Bradley, Marion Zimmer - Shadowgate 04 Read Free Page B

as far as his body could tell, it
was still high summer here. Colin had left his ancient trenchcoat back in his
closet — he
hadn't been able to bring himself to wear a topcoat, and his jacket felt
uncomfortably warm, but something in his nature resisted appearing on campus in
informal dress. After all, Colin assured himself, the chancellor and the board
were known to be very conservative, and his future students would hardly
respect him if he were dressed like a beatnik. Psychology was a field where one
got enough odd looks anyway, without any need to cultivate personal
eccentricity.
                And despite his lack of a coat and
hat, he was dressed more formally — in dark trousers, vest, tie,
white shirt, and belted tweed jacket — than the few passers-by on
the streets at midmorning. He wondered if he stood out, revealed as a
transplanted Easterner by nothing more than his failure to wear a topcoat.
                 Colin
smiled ruefully at the direction of his own thoughts. For so many years it had
been almost second nature to efface himself; to go unnoticed, to deflect any
but the most casual attention. He had begun to think that the habit had become
a permanent part of his psyche, a characteristic that would remain a part of
him through all the lives to come, long after the reason for it had been
forgotten. But that was all it was now: habit, and not vital necessity.
                 Nathaniel
had been right, as always. Time, the great healer, had healed him as well.
There'd been a time, not so long past, that it would have been impossible for
him to take this sort of innocent joy in any passing scene. A time when he had
walked in the shadows cast by the Black Order, doing all that he could to bring
Light to that Darkness — and always in danger of falling to that Darkness himself.
                 But
thoughts of initiation and ancient magickal orders seemed oddly out of place
here on the Berkeley campus. If anything seemed
to belong to the world of rationality and sanity it was this place. Berkeley seemed filled with the
American spirit — a kind of "can-do" wholesomeness that simply
could not comprehend the shadowy half-world in which Colin's battles had been
fought. And perhaps, in time, the memories would fade for him as well.
                 The
following Monday was another brilliant cloudless day, and the morning sunlight
found Colin in his new office, unpacking the cartons of books he'd carried up
the steps from the trunk of his battered black Ford sedan — a recent purchase encouraged
by his move to an area of the country where a car was a far more important part
of life than it was in New York City.
                 The
small office that was now his contained one battered metal desk and matching
file cabinet, an ancient oak desk chair on squeaky rollers and a matching one
that stood on four uneven legs, several metal bookshelves that edged the room,
and one balky window with a dusty Venetian blind. The walls were painted a
glossy greenish beige that managed to clash with the worn brown linoleum tiles
on the floor.
                 Colin
had been assured that this furniture was only temporary — that better furniture was
on order, and that in fact it was rumored that the entire department would be
moving to better quarters soon, but Colin placed little credence in these
hopeful reports. In his experience, there was little in this world or the next
so permanent as a temporary situation.
                 But
his current quarters weren't that bad, in Colin's opinion. Once his books were
on the shelves, and he'd hung the bulletin board and a few pictures, the place
would look as inviting as such places ever did. It was a place where he could
do his work, and the students who came to him for help and guidance would be
more interested in their own problems than in how his office was decorated.
                 Colin
had spent the last