“Thank you, Chancellor, now sit down before your
knees give out. I know how your arthritis is bothering you,”
Tralnis said with a friendly smile. This was greeted by light
laughter from the crowd, and a sneer from Nutleiss.

“Skamp,” the Chancellor chuckled as he shuffled over
to his chair, and did as the Dwarvish doctor ordered.

Once the Chancellor was seated, Tralnis slowly looked
around the room, giving off an aura of confidence. He decided to go
ahead with the speech he prepared, despite the unexpected challenge
by Nutleiss. “My fellow Conclave members, I stand before you to
recommend that Professor Gareth Mintel be granted tenure with the
University Arcanum. Once I list his accomplishments, I believe you
and the Dean will agree with me,” he assured them.

“Professor Mintel has set many records since he
arrived at the University Arcanum. He was the youngest student ever
admitted at a tender age of 12 years old. When he reached 16, he
was given his first position as a junior professor, making him the
youngest professor in University’s history. A year later, Professor
Mintel was certified as a Master in Languages when he demonstrated
his fluency in 10 separate languages. Since then, he has gone on to
become fluent in 8 more,” he told them. The Head of the School of
Languages nodded his head, and beamed in pride at his star pupil
turned favorite professor.

There were appreciative murmurs from the Conclave
members when they heard this. None of the other candidates that
morning had even remotely the same level of qualifications. The
Conclave wasn’t expecting Tralnis to give them even more to think
about.

“Not only is Professor Mintel a valued member of the
School of Languages, but he is also a valued member of two other
departments as well. Professor Mintel’s skills in ancient languages
have been invaluable to the Archeology Department” he stated.

The Head of the Archeology department, Professor
Darla Rand (or Diggin’ Darla as she was informally known), nodded
her head rapidly in agreement. She was a middle-aged woman, with
long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her face was tanned and
prematurely wrinkled from exposure to the sun, since she always
preferred to be running a dig site rather than a classroom. She had
fought long and hard to get Gareth to consider switching
disciplines. In the end, Gareth had stuck with ancient languages,
but still joined Darla out on dig sites whenever he could squeeze
it into his schedule. He also volunteered to teach her classes when
she was out of town on an expedition.

“Now those of you in the front rows might notice that
Professor Mintel is wearing not one, but three colored bands
denoting where he works. Along with the blue of Languages, he wears
the green of Applied Magics, and the brown of the Archeology
department. While Professor Mintel does not teach any classes with
Applied Magics (mainly due to his complete and utter lack of any
magical abilities), his uncanny grasp of runes has made him a very
valuable researcher. This ability has led him, and the rest of the
Applied Magics team, to come up with several innovative theories
about how to expand the use of runes on mechanical devices,” he
informed the Conclave. This drew less appreciative murmurs, and
several looks of scandalized shock.

The Head of Religious Wizarding Studies, Reverend
Nearwell, stood and glared at Gareth. “Professor Mintel, need I
remind you, that it is the consensus of most of the religions of
the 12 sentient species, that it was the arrogance of the ancients
in their melding of magic and science that was responsible for the
Second Great Apocalypse,” he lectured.

Gareth and Tralnis’ simultaneous snorts of contempt
angered the pious professor. “Sorry, Reverend, but the only higher
power I believe in is the Universe itself. I can see it and touch
it. I believe finding out its rules is a truly noble pursuit. Any
other deities will have to give me irrefutable proof of their
existence before I acknowledge them,” Gareth challenged.

Reverend Nearwell was about to shout something back,
but the Chancellor rose from his chair, and interrupted him. “I’m
sorry, Reverend Nearwell, but Professor Mintel’s religious views
are not what we are here to discuss. If you had such reservations
about him, you should have stepped forward when I asked for people
to argue against him being granted tenure,” he stated, steering the
discussion back on track. “Doctor Granitestaff, do you have
anything else to add?” he inquired.

“No Chancellor, thank you for the opportunity to
speak on behalf of my son,” Tralnis replied.

The Chancellor nodded and turned to face the Head of
Political Philosophy. “Professor Nutleiss, the floor is yours,” he
said before sitting back down.

“Thank you, Esteemed Chancellor,” Nutleiss said, his
voice dripping with the artificial charm he taught his students.
“Fellow Senior Professors and staff of our wonderful University,
Doctor Granitestaff has painted a picture of a young man who has
accomplished much in his short life. While I will not dispute
matters that are of public record, I will firmly dispute the
significance of these so called accomplishments. Yes,
Professor
Mintel is the youngest professor on record, but is
that a good thing? A proper professor will be able to contribute to
our beloved University with their wisdom based off of years of life
experience, something Mintel clearly lacks,” he said. “As for the
number of languages he speaks, that high number is irrelevant.
There are only 12 sentient species on Hadronus, and all but a few
speak our common language, Trade. What good does it do for the
University if Mintel can read languages that no one else uses
anymore?” he questioned.

Tralnis stepped back up to his lectern as the Head of
Languages shot out of his chair in anger. “Professor
Nut-lice
, are you suggesting that an entire other school of
our great University is of no worth at all?” Tralnis
challenged.

“What did you call me?!” Nutleiss yelled.

“Tralnis, I don’t think that’s how you pronounce his
name. I’m pretty sure his family name is
Nutless
,” Gareth
offered, causing a wave of poorly suppressed laughter from the
Conclave members.

“It’s pronounced
Noot-lease
you cretins!”
Nutleiss snarled, ignoring the lessons he taught on keeping your
composure at all times. This caused another wave of laughter at his
expense. Nutleiss took a deep breath, and centered himself before
going on. “As we all know, during a Tenure Argument, the candidate
is to remain silent. Mintel is showing the disregard for rules that
has plagued his time at our great institution. While he was a
merely a student, Mintel was responsible for at least three
experiments in the Applied Magics lab that resulted in severe
property damage. As he has demonstrated today, Mintel refuses to
show the proper respect due a senior professor. And lastly my dear
fellows, Mintel and his miniscule mentor, Doctor Granitestaff,
routinely engage in behaviors unbecoming of a professor – namely
drinking and carousing,” Nutleiss accused.

The Dean stood, his red velvet robe rippling when he
moved. “Ah yes, we get to the matter at hand. Professor Mintel,
would you care to explain why a rather influential merchant was in
my office first thing this morning, irate, and smelling strongly of
horse flatulence?” he inquired.

Gareth shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not really sure
what to say, sir, since a gentleman never kisses and tells. The
only thing that I am willing to share is the fact that the merchant
in question has demonstrated the proper pronunciation of his family
name with his inability to keep his wife satisfied. A trait I’m
sure he and his brother share,” he said, baiting Nutleiss.

Nutleiss took the bait, and lost control again. “Why
you little…” he started to scream, before the Dean raised his hand
for Nutleiss to be silent.

“Peace, Professor Nutleiss,” the Dean ordered, and
then stared at Gareth. “Professor Mintel, were you aware that Deek
Nutleiss has recently donated a great deal of money to the
University for the purpose of building a professor’s only spa on
the grounds?” he asked. The announcement of the pending spa set off
the crowd as they talked among themselves about the prospect of
such a place. “Quiet please, I would hear Professor Mintel’s
response,” the Dean called out. The room instantly quieted.

“No Dean, I was unaware of such a gift,” Gareth
replied. After a brief moment, Gareth turned at looked at Professor
Nutleiss. “Did your parents actually name your brother
Dick
Nutless
?” he taunted.

Nutleiss ground his teeth in anger before his
expression relaxed, and he gave a smile that made everyone suddenly
feel dirty and in desperate need of a bath. “Dean, I think it goes
without saying that my brother will withdraw his extremely generous
offer if Mintel is granted tenure. Oh… and I forgot to mention, the
staff my brother is planning on hiring provide excellent
manicures,” he said, sweetening the pot.

“Manicures you say?” the Dean asked for
clarification. Nutleiss nodded his head. “Well that does complicate
matters doesn’t it?” the Dean asked rhetorically. “On one hand, we
have a promising young professor that, despite what Professor
Nutleiss says, has the potential to be a great asset to our
University. On the other hand, we get a professors’ only spa. It
would seem that the scales are well and truly balanced in this
argument,” he summarized. After a moment of introspection, the Dean
snapped his fingers. “I have it. We will let the precedents of past
Deans guide us. I believe we shall enact a Trial by Discovery for
Professor Mintel,” the Dean announced. “Since the young man before
us holds tremendous potential, I believe the trial should be a true
measure of his skills. Yes, that is what we shall do. Professor
Mintel, I hereby place you on indefinite sabbatical and charge you
with finding the Lost Island of Mascal,” he decreed.

“What?!” Gareth and Tralnis shouted in unison.

The Dean’s smile gave Gareth and Tralnis a hint that
his Tenure Argument had been a setup all along. “I have given
Professor Mintel a task. Do you doubt that he is capable enough to
complete this quest, Doctor Granitestaff?” the Dean challenged.

“If his task is finding an island that most people
believe is only a myth, and is rarely even spoken of in the oldest
records, then yes I do. I doubt anyone could do this,” Tralnis
spat. “Well at least since you, our illustrious leader, have
decreed that this is a University sponsored expedition, by the
University charter, you will be forced to both fund it, and provide
University personnel to staff it,” he pointed out, confident he had
found a loophole.

“Of course… and thank you for volunteering to go with
him, Doctor Granitestaff. We have set aside the equivalent of a
year’s salary for both of you to fund this expedition,” the Dean
said smugly. “Also to aid your quest, gentlemen, I have a clay
tablet that Professor Dunst has assured me has something to do with
the Lost Island of Mascal. It is yours to do with as you wish,” he
said, confirming that yes, the whole thing had been a setup.
Professor Dunst and reality hadn’t been on speaking terms for quite
a long time, and he was the butt of many jokes around the
campus.

A staff member walked forward, and presented a brown
clay tablet to Gareth. Once he took possession of it, the Dean made
a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Now as per the ancient
precedents, I command you, Professor Gareth Mintel and Doctor
Tralnis Granitestaff, to be off on your quest, and to not return to
the University Arcanum until you have proof of the discovery we
have sent you to find. Mintel, you have two hours to clear out your
office before security escorts you off campus. The same goes for
you, Granitestaff. Oh, and take that smelly beast with you,” the
Dean ordered while pointing at Henry.