“Are you kidding?” the cabbie laughed. “How else could the old Alma Mater be able to solicit donations from their alumni? This may not be Deva, but do you think a Pervect would lose track of a revenue source?”
I felt my hope being renewed as he spoke. “That’s a great idea, Edvick! How many magik schools are there, anyway?”
“Not more than a dozen or so of any note. Nowhere near the number of businesses. If I were you, I’d start with the biggest and work your way down.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do. Take me to the top of the list and don’t spare the lizards. . . and Edvick? Thanks.”
The grounds of the Magikal Institute of Perv (MIP) occupied an entire city block. I say grounds because much of it was well trimmed lawns and bushes, a marked contrast to the closely packed buildings and alleys that seemed to compose the majority of Perv. Stately old buildings of brick or stone were scattered here and there, apparently oblivious to the bustling metropolis that screeched and honked scant yards from their tranquility. Looking at them, one could almost read their stoic thoughts: that if they ignored it long enough, maybe the rest of the world would go away. There was an iron fence surrounding the school in token protection from intrusion, but the gate stood wide open.
I peered out the windows of the cab in curiosity as we drove up to what Edvick said was the administration building, hoping to catch a glimpse of the students practicing their lessons, but was disappointed. The people I saw were much more interested in being young—skylarking and flirting with each other—than in demonstrating their learning to a casual visitor. I did, however, notice there were more than a few students from off-dimension in their number. Either the school was much more tolerant of off-worlders than the rest of the dimension, or they simply weren’t as picky about who they accepted money from. I never did get a chance to find out which it really was.