by Logan Jacobs
“Well, you might as well come in,” the old man’s voice called out from a box nailed to the wall almost a full minute later.
Talia and Gemma tugged us inside a large room filled with packed bookshelves, three long tables, and plenty of screaming, running children. The kids swarmed around us as Gemma and Talia led us toward another door at the far end of the room, but when the old man appeared in the doorway, the kids went still and stared at him in anticipation.
“May we have tea?” one of the kids asked bravely.
“You disobeyed me,” the old man replied with a scowl. “And you went to the canal without permission, and without a chaperone.”
The pack of children looked at the floor in unison, though I noticed Gemma managed to keep an eye on the old man.
“We just wanted to help,” Talia offered in her quiet voice as she shuffled her feet.
The old man looked out over the sea of bowed heads and huffed. He let the kids stew for a moment and then winked at me and Sorcha.
“Tell Rayne to send a tea tray for me and our guests first, and then you may have something,” the old man decreed.
A cheer went up from the pack as they tore across the floor toward the hallway. Gemma and Talia smiled at us before they ran after the rest of the children. I heard Gemma calling out instructions as they darted past the tables, and then it became silent as the kids’ voices died away.
“I do apologize,” the old man sighed as he waved us into his office. “I’ve tried to explain to them that they can’t run around willy-nilly because of something Talia saw in one of her trances, but they’re young and they don’t understand the complications of prognosticating. Well, most of them don’t. Gemma understands a good bit more than she lets on. Oh, but here I am just rambling on. Bad habit that, but I always blame it on old age. So, what are your names? I’m Evan, by the way.”
We’d taken seats around a small table by this point, set up near a window with a view toward the main island. Sunlight streamed in to give everything a warm glow. As I looked around, I realized we were in Evan’s office, a good-sized room packed with a desk, a collection of chairs in different sizes, and more bookshelves, all packed to capacity. Books and stacks of papers were strewn about every surface in seemingly random order, and an orange tom cat watched us from the top of a stack of books in a corner. And somewhere, out of sight, was a gun. The itch in my palm told me that much, and it was a struggle not to stand up and start searching the room on my own.
“I’m Sorcha,” my companion replied. “And this is Hex.”
“Hex?” the old man chuckled. “That’s an odd gift for a parent to bestow on a child.”
“It’s short for Hector,” I explained. “The kids I knew growing up shortened it to Hex.”
“Ah, yes,” Evan noted with a nod of his head. “That makes sense. Hector, eh? Great hero, that one. Troy’s greatest warrior, killing thousands of the invading Greeks. Always hated his death at the hands of Achilles.”
“The Iliad,” Sorcha offered when she saw my look of confusion.
“One of the greatest epics ever told,” Evan added with another nod. “And if Talia is right, it seems you’re about to write another grand saga.”
“Me?” I asked as I forced myself to focus on the conversation and not peer around the room for the gun.
“You are the gun mage,” Evan replied as he studied me over the edge of his wire frames.
“How did you know…?” I began, then stopped when I realized Talia must have somehow seen it in one of her trances. “But, no one else has ever seen anything about me, at least, not until I touched that gun at the museum.”
“Someone wrapped some very impressive protection spells around you,” Evan mused. “I doubt even Vizier Roland himself would have been able to see your magic. But Talia is unusually gifted.”
I must have still looked confused because Sorcha gave my hand a quick squeeze, then tried to explain.
“Vizier Roland is the man in charge of finding every person who has magic and determining what kind of magic they have,” Sorcha explained. “He oversees a vast department within the Magesterium, but they say he can sniff out even the tiniest trace of magic. As for Talia, she’s clearly a seer, though I’ve never heard of anyone developing such a high level of skill so early in life.”
“She’s a special case,” Evan acknowledged. “The Magesterium came looking for her at an early age, thanks to their own seers. Her parents refused to give her up and soon died during a mysterious accident. Fortunately, she had plenty of relatives who were willing to fulfill her parents’ last wish. They were able to get her to us, where we’ve been able to hide her from the Magesterium’s prying eyes.”
“All of these children were going to be taken by the Magesterium?” Sorcha asked. “And you took them instead?”
“Only if the family gave permission,” Evan assured her. “Or a guardian, if there is no family.”
“Why would they take children? And why would you take them instead?” I asked. Though I had my own issues with the mages that ruled our lives, I wasn’t sure if handing the child off to a crazy old man in the outer reaches of the city was any better.
“That’s a simple question with a complicated answer,” the old man sighed. “I suppose the short version of my answer is that I believe that children should be allowed to be children, even those with magic. I don’t like what the Magesterium does, taking children away from their families and turning them into soldiers for their army. I can’t even imagine what they would have done with someone like you.”
There was a tap on the door, and a young woman entered with a tray. She set it down between us on the table and then left without saying a single word. Evan lifted the lid on the teapot and sniffed. Not satisfied with the strength of the tea yet, he replaced the lid and let it steep some more.
“But you’re not friends of the Magesterium,” Evan noted as he peered at us some more.
“No,” we both admitted at the same time.
Evan nodded, then leaned in closer. He pushed the odd glass and wire objects further up his nose, then squinted as he took in our appearances.
“Oh, my,” he said. “Now, why didn’t you say anything?”
“About what?” I asked as I tried to figure out what direction the conversation was about to venture into. Evan seemed to hop between topics like a mad hare, and it wasn’t just the distraction of a nearby gun that kept me off kilter. Judging by Sorcha’s puzzled look, she wasn’t doing any better at keeping up with the old man’s conversational gambits.
“You’re both injured,” Evan declared.
“Uh, yes,” I agreed. “We’ve had a few run-ins since we decided to leave the city.”
“Lucky for you I’m a healer,” Evan declared as he stood up and moved toward Sorcha’s side.
He snatched up her arm with the dog bite and brought it close to his face as if he could study the wound, though I had no idea how he could see anything beneath the sleeve of her jacket and the layers of gauze I had wrapped around the wound that morning. He sniffed at the arm as well, which caused him to sneeze.
“At least you managed to keep out any infection,” Evan noted.
Sorcha started to reply, but Evan closed his eyes and started to hum. It wasn’t really a song, more like the sound of a bee. A really old bee with a bit of phlegm in his throat.
Sorcha looked alarmed for a moment, but then Evan’s hands started to glow. Sorcha’s skin did as well a moment later, and I watched the nicks and cuts that I could see started to heal, then disappear completely. The old man snorted, the glow vanished, and Sorcha rolled up the sleeve of her jacket. She carefully unwound the gauze to reveal an arm that didn’t even have a scratch.
“Your turn,” Evan declared as he moved over to my chair.
I didn’t say a word as he placed his hands on my shoulders and began to hum again. A comforting warmth spread out from my shoulders and slowly filled my entire body. There was a brief moment when the skin aroun
d my various wounds seemed to itch, and then there was just the pleasant sensation of being whole and unscarred. Evan made the strange snort again and then returned to his own chair.
“There, all better,” Evan said in the same sing-song voice he probably used with the children.
“Thank you,” Sorcha and I both replied as Evan started to pour the tea into the cups.
“I have so many questions,” Sorcha mentioned as she accepted one of the cups.
“I’m sure you do,” Evan replied as he handed the second cup to me. “But I don’t think we’ll have much time. Talia is convinced the mages will be here soon, and I’ve never known her to be off in her estimates.”
“Gemma told us that you would die if we didn’t come here,” I pointed out as I sipped the tea. It had a strong peppermint flavor that seemed to wake up my whole body, and I guessed that the tea was more than just tea.
“These kids,” Evan sighed. “They think the world will come to an end if I die. I’ve tried to tell them that they’ll be protected, but I suppose when you know the Magesterium is hunting for you, you try to hang onto what seems like the one solid connection you have.”
“You would have let the Magesterium kill you?” Sorcha asked in surprise.
“Let is a little strong,” Evan said with a tired smile. “I’ll fight the bastards to my last breath. But I’m nearing ninety now. I have to be realistic.”
“Ninety!” I gasped. “Then you remember the pre-magic world.”
“Oh, that I do,” Evan agreed. “Maybe not a perfect world, but gods, the things we could do. Despite the wonders of magic, it somehow feels like a lesser world now.”
“You know about guns,” I prodded.
“Very little,” the old man admitted with a smile. “Point and shoot is about my total knowledge. But, I have a book in here…” Evan trailed off as he stood up and shuffled over to one of the shelves.
He studied the spines of the books for a moment and then moved on to the next shelf. He found the volume he was looking for and returned to the table. He handed me a pristine tome with a cover made out of heavy paper rather than leather. The picture on the front showed a gun very much like the one the Asian had pointed at me.
“Compendium of Firearms,” I read aloud. “A Complete History of Guns.”
“That will help you understand the different types of guns that exist and how they function,” Evan said with a nod.
“This is great,” I replied as I started to flip through the pages.
“Can you make one of those appear?” Sorcha asked.
I glanced at my hand, but I wasn’t feeling the same tingle. I shook my head, then turned to Evan.
“I need to touch a gun in order to make one of my own,” I explained.
“Not uncommon when just beginning to explore evocation magic,” Evan assured me. “As you develop your skills, that may not always be necessary.”
“That would be nice,” I replied. “Especially given how hard it is to find a gun to touch.”
“Well,” Evan declared. “I can help with that as well. There’s a man I know just west of the city, in a town called Motown. He’s got quite the arsenal stashed away. In fact, he’s the one who provided me with this.”
Evan stood up again and went behind his desk. He rummaged around in a pile of odds and ends, much to the displeasure of the orange tom cat who sat up and watched this turn of events suspiciously. Evan finally found what he wanted and returned with a long, skinny gun that looked a lot like the rifle that had been on display at the museum.
“Now, I can tell you this is a twenty-two,” Evan said as he handed me the weapon. “A Ruger ten twenty-two to be exact. Most popular rifle ever made, or so I’ve been told. Very easy gun to handle. Used it to teach children how to properly handle guns.”
As I held the gun, I felt it imprint on my hand, just as the revolver and the snub nose had. I knew then that I could reproduce it again, though I wanted to enjoy the feel of the original just a bit longer. The wood stock was smooth and pleasant to the touch, and the black steel of the barrel reminded me of cold satin. The trigger was made of something else entirely, plastic maybe, yet it still felt durable and perfectly fitted for my finger.
“No, not like that,” Evan huffed as I peered along the edge of the gun.
He took the weapon back, then pulled me into a standing position. He placed the wooden stock near my shoulder, then showed me where to place my hands.
“You sight through that little thing at the end,” he instructed as he shifted my hands slightly. “Now, this one will only fire one shot at a time, but as you’ll see in the book, there are versions that will fire multiple bullets as long as you hold the trigger down.”
“They mentioned that at the museum,” I commented as I looked along the barrel of the gun. I started to point it toward Sorcha, and Evan knocked my hand away.
“What are you doing?” the mage demanded in the same exasperated tone he’d used with the children. “You haven’t even bothered to check if there’s ammunition in there yet. What if you’d pulled the trigger and shot your friend? You never point a gun at someone unless you intend to shoot them.”
“Sorry,” I said in a chagrined voice to both Sorcha and Evan.
“I can see you’ll need some safety lessons,” Evan harrumphed. “My friend should be able to do that at least.”
“Who is your friend?” I asked as I cautiously set the gun on the table. Evan’s paranoia had rubbed off, and now I was terrified that I would accidentally shoot someone if I didn’t handle the weapon with the greatest of care.
“His name is Charles Darwin,” Evan replied as he nodded in approval of my newfound gun handling skills. “Like the scientist.”
Sorcha and I both stared at him blankly.
“Oh, dear, have they really wiped out the work of Charles Darwin?” Evan said sadly. “Well, I suppose there are those who would be happy with that.”
“What did he do?” Sorcha asked.
“Who?” Evan asked in return.
“Charles Darwin,” I filled in. “The scientist, not the friend. Although I guess we should find out more about the friend as well.”
“Charles Darwin the scientist developed the theory of evolution,” Evan replied. “That’s the theory that life adapts to its surroundings through natural selection, and those who are best adapted survive and pass on their genetic qualities to future generations. Charles Darwin my friend was a policeman back in the day. After the meteorite hit, he moved his family into the emergency shelter he had built in his backyard. After a while, his wife and kids got frustrated with living underground and ventured back into the world. Charles did as well, eventually. These days, he mostly writes bad poetry about the evils of magic.”
“And he’ll help us?” I pressed.
“Well, I think so,” Evan replied, though it was hard to ignore the doubtful tone he had when he replied.
“I don’t recognize the name of the town,” Sorcha mused.
“Originally, it was Morristown,” Evan explained. “Like most things, it got shortened after the meteorite. Really, is it that difficult to say that extra syllable? Oh, but there I go again with another old man rant.”
“And you said it’s west of here?” I asked.
“Let’s see,” Evan mumbled as he stood up again. He ventured over to a different set of bookshelves and peered at the contents. After a moment, he grabbed a thin but oversized book from the shelf. This one also had a thick paper cover, though time hadn’t been as kind to it as it had been to the gun book. The cover had yellowed and creased, and the edges of the pages were torn and rough, but Evan flipped through the pages until he found what he wanted.
“There,” Evan declared as he set the book on the table and pointed.
It was a detailed map of a pre-magic place called New Jersey. Evan’s finger was next to a small town named Morristown. As I studied the map, I found the eastern edge of the city, along with several bridges and tunnels. Too bad so many
of those had been lost.
“May we take this with us?” I asked as I started to look through the book.
It was a collection of maps, which, when pieced together, showed the continent from east coast to west coast. Most of the roads were now gone, and many of the smaller towns and villages as well, but there were still enough similarities that the maps would be useful.
“Take it, use it in good health,” Evan replied as he sat back down.
“We will,” I assured him.
It was quiet for a moment as I glanced back and forth between the pages of the gun compendium and the maps. Evan started to hum again, though this time it was a song. He slouched back in his chair and closed his eyes while he sipped his tea. The other mage in the room watched us both quietly before she set her own cup back on the table hard enough to make the rest of the tea service clatter.
“Oops,” she said with a smile as Evan’s eyes jerked open. “May I ask, why do all the children have those same odd haircuts?”
I looked at Sorcha in surprise, then realized she was probably circling around to the questions she really wanted to ask. This was just a way to gauge Evan’s truthfulness before she moved on to more interesting topics.
“Oh, that,” Evan snorted. “I’m proud to say that I’ve never learned how to be a hairstylist, and with this many children running around, who has time? We just do it the old-fashioned way. Put a bowl on their heads and trim off any hair that sticks out.”
“I’m surprised the girls go along with that,” Sorcha mused.
“Well, there has been some grumbling over the years,” Evan admitted. “But now that we have other mages that work around here, they sometimes help the kids with their hair.”
“And do you offer any other sort of instruction to the children?” Sorcha prodded as she looked at all the books on the shelves.
“Of course,” Evan insisted. “We have the standard curriculum with regard to math, english, sciences, and foreign languages. We also offer instruction in the liberal arts. And every student receives personalized training related to their specific magic.”