Hey, 

Sorry this is so late. I was just really busy because of assessments and I wasn't allowed on my laptop a lot so I couldn't write this. 

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"Before we start this chapter, I think we need to bring in a few more people." Called out Alice as Sylva snapped her fingers. Suddenly George and Jenny fell out along with Crowley from a bunch of pillows.

"What's going on?" asked Crowley.

George and Jenny shared similar concerns. Will stepped up and took a deep breath.

"Up-up up up. Such Will. I remember the last time you tried to explain things and I still didn't get a single word you were saying. Now Can anyone else explain? Preferably the two charming girls who brough us here." He smiled towards Sylva and Alice who took it good-naturedly.

Will looks suitably chastened and Horace stepped out. "Not you too Horace! You're almost as bad as reports than I am!" Will cried.

"Not True Will. I am a knight. I have to turn in good reports as a part of my job. Paperwork is a part of my life and I am very good at it." Horace defended with the air of an old man. Silence was heard for a few minutes until chaos reigned. Sylva and Alice were laughing so hard they had to hold onto each other for support.

"What on earth was that?" choked out Will.

"Well I wanted to look as serious as you." Shrugged Horace. "Can we get back to the explanation?"

"Yes, I would very much like to know what Is going on. I was drafting a legislation for the Ni hon Ja treaty and poof! I landed here with you lot." Commented George.

"Same here!" jumped Jenny.

"I'll explain." Said Halt. "Since these monkeys can't explain anything. To start, all of us were doing things just after we got off the boat. Then everything went dark and we woke up here. These girls explained that we are going to read these books on Will's life and that we will all be back to our own places after this is done. The girl that looks a bit like an Arradian with black hair, bronze skin and blackish brown eyes is Sylva; and the girl that looks a bit like Alyss but with shorter and curlier hair with greenish eyes is Alice. Currently we have reached the choosing day for all the wards of Redmont."

Jenny and George exchanged looks of acceptance and looked back at the rest. "So are we doing this?" Jenny asked.

They settled and George decided to read this chapter.

Who's next then?' Martin was calling as Horace, grinning broadly, stepped back into the line. Alyss stepped forward gracefully, annoying Martin, who had wanted to nominate her as the next candidate. Unseen by the rest, Alyss smiled.

'Alyss Mainwaring, my lord,' she said in her quiet, level voice. Then, before she could be asked, she continued, 'I request an appointment to the Diplomatic Service please, my lord.' Arald smiled at the solemn-looking girl. She had an air of self-confidence and poise about her that would suit her well in the Service. He glanced at Lady Pauline. Here Halt smiled obtrusively.

'My lady?' he said. She nodded her head several times. 'I've already spoken to Alyss, my lord. I believe she will be an excellent candidate. Approved and accepted.' Alyss made a small bow of her head in the direction of the woman who would be her mentor. Will thought how alike they were – both tall and elegant in their movements, both grave in manner. He felt a small surge of pleasure for his oldest companion, knowing how much she had wanted this selection.

Alyss raised an eyebrow at Will who blushed heavily and looked away. Alyss stepped back in line and Martin, not to be forestalled this time, was already pointing to George. "That scared me so much." Muttered George.

'Right! You're next! You're next! Address the Baron.' George stepped forward. His mouth opened and closed several times but nothing came out. The other wards watched in surprise. George, long regarded by them all as the official advocate for just about everything, was overcome with stage fright. "I see that isn't no longer a problem." Smiled Gillian.

He finally managed to say something in a low voice that nobody in the room could hear. Baron Arald leaned forward, one hand cupped behind his ear. 'I'm sorry, I didn't quite get that?' he said. George looked up at the Baron and, with an enormous effort, spoke in a just-audible voice. 'G-George Carter, sir. Scribeschool, sir.' Martin, ever a stickler for the proprieties, drew breath to berate him for the truncated nature of his address. Before he could do so, and to everyone's evident relief, Baron Arald stepped in. 'Very well, Martin. Let it go.'

"That was getting a bit pompous and I grew up in a castle." Muttered Martin looked a little aggrieved but subsided. The Baron glanced at Nigel, his chief scribe and legal officer, with one eyebrow raised in question. 'Acceptable, my lord,' Nigel said, adding, 'I've seen some of George's work and he really does have a gift for calligraphy.' The Baron looked doubtful. 'He's not the most forceful of speakers, though, is he, Scribemaster? That could be a problem if he has to offer legal counsel at any time in the future.' Nigel shrugged the objection aside. 'I promise you, my lord, with proper training that sort of thing represents no problem. Absolutely no problem at all, my lord.' The Master Scribe folded his hands together into the wide sleeves of the monk-like habit he wore as he warmed to his theme. Everyone groaned here.

'I remember a boy who joined us some seven years back, rather like this one here, as a matter of fact. He had that same habit of mumbling to his shoes – but we soon showed him how to overcome it. Some of our most reluctant speakers have gone on to develop absolute eloquence, my lord, absolute eloquence.' The Baron drew breath to comment but Nigel continued in his discourse. Everyone school their heads here.

'It may even surprise you to hear that, as a boy, I myself suffered from a most terrible nervous stutter. Absolutely terrible, my lord. Could barely put two words together at a time.' "I actually did not know that!" exclaimed Cassandra

'Hardly a problem now, I see,' the Baron managed to put in dryly, and Nigel smiled, taking the point. He bowed to the Baron. 'Exactly, my lord. We'll soon help young George overcome his shyness. Nothing like the rough and tumble of Scribeschool for that. Absolutely.'

There were ironic smiles here. "Yeah. Rough and tumble," George muttered.

The Baron smiled in spite of himself. The Scribeschool was a studious place where voices were rarely, if ever, raised and where logical, reasoned debate reigned supreme. Personally, on his visits to the place, he had found it mind-numbing in the extreme.

"Same," Horace and Will chorused.

"Well I never have anything to do there so I tend to not go unless I'm visiting George."

Anything less like a rough and tumble atmosphere he could not imagine. 'I'll take your word for it,' he replied, then, to George, he said, 'Very well, George, request granted. Report to Scribeschool tomorrow.' George shuffled his feet awkwardly. 'Mumble-mumble-mumble,' he said, and the Baron leaned forward again, frowning as he tried to make out the low-pitched words. "I cannot believe I mumbled that much," George said to himself.

'What was that?' he asked. George finally looked up and managed to whisper, 'Thank you, my lord.' He hurriedly shuffled back to the relative anonymity of the line. 'Oh,' said the Baron, a little taken aback.

'Think nothing of it. Now, next is ...' Jenny was already stepping forward. Blonde and pretty, she was also, it had to be admitted, a little on the chubby side. But the look suited her and at any of the castle's social functions, she was a much sought-after dance partner with the boys in the castle, both her yearmates in the Ward and the sons of castle staff as well.

'Master Chubb, sir!' she said now, stepping forward right to the edge of the Baron's desk. The boys shook their heads in mock annoyance at jenny who made a dramatic exclamation of offence.

The Baron looked into the round face, saw the eagerness shining there in the blue eyes and couldn't help smiling at her. 'What about him?' he asked gently and she hesitated, realising that, in her enthusiasm, she had breached the protocol of the Choosing. 'Oh! Your pardon, sir ... my ... Baron ... your lordship,' "You'd fit in well with the Skandians," Will commented. "They could never get the right form of address either."

she hastily improvised, her tongue running away with her as she mangled the correct form of address. 'My lord!' Martin prompted her. Baron Arald looked at him, eyebrows raised.

'Yes, Martin?' he said. 'What is it?'

Martin had the grace to look embarrassed. He knew that his master was intentionally misunderstanding his interruption. He took a deep breath, and said in an apologetic tone, 'I ... simply wanted to inform you that the candidate's name is Jennifer Dalby, sir.'

The Baron nodded at him and Martin, a devoted servant of the thickset bearded man, saw the look of approval in his lord's eyes. 'Thank you, Martin. Now, Jennifer Dalby ...' 'Jenny, sir,' said the irrepressible girl and he shrugged resignedly.

'Jenny, then. I assume that you are applying to be apprenticed to Master Chubb?' "Well that's a surprise I never knew!" muttered Horace.

'Oh, yes please, sir!' Jenny replied breathlessly, turning adoring eyes on the portly, red-haired cook. Chubb scowled thoughtfully and considered her. 'Mmmmm ... could be, could be,' he muttered, walking back and forth in front of her.

She smiled winningly at him but Chubb was beyond such feminine wiles. 'I'd work hard, sir,' she told him earnestly. 'I know you would!' he replied with some spirit. 'I'd make sure of it, girl. No slacking or lollygagging in my kitchen, let me tell you.' Fearing that her opportunity might be slipping away, Jenny played her trump card. 'I have the right shape for it,' she said. "That's a trump card?" asked Tug.

Chubb had to agree that she was well rounded. Arald, not for the first time that morning, hid a smile. 'She has a point there, Chubb,' he put in and the cook turned to him in agreement.

'Shape is important, sir. All great cooks tend to be ... rounded.' He turned back to the girl, still considering. It was all very well for the others to accept their trainees in the wink of an eye, he thought. But cooking was something special. 'Tell me,' he said to the eager girl, 'what would you do with a turkey pie?

' Jenny smiled dazzlingly at him. "I love her response." Muttered Will to Horace who nodded and was looking like he was holding back a laugh.

'Eat it,' she answered immediately. The whole room erupted in laughter here.

Chubb rapped her on the head with the ladle he carried. 'I meant what would you do about cooking it?' he asked. Jenny hesitated, gathered her thoughts, then plunged into a lengthy technical description of how she would go about constructing such a masterpiece.

The other four wards, the Baron, his Craftmasters and Martin listened in some awe, with absolutely no comprehension of what she was saying. Chubb, however, nodded several times as she spoke, interrupting as she detailed the rolling of the pastry.

'Nine times, you say?' he said curiously and Jenny nodded, sure of her ground. 'My mother always said: "Eight times to make it flaky and once more for love",' she said. Chubb nodded thoughtfully. 'Interesting. Interesting,' he said, then, looking up at the Baron, he nodded. 'I'll take her, my lord.'

'What a surprise,' the Baron said mildly, then added, 'Very well, report to the kitchens in the morning, Jennifer.' 'Jenny, sir,' the girl corrected him again, her smile lighting up the room. Baron Arald smiled. He glanced at the small group before him. 'And that leaves us with one more candidate.'

He glanced at his list, then looked up to meet Will's agonised gaze, gesturing encouragement. Will stepped forward, nervousness suddenly drying his throat so that his voice came out in barely a whisper. 'Will, sir. My name is Will.' "Ooooooooh. Ominous..." laughed Horace as Will hit him.

"Well that's it for now. We'll read another chapter and finish off the choosing before stopping for food." Announced Alice. While Sylva nodded at the back.