Academic Without an Institution

[Jacques Citadine]

Upon his return, leCitadin discovered the flat had long ago been ransacked. He wondered whether any authorities had looked into it at all.

Fortunately, those things of greatest value to him (the books, the clavichord, none of which appeared outwardly rich) were left behind, though in disarray. The clavichord, indeed, had been smashed, and it was beyond his means to have it repaired.
All else, the vintages, musquet, the painting, various keepsakes from home, even the brass candlesticks; gone.

For his bread, he took a post as a sub-clerk at the public library and found a few modest families interested in musical tutelage for their children. These jobs were his chief occupation besides re-ordering his vast personal library (he discovered, to his dismay, there were a few important volumes missing, though nothing irreplaceable). What little free time he had was spend brooding, or weeping. For, his journey home had been useless. His appeal had been denied; the exile would be lasting, and now he was reduced to penury.

After several months of this, in one moment of clarity, he remembered the Duel, and determined not to be at sea, so to speak, in RhyDin.
The next morning, he inquired at the library, learned of the Academy, and composed a letter.

***
Office of the Provost
Arcanum Academy

Dear Sir or Madam:

My name is Jacques leCitadin and I am interested in obtaining an interview to become a member of the faculty at your Academy. I previously was a tenured and notable professor at the Collegium Magicum of my native city, which is on a different plane from RhyDin. Many decades into my career, the city entered into a period of civil turmoil. Unfortunately, my poltical affiliations made it increasingly difficult for me at the College, so that I spent more and more time here in RhyDin, for reasons of physical safety, until I was eventually disimissed from my post and exiled from the city.

My credentials are very sound. I have enclosed a copy of my doctoral degree in Magic, which you may subject to any divinations you desire. My specialties are in Comparative Schools of Casting and Pedagodgy of Thought (a bit unique to home; a look at meditation, memory, and prayer as related to magic). I have published several works, though if you've heard of any, they'd only be two: Division of Magic, my youthful and doomed attempt at categorizing all systems of casting, and The Spell as Narrative. Though the former has been used as a standard text, I think of it as a failure. The latter is perhaps my best work, focused on my own personal style of casting.

There is little else of note. I have, while hiding here in RhyDin, had occasion to visit the Rings and participate in the Duel, but it has been some time since I have been there, and many old friends of mine are not to be found.
I hope there is a place for me at your institution.

-Iacobus Civis
D. Artium Magicarum

[Jacques Citadine]

The terse letter of acceptance lay upon leCitadin's table, the waves of comfort and hope still radiating therefrom.

Indeed, with these new prospects, Jacques left off his wallowing altogether. He first contemplated his broken clavichord and decided he could no longer abide its sorry state. He could not aford to have a craftsman repair it, no, neither would a simple spell repair it to any quality. Therefore, he decided (since he would be teaching a class about it) to rustle up the enchantments that he had once been so famous for.

He would pull no punches, for he had time aplenty. He went down to the local grocery and purchased a bag of sundries, all common items that nevertheless carried important elemental aspects. Upon returning with them, he arranged the items carefully around the clavichord (now pulled to the center of a painstakingly drawn glyph).
Thirty or so minutes then, for a summoning spell, focused on the clavichord, drawing spirits of wood (for the soundboard) and brass (for the tangents and strings) into the instrument.
Now, he whispered to it with carefully chosen words, sang softly tunes he had once played, enjoining it to remember its former state.

This being done, he went back into his office (for he had set up the spell in the kitchen) and earnestly organized his papers and books, having neglected so many months so to do.

At length, the enchantment worked perfectly, the now pseudo-living clavichord having regrown its broken parts to a perfect fit. leCitadin dismissed the spirits, replaced the instrument in its proper place, and sat down to play a gigue.