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But you know what I mean. It was really romantic, this fabulous love story, and they were both so good looking and glamorous and in love, and then she died so young And they were both ridiculously hot. I don't read The Sun! Because you read The Sun? Because I see it when I'm buying The Guardian! Thinking that we might see him in person. Or at the Union, or whatever. In lectures, even — although I doubt he's doing Physics or Engineering.
But — it's like someone stepping out of a movie and into your life, somehow. Like this is the Hogwarts Express. I keep half-expecting someone to produce a chocolate frog card, or cast a spell. I can't believe that this is my life, all of a sudden — a train snaking up through all this rolling green countryside, taking us North to meet a handsome prince.
Or at least see him, even if we never actually meet him Her irrepressible grin was back full force, and Merlin could see that she had more than half expected to be mocked. He found himself wishing he could explain about Professor Gaius and Doctor Nimueh, and about the kind of text books he had stuffed into the bottom of his rucksack — but that wasn't going to happen.
Magic was secret, and secret it should stay. Nobody wanted to go back to the days of witchburnings. She raised an eyebrow. Well — yeah, okay, it's a fair cop. Well — most of the lads at my school can't read. And they think he's gay. Gwen blinked at him, and then giggled. I was 'shipping Harry and Hermione like mad. I can't believe Rowling paired him up with Ginny Weasley! Every bit as weird as meeting Hagrid or Dumbledore would be, really. Because you've seen him on TV so many times, right? At Christmas and Remembrance Sunday and things like that — I mean, the paparazzi have been pretty good at leaving him alone at school while he's underage, like they promised after what happened with his mother going into labour prematurely while being chased by those bloody photographers, bastards It's all that football, and rugby, and horse riding, and water polo, and all that manly sport he does!
Unless he has a body double for photoshoots," he added, after a moment, grinning. Merlin twinkled at her. Nobody has an arse that impossibly peach-like. Not when they're already rich and handsome and going to be king.
He's clearly too good to be true. Tim Nice-but-Dim and that lot. All those posh interbred types with more rooms than they know what to do with and flocks of sheep wandering around on their enormous ancient estates - that's who he'll be hanging out with. Not with a physics student from a grotty little council estate in Cardiff, or an engineering student — however lovely — who lives above her dad's garage in Wembley.
Face it — we don't have our own flocks of sheep. Enough with the stereotyping, thank you very much!
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We don't all get handed a sheep at birth, you know! Of an ugly sheep. We were saving up to buy a plastic one to put in the garden one day, next to the garden gnome. But then it got nicked. It's a rough estate — no gnome is safe. Merlin dimpled back at her. Sort of reckless and hopeful and all bubbling over, somehow. I feel like a character in a movie, or the heroine of a book, or something. I feel like I could do anything.
I'm not normally quite this Prone to hitting total strangers over the head with engineering text books? Merlin wanted to hug her, all of a sudden, but there was a table in the way, so instead he reached into his pocket and produced a slightly battered KitKat. I knew I liked you for a reason! Chapter 2 The door was open a crack when Merlin reached his room in St Salvator's Hall, and he could hear voices inside, and what sounded rather a lot like The Rolling Stones.
Evidently his room mate had arrived bright and early and settled in already. Merlin took a deep breath and tried to sooth the butterflies in his stomach, reminding himself that he hadn't done magic in front of anyone by accident for years.
Or — well, months, at least. And that had just been Will, so it didn't count. He could do this. Merlin squared his shoulders and stuck out his chin, conscious that there was some kind of University Security Guard bloke watching him curiously, and then pushed the door open with a sensation a little bit like stepping off a cliff onto an invisible bridge.
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Merlin would have recognised that peach-like arse anywhere, even if the sight of his two best mates, familiar from interviews and the very occasional photoshoot, hadn't given the game away. Arthur rose and turned around in one swift, graceful movement, and then Merlin was looking straight at the subject of entirely too many furtive wank fantasies and sweaty wet dreams.
He nearly swallowed his own tongue. Merlin just gaped at him like a stranded fish, frantically trying to remember any English words of greeting. Or any words, in any language at all. After a moment he glanced down at his hand and his brow crumpled in an embarrassed frown. His whole body was thrumming with adrenaline, and he wanted nothing more than to turn around and run all the way back to Wales.
I just — er — sorry! He stared from Arthur to his friends and back again, and if his eyes weren't actually standing out on stalks they were coming as close as humanly possible to doing so. Is that going to be a problem? Where they have single rooms. And ensuites with all the mod cons," blurted Merlin. Why are you sharing a room in Sally's? They didn't get you to sign things — Official Secrets Act, all that?
Well — I expect someone will be along in a bit. That's — I don't quite know how that happened, actually. Well, we're talking Tower of London, pretty much. That's the Cliff Notes version. That's — that's great. Glad we've got that straight, then. Can I perform a citizen's arrest? I mean, this is a democracy, right? We're all equal in modern Britain, aren't we? A smug, self-entitled, patronising git. Arthur closed his eyes and bowed his head, looking pained. You're not taking the piss?
That's kind of funny, really. I'm living with an angry unwashed communist called Merlin. That's just — great. I love my life. He was trying not to glare, but his face was still pale and angry as he pointed stiffly towards the bed.
Pick one, and tell me when I get back — I don't care, it's just a bed, for God's sake. God — come on, lads; can't keep Bedevere waiting. And I really need a drink. The door closed behind them with a finality that wasn't quite a slam, and Merlin sat down on the edge of one of the beds, his legs suddenly trembling beneath him.
The St Andrews Prospectus listed a fairly wide array of different schools, but The School of Sorcery was not one of them. Nevertheless, for those in the know, it was no secret that when St Andrews University had been founded back inone of its primary goals was the preservation of magical learning.
Unlike the other Schools, The School of Sorcery did not have one specific location; the English Department might be happily ensconced in Castle House, opposite the ruins of St Andrews Castle, and the Physics Department might be lodged in an appropriately bright and shiny new building, but one could access the School of Sorcery from any of the University buildings in the town.
There was always a door somewhere, one that normal mortal eyes would skate straight past. One with a stylised dragon carved into the wood, or painted on, or even sketched on with chalk, if need be. Those were the doors into the School of Sorcery, and they led, so Merlin had been informed, one to the other, a network of chambers looking out onto completely different vistas.
If you went far enough, and knew the right words to say as you traced the outline of the dragon, you might step into a chamber in France, or Morocco, or China, or Maine, and find your fellow sorcerers discussing levitation or the theory of time travel in half a hundred different languages or more. So Merlin left his possessions behind him alongside those belonging, impossibly, to Prince Arthur, and slipped his key into his pocket, pulled the threads of unseeing around him and set off unnoticed through the bustling corridors in search of a red wooden door with a dragon on it.
He knew there would be one somewhere in St Salvator's Hall — and sure enough, within ten minutes he'd found it. He bit his lip, drew a deep breath, and murmured the words that would make the carved dragon stretch and yawn and twist beneath his fingertips. My goodness, my lad, you don't waste any time! No, I mean — no! Sir," said Merlin, trying hard not to be rude — he'd been told in no uncertain terms the folly of irritating the Dragon.
The Student Prince
Please can I see Professor Gaius? The window opposite Merlin looked out onto a scene that was quite evidently not St Andrews: Instead he found himself looking out over a scene that looked suspiciously like St James's Park — ah, the marvels of the School of Sorcery's intricate geography.
Glancing around, Merlin saw a cluttered desk piled high with papers and books and empty coffee mugs and a disembowelled timepiece, with a laptop sitting in the middle of the chaos, ornamented by a half-eaten Jaffa Cake. And in one of the high wing back chairs arranged around the fireplace, Merlin espied a gentleman of advanced years, peering down at a leather-bound book through a pair of half-moon specs.
Gwen, Merlin reflected a little wistfully, would have found this as satisfyingly Hogwarts-like as she could possibly have wished. He waited on the threshold for a moment, but when the old gentleman failed to look up, he gave a pointed little cough.
This was it, though; his teacher, Mrs Singh, had done a fine job of helping him keep his magic under control, and she had been able to give him a decent grounding in the basics despite her own limited powers, but wizardry was such a rarity these days that he'd had nothing like a proper education.
He knew enough to try to keep himself, and those around him, out of harm's way. But here, now — this was the beginning of a whole new life, and Merlin was startled by the rush of nerves he felt at the thought of making a bad impression.
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This was where Merlin could hope to master the power thrumming in his veins, and to learn the full extent of what was possible in this world — in all the worlds.
This was where he stepped up and learned what it meant to be a wizard. Yes, I knew your father. Well, well — so few British wizards these days. I seem to spend most of my time seeing bright young things from Salem and Beijing and Al Azhar University.
It'll be nice to teach a local lad for a change. Um — about that. I was wondering — do you know that they've put me in a room with Prince Arthur? Quite aside from the fact that he's a smug, arrogant, self-satisfied idiot, surely that's going to mean bodyguards and, and secret service agents, and maybe paparazzi and all kinds of people watching him? And, by association — me? I've never even shared a room before, let alone had to worry about screwing up on camera and waking up to Youtube clips of me outing myself as a wizard.
So — you're okay with this, then? It doesn't worry you? If Mrs Singh is to be believed, you are far and away the most gifted wizard of your generation. The most powerful wizard in Britain is always kept close to the king — or queen — to be ready with protection or advice as needed.
In time, that role will fall to you. I'm just helping you to prepare for your destiny. To be his, what, his court wizard? Like the other Merlin? Merlin was fairly sure you couldn't be sent to the Tower of London for calling the heir to the throne an idiot, but something about the glint in Gaius's eye made him start to wonder about that. But he's still going to be your king, and your responsibility, so you'd best find a way to deal with it. If my destiny is to be his protector and advisor and all this?
I would suggest you try to keep it that way. Well, I'll see you for your first tutorial next Monday morning then, bright and early at nine o'clock. Do enjoy Freshers' Week, my lad — and try not to do anything irreparably foolish, there's a good boy.
View good, mattress soft, roommate total plonker. Sorry you got plonker. It was good being back by the sea with the lick of salt on his skin again after all those hours on the train, but there was also a strangeness to looking out over a different sea; the view outside his bedroom window was of an ocean darker and colder and wilder than the one he was used to. Or perhaps that was just the magic talking; he was used to Cardiff, after all, and its particular ghosts and quirks and hot spots.
St Andrews was still an unknown quantity. He was probably just projecting. Gwen was bouncing on her toes in front of McIntosh Hall when Merlin arrived to pick her up at 9pm sharp and whisk her around the corner to the Students' Union. In front of it, Gwen was unmissable, her bright dress a shock of crimson and pink against the drab stonework; Merlin couldn't help noticing that she seemed to have acquired an outrageously gorgeous bloke in the handful of hours since he'd seen her last.
And — wow, yes, her newfound friend was absolutely stunning. Not that Gwen was looking at him now — all her attention was concentrated on Merlin, and she was beaming at him like he was her long lost brother. New guy looked decidedly less than thrilled about this, and the dirty look he sent Merlin was enough to make him burst out laughing. Fair play to you, Milady Guinevere, he thought, and grinned right back at her. Merlin stood there like a scarecrow for a moment, wide-eyed, and then tentatively hugged her back.
She felt nice — soft and curvy and strong, and her hair smelled like grapefruit and vanilla. He couldn't remember the last time someone who wasn't his mum had hugged him; he was pretty sure that getting off with random blokes in nightclubs didn't count as hugging.
It was — sweet. Soon after a Soviet nuclear test in Sakharov and Vyacheslav Malyshev walked near the site to assess its results. Uncle Xiong died of cancer during Cultural Revolution. In any case, it was a pity for the University of California that John von Neumann died at his prime age, as before his death he had decided to resign from the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton and move to one of the UC campuses, as also revealed in the book quoted about him: He had privately accepted an offer to be professor at large at the University of California: We cannot know how much he would then have enriched our lives, with cellular automata, with totally new lines for the computer, with new sorts of mathematics.
In the anecdotes of mathematics, von Neumann was known not only for his brilliance but also for his uptight personality. In my first blog article dated January 29,I have referred to the life story of the mathematician and Nobel laureate John F.
He wanted, he had told the secretary cockily, to discuss an idea that might be of interest to Professor von Neumann. It was a rather audacious thing for a graduate student to do. Von Neumann was a public figure, had very little contact with Princeton graduate students outside of occasional lectures, and generally discouraged them from seeking him out with their research problems.
But it was typical of Nash, who had gone to see Einstein the year before with the germ of an idea. Von Neumann was sitting at an enormous desk, looking more like a prosperous bank president than an academic in his expensive three-piece suit, silk tie, and jaunty pocket handkerchief. He had the preoccupied air of a busy executive. Ivo Babuska has been much more fortunate. Now at nearly 87 years of age, Bubuska is still active in teaching and research at UT Austin.
As mentioned earlier, my first time to the Washington, D. There I was interviewed as a joint faculty candidate at the Institute for Physical Science and Technology and the Computer Science Department, and had the privilege to meet Prof. Bubuska at the Institute, who also attended one of my two seminar talks. And while chatting with Babuska in the hallway, to my surprise an old Computer Science classmate from Sun Yat-sen University came out of the elevator.
Ivo Babuska then became instrumental in a visiting faculty position being offered to me in at the University of Maryland — the only U. The several younger persons around me at Silicon Valley had all graduated from universities in China, a Communist country, before attending UT Austin. But professional Texas links for me dated back to an earlier period. He later received his Ph. In the New Millennium, Ron has been a professor in Hong Kong permanently, with honorary professorships and research affiliations at dozens of universities internationally, including in China, Argentina and Australia.
But I felt fine in Canada. But was such Texas-style ambition only about industry and career, or did it also encourage political activism? I know that my old friend, UT Austin Ph. Ling Yuan has been very interested in bringing my attention to Chinese political issues.
But I am also mindful of an elementary school episode — discussed in Part 3 of my blog article listed above — in around when Ling quickly reported to our teacher what I said despite having been the one seeking out my view on certain politics. So I would say that the Texas links encouraged political activism, but likely very management and control oriented.
Martin was there working for Motorola, who during my dispute had been a key figure maneuvering against me, writing to persons in positions of authority to falsely accuse me of being mentally ill and violent — I have recalled this episode in Part 4 of the above listed blog article: Even if he had a wife back in Ontario, privacy should not be a devious excuse for oppression — unless like Vince Manis said the Nazis were in power.
So Austin, TX, may have also acquired the political means to frame me or to justify getting rid of me. Having done some sightseeing at Austin, I decided to drive along Interstate 77 toward Dallas, rather than waiting for a response after the weekend from Prof. My entire schedule for the tour across southern U. Related to the Austin storyline, in Dallas there were a few old friends I would meet, all engineers in computer-related fields: The evening I spent at Austin had been one of the most pleasant ones in the entire southern U.
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In a bar in downtown Austin I saw that people were friendly, and young women come up ordering drinks like in a merry-go-round. A young girl by the name of Jennifer or Gennifer — I have recalled a distinct one in Hawaii and one in Castro Valley — was very flirtatious with me.
Having seen so many political controversies in the news about former U. But boy, was I disappointed. During most of the meal time, in the entire restaurant there were only a young African American waiter standing behind the bar counter, an older white gentleman customer sitting across at the bar, with his high-end antique convertible car parked outside, and myself sitting at a table.
The next day I had lunch at downtown Little Rock, and began to appreciate how much of a precious urban oasis it was like. But before lunchtime at Little Rock my mood had turned sad, brought down to low by what I had seen and reflected on during my visit to the Arkansas State Capitol building. For some reason that my presentation of what I saw will explain, I began to feel depressed, despite appreciating that a Rockefeller had descended here and served as governor, and a boy born poor had ascended not only to become one of the longest serving governors but the president of the United States.
The Rockefeller family was the most prominent American industrialist family of the first half of the 20th century, founded by accounting clerk John D. The Rockefellers were also known for philanthropic largesse, having founded museums, universities, philanthropic foundations, and national parks. All three have served as state governors: Army officer in battles in the south Pacific. In less than a year, Rockefeller bought a large amount of land atop Petit Jean Mountain near Morrilton Conway Countywhich he named Winrock Farms and developed into a showplace home.
Arkansans welcomed Rockefeller, and he quickly developed deep roots. The Rockwin Fund provided support for worthy causes across the state.
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