I believe that in all my life, I have never experienced so much shock as I did the day I was asked to leave school.

"Gabriel," the headmaster said to me, fixing me to the spot with his somber eyes, "I cannot allow you to continue here. It has become clear that your uncontrollable magic talents, mischievous habits, and general contempt for your masters are too disruptive for Garrett School to tolerate. I must ask you to leave of your own free will, or you will be forcibly removed. That is all."

I opened my mouth to protest, but realized that this was a useless course of action. It was my final year, and I was on the verge of graduating as one of Garrett's top students. I would not have the nerve or the inclination to say farewell to my friends, nor would I have any chance to make up for my mistakes.

I leapt from my chair, biting my lip as I felt my throat tighten. I would not grieve in front of my headmaster, especially when he was so satisfied at finally getting rid of me. I stormed from the room, slamming the door in absolute fury. I sprinted through the corridors full of other boys my age, feeling a sense of hopelessness. They would know why I was sprinting by the next day. They would know why I was gone. I threw myself on the hard, uncomfortable bed, looking at my room and lamenting that I would leave it prematurely. I felt a sudden urge to set a plague of vampire bats upon the headmaster, or perhaps turn all my masters' desks into green jelly.

"Useless," I growled, feeling both rage and sadness battling one another for dominance. I think that perhaps cold acceptance came to take the place of basic emotion, after I lay there for so long. It was well into the night when I finally rose, preparing to pack my things and leave Garrett. I left many things behind, including my uniform and schoolbooks. I took the old outfits that I used to romp round the countryside in during the holidays, and I also took my sturdy boots. I packed them in a messy lump, jamming my small leather suitcase shut with a few frustrated jabs.

I tiptoed through the hallway, opening the least noisy doors and finding little-used passages to take. I finally emerged through a side door, where a huge field opened before me. This was the field where my friends and I had grown an enormous man-eating petunia, where we had made an invisible pit of rotten banana peels, where we had reclined upon the grass and watched the clouds float by as we skipped classes. Those memories made me feel both sad for the loss of my friends and sorry for my blatant disregard for Garrett's system of discipline. I thought, rather drearily, that these sorts of emotions were unbalancing me a bit. I began to walk toward Garretton, where the locomotive station awaited. I trudged dismally, hoping that I was leaving messy footprints across the beautifully kept lawns.

I turned around suddenly, casting a spell to make nasty brambles appear. I thought they rather expressed my feelings.

Town was dismal in the late hours, and I received some very nasty stares from the formally dressed people waiting in the station. I purchased a ticket from the red-eyed salesman with the little money I had left. The ticket was for Locomotive Seven, which went straight to the city of Tundem Falls. I figured that if I left my family far enough behind, they would feel more loss and disgrace me less. They wouldn't accept me back as a school dropout. My father, his father before him, and so on had all graduated from Garrett at the top of their classes. All my brothers and sisters had graduated from their chosen schools at the top of their classes, and then there was me: the black sheep of the generations.

I think that perhaps the next few days were spent by me in shock. I could not accept that there was no future for me. I had been born with the strong talents of an enchanter, just like the rest of my family, and yet there was no position for an enchanter thrown from school, no matter how talented he was. It was like a talented businessman asking for a job in a business, though they had no proof of his talents. In fact, it was worse. The world was full of talented magic users, which meant that there was no end of competition between them. The best enchanters spent many years at school, acquiring exclusive diplomas that promised their ethic and usefulness.

I was forced to sleep in a dingy little tavern, which frankly appalled me. I had never set foot in a tavern, let alone slept in one. I felt a complete snob because of it, for the people that ran the place seemed rather nice. For several hours I tossed and turned, wondering whether to stay in Tundem Falls or perhaps go back to Garretton, where my father would surely be waiting to turn me out if I as much as set foot upon his doorstep.

There was nothing for it: I had to get a job to feed myself. I had never had a job before, and had no idea how to go about getting one.

"Sir," I asked the landlord as he served me a dismally prepared breakfast of eggs and sausage. "Could you perhaps tell me where I could find a job?"

"Not sure," said the landlord, thinking hard. "I think Tundem Hotel is looking for new boys to carry the bags. You could ask there." I picked my sausage from the plate as I swallowed the egg in one hurried gulp.

"Thanks," I said, rushing out the door. As much as Garrett stressed formality, I had never spoken in that polite, restrained way, although I seemed rather long-winded as an essayist.

The streets were busy with morning hustle and bustle, while the sun was covered in a hovering haze of grey clouds. I think they reflected my mood as I rushed through the streets, hurriedly asking people which way to the Tundem Hotel. I finally stumbled upon a grand building in the aristocratic quarter of the city, where the people were all either silly ladies in frilly dresses walking impeccably groomed toy dogs or grim, fancy carriages carrying eminent businessmen and noblemen. I walked through the golden door sedately, trying with all my might to appear tall and dignified.

"Excuse me," I said grandly to the receptionist, who was busily writing upon the register. "I have come to inquire about employment."

"Eh?" he asked, adjusting his round spectacles. "Oh, you're here for a job? Do you have any experience in the hotel industry?"

"Er… I'm afraid not," I said, still stiffly affecting a strong, upper-class accent.

"Oh well," said the receptionist, shrugging. His beautifully cleaned suit showed the glaringly terrible state of my own clothing. I was wearing a brown shirt and torn black pants with suspenders. My boots were scuffed and filthy against the lovely pink runner that covered the wooden floor. "You want to be a bellhop? Carry the guests' bags, show them to their rooms?" I nodded, still arching my back in that formal way.

"Well…" he said doubtfully, tilting his head to see my face. "I suppose we can hire you on a trial run. You'll have to talk to the manager, though."

"I'd be happy to," I said, losing my formal demeanor in an instant. I used magic to make myself look a bit better while the receptionist turned to leave his counter. He cocked an eyebrow at my improved appearance.

"You'd really be better off without the glamour," he said, shaking his head. "You'll look too formal to be a bellhop."

"Ah," I said, letting the spell unravel. "Do you have to be scruffy to get the job?"

"Well, it's really best to be short," he replied, "and look completely deferential. The managers are very aware of how the guests see the people who wait on them. They're not supposed to notice you, unless they notice how efficient you are."

"I'm too tall?" I asked incredulously. "That's a strange reason to not give me a job of carrying bags."

"You see the reason, though," he said. "Come on, the guests can't see a hooligan like you standing in the lobby. Follow me." I followed behind him as he led me through several kitchens and laundry-rooms.

"Sir?" he said, knocking on the door. "I've got an applicant for the bellhop position."

"Send him in," the manager growled. "Get back to the desk right away."

"Yessir," said the receptionist, hurrying away. I walked into the office, slouching as much as possible.

"And who are you?" he barked, looking up from a pile of papers and money.

"Gabriel de Witt," I croaked, sitting shakily upon the Spartan wooden stool that was before the desk. This man presented a challenge to me, I think.

"Bellhop?" he asked, counting bills with amazing speed. His fingers were long and spindly, while his body was rather short and small. "You don't look like one to me. You look more like an enchanter in disguise." I realized that this man was also an enchanter, and I felt the challenge increase. It was like school with a particularly nasty master.

"I'm an enchanter," I admitted, "but I'm not in disguise. I just want a job."

"I've never heard of an enchanter being employed as a bellhop, de Witt," he growled, piling the money neatly and beginning on the coins.

"What do you suggest I do, then?" I asked, my anger flaring a bit. "Go work as an enchanter in the Royal Bursar's office? I'm dressed like a ragamuffin and I've been thrown from school. There are plenty of enchanters and magicians and sorcerers to take all the positions that I can't have, trust me."

"Yes," he said. "Why don't you ask in the Royal Bursar's office for a job?"

"I can't," I snarled. "I've been thrown from school! Didn't you hear me?"

"Mm. Why does that stop you from getting a job? Untrained, are you?" Coins sped between his nimble fingers and clashed nosily.

"Yes!" I almost shouted. "Do you know how much backwards magic theory I've been trying to learn for the past six years? I was to continue as an apprentice to an enchanter in Civil Service, but I can't do that anymore, can I?"

"Oh, all right, you poor little enchanter," he said, piling the coins neatly in perfect stacks. "The job is yours, provided you don't make all the luggage go up the stairs by magic. Guests don't like that."

"Thank you," I said, clenching my fists. He knew as well as I did that even though I had all the magic at my disposal, I was at a loss as to how to use it in such a way.

"You'll be living on the very bottom floor. Room one-forty-two. Get the key at the desk from Jeffrey. Uniform's already in the room. I'll send the other bellhops to get you started." Apparently he was done, for he turned and began writing fervently on another piece of paper. I got up, gritting my teeth.

I wandered aimlessly through several kitchens, until I finally emerged in the lobby. Jeffrey was standing at firm attention, waiting patiently for any guests to arrive.

"One-forty-two," I said, leaning on the desk. He grinned, handing me the key. He had apparently pulled it from thin air.

"Oh great, more magic users," I groaned. "Are you an enchanter, too?"

"Oh no," Jeffrey said. "I'm a magician. Aren't enchanters quite rare?"

"I'm not sure," I said dismally, "I've been seeing rather too many of them, lately." I walked off, holding the cold, shiny key in my hand. My room was in a closed hall, where the doors were the color of moldy toast and the walls glared an unattractive mauve.

"Oh, dear," said a small, depressed looking rooster, standing in the hallway. "I'm afraid I got the wrong place altogether." I leapt back in alarm, because I was sure that chickens were one sort of guest that this hotel didn't allow. I'll admit the fact that it could speak was rather shocking as well.

"How did you get in here?" I asked.

"I was trying to find the Royal Necromancer's Hall," it said, settling gloomily on the chipped wooden floor. "But I somehow seem to have gotten it wrong. And I'm a chicken," it whined helplessly.

"Who are you?" I asked with great interest.

"Aloysius Sirannia," it said. "I don't remember anything else, unfortunately. I remember the Necromancer's hall, my name, and the fact that I'm not a chicken." It certainly spoke rather well for a chicken. I hoped that it was somehow a hallucination, but I've never been inclined to hallucinate or have psychological problems.

The last thing I needed was a amnesiac rooster of dubious origins, especially when I was obviously treading on thin ice with the manager as it was. I didn't think anyone would have appreciated my running a chicken coop in my quarters.

"Can you help me?" it asked desperately. I sighed, crouching to get a better look at it. Frankly, I never had had any experience with farm animals; therefore, I was loath to touch it.

"Yes," I groaned.

A/N: Please review and tell me what you thought. Thanks for reading.