by Tim Susman
Albright indicated Kip’s dinner. “Eat. Afterwards we will walk and talk.”
Afterwards. That would be the time to try Master Jaeger’s spell. Trying to control the flicking of his tail, Kip ate his pork while Albright polished off another mug of ale, with none of the conversation they’d had the other night. Kip didn’t want to talk while eating, and Albright was lost in his own thoughts. Finally, when Kip was done, he left a shilling on the table for Bridget and rose with Master Albright, who again left nothing.
Once they had passed through Greenwich, Master Albright’s steps slowed. The cloud cover hid the moon and stars, but Kip could see well enough the empty path and the low scrub to either side of it. The scents of dinner and ale drifted to him on the breeze, as well as the stink of the people who lived in town.
Kip stayed a step behind Albright. He didn’t think there was a spiritual hold on him, but could he be sure? He clasped his paws behind his back and gathered magic, then quickly cast Jaeger’s spell under his breath.
The sorcerer turned. “Did you say something, Penfold?”
“A spell that Master Cott has been teaching me,” Kip said. “I have been having trouble remembering it so I thought to use this time to imprint it further on my memory.”
“Admirable.” Albright looked up at the towers of King’s College, still some ten minutes’ walk away. Apparently this location was satisfactory to have their conversation, so he turned back to Kip, keeping his voice discreet. “This research you’re doing with Cott into the demon that attacked Prince George’s. It’s of great interest and importance to the Empire, of course. And yet I fear that Cott may try to keep it to himself or use it to curry favor with certain officials in the government. That information may mean the survival or death of any number of British sorcerers. Especially in Prince George’s college.”
Kip nodded. He studied his feelings. Nothing seemed to have changed; he did not feel less inclined to help Albright. So either he had not cast the spell properly or there hadn’t been a spiritual hold on him. “Of course I want to help those at the College—Prince George’s.”
“Then all I ask is that as you and Cott narrow your search down to a few demon names, you inform me.”
“If we even get that far,” Kip said. “We’ve been going through them for a week now and we’ve only eliminated a few. The problem is that we can’t summon them to find out more about them. I mean…we can, but not until it gets to a smaller list.”
“Cott is not experienced enough to bind a fourth-order demon,” Albright intoned. “Not for more than a few seconds, at least. Few are.”
“Who might be?” It hadn’t occurred to Kip that simply investigating who could bind a fourth-order demon would be a way to narrow his search.
“Oh, perhaps ten in King’s College,” Albright said. “Though there are many more who are strong enough should they put their mind to it. More in the military, of course, that being their stock in trade. And perhaps one or two in Prince George’s, another handful in India and Gibraltar and other overseas territories. And who knows about Spain?”
In Prince George’s… “Who in Prince George’s?” Kip asked, trying to keep his tone casual. Of course, a sorcerer in his college could be working with a more powerful military sorcerer, but now he wanted to know.
“The Headmaster, of course, what’s his name?”
“Patris.” Kip’s throat was dry despite the mug of ale he’d hurriedly drained before leaving.
“Yes. I’m afraid I can’t recall the names of all those who died. We were given a list, you know, but the names have faded. Is Master Thornton still there?”
Kip shook his head. Master Albright took another bite of pork. “Pity. He was a good one, Thornton was. Let’s see, there was Strong, but I know he died. Who was the other one…” He mused while chewing. “Oh. Odden.”
The taste of ale in Kip’s muzzle soured. He couldn’t see any way that Patris would have destroyed the College. Of all the bad things he thought about Patris (and if he’d started listing them when he arrived in London he would probably still be going), a willingness to destroy his College was not one of them. So that left Odden. And if Odden were the one who’d called the demon, of course he would not have suggested to Kip that they look at the sorcerers who could bind fourth order demons.
But, Kip reminded himself, Odden didn’t know what he knew, about the culprit being inside the Tower, possibly a Master at the College. So he wouldn’t necessarily have taken that tack anyway. “What about Master Argent?” Kip asked. “He’s young, but I believe he is quite adept with demons.”
Albright rubbed his beard, looking down the path toward the college. “Generally those capable of controlling powerful demons are taken to the military unless they display other attributes. I don’t know this Argent, but are demons his specialty?”
Kip shook his head. “Alchemy, as far as I know.”
“Then it’s possible. If the College needed him more for his alchemical research, yes, certainly. That was the case with Odden, as I recall. He was the closest thing the Colonies had to a fire sorcerer.” He inclined his head. “Until a certain Calatian.”
“I hope I may serve the Empire as well in that capacity.”
“As well?” Here Albright turned his piercing gaze on Kip. In the night his eyes appeared black. “You would prefer to be in the College than in the military?”
“I’ve been accepted to the College,” Kip said. “I don’t know how well I would fare in the military.”
“The Colleges do have the reputation of being more progressive, particularly the Colonial ones. Well. One. Though I don’t suppose anyone here has given you any trouble.”
“Not yet.” Kip let his tail swing free. “Cott keeps me busy in his workroom, so I have very little time to interact outside of it.”
“Indeed.” Albright stroked his beard. “But you said you’d delivered a letter.”
“To the Isle of Dogs.” He gestured down the hill toward the scent and sound of the Thames.
“And how did you like it there?”
Albright peered keenly at him. Kip searched his feelings to see whether he felt compelled to tell Albright about the council of the calyxes, but no such urge drove his words. He could attempt Jaeger’s spell anyway, but it would be difficult with Albright staring right at him. He cleared his throat and repeated the answer he’d given Cott. “It was nice to be among my people again, and to meet my best friend’s family.”
The sorcerer turned his gaze down the hill, and then back to the College. “Have you the letter with you?”
“Yes.” Kip reached into a pocket of his robe. He had taken to carrying it on his person only because he didn’t trust Cott when the sorcerer was working with him in the workshop; Cott had a habit of picking up whatever Kip was looking at and reading it. There was nothing in it that would alarm any sorcerer, but Kip jealously guarded any scrap of privacy he had.
Albright took the letter without opening it. “I suppose that if you don’t want to use Master Woodholm’s daily translocation of mail, you would prefer it not be sent to the usual place for letters?”
“I didn’t know about Master Woodholm,” Kip confessed. “You’re the only one I know who can translocate.”
“No matter.” Albright held the letter. “Visualize the location where you want it to appear and make it as real as you can."
Kip closed his eyes and focused on the smell of the basement, the way Coppy’s bedroll looked in the light of Neddy’s fire, and then his mind wandered: was Neddy still there? Binding spells were supposed to last without concentration, but he truly hadn’t thought about Neddy in days. Kip pushed that thought away and built up the image of the location in his mind. A moment later he felt the pull of magic against his senses.
“My goodness,” Albright said a moment later. “Did you live there?”
“Yes.”
“Tch.” Kip had no idea what that noise meant. Another pulse of magic near him. “It’s done.”
/>
He opened his eyes to see the black-robed sorcerer holding out both empty hands. His letter was now in Coppy’s paws, or at least on Coppy’s bedroll, and the feeling of reconnecting rushed through him. “Thank you very much,” Kip pushed past the emotion clogging his throat.
Albright’s silver eyebrows rose, and Kip thought again of how much he looked like Patris, only with a beard and sympathy. “Perhaps we can arrange for a visit. But that would have to be with Cott’s permission. And knowledge,” the sorcerer added, looking up at the College.
Kip laid his ears back. “I don’t see why Cott should have power over my comings and goings. I’m Master Odden’s apprentice, not his.”
“While you are here in London, I doubt the distinction will mean much to Cott. However, a summons from Odden might be one way to persuade Cott to allow you to leave. I presume you have arranged to return for Christmas, at least?”
“Not specifically.” Kip folded his arms, still fighting the emotion of his letter reaching Coppy. “He told me to come here to consult with Cott on…the demon work, and to learn more control of fire.”
“And the glass beads.”
“Uh, yes.” He’d forgotten that he’d told Albright about the beads. “But there wasn’t any mention of when I’d return. I would like to celebrate Christmas with my family, but they’ve moved to Georgia. I don’t even know if I would be allowed to go down there.”
“For Christmas? Certainly you should be allowed. If there is a problem, I may speak to Master Odden on your behalf.”
Kip had no idea whether Master Albright had any kind of rank over Master Odden, but he suspected that Patris would not welcome interference from London with respect to his least favorite apprentice. Still, the fact that Master Albright had offered was kind. “Thank you, but I don’t believe that will be necessary. Besides, we do celebrate Christmas, but it’s the Feast of Calatus that’s most important to us.”
“I see. It was simply an offer.” Albright gestured toward the five towers of the College. “Shall we return?”
When Kip returned to the workshop and summoned a fire, he reflected on the evening. There had been the secret of the calyxes that he had not felt the slightest need to tell, not like when he’d almost revealed the existence of Peter that first evening with Albright. And Jaeger’s spell had had, as far as he could tell, no effect. Perhaps Albright hadn’t cast a spiritual hold this time. Perhaps he hadn’t cast one the previous time either, and Kip had simply been so grateful to be talking to someone who valued him that he had wanted badly to please him. Or he had cast one, and perhaps he cast that kind of hold every time he met a new person to make sure it was a pleasant meeting. Maybe he’d just been nervous about meeting a Calatian sorcerer. That still made him the sort of person Kip should be wary of, although Albright had helped him tonight and had offered him further help that he stood to gain no benefit from.
He sighed and lay on his bedroll, staring at the ceiling. Every day he missed his friends more and more. He would even have been grateful for one of Emily’s lectures.
As it happened, Kip did not have to wait until Christmas to hear word from his friends. One week later, as he was poring over one of Cott’s fire books by the light of a fire he was maintaining, a fluttering caught his ear, and he turned just in time to catch a piece of parchment as it fell toward his fire. Even before he unfolded it, he recognized Emily’s scent, and he sat up straighter, holding it close to the fire so he could read:
Dear Kip,
Coppy wanted to tell you that he received your letter, and we have all wanted to tell you that we miss you. I am learning with Master Argent to send objects to people I know, and if this goes well I may soon send myself. “Soon” means in a few months, of course, as I’ve only just started translocating myself, but Argent says we will be focusing on translocation at the cost of the rest of my sorceric education, so who knows? It may be sooner. Coppy expects we will see you for Christmas anyway. Perhaps “hopes” is a better word than “expects”; he misses you most of any of us, though he would never say it. He spends a great deal of time with Neddy, who may not understand everything in our world but is an excellent listener nonetheless. I trust you are learning some world-changing sorcery there in London and having a high old time, and we’re all anxious to hear about your adventures when you return.
If you receive this letter, please do send a reply by the same means and at least then we will know that we have a reliable way to communicate. If you could learn a translocation spell yourself, things would be easier still, but I suspect you are more focused on burning things, as Coppy is on marbles and Malcolm is on shutting doors.
All the best from your classmates here and from Neddy.
Emily
He read through the letter twice. There was nothing in it about John Quincy Adams; but then, he wouldn’t expect there to be, not in a letter that might end up anywhere. The only hint was “world-changing” sorcery, which might easily be read as a remark on a Calatian learning sorcery, but which Kip felt had a double meaning. Nor was there a mention of Farley or Victor, and that was either because they weren’t interfering with Kip’s friends—unlikely—or because Emily didn’t want to worry Kip.
Whatever the reason, the letter seemed to be an olive branch to Kip after their political disagreement, though he couldn’t imagine the argument wouldn’t resume when they met in person. His time in London wasn’t going to improve her opinion of him, even though nobody here even seemed aware that there was talk of rebellion in the Colonies.
Abel, though…there was more going on there than he’d felt comfortable talking to Kip about. Kip was going to have to seek out the other fox and explore that further. Seeing the reality of the Isle of Dogs had brought him closer to rebellion than anything else, but of course the problem was that the Isle was located in the heart of London, and it was hard to tell how free and independent American colonies would help the plight of the London Calatians.
After some thought, he pulled out a sheet of parchment and wrote a note back to Emily letting her know that he’d received her letter, that he was learning quite a bit about fire sorcery, and that he missed them all, Coppy especially. He wrote that he hoped to be home for Christmas but did not know whether there were any plans to send him home. He thought about writing that Cott would happily keep him here for months, for the company if nothing else, but that seemed unwise to put into a public letter, so he left it out.
The next day, as they were taking out books in preparation for the day’s lesson, he asked Cott where he might find Master Woodholm. “What, you want to send a letter?” Cott asked. “Give it to me, I can send it.”
“I’d prefer it to go through the regular post,” Kip said, ignoring Cott’s outstretched hand.
“But why? I can do it for you.”
“I’d like to meet Master Woodholm and find out how the post works between colleges. I’d hate to have to bother you every time I wish to send a message.”
“It’s no bother.” Cott retracted his hand and smoothed down his blond hair. “Unless you’re going to be sending messages every day. You’re not, are you?” He peered at Kip.
Kip shook his head. “But why shouldn’t I use the same methods as everyone else?”
“I’m simply trying to make things easier for you. What do you think Woodholm will do if a Calatian comes and asks him to post a letter to the Colonies?”
Kip’s ears flattened. “Send it?”
“Oh, most likely, I suppose, but there will be talk. Why is a Calatian posting letters? He’ll read it, you know.”
Kip was by this point certain that Cott would, too. “I haven’t written anything that I’m ashamed of. I’m only saying hello to my friends.”
Cott took a step back, looking down at the table and the spell books. “All right, since you’re so set on it. Go to Master Woodholm. You’ll find him in the Red Tower on the bottom floor just as you enter.”
He walked back toward his office, and Kip said, “Sir, I c
an go after our lesson.”
“No,” Cott called over his shoulder. “You’re set on going to Master Woodholm, so go.” And with that, he left the workshop.
Kip stared after him and shook his head. The balance between the sorcery he was learning and the oppressive nature of Cott’s friendship still tilted in favor of the sorcery, but his resolve on that score was wavering.
Rather than fly out the window and then have to come in the main entrance to the College, he left via the door—Cott, sitting at the desk, ignored him—and found his way back to the stairs. Things were busier at this time of day than when he’d come in at night: servants and apprentices and the occasional sorcerer making their ways up and down the stairs. The narrow corridors forced people together when passing, and a few people flinched away from Kip or made an effort not to touch him; after he’d passed, whispers filled the air, but nobody stopped him.
Still, by the time he emerged into the cloudy daylight at the base of the tower, he was starting to wonder whether he shouldn’t have left the mailing of his letter to Cott. The courtyard bustled with activity, ravens wheeling up in the sky over robes of purple and tunics of white running back and forth. A lot of servants, Kip thought, but then noticed the cleanliness of many of the tunics and the pleasant smells—no grime, no smoke, no body odor—and the youth of those cleaner tunic-dressed men. Students, then. They tended to move in groups of three to six, much as his own class had, and though some of them were startled to see him, others took little notice, whereas nearly every apprentice he passed had given him a strange or angry look.
The students talked amongst themselves, too, discussing nuances of a spell, what would be served for lunch, and one group planning to go down to the village to meet some women for activities they only discussed in euphemisms accompanied by overly-loud laughter. The normality of their concerns eased his own enough to make him smile as he surveyed the wide courtyard and the other towers.
Each tower flew a Union Jack over its entrance as well as another flag: just over Kip’s head was a banner featuring crossed swords. Directly before him, the widest of the towers flew a flag with the crown of England on it, so that must be King’s Tower. To his left, the oldest and smallest of the towers flew a solid red banner next to the Union Jack, and Kip made his way to that one.