Benji awoke from the haze of an evening nap to the sound of clanging outside. He poked a bleary head out of his door just as Tomas, the mage across the hall, did the same. A voice accompanied the clanging, yelling “come and get it!” so loudly that it could probably be heard throughout Thelspoint.

  Tomas sighed and rolled his eyes. “It’s just Edwin. Probably some new concoction he wants everyone to try.” Black hair swished around his head as he turned back into his room and shut the door. The sound of a muttered soundworking followed, as Tomas spelled his door against the noise.

  All along the hall, others reacted with the same lack of enthusiasm as Tomas, but Benji’s curiosity had been piqued. He tried to press his unruly hair flat against his head as he followed the noise toward the common room, where the two wings of the building’s first floor met.

  Benji hadn’t spent much time in the common room. Its high ceilings and airy windows looking out onto the courtyard were still a surprise after the dim magelight of the hall. The dusty rugs and suspiciously ornate furniture—suspicious only because there was no reason for the university to purchase chairs and sofas with this much decoration—all gave the impression that it had barely been touched, or even cleaned, since the previous owners had ceded the building first to a dragon, then to the university.

  A man stood by the fireplace, wearing oven mitts and banging on a rusty pot with a wooden spoon.

  “Ah, my first victim!” the man said. He set the pot down on the wooden end table nearest the fire, and Benji watched in horror as the hot metal scalded the wood.

  “You must be Edwin.” Benji tried to pull his gaze from the end table, which was making a noise like an animal that had been caught in a trap.

  “The very same.” Edwin didn’t bother taking off his oven mitt before shaking Benji’s hand. He was a broad man, and the handshake would probably have been crushing if not for the protection of the warm mitts. Edwin peered at Benji out of round glasses that were far too small for his face.

  “Where’s everyone else? Don’t they want to try your . . . whatever this is?” Benji asked.

  Edwin laughed, wrapping a strong arm around Benji’s shoulder. Edwin had at least six inches on him, making resistance futile. “They’ve learned by now to stay far away from my experiments. You, on the other hand, are clearly new here, and don’t know any better. Never fear, you’ll soon learn what all the fuss is about.”

  Benji watched with a mixture of fascination and dread as Edwin dipped the spoon into the pot and scooped out a gelatinous gray substance that could only be described as goop.

  “Don’t let appearances fool you, my good man. There will be time later to perfect the texture and look. For now, all we care about is the flavor.”

  “It’s a foodworking?”

  “That’s right. I’ve taken what was once an ordinary university textbook—an out-of-date edition, of course—and transmuted it into something so much more delicious. You simply must try it.”

  Benji wondered if he could invent a paper allergy. He knew from his rudimentary theory courses that foodworkings could be made to taste like almost anything, and render most objects digestible if the mage was skilled enough. Yet they still retained the exact nutritional contents of the source material. It meant that wood was one of the more popular materials for foodworkings, since it contained calories and fiber that human bodies otherwise couldn’t break down.

  By the way Edwin was holding the spoon, viscous goop slowly sliding off it, Benji got the sense that he would be tasting this concoction even if Edwin had to chase him down the hallway and force it into his mouth.

  Benji breathed deeply, and stepped forward.

  The warm goop hit his tongue with all the leaden weight of yogurt that had been out in the sun too long. He fought his initial reaction—to spit it out, then pour the rest of the horrible stuff in the fire—and choked it down, allowing his tongue to process the flavor.

  Strange. Past the initial revulsion at the texture, the taste was rich. It was unlike anything Benji had tried before. Smoky, perhaps retaining some character of the textbook’s pages, and somehow sweet too. Almost homey.

  Edwin looked down at him through the round glasses perched at the tip of his nose. His eager attention made Benji feel like he should have savored the bite, but the texture was so horrifying that swallowing as soon as possible seemed the far smarter option.

  “I have never seen him make that face before,” came a deep voice from the entryway.

  Maynard stood awkwardly in the center of the doorway, head nearly touching the lintel. Benji was surprised Edwin didn’t immediately start salivating at the entrance of another test subject.

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  “Fancy a try?” Edwin asked.

  “Fancy continuing to retain all your fingers?” Maynard responded. For effect, he winked in and out of existence a few times as he walked over.

  “Erm, yes. Quite. I do often need those,” Edwin stuttered as he put the pot back on the end table, settling it into the scorch mark he’d burned in the first time he’d set it down.

  Maynard eyed the goop curiously. Then, despite his threat, he dipped a finger into it and took a lick.

  It was rare for any expression to make its way onto Maynard’s face. And this was no exception.

  “The texture,” Maynard said, “is horrid.”

  Edwin waved him off. “I know, I know. Come, have a seat and I’ll explain what I’ve done here.”

  Maynard crossed his long legs as he settled onto the couch, Benji beside him. Edwin leaned excitedly forward in the chair next to it.

  “I’ve been working on foodworkings for all nine years I’ve been at the university. I used to just worry about creating delicious dishes. Turns out, that’s easy. Just do a few shifts under the foodworkers at the dining hall, and you’ll be turning out flakey scones that were originally rutabagas in no time.”

  “The scones are rutabagas?” Benji asked, unable to contain his horror.

  “You think they would feed us anything with the nutritional content of a scone? Mages must be in top physical condition. That’s why they bother with the foodworkings in the first place. That, and to give fledgling chefs like myself a place to practice.”

  “A recommendation,” Maynard said. “When you do become a chef, it would be best to make your food less like the gelatinous gruel we have just consumed.”

  Edwin waved again, as if first-years couldn’t possibly understand the creative process of someone so accomplished in this discipline.

  “I could make you the tastiest and heartiest pastry if I wanted,” Edwin continued. “Varai knows I’ve done it enough times. No, what I’ve created here is far more special. What did you taste?”

  Benji tried to relate the flavors he’d identified. Though his words fell short of fully explaining it, Edwin only seemed more delighted as he went on.

  “Wonderful! Precisely what I was hoping for. You see, I’ve endeavored to concoct a more conceptual form of foodworking. One that evokes a sense of place, rather than a flavor per se. Here I’ve tried to conjure the feeling of being in the library.”

  “That’s actually . . .” Benji trailed off. The goop had, in the strangest way, tasted like a library would, if a place could even be contained in a flavor.

  “That’s why I’ve used the textbook as a starting point,” Edwin continued, satisfaction blooming over his round features at Benji’s reaction. “If there’s some essence that’s necessary to include, a textbook seemed a strong option.”

  “This is very interesting work,” Maynard said. “Once its form is corrected, I believe your creation may have value.”

  “Thank you, good sir.” Edwin clapped Maynard on the shoulder, suddenly alarmed, as his hand struck a much harder object than anticipated. “I hope I can eventually form it into lollipops, lozenges, treats of that nature. Imagine being able to pop in a candy and instantly evoke your time studying in the library? I could do a mean business with nostalgic students.”

  Now that the threat of having to try Edwin’s creation had passed, Benji found himself relaxing. Edwin supplied most of the conversation, which would have been off-putting if Benji had more to say. Yet in his current, somewhat overwhelmed state, Edwin’s chattiness was pleasant. The space was competently filled already, so Benji didn’t have to worry about his own contributions. They quickly turned from Edwin’s experimentation to the two senior first-years. In short order, Benji understood that Edwin could be interested in just about anything.

  “Your magic only came out this year?” he asked. “After fourteen tries?”

  “I’ve never heard of it taking that long, but yeah. That’s what happened.”

  “Simply fascinating. I imagine you’re at quite the advantage over us poor sops who developed ours earlier. You’ll come into your studies with all the maturity and experience of an adult.”

  Benji had never thought of it this way, and wasn’t at all convinced his age was an advantage. He did, however, feel the tiniest bit grateful.

  Edwin was now elbowing Maynard in the ribs. “Not that he’s got anything on you in terms of age, my friend. How many of our lifetimes have you seen?”

  “I prefer not to discuss it,” Maynard said. “I am what you see before you, not the many experiences that have gone before.”

  “Oh sure, sure,” Edwin replied with a knowing bob of his head. “Stay in the present and all that. I will abstain from asking you about that very impressive invisibility thing you showed off a few moments ago.”

  “I don’t mind speaking of my powers of invisibility. I simply ask that others not try to replicate them—for their own safety.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  The conversation continued in much the same vein. At a certain point, Maynard left to tend his tubers, the homework assignment from plantworking. Apparently they’d started growing so rampantly that they’d burst through the bottom of the pot, and he had to research a plantworking to slow them down. Benji’s pride that his tubers had grown a full quarter inch since class felt quaint in comparison.

  Others began to filter in and out of the common room. Edwin’s experiments were clearly well known enough that their dormmates knew to be out of sight when Edwin started pushing samples. Now that the immediate danger had passed, several seventh- and eighth-years sprawled on the couches in the corner, while a tenth-year laid out a set of rocks to practice their stoneworking. A few of them eyed Benji with passing interest, though most didn’t speak directly to him, instead throwing good-natured jabs Edwin’s way. He tossed them right back, ending most with invitations to weekly card games, or suggestions that they should all head to the tavern once they were done studying.

  Strangely, when it had just been Edwin and Maynard, Benji had felt more at home. The sensation now was like being a new character in the second act of a play, bringing an unasked-for new perspective to a cast who already had their own dynamics and rhythms.

  He would be part of this rhythm one day, he hoped. For now, he just enjoyed watching and knowing that he was every bit as much a student as anyone else here.